The most real

This place is located too far from Moscow and it is difficult to visit it from time to time. One can not think about spending time at this ice spot, as it is too cold there; the temperature is below zero centigrade.

By the way, one could not believe that there would be such an opportunity to get to the very top of the globe. To get there in order to slide down as if on sledge down the ice hill. It takes one’s breath away as it is the most real North Pole!

Not many people managed to get to the North Pole. Maybe just two thousand from the whole world for the last 150 years. But many people thought about this idea. Though they understood that was hardly ever possible as this place was too steep and one could fall from it. Yet many people, who still reached the North Pole, frequently fell from it in order to teach others no to do so. But MVK wished to reach the “white spot” and paint it in corporate orange colour.

We took a breath at Spitsbergen. From above Spitsbergen looks like a blot, that has been left in a hurry during painting and has not been washed off as if on purpose to keep it just in case. Maybe it will be useful? And it proved to be useful. We had to leave our ambitions at Spitsbergen in order to avoid overloading. We took them on our way back; they remained intact and safe. Who needed them, except us?

There were only two days left for everything, including exploration of the North Pole. Is it possible? Is it within human powers? Without thinking, people spent years and life trying to realize this. And we had to do this just in passing. Is it a real fact or just a fiction? It seems to be in pretence and not in real life. Monday, Tuesday – and everything is done! You are even a hero now. And why not? Just remember: you are standing on a block of ice, half a meter in length, and there are four and a half kilometers of the Arctic Ocean under your feet. You can not find anyone for several thousand kilometers neither to the right side nor to the left. There almost not a human soul there, except your soul which is frozen, shriveled up, depressed and confused, but which is still proudly soaring as a sail along the block of ice and making it move at a speed of 600 meters per hour, somewhere to the south, habitually closer to people.

You are also excited more than ever. You’ve just lain down and immediately become a part of ice mass. You feel ruffle of the ice block, you feel it breathing, its chest raising and moving away ice hummocks. This is the breath of the Arctic. It stretches itself with crunch and crack, and its ice skin breaks, revealing its pulping veins of very rich emerald colour.

Reluctantly, as if in a hopeless situation, block of ice cracked in two hundred meters from our station. In such a way the Arctic makes permitted bound and maybe it even surrounds? There should be erected bridges, but we are too busy to do it and there is nobody to help us with this. Silence! We crawled up to the edge of three meter crack and avidly started drawing moisture as if vampires. Sal-ty! It makes thirst more excessive.

The Arctic is too bared. Its nakedness blinds and charms. And you are dressed in so many clothes as if you were cabbage. You look so awkwardly and inappropriate at this white palm of the world. Kicking tiny grain of sand. But still you are also a creature of the universe.

try to smile but your cheekbones are cramped by wind. You are entirely tensed and exhausted. Your feelings are totally frostbitten. The sun is bright but it does not help. You wait for mere human warmth in order to warm yourself.

As if frightened by inevitability, we hastily put up two tents, where we placed expositions as a heart. Despite of apparent disposability the tents looked like real monuments, in the middle of eternity. Like monuments to the Heroes of the past and the future. Monuments to explorers either of the North, or of the South – it does not matter. Perhaps you should make at least a small deed yourself in order to pay respect to heroes.

It seemed before that it should be very quite at the Pole as if in peace with oneself. But when approaching it we felt that there was something wrong. From above ice silence reminded us of score, covered with notes, defined with flats and sharps. Music, that was stiff in minor key, waited for its major listener. It was calm before storm. Someone had to pull tip of clef and unknit this clew, suffering from boredom. The presence of Soloist is obligatory! But who can dare to play with elemental orchestra and without exhausting rehearsals? There should be a special instrument to discourage severe nature, by giving it new sounding. Violoncello suited perfectly and Maestro was to its liking.

As a master the wind was the first to join the music. It tore off sounds from strings, throwing them away into emptiness. Maybe Bakh composed his suite for violoncello especially for this concert.

We flew back in silence. The helicopter crept at a low height, trying not to shake the emptiness. Everybody kept silence, making the hush more perceptible. We were not expected there, but still we were admitted, at least, for some time, and then we were carefully sent back. Thanks for tactfulness. Perhaps everyone should live in tact with himself.

Sergey Muench