When the Night Comes (6 page)

MS
Nella Dan

VOYAGE 2, 1986/1987 SEASON

1st November 1986

POSITION:
61° 59.000' S, 118° 9.000' E

CAPTAIN'S NOTE:
Today King Neptune arrived to anoint those who had not traveled below 60 degrees south. The bergy bits and icebergs are getting more prevalent as we edge our way closer to Casey.

Bits of ice hit the hull of the ship, like giant hailstones on a tin roof—clip, clip, clip. The ship crunches through small patches of ice. Cape petrels and snow petrels glide outside my porthole.

I fall asleep in my bunk to the sound of the ice against the ship.

I am tired. I feel the heaviness in my face, in my bones. Even Soren keeps asking me if I am all right. It is the bags under my eyes.

We are only a day from Casey but the ice is getting thicker—multiseason ice all joined together—and we slush through at a slow speed. When I lie in my bunk I can hear the ice pushed right up against the hull, the ship quaking with the strain of the engine working overtime to give us enough push.

Sometimes there is a scraping sound of a sharp piece, a growler—scratching
Nella
—hurting her. No matter how tired I am, that sound always wakes me. It is like I have known it all my life. Like the howl of a
wolf. It is one of those sounds that wake every cell in my body and say,
Be alert. Wake up!

But then it is past and my muscles relax, my heart slows down. I think,
Maybe I should just get up, make some coffee.
Then I am fast asleep again—out cold. There are no dreams, no twilight, just my alarm going off suddenly when I least expect it. A ringing from far away—getting louder and louder. A sound that won't go away.

W
ith a handful of twenty-cent pieces in my pocket, my brother and I would walk from our house on Mona Street down along Francis Street to the main road, to the phone box there.

I never saw anyone else use that phone box for all the time we lived in that house. But we would use it, every second Sunday. We'd both squeeze in and shut the folding glass door behind us, and I'd have butterflies in my stomach and maybe my brother would too. Maybe I was scared and maybe he was too.

He'd hold the receiver and I'd put three twenty-cent pieces in and dial the number—the area code for Victoria and then the seven numbers that came after.

My brother would say, “It's ringing!” and hold the phone up to me like the receiver was burning his face. He'd look worried, so I'd take it from him.

When someone picked up on the other end, three small beeps would come down the line, then a “hello.” It would be Dad's voice and I'd get a shock, then I'd say, “Hello—it's me,” all while my brother watched me to see if it was okay. If I was okay. To see if we were in trouble or not.

“How's school? How's your brother?”

“Good. He's fine. He's here. I'll put him on.”

When my brother took the receiver, I'd put in the remaining twenty-cent pieces, hear them slotting down the metal insides of the phone.

Time would go fast then. The time would run, and the phone would start to beep and we'd say, “We have to go,” and say good-bye. Dad would say, “I'll just keep talking until the phone cuts off?”

Sometimes that would feel like ages and sometimes it would be no time at all, and then he was gone, ripped away, and it was just my brother and me standing in the phone box with the phone beeping because the call had been cut off.

Dad was gone. He was far away and we lived on an island now. We'd hang the phone up, open the door and walk home together, without talking.

I
waved good-bye to Peter and we stepped off the ferry.

“See you in the morning,” he said.

The wood of the jetty was slippery with green slime. It was rotting, and we had to be careful. I didn't know what I would do if I fell in, if my brother fell in. Sometimes there were huge orange starfish all the way down on the concrete bottom. Starfish bigger than my head. But mostly you couldn't see anything but the dense surface, watch the sludge and rubbish circle around, taste the rank smell of it in your mouth.

The water at the wharf was never able to wash itself clean.

My brother asked if we could go past the boat park, but I just wanted to walk home the quickest way, and not go all the way around the headland. I told him he could go on his own.

“You're old enough, aren't you?” I said.

He didn't answer. He looked down at the ground and I walked off. I walked fast and I didn't turn back to see if he was following me until I got to the bottom of Kelly's steps.

