It Seems a Pity

Stanley Elkin, Boswell

Captain Robert Falcon Scott is assumed to have died on March 29 or 30, 1912.

“The eternal silence of the great white desert,” as he wrote, called out to Scott immediately before death. “Cloudy columns of snow drift advancing from the south, pale yellow wraiths, heralding the coming storm, blotting out one by one the sharp cut lines of the land.” The vague and luminous yellow of frozen water recalls Moby-Dick, Chapter 70: “An intense copper calm, like a universal yellow lotus, was more and more unfolding its noiseless measureless leaves upon the sea.”

Before his death, Scott wrote his “Message to the Public”:

We took risks, we knew we took them; things have come out against us, and therefore we have no cause for complaint, but bow to the will of Providence, determined still to do our best to the last… Had we lived, I should have had a tale to tell of the hardihood, endurance, and courage of my companions which would have stirred the heart of every Englishman. These rough notes and our dead bodies must tell the tale, but surely, surely, a great rich country like ours will see that those who are dependent on us are properly provided for.

I do not think we can hope for any better things now. We shall stick it out to the end, but we are getting weaker, of course, and the end cannot be far.

It seems a pity, but I do not think I can write more.

R. SCOTT.

For God’s sake look after our people.

I’m reminded of something that Olga Tokarczuk was once reminded of that Borges was once reminded of, something she had read somewhere that I read in Flights:

I’m reminded of something that Borges was once reminded of, something he had read somewhere: apparently, in the days when the Dutch were constructing their Empire, ministers announced in Danish churches that those who took part in North Pole expeditions would be practically guaranteed salvation of their souls. When nevertheless there were few volunteers, the ministers acknowledged that the expedition was a long and arduous one, certainly not for everyone – only, in fact, for the very bravest. But still few came forward. So to avoid losing face, the ministers finally simplified their proclamation: actually, they said, any voyage could be considered an expedition to the North Pole, even a little trip, even just a ride in a public carriage.

I suppose these days even the subway would have to count.

I was back in southern California for five whole days before hearing my first Red Hot Chili Peppers song.