Goodbye at the End of the World

“Well here we are … at the end of the world … in a whole sort of ways, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry, girl. I really am.”

“But you know? I really actually envy you.”

“More than me, at least.”

“At least you don’t know it’s coming. At least it will be quick.”

“Or maybe you do know it’s coming. And you are just sparing me the guilt.”

She just sat there, unfazed, staring off into the black night, here, at the end of the world. She looked at him with kind and open eyes. She loved him.

“You know that you are the only girl left in this whole country?”

“How about that? You are the only girl in this entire frozen purgatory of a place.”

“In fact – and this I believe to be true – you are the only girl on this entire continent.”

“How about that?”

“Lucky me,” he said, as he laughed. He smiled at her, and he stroked her head.

“You know, back home, I actually did alright with the gals. I was quite handsome back there.”

She could hear his words, but she only understood the sentiment. His was the only sound in the air. Except for the whispering whistle of the wind, and the occasional sound of cracking wood in the distance. Snapping bits of pieces of wood. They broke a little more each day. Little by little, the wooden boards, and the planks of wood, and the wooden beams, they broke. A little more each day, the ice crushed everything.

She looked at him, and she was happy. She licked his face.

He did not feel the wetness though. With his beard grown so long and thick, the man knew she licked him, but he could not feel the kiss. She licked him still. And he loved it, in all its horrible sadness. And he hated himself. He hated this place. And above all else, he hated Shackleton.

“It is him. It is him who is making me do this. … And I hate him for it. I loathe this man that has doomed us all. This man that has sailed us into suicide. A long cold death for every one of us, I suppose.”

“But your death will be quick. I promise.”

The man had not slept the night before.

Not that he ever slept well here. It had been a week since the crew had abandoned the ship and set up camp on the ice pack. When the men slept, they feared the ice beneath them could break apart from the shifting currents, separating and swallowing them into the icy depths of the Weddell Sea. And sometimes, the man wondered if this was more of a solution than something he should dread.

And, while months before, entire days of sun had prevented any rest for the crew, it then turned into eternal night and cast the crew into madness, unable to tell night from day, nor feel a single sunray.

But now it was springtime in Antarctica, and the sun had started to shine again. Any optimism from the survival of winter, however, had been lost upon the orders to abandon ship. No matter how much the crew worked, and no matter how many hours they hammered the ice away from the hull, their efforts were futile. They were but bitty moths beating their wings against the orbit of earth. The ice pack was unstoppable.

But this is not the reason why the man did not sleep.

“I did not sleep a single wink,” said the man, as he unfastened his jacket, letting the cold wind stab his chest.

Last night, the man stayed up the entire night, sharpening his knife. Believing that, if he could make the blade of his knife into a finely sharpened razor, then the death would be less painless, the man did not sleep. He stayed up the entire night sharpening the knife.

It was a long single-edged hunting knife with a walrus tusk handle. He had purchased the knife back in Buenos Aires, nearly exactly one year ago, just before the Endurance left on its final voyage. To come here. If here could be considered anywhere.

The man stayed up all night. He stared at the cosmic greens and purples and indigos flutter across the black sky, wondering how such a beautiful scene could be so murderous. And he scraped the steel blade along the whetstone over and over again, for the entirety of the night.

“I did not sleep, old girl. I would not betray you like that.”

And the man thought about how he had never slit anything’s throat before. And he wondered whether the thick winter fur coat of the dog, which was a mix between a mastiff and a husky, would allow the knife a clean cut across her throat.

Some of the other members of the crew had drowned their dogs. They pushed the dogs off the ice pack, and held them under the icy water. They had told the man that drowning the dogs was actually rather humane, despite the horrible thrashing sound to it, and so he too should consider drowning his dog.

But he could not stomach the sense of betrayal. He could not bear to think this girl would think of him as her killer. He needed it to be quick. And so he had sharpened his knife for that reason.

“I’m sorry, girl. You don’t deserve this. You pulled your weight, and I tried to convince him that I would share my rations with you on every occasion. But he wasn’t listening.”

Shackleton had originally selected 100 dogs, purchased from Canada, and all were well-bred and equipped for this polar expedition intended to send the first explorers across the continent. But the voyage never even made it to land. The ship laid rest in this polar nowhere, entrapped in the drifting ice pack that would ultimately crush and swallow it.

Some of the dogs had died along the way, and the crew had eaten most of them. And some of the dogs, like this one, had earned their keep by catching and killing penguins. But when the penguins moved on last season, the men were ordered by Shackleton to start killing their dogs to eat instead.

“And you’re the last one left. How about that?”

From his coat, the man pulled out a piece of seal meat that he had stolen from breakfast.

The dog sat on her haunches, and she pawed at the man. She licked her chops, and let out a silent whimper in eager anticipation.

“Tis your last meal anyways,” the man said. “It’s the least you should get.”

And the man slit the seal meat effortlessly with his sharp knife. He placed the piece of meat in the palm of his hand and extended it to her. She pulled back her lips, and with her front teeth, ever so delicately picked up the piece of meat from his hand and tossed it back into her mouth, swallowing it in one lip-smacking gulp.

The dog licked her chops and stared at the man. And he laughed. And he cut her another piece.

“I wish I had done this more often!” the man said to her.

The dogs had always eaten apart from the men, in an effort to monitor the rations. When the men were through eating their meals, which consisted of the leftover provisions from the ship, penguins, fish and the occasional seal, the dogs were fed the leftover carcasses and bones. Watching the dogs cannibalize another dog’s corpse was particularly cruel for the men to witness.

But an injured and found seal had granted the last few dogs a bit of a reprieve. And the man had hoped that if he could wait until his dog was the lone one yet alive, that he could convince Shackleton to allow him to keep her, so long as he split his share.

“’Or perhaps the penguins would come back soon,’ I said to him.”

“Perhaps the penguins would come back. And we would need you again.”

But the penguins were gone. And all the dogs were gone now too. And now the seal meat was all gone.

“Except this bit right here,” the man said to her. “This last bit is for you and me. For us, on our very first date.”

And he slit the last piece of meat in half, and he held out his hand, and the dog pulled back her lips, ever so delicately picking up the piece of meat and tossing it back into her mouth. The man ate his piece, and he chewed it slowly, savoring each second of time and knowing that their moment together was over. She licked his hand, and he pulled her head close.

He felt the tears well up in his eyes, and he felt them drop out and down his cheeks. The dog licked them, and he felt it. And he cried, and he wondered if the dog knew why. And he hugged the dog, and he loved her.

The man took the knife in his right hand, put his left hand over the dog’s snout, and with all of his strength, he slit that knife across her throat.

The dog made a short and silent whimper, nearly inaudible, as the blood burst out onto the ice like a spilled glass of merlot.

“I love you,” the man said. As he felt the dog’s body go soft and sink lifeless into his lap. And the blood felt warm, as it flowed out of the dogs neck, and onto the man’s legs, soaking into the snow beneath them. The man sat there in a pink pool of melting ice and blood.

He held the dog and he hugged her. “I will see you soon.”