Anna Kavan - Ice

Snow began to fall steadily, driven into my face by the arctic wind. The cold scorched my skin, froze my breath. To keep the snow out of my eyes I put on the heavy helmet. By the time the beach came in sight, a thick crust of ice had formed on the brim, making it still heavier. Through the white shifting curtain the house dimly appeared ahead; but I could not make out whether waves or a huge uneven expanse of pack ice lay beyond. It was heavy going against the wind. The snow thickened, inexhaustibly falling, incessantly sifting down spreading a sheet of sterile whiteness over the face of the dying world, burying the violent and their victims together in a mass-grave, obliterating the last trace of man and his works.

Suddenly, through the churning white, I saw the girl running away from me, towards the ice. I tried to shout, ‘Stop! Come back!’ but the polar air corroded my throat, my voice was whirled away by the wind. Snow powder blowing round me like mist, I ran after her. I could hardly see her, hardly see out of my eyes: I had to pause, painfully wipe away the crystals of ice forming on my eyeballs, before I could continue. The murderous wind kept hurling me back, the snow heaped up white hills that fumed like volcanoes, blinding me again with white smoke. In the awful dead cold I lurched on, staggered and stumbled, slipped, fell, struggled up, reached her somehow at last, clutched her with numbed hands.

I was too late, I saw at once that we had no chance. A mirage-like arctic splendour towered all around, a weird, unearthly architecture of ice. Huge ice-battlements, rainbow turrets and pinnacles, filled the sky, lit from within by frigid mineral fires. We were trapped by those encircling walls, a ring of ghostly executioners, advancing slowly, inexorably, to destroy us. I could not move, could not think. The executioner’s breath paralyzed, dulled the brain. I felt the fatal chill of the ice touch me, heard its thunder, saw it split by dazzling emerald fissures. Far overhead the iceberg-glittering heights boomed and shuddered, about to fall. Frost glimmered on her shoulders, her face was ice-white, the long eyelashes swept her cheek. I held her close, clasped her tightly against my chest, so that she should not see the mountainous masses of falling ice.

In her grey loden coat, she stood on the verandah surrounding the beach house, waiting for someone. At first I thought she had seen me coming, then realized that her eyes were fixed on a different path. I stopped and stood watching. I wanted to make sure who it was she expected, though I did not think the hotel man was likely to come now, knowing I would be here. She seemed to feel she was no longer alone, started looking about, and finally saw me. I was not close enough to distinguish the dilating pupils that made her eyes huge and black in her white face. But I heard her sharp exclamation, saw the hair swirl and glint as she swung round, pulled the hood over her head, and started towards the beach I could hardly see her once she was off the verandah. She was trying to become invisible in the snow. Sudden terror had seized her: the thought of the man whose ice-blue eyes had a magnetic power which could deprive her of will and thrust her down into hallucination and horror. The fear she lived with, always near her, close behind the world’s normal façade, had become concentrated on him. And there was another connected with him, they were in league together, or perhaps they were the same person.

Both of them persecuted her, she did not understand why But she accepted the fact as she accepted all the things that happened to her, expecting to be ill-treated, to be made a victim, ultimately to be destroyed, either by unknown forces or by human beings. This fate seemed always to have been waiting for her, ever since time began. Only love might have saved her from it. But she had never looked for love. Her part was to suffer; that was known and accepted. Fatality brought resignation. It was no use fighting against her fate. She knew she had been beaten before the start.

She had gone only a few steps when I overtook her and pulled her back to the shelter of the verandah. Wiping the snow off her face, she exclaimed, ‘Oh, it’s you,’ stared at me in surprise. ‘Who did you think it was?’ I remembered the uniform I was wearing. ‘These clothes aren’t mine, by the way. I borrowed them.’ Her apprehension vanished, she showed relief, her manner became quite different, suddenly she seemed self-possessed. I was familiar with the air of confidence and independence she could assume when people or circumstances made her feel secure. The young man at the hotel must have done this. ‘Let’s go in quickly. Why are we standing here?’ She spoke casually, acted as though my return had been planted and expected, pretending there was nothing unusual about the situation. It was annoying, after all I had been through. I knew it was meant to make me feel small.

She led the way to her door, invited me in with a social gesture. The little room was bare and cold, an old-fashioned oil heater barely took off the chill. But everything was clean and tidy, I saw that affectionate care had been expended, here were decorations of driftwood and shells from the beach. I’m afraid it’s not very comfortable; not up to your standard.’ she was trying to make fun of me. I said nothing. She undid her coat and put back the hood, shaking her hair free. It had grown longer, sparkled and shimmered with life. Under the coat she was wearing an expensive looking grey suit I had not seen, which had evidently been made to measure. So she had not been short of money. To see her looking attractive and well-dressed for some reason added to my annoyance.

Like a conventional hostess making conversation, she said: ‘It’s nice to have a place of one’s own after so much travelling about.’ I stared at her. I had come so far to find her, through so many deaths and dangers and difficulties: now at last I had reached her; and she was talking to me like a stranger. It was too much. I felt hurt and resentful. Exasperated by her offhand pose and her determination to deprive my arrival of its importance, I said indignantly: ‘Why are you putting on this act? I didn’t come all this way just to be treated as a casual caller.’

‘Did you expect me to put out the red carpet for you?’ The feeble flippant retort sounded offensive. I was becoming angry, knew I would not be able to control myself much longer.

When, still keeping up the farce, she inquired in the same artificial tone what I had been doing, I answered coldly: ‘I’ve been with someone you know,’ giving her a long, hard, meaning look at the same time. She understood at once, dropped her affectations and showed signs of anxiety. ‘When I first saw you … I thought you … he … I was afraid he’d arrived here.’ ‘He will be here at any moment. I came to tell you that. To warn you, in case you have other plans, that he means to get you back—’ She interrupted, ‘No, no—never!’ shaking her head so vigorously that the hair flew out with a sheen like spray. I said: ‘Then you must leave immediately. Before he comes.’

‘Leave here?’ It was cruel. She looked round in dismay at the home she had made. The sea shells comforted, the little room was so reassuring, so safe, the one place on earth she could call her own. ‘But why? He’ll never find me….’ Her wistful, pleading voice did not touch me; mine remained adamant, cold. ‘Why not? I found you.’ ‘Yes, but you knew…. ‘ She looked at me with suspicion, I was not to be trusted. ‘You didn’t tell him, did you?’ ‘Of course not. I want you to come with me.’

All of a sudden her confidence was restored, she reverted to her former disparaging attitude, gave me a derisive glance ‘With you ? Oh, no! Surely we haven’t got to go through all that again!’ Attempting sarcasm, she rolled her big eyes turned them up to the ceiling. It was a deliberate insult. I was outraged. Her slighting tone belittled my desperate effort to reach her, ridiculed everything I had endured. In a furious rage suddenly, I took hold of her roughly, gave her a violent shake. ‘Stop it, will you! I can’t stand any more! Stop being so damned insulting! I’ve just been through hell for your sake travelled hundreds of miles under ghastly conditions, run fantastic risks, almost got myself killed. And not the slightest sign of appreciation from you … not one word of thanks at the end of it .. . you don’t even treat me with ordinary common politeness. … I only get a cheap sneer…. Charming gratitude! Charming way to behave!’ She was gazing at me speechlessly, her eyes all black pupil. My rage did not become any less. ‘Even now you haven’t got the decency to apologize!’