Third day since my plane went down. There's a blur of frost on my glasses that won't go away no matter how hard I breathe on them. My breath must be just as cold as the air. But food is in good supply, and the dog seems chipper.
Last night I read Dickens to her, leaning against the paralyzed engine with her head in my lap. She likes when I do the cockney accent, I think--her ears perk up. We are reading Nicholas Nickleby; she is my Smike. I have even taken to calling her that. "Lucy" seems inappropriate under the aurora austrialis.
This afternoon Smike and I chased a group of penguins across a stretch of ice. They really are silly creatures, the fathers running along pigeon-toed with babies perched on their flippers. No need to slaughter any just yet (as I said, food is good for now), but there's a slow one I made note of should the need arise.
Spent the rest of this afternoon at the radio until the battery died quietly around 5 o'clock. Part of me knows that that small happening will affect my life more than anything before it. But I try not to think about it. I put the headset on its cradle and climbed out of the cockpit. Smike jumped around on the broken wing to greet me. A nice fire beneath the fuselage makes things less alone, but I keep it small--there's only so much in the plane I can burn.
For now I am in good spirits. There is something comforting about knowing for absolute sure one's manner of death. I know I will not die in a car accident or be gunned down by a convenience-store robber. There is no blood or pain in my future. Only some night soon while I sleep the cold will get me, and in the morning I just won't wake up.
I do worry about Smike, though. She is more compact and furry and generally more suited to these extremes than me. I'm sure she'll carry on long after I'm gone. I imagine her becoming a hunter of penguins, taking one down every few days or so, or as the mood strikes her. Will she remain at the plane, or will she become nomadic and feral over time?
I will read to her more tonight. We're coming to the part where Nicholas and Smike join the theater. We'll see how she likes my singing.
2 comments:
I'm not sure if a domesticated dog could survive long in the Anarctic, but it's a romantic idea. If she did survive, I wonder what she would be like after 6 months of danrkness.
my mind knows that you are writing this in front of your computer in your warm apartment but my heart beats faster fearing for your life- a tribute to your writng skill combined with a mothers need to protect. You get rescued, right? - before the penguin hunting begins I hope.
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