Ice Caves in Antarctica

Timothy dared us to peek into the caves. The deep blue crevasses above the caves gleamed on the white glacier, making it look like a Mardi Gras Mask. Sara and I said why not? Or maybe we dared him. We were boozed up from our Friday party and hopped into the zodiac doing a cursory check for leopard seals.

The first cave was closed by a calved glacier. The second cave was open, and the light reflected bluish inside. None of us remember noticing those caves before. They just appeared opposite our research station. Things like this happen in Antarctica, the weather and landscapes change in the blink of an eye, so we thought nothing of that.

Right at the entrance, where we docked our zodiac, we found a fur seal, frozen, completely preserved.

“Strange,” Sara said, “it's not been picked on by other animals.”

“Calls for a grant proposal,” I replied, already formulating the argument in my mind.

The passage inside was narrow, but not impassable. It felt like a glacial moraine, stony and slippery. The opening was about seven feet. Icicles dangled from the roof, some hitting our heads, some dripping, it was 3C this lovely March day. There was a strange smell. We were used to the penguin poop and seal dungs, but this was like potpourri mixed with fried fish. Strange but tolerable.

About 100 feet in, the passage narrowed and turned right. Sara wanted to return, but Thomas and I convinced her it would not take long. What if she did not listen to us? What if she went back, and Thomas went after her. What if it was only me who dared. I guilt myself into thinking this.

We formed a single file with Thomas in the front, Sara in the middle, and I last. The ice on the walls was intact, glowing blue crevices criss-crossing the wall like whip wounds. The smell was more fish-like. Probably a kitchen-dining room combo for seals, we joked.

My memory from what happened next is a little vague and differs from Timothy. I remember Sara stumbling on a rock, and when she recovered, a bone necklace dropped from the cave ceiling onto her neck. I remember looking at it and fingering it, little bones fused together by some kind of weird glue. I remember asking Sara if she thought they were glued together, and Sara trying to pull the necklace out of her neck. Timothy took pictures, although his phone was later found blank. He thought it was one piece of whale bone. Later we argued about whether Sara was anointed. Whether she had an inkling about her future? Were we to blame.

A fur seal jumped on Sara. Timothy said there were a bunch of them. I just saw one. She fell down, knocking me over. I remember my head hitting a stone. I remember Sara’s feet on my chest. Timothy said that Sara’s foot was on his side and then on his chest. Maybe that we were trampled upon by seals. That was the last time any of us saw Sara alive. It took fifteen seconds to end one life and scar two.

We talked about Sara’s body, Timothy and I. Her body was never found. Did the seals eat it? Is she in another world, just beyond our view? Or maybe Sara is frozen in snow, and global warming will expose her pristine body in ten years or fifteen?

***

Ani Banerjee is a retiring lawyer and an emerging writer from Houston, Texas, who was born and brought up in Kolkata, India. She cannot believe that her stories are published in MacQueen’s Quinterly, Janus Literary, Ekphrastic Review, Flash Flood and others. Find her on Twitter @AniBWrites and anibanerjee.com.