The Frankenstein Papers

Chapter 3

June? 1782?

I write this by clear sunlight, though the time is near midnight—the sun has dipped its closest to the horizon. Between me and this sun there are no cabin windows. The ship, the cabin, all ships and all cabins, are far behind me now.

The aperture through which the sun must pass to fall upon my paper is the narrow doorway of a small house made of ice. This strange structure my companions, with some trifling help from me, have erected in less than an hour's time, cutting and placing the blocks with a sureness and rapidity that must be born of long practice. Inside the house is a single chamber, with room for seven travelers to huddle in their furs. Directly in the center of the floor of ice there burns a small oil-lamp, with a small chimney-hole directly over it, at the apex of the ice-dome. The single curved surface of the interior wall gleams with melted and re-frozen water. The air inside the dwelling is grown surprisingly warm; any warmer and soon I shall find my fur robes oppressive.

The Inoot and I are headed into the south—where else? But I have doubts that I am still in the longitude of Europe. If not, then it is to be North America; my own flight from Europe, my last nightmarish encounter with my tormentors aboard the Argo, and the drifting of the Mary Goode, have carried me farther west than I at first thought possible. But the truth of the matter is that I can scarcely guess at my location.

So, with my new friends—undoubtedly my only friends in all the world—I go south. When we have managed to reach something other than ice and snow, then I may grow more particular as to my destination. The remnants of the frozen bear travel with us, and now with other food supplies are walled away from the dogs in a small ice-closet constructed for that purpose.

The dogs do not like me, any more than did the ones I drove in Russia. But then sled dogs do not like anyone or anything, except when it. appears as food.

Next morning_or, at any rate, after some hours of sleep. And after much else.

For as far back as I can remember I had been firmly convinced that no human female would ever, conceivably—at least without great financial inducement—be willing to join herself to me in the manner of a woman with a man, not even in a fashion devoid of all the finer sentiments, and purely animal or brutal. This assumption—I was persuaded of it by many things that my creator said, and by other evidence as well—has now been proven wrong.

My thoughts are humble ones, and yet in a way proud, as I write of the experience. Even as my encounter with the white bear marked a point of sharp division between one epoch of my life and another, so did last night's encounter with Kunuk signal another end, and a beginning.

I marvel at the suddenness and naturalness with which it came about. In the confined space of the ice-shelter there was no question of privacy. As we all made such preparations as were possible before retiring, I observed that my companions, male and female, young and old alike, divested themselves of all clothing before entering their beds of sleeping furs. Years of experience as a traveler have taught me that when about to embark upon some unfamiliar activity, it is wise to imitate the actions of the natives when they perform the act in question; and I considered that sleeping in a house made of ice was new and strange enough to bring this rule into full force. I removed my clothes entirely.

The women made not the least effort to conceal themselves from me, and I, following the lead of my hosts, was equally frank in my behavior. The older woman was indifferent to what she saw; but the younger gave evidence in her facial expressions and her manner that what she beheld amused and perhaps amazed her; and with unmistakable gestures she beckoned me to share her furs. Here, it seems that morals and customs that are well-nigh universal in other lands must give way before the sheer animal need to conserve warmth, and, I suppose, to avoid conflict among members of a party when all are confronted at every hour with the challenge of survival in a most savage and unforgiving environment.

No one else in the group, not even the man I had supposed to be Kunuk's husband, appeared to be in the least surprised by her invitation, nor offered the least objection to it. And verily I had none.

This morning, in my eyes, even the world of ice has a certain warmth about it. The very sun is brighter. Ye have been wrong, ye gods who attempt to control my destiny, whoever ye may be_who from my creation have despised and detested me! I have put behind me the curse of death ye would have fastened on me from my creation, and I go on to life!

I babble foolishly. But it does not matter. We go south. I shall probably write no more today. Or tonight.

Next day_Last night with Kunuk again. My appetites, long denied, seem insatiable. And yet. There is already an undercurrent of dissatisfaction. The woman is good, and kind, and gives me much_and yet she is not of my kind. And there is much_something—I would have, that she cannot give.

The hunters this morning killed a seal, spearing it through a hole in the ice, and we have fresh meat again. Entrails and all are devoured, as with the bear. When we left the frozen ship, my friends insisted on bringing with them the bear's liver, along with the other meat, despite my gestures of warning, meant to describe sickness. Now I see that they feed some of the liver to the dogs, and eat of it themselves without harm, by mixing small morsels with large amounts of other meat. I dared to taste a mouthful of the mixture, and have suffered no ill effect; I suppose that what is poisonous in large quantities may be of benefit in small. And memory comes and goes, fleetingly; memory from some life before this one, gone again before I can even try to fix its shape or substance.

As always, I hoard up bits of knowledge of this mysterious world in which I find myself. The time will no doubt soon come again when I must confront its mysteries alone.

Kunuk, who will never be able to read these words, you have been all to me that you can be. I already realize that I will miss you keenly when that hour of our parting comes. And whether my life be long or short thereafter, I shall remember you until its end.

Later_I believe that we are still proceeding almost directly south. Still I do not know whether I am north of Iceland, Greenland, or even Labrador. There has been no chance for me to get my bearings from the sky. My companions however seem to know where they are going; at least they evince no sign of uncertainty or uneasiness about their route.

Kunuk has rejoined her husband in his sleeping-furs, though not without a look or two at me, as if she were concerned over what I might think of this change. In truth I did not like it much; yet how could I object?

The older woman, whose name I am still uncertain of, smiled at me tentatively; but I only smiled back, and closed my eyes, and fell asleep.

Next day_I am alone again. It is a strange, almost a frightening situation after so many days of unaccustomed companionship. But I have thrived on loneliness before, and shall again.

The end of fellowship—and of more intimate gratifications—came before I was well prepared for it, yet hardly as a surprise. I had known from the start that my path and that of my companions might diverge at any moment. Land, solid and undeniable, had come into view, hills no taller than I am but looming like the Alps in this eternal flatness.

No sooner had we climbed onto the land, than my party showed their intention of turning west among the snowy, barren hills.

I, however, rightly or wrongly, persisted stubbornly in my determination to continue south; and I no longer had the least doubt as to which way that was. My most weighty reason was that I had already satisfied myself, by dint of long and patient gesturing, that whoever had taught these people the sign of the cross was to be found in that direction.

My friends, when they saw I was determined, wasted no further time or strength in argument. They insisted on going west from the point of our landfall, and so we amicably, and somewhat sadly, separated.

I have some food, some fishing hooks and lines, and a seal-hunter's spear, the last traded to me for a large share of my supply of fish-hooks and some other trade goods that were on the hulk. After what I have survived already, I do not fear to face the miles ahead. So far, since our separation, the weather has been favorable, and I see no sign of immediate change. And hardihood against the elements is mine, greater than that of any human being. On to the south alone!