My brother wasn't there. He was probably already at the park playing on the wooden pirate ship, climbing the ropes and going down the metal slide.

I trudged up the cold, worn steps and marched up Kelly Street. But
on Francis Street I slowed down. I looked for flowers to pick—the ones that poked out of fences, in between the pickets or over the tops. Only the flowers that were leaning over the pavement—leaning onto common ground. Still, I was careful not to be seen. I checked up and down the street before I picked any. Lavender, white daisies, a yellow rose. I took my time, made a little bouquet and held it tightly in my hand.

The sun was going down already, slipping behind the mountain, and when I turned into Mona Street, I could see my brother standing by our gate. Something was wrong—I could see it in his face. A white van was revving down the street toward us and my brother started screaming out my name.

I ran, not really knowing why, but everything inside me told me to RUN. I got the key out of my pocket and tried to get the front door open quickly, but the key wouldn't go in, my fingers numb and tingling and useless, and the white van slowed down as it went past our house. It was like a film, like slow motion. I saw the man's face, the driver. He was looking right at us, small eyes squinting; then the key found its way, slotted in, and the door pushed open. The van sped up and skidded around the corner, smoke burning off the tires as it went.

We fell inside and slammed the red door behind us. We stood in the dark hallway together, our bodies up against the door. I was breathing hard. I looked at my hands. I must have dropped the flowers on the street somewhere. My brother told me that a man had started walking next to him and asked him if he wanted to go fishing.

“I said no thanks, but then I saw another man up ahead and he was looking at me. He was standing by that van with the door open.”

I felt very sick then. I felt something very cold inside my stomach.

“I ran away,” my brother said. “I ran home, but I couldn't find you.”

We stayed leaning against the door for a long time. I don't know how long, but I knew that we were both listening for that van, that we would
dream about it, look for it out of the corners of our eyes for the rest of the time we lived in Battery Point.

Battery Point, where the houses were old and solid like tombstones, and there were never any people on the streets or in the front yards. There were never any people anywhere. Just my brother and me, walking fast, always looking behind us.

MS
Nella Dan

VOYAGE 2, 1986/1987 SEASON

5th November 1986

POSITION:
66° 16.000' S, 110° 32.000' E

CAPTAIN'S NOTE:
The Casey Station leader came on board to brief expeditioners and for final discussions prior to resupply commencing. The LARCs (Lighter Amphibious Resupply Craft) were discharged and cargo operations commenced with the first load of cargo departing the ship at 10:20
AM
. Key achievements have been to deploy marine science personnel to prepare for their summer campaign, and commencement of refueling operations this morning. We have been pumping for approximately seven hours and have transferred 178,000 liters.

A fourteen-hour day and I'm looking forward to sitting down and tasting the home brew at the base. My chance to go ashore—to Casey—Antarctica. To step onto the continent, to be part of it.

I get dressed, borrow some boots. My thermals are tight and itchy and it's hot waiting in the bunker room with my life jacket on, my hat, the thick gloves. But I am looking forward to the night, the station handover, the party. Winterers coming out and the new crew going in.

“It's bigger than Christmas,” Klaus told me. “Bigger than New Year's Eve.”

This chance to get low on the water, see penguins close up, stand under the big sky with ice all around me.

Ready.

The rope ladder ahead, the LARC below almost full but with room for three more crew. Just three. Soren and Erik and me.

“Don't drink too much!” Benny yells out from behind me. “I'm not going to carry anyone up the ladder, if you drink too much.”

Crew from the LARC give it back, laughing. “Hey! We are young, not like you.”

“Old Man of the Sea.”

I catch his eye and he smiles and I like him, Benny. Always clean-shaven. His face lined with salt and sun and with the cold, and none of us know how old he is, how long he has been at sea. Maybe forever. His eyes are green and they move like mist over the water. Searching. He sees everything.