December 14, 1975: Sunday

Spent the afternoon taking all of Dr. Treves’s sample boxes over to the pad for storage until the ship leaves.

I took a nap listening to classical tapes.

Packed up all my belongings and my wash. I’ll take home all my miscellaneous stuff, two stuffed penguins, and my brief case, in the duffel bag.

I admit I did a dishonest deed. Well, two, actually. See, there were two of those black furry hats in my room. I think Martin left his. Well, I’ll turn his in and the other one will, ah, stay with my collection.

And another thing, the map of Ross Island and the Dry Valleys on the wall in Kathy’s office, well, it, ah, somehow got into my miscellaneous things. These things happen, you know.

Tried to explain to Nartsiss about corn yields per hectare.

Northern Illinois University sent DeKalb seed corn winter hats down here. We each get one. Came down with one hat, go home with four. Not bad.

Gave one to Nartsiss. He thought they were like a uniform for Agricultural Workers. He wore it to a formal dinner with Captain Van Reeth.

Went to PM3A to pick up a list of personnel for Dr. Treves. Took pictures of Mount Erebus and Mount Discovery, in color. Drove down the Scott Base Road to get another Erebus shot, in color this time. Rewound the film after 11 shots. I’ll put it in John’s camera when I’m finished with the black and white.

Dr. Denton talked at the Chalet. It was very, very interesting. I ask the kind of questions which might make others think, “And he’s a geologist?” But I’ll never learn unless I ask foolish questions. It’s something I have to live with.

Noisy noodle party for just DVDP, with raw fish in soy sauce. The raw fish was kind of strange, but the noodles are always good. Howard was in the Ham Shack and Kathy was at Scott Base.

She came back from the field during Dr. Denton’s talk. After it was over she was polite and pleasant, smiling at everyone.

Except me. I told her she had some pictures, left on her table by me.

She blew up, literally, in my face, telling about how her pictures for a master’s thesis were all ruined and how she needed my pictures. I gathered she was mad at me because I had the negatives and she didn’t.

Well, hell, they’re my negatives. I’d already given her the four she’d specifically asked for. She went storming out of the Chalet before I had a chance to find out what she meant.

Right there and then I decided to wash my hands of her, shrug my shoulders, and marvel at the mysterious ways that God builds His human creatures.

We took a lot of pictures of us all at the Noodle Party, several times over, flash and no flash. Kathy eventually showed up with the helo pilots. We gave them all DeKalb hats and sent them down the hill to Emmett’s going away party.

I stood staring out the window in a moody, pouting, self-concern, admiring for the last time the beauties of Antarctica. Naked black rock and hazy white ice, stretching off to the deep dark blue of open water, separated from the lighter hue of the sky by the gray portals of New Harbour, the blue-gray heights of the Mountains, changing in the revolving sunlight. I say farewell to Debrushka, lovely mountain, lovely land.

And I stare, my back to the people, trying desperately to ignore Kathy, who is talking to Calvin off in the back somewhere.

She comes up to me and tells me that she’s drunk, which of course immediately suggests a lie. I reply, “I know,” and nothing more.

You know, I think I lost my sense of humor about the First of Methane.

I am most absurd with her, impartially impolite, frowning and glaring at her while I patiently explain what I have and don’t have concerning pictures of the Dirty Ice, knowing quite well that she’s arranged to go out and shoot the shots again and has no desire for me to explain what I have and what I don’t, even though she wants more pictures from off the wall.

I want her to ask me why I’m mad at her. Well, I’m not mad at her. I’m mad at myself for allowing her and Calvin to establish a relationship that more or less excludes me.

But she never asks.

She and Calvin leave the lab, not asking me if I’m going down. I watch them descend the hill and pass from view behind the RISP Wannigan. I wait for Calvin to reappear at the Hotel door after having said good night to Kathy at her quarters, halfway down the hill and out of view.

But Calvin never reappears.

And the clock on the wall ticks loudly away at the seconds, as my time in Antarctica grows short.

As I grow short.

Let the fires within me rage. Whether I care about her or not. Whether I’m jealous of Calvin or not. Whether I’m offended by not being invited to her quarters to say farewell or not.

Mark my words, I’m not leaving Antarctica until she’s demonstrated her recognition of me as a person (another definition of friendship, perhaps), or I’ve given her a piece of my mind.