December 1, 1975: Monday

Be careful, for today was bad, and not to let things that foul slip unnoticed into this commentary.

Prologue to a Bad Day:
‘Twas in the morning that I finished sketching the chart of One Alpha and placed it upon the professor’s desk, just at noon.

Katherine had been in, had been out, and informed me of her plans to gather up her questions and hither unto Scott Base go for a telephonic conversation with Peter Barrett in the afternoon.

I shrugged my shoulders in a sullen manner and thus regretted instantly my indifference.

But made no amends to her, who sat with us at lunch, and laughed when I proposed a certain graffiti, even so much as to provide the penciled weapon, but not so far as to stay and watch the perpetration.

‘Twas a hurried morning with canceled helos and last minute preparations for bailing Vida and visitors of high and low, to whom I elucidated mildly our schemes and operations. I gave unto the Officer in Charge of Public Affairs an address for him to send, hence and away, to my father’s employer, a statement concerning DVDP.

I have not the qualifications to make decisions, but in the absence of good Dr. Treves, I must act. And when the helos call and want their passengers, I must decide, for good or ill, and force the elements under me to move in the direction pre-ordained by those of Higher Authority.

‘Tis my job but once or twice a week. And I am not in practice, lacking poise and patience, to get all men to move harmoniously.

And I must rush, from lab to pad and back again, to find people, I know not where, and transfer cargo. All the time engaging clutches that won’t engage, starting trucks that won’t ignite, and losing precious pipe that bounces out unguarded tailgates. Much to the pity of poor Dr. Treves, who must stand by and shake his head at my incompetence.

And the plane with Calvin, Katsu, and Nakai has broken down. We are standing by to stand by. And I get no mail. Lost and alone on some forgotten highway.

Kathy and Doc Treves return to Scott Base to talk with Robert Thompson and Philip Kyle, who, with the Doc, will ascend to the heights of Erebus on Wednesday next. For Kathy had informed me of this journey to Scott Base using “we,” excluding me.

So I stay and watch the lab and wait for blasts, because Katsu has told me how to turn his seismographic machine on, to recording, while DVDP celebrates at the Chalet.

And ‘round about eight, Dr. Treves and Kathy arrive back at the lab and demand to know where the truck is. And how should I know, I thought you had it. I saw it leave while I came up the hill and it headed for Scott Base.

And I must find it, for it had valuable metal rods upon it, but I must go and play basketball. And thus we find it, parked by Bio-Mike’s at the Ham Radio Shack. And she and good Dr. Treves go to fetch the truck, while I walk down to play basketball.

I tell Katherine that I shall return to the lab at the conclusion. And she says with biting flavor, ”O.K., but Dr. Treves and I will be in the lounge.” With the DVDP revelers.

It makes me mad. It makes me frustrated. It makes me furious. I play center against tall men, twice my size, collecting along the way four whole fouls before the half. Cleanly called and cleanly played.

But after a brief intermission, I do not foul, scoring four points from the high post, until the very end. I chase down a man who fast-breaks, an easy lay-up, and crash him into the unprotected wall. I thought, as his head was jolted back to me in slow motion as I cradled him in my arms, “My God, what have I done?” But he is fine and I am not. My swollen hand throbs with pain, my ankles ache, backbone bent, and burdensome joints unhitched.

And there I stand, before nature. Vast uncharted nature. I stand defeated. Not by the elements, which are my home, but by men, who are my brothers, the unknowing culprits of my downfall. Surrounded by brilliant blue and icy white, in darkness I stand.

Returning to the hotel, I wash my face, my hands. Comb my hair. Put on my aching body new pants and a shirt for dress occasions. Pad my way up soft stairs and open swinging doors into the lounge.

There is smoke, blue swirls, hanging airborne from ashtrays and men. Dr. Denton talks to some people on the couch, a few others clustered elsewhere. Kathy sits, toying with empty beer cans at an empty table. I glance at the mail box. I glance at her. She looks at me and I leave.

I looked at her and in my eyes were expressed the feeling I’ve so often seen before, and others have seen in me. A look of need, and love, and sympathy.

But I will not go to her. I will not go to her. No one-sided friendships are ever formed.

I write this narrative and Dr. Treves returns to ask me up for steak.

Epilogue to a Bad Day:
Should I maintain my will? And wait for her to come to me? If she does not desire a bond of understanding between us, to accept that fate?

Or should I go, hence to that party (and how parties always depress me), to win her favor?

I attempt to take the middle course. Partake of the steak, but do not enter into conversation with her.