It’s hard for me to say anything about it, mamma mia, enjoy it while supplies last, tutti frutti, I’m sorry but I can’t seem to locate your reservation, no we’re all booked up, I’m afraid there isn’t a room to be had in the whole town, we have fallen victim to flattery, hey are those knockers of yours insured, works of art like that must be worth untold fortunes, he who destroys nature is killing God, that’s how my neighbor put it, he’s taking this cruise in the Antarctic, you know the drill, so swing over to our website pantanddrooldotcom, you can count on our webcam to deliver the goods, as soon as the Antarctic becomes an emerging market we’ll open an office there, in other words, Your Excellency, do we live in theocidal times? we have to wake him, in such cases the Foreign Minister must be informed at once, I’ll tell him about the matter right away. All ravens are black as pitch, offhand I can’t say for certain, but it does appear somewhat exaggerated, thrill dee dill, my pretty poof, sooner or later our hour will strike, those are measurements to die for, unbelievable, and here’s a job that’s worth an entire future. Make it absolutely clear that we don’t know if we’re looking at an accident or a crime, and don’t forget to mention that a terrorist attack cannot be ruled out at this time. You don’t expect you can just go strolling through the palm trees scot-free do you, I’m paying taxes on expenses I reject, no one’s going to question it except the ones writing the questions, imfao greed is a worse sin than waste, let’s assume all living things had the same spirit, the same soul but different bodies, it’s now or never, that’s sick! well yes, it’s completely sick, don’t exaggerate, it’s pathologically sick! you old geezer, beyond healing and beyond hope, do you have it in a smaller size? Does your memory stray to a brighter summer day, the situation can’t be all that bad, the reason for the season time to try a toothsome threesome. We all believe that there’s a good way out, last week we barely squeaked by an environmental disaster, at the time everybody talked about drawing the proper conclusions from the catastrophe. Sittin’ in the morning sun, what I don’t know won’t hurt me, a real storybook career, from model to moderator, you can’t raise a stink about that, BREAKING NEWS HUNDREDS NARROWLY ESCAPE DEATH? HUNDREDS NARROWLY ESCAPE DEATH? nothing will help except a complete reboot
4. 51°41′37″S, 57°49′15″W
THIS TIME, TOO, it’s raining in the Falklands. Days when it doesn’t rain go into the annals, as do evenings when the darts don’t fly in the Victory Bar. Life in Stanley used to be full of unexpected danger, people could cut peat at will above the town, water would collect in the holes, until one night a mudslide sluiced into the sleeping city without waking a single dog, swallowing house after house and sweeping school and church into the harbor and suffocating a shopkeeper and two shearers. That also went into the annals. Years ago the governor let it be known that Stanley was a very British town on a very British island (cruise ship lecturers take note of such pithy remarks, they enjoy assembling such sayings for their own use). The governor merits contradicting: in actuality the islands belong to South Africa, geologically speaking (my claim), biologically they are part of South America (Beate’s view), politically they belong to Great Britain and to Great Britain alone (Margaret Thatcher’s position). The passengers bombard us with questions about the war, one of the rare wars between white men, they remember the tense evenings in front of the television. I always answer short and to the point: it was the first war in the history of the Western Hemisphere in which more humans died than animals. I have no idea if that’s true, animals seldom make it into war reports, but it does shock the passengers.
Paulina has been wanting to go on an outing. We’ve never taken a walk together on British soil. Up to now we’ve only landed on the Falklands when the trip was nearing its end, Paulina was busy taking inventory, and I was preparing the auction of memorabilia on behalf of a foundation whose mission it is to teach fishermen ways to keep their longlines from killing hundreds of thousands of albatrosses every year. But now we have a good afternoon hour all to ourselves. She puts on apple-green shoes and an oversized raincoat, which billows out in the wind like a racing sail, I have to hold her arm so she doesn’t fly away. We take off, just the two of us, in the direction of Gypsy Cove, along a waterlogged path I know that follows the windswept shore close to the water, our steps and voices startle a covey of ducks, Falkland steamer ducks, I announce with the voice of expert conviction, Paulina laughs and points to the wreck of the Lady Elizabeth.
“That’s a pretty big steamer duck right there.”
“Ok, ok, I was fibbing, in reality they’re Argentine stiff tails.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that, Professor? Don’t you go pulling my leg. And I suppose those are British boobies?”
“Certainly not, those are coots. Adult white-winged coots, I swear it.”
Her hands have found a path through the layers of wind and rain protection, past Gore-Tex and wool, and she strokes my chest with life-affirming coldness.
“You’re the one who taught me,” she says with windy seriousness, “that people who know a lot lie the most.”
“Could we agree on the word ‘invent’?”
My appeal is tendered halfheartedly, the path veers away from the shore and takes us across a low shrubby heath strewn with stones and on toward Yorke Bay (some of the passengers are headed our way, judging from the way they’re staring at us I can only imagine what they are thinking). A ranger is standing next to a wooden shelter, as though he were waiting just for us to deliver his explanations. Paulina jabs her finger in my direction and says to the ranger: “If you only knew what this evil man …”
The ranger presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows, I nip the coming irritation in the bud.
“It’s not half as bad as it sounds, we just couldn’t agree on which birds had which names.”
“You have a wonderful beach here, people must love it.”
“Yes, it’s the most beautiful beach in town.”
“And not a soul in sight, in my country it would be overflowing with romping children and passed-out parents on a friendly Saturday like this.”
“I wouldn’t advise that.”
“On account of the current?”
“Not because of the ocean, the beach itself is deadly dangerous.”
“How so?”
“It’s mined.”
“Mined?”
“Antipersonnel mines.”
“I don’t understand, the place is swarming with penguins.”
“Your question is entirely justified, ma’am, but consider that the mines require a weight of twenty kilos to explode, and even a fully grown Magellan penguin doesn’t get that big, so you may rest assured that the animals have nothing to fear.”
Paulina puts her hand to her mouth.
“Soldiers make the best animal protectors,” I say.
“It was the Argentines,” the ranger specifies.
“Just like in my country,” says Paulina, “everything looks like paradise until the bullets start whizzing past your ears.”
She laughs again, but this time it’s a different laugh, the kind she uses to wipe away something unpleasant.
“They like it here, the Magellan penguins, they dig their nest burrows in the soft peaty soil up there in the dune grass.”
“They dig their nests?”
“Yes ma’am, and they use the burrows for years, they mate for life and never separate. They pick their partners carefully and can rely on them completely.”