Mark Z. Danielewski, 2000 — Chapter XII
Tom’s pulley lifts the men up the stairway shaft; the layout of the pages follows the rope.
To disappear completely.
Six months earlier three boys had vanished from the face of the earth near a similar Missouri cave they had been exploring.
William R. Halliday (1926–2016) was an American doctor and a leading caver, who wrote books on cave exploration and cave rescue. American Caves and Caving (1974) is his guide to the sport.
The quote says a rescue often depends on one person who knows the cave well, and that three boys lost near a Missouri cave were never found. The chapter is a rescue in a place that nobody knows.
Despite weeklong search operations of incredible extent, they remain missing to this day. — William R. Halliday, M.D.
Covered with blisters, small bubbles of skin filled with liquid.
Reston’s gloves are torn; his hands are blistered and bleeding.
To comfort someone who is sad.
“We’ll manage Navy,” Reston says, trying to console his friend.
In a rough, unfriendly voice.
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Navidson says gruffly.
An attempt to do something.
After making his unsuccessful bid to reach the bottom of the Spiral Staircase, Tom had retraced his way back to the living room where he began to construct a light gurney out of scrap wood, Karen helped out by …
A light stretcher for carrying a person.
After making his unsuccessful bid to reach the bottom of the Spiral Staircase, Tom had retraced his way back to the living room where he began to construct a light gurney out of scrap wood, Karen helped out by going to town to purchase additional parts, including a pulley and extra rope.
Tom builds a light stretcher (gurney) from scrap wood, and Karen buys a pulley and rope in town. They lift the men up the 100 ft shaft of the stairway. A dropped quarter (a 25-cent coin) is the signal that a load is at the top.
… had retraced his way back to the living room where he began to construct a light gurney out of scrap wood, Karen helped out by going to town to purchase additional parts, including a pulley and extra rope.
A wheel with a rope over it, used to lift heavy things.
… had retraced his way back to the living room where he began to construct a light gurney out of scrap wood, Karen helped out by going to town to purchase additional parts, including a pulley and extra rope.
To lift with ropes or a machine.
Within minutes Navidson and Reston are hoisting Wax up the 100ft shaft.
A long vertical space, like the inside of a well.
Within minutes Navidson and Reston are hoisting Wax up the 100ft shaft.
To fall with a loud, hard noise.
A few seconds later, a quarter clatters on the floor, indicating that Wax has safely reached the top and the stretcher can be re-lowered and readied for the next load.
To pull something heavy with effort.
Hand over hand, Navidson and Reston haul the body upwards, the excess rope gathering in coils around their feet.
Reston lights a green flare and jokes that he goes up like a rocket on Independence Day (4 July), when Americans fire fireworks.
Reston lights a green flare and gives Navidson a big toothy grin: “Going up like the fourth of July.”
Loose, not tight; the loose part of a rope.
Slowly but surely, Navidson draws more and more slack rope down onto the floor, steadily lifting Reston up through the bore of those stairs.
The hollow inside of a tube; here the open centre of the spiral stairs.
Slowly but surely, Navidson draws more and more slack rope down onto the floor, steadily lifting Reston up through the bore of those stairs.
A long, deep cut.
… way up, something strange happens: the excess rope at Navidson’s feet starts to vanish while the rope he holds begins to slip across his fingers and palms with enough speed to leave a burning gash.
A sign that a hard time will end; here also the real light at the top.
Then as the stairway starts getting darker and darker and as that faintly illuminated circle above —the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel —starts getting smaller and smaller, the answer becomes clear: 288
Pulled tight.
A long footnote by Johnny: lost weeks, a memory of Tex’s tea, the ship The Atrocity, and Ashley.
Weak and ill from drug use.
He didn’t even ask if I was strung out, he just assumed it and somehow that struck me as funny, although I held off from laughing until I got outside.
A prostitute.
A hooker in silver slippers quickened by me.
Stopping and starting again, not all the time.
Mostly the clock tells me the time, though I suspect the hands run intermittently fast and slow, so I’m never sure of the exact hour.
Extremely upset; originally, having a stroke.
I’ve no recollection what vision has made me so apoplectic, but it feels like the hinges must have finally failed, whatever was trying to get in, at 296
This long note by Johnny interrupts the word “snaps”. He lost three weeks, his boss replaced him at the tattoo shop, and he now lives in his studio behind egg cartons and tinfoil. He nails measuring tapes to the floor and walls to see if the room changes size.
His panic attacks go on at night, even after six weeks without drink, drugs or sex.
To try to vomit when the stomach is empty.
On a few occasions, these episodes have caused me to dry heave, my system wrenching up stomach acid in response to all the fear and confusion.
Pale and milky, with changing colours, like an opal.
… the haze loosens its hold on the hills so the line between earth and sky suddenly comes alive with the shape of leaves, thousands of them on a thousand branches, flung up against an opaline sky— —An eccentric gay millionaire from Norway who owned a colonial house in a Cleveland suburb and a tea shop in Kent.
Slang: to fail to come as promised.
The someone had flaked at the last minute but having nothing better to do I’d gone on alone, only to find there, seated in a wicker chair, listening to Tex, nibbling on her scone .
A small British cake eaten with tea.
The someone had flaked at the last minute but having nothing better to do I’d gone on alone, only to find there, seated in a wicker chair, listening to Tex, nibbling on her scone .
Suddenly and unexpectedly.
Strange how clarity can come at such a time and place, so unexpectedly, so out of the blue, though who’s firing the bolt?, a memory in this case, shot out of the August sun, Apollo invisible in all that light, unless you have a smoked glass which I didn’t, having only those …
Apollo is the Greek god of the sun (and of archery, so he “fires the bolt”). People once looked at the sun through smoked glass to protect their eyes, for example during an eclipse. Johnny says the memory came as suddenly as an arrow out of the sun.
Strange how clarity can come at such a time and place, so unexpectedly, so out of the blue, though who’s firing the bolt?, a memory in this case, shot out of the August sun, Apollo invisible in all that light, unless you have a smoked glass which I didn’t, having only those weird sea stories, Tex delivering one after another in his equally strange monotone, strangely reminiscent of something …
Latin, “foolish fire”: the will-o’-the-wisp, a faint light over marshes that lures travellers away from the path. Johnny uses it for something dangerous to chase.
… audience, learned not to wonder about the end but paid more attention to the tale preceding the end, those distinguishing events before the inevitable rush of icy water, whirlpools, polar bears and good ol’ ignis fatuus, perilous to chase, ideal to incarnate, especially when you're the one pursued by the inevitable ending, an ending Tex had at that moment been relating—deckwood on fire, the ship tilting, giving way to the …
“Foolish fire”: a will-o’-the-wisp; a false hope that leads people astray.
… audience, learned not to wonder about the end but paid more attention to the tale preceding the end, those distinguishing events before the inevitable rush of icy water, whirlpools, polar bears and good ol’ ignis fatuus, perilous to chase, ideal to incarnate, especially when you're the one pursued by the inevitable ending, an ending Tex had at that moment been relating—deckwood on fire, the ship tilting, giving way to the …
To give a body or a real form to something.
… end but paid more attention to the tale preceding the end, those distinguishing events before the inevitable rush of icy water, whirlpools, polar bears and good ol’ ignis fatuus, perilous to chase, ideal to incarnate, especially when you're the one pursued by the inevitable ending, an ending Tex had at that moment been relating—deckwood on fire, the ship tilting, giving way to the pursuit of the sea, water extinguishing …
A memory comes back to Johnny: he had “been to Texas” in a different sense, to an English tea at the house of “Tex”, an eccentric Norwegian millionaire, when he was almost eighteen. Tex told sea stories that always ended in a sinking ship.
Longyearbyen is the main town of Svalbard, Norway’s Arctic islands. In summer the sun never sets there (the midnight sun). Nordaustlandet (p. 299) is a large, icy island of Svalbard.
many, how many?, stories high, but building what? and why?—Jlike for instance, why—the approaching “it” proving momentarily vague—did it have to leave Longyearbyen, Norway and head North in the dead of summer?
The flowing back of the sea at low tide; here a steady flow.
Up there summer means day, a constant ebb of days flowing into more days, nothing but constant light washing over all that ice and water, creating strange ice blinks on the horizon, flashing out a code, a distress signal?—maybe; or some other …
A very large single block of stone or ice.
… washing over all that ice and water, creating strange ice blinks on the horizon, flashing out a code, a distress signal?—maybe; or some other prehistoric meaning?—maybe; or nothing at all?—also maybe; nothing’s all; where monoliths of ice cloaked in the haar, suddenly rise up from the water, threatening to smash through the reinforced steel hull, until an instant before impact the monstrous ice vanishes and those who feared it …
An ice blink is a white glare on the sky above distant ice. Haar is a cold sea fog. In summer, changes in air temperature make mirages that show false ice or land, like the Fata Morgana. Johnny reads the flashing light as a code that may mean nothing.
… water, creating strange ice blinks on the horizon, flashing out a code, a distress signal?—maybe; or some other prehistoric meaning?—maybe; or nothing at all?—also maybe; nothing’s all; where monoliths of ice cloaked in the haar, suddenly rise up from the water, threatening to smash through the reinforced steel hull, until an instant before impact the monstrous ice vanishes and those who feared it become yet another victim to a …
A cold sea fog.
… water, creating strange ice blinks on the horizon, flashing out a code, a distress signal?—maybe; or some other prehistoric meaning?—maybe; or nothing at all?—also maybe; nothing’s all; where monoliths of ice cloaked in the haar, suddenly rise up from the water, threatening to smash through the reinforced steel hull, until an instant before impact the monstrous ice vanishes and those who feared it become yet another victim to a …
An invented ship: 412 ft, 13,692 tons, with “two cargoes”, one secret and one explosive. A fire starts, the crew floods the ship to stop it, the water rolls from side to side and turns the ship over, and it sinks in under twelve minutes. “Bokkol beer” is also invented.
Johnny tells the sinking as one very long sentence. One man survives for a time in an air pocket in the hold. At the end Johnny says he himself carries “two cargoes”, one secret and one flammable. The ship is a picture of his own mind.
Welcome to The Atrocity, a 412ft, 13,692 ton vessel carrying two cargoes within its holds, one secret, the other extremely flammable, like TNT, and though the sailors are pleasant enough and some married and with children and though …
The space inside a ship where cargo is carried.
Welcome to The Atrocity, a 412ft, 13,692 ton vessel carrying two cargoes within its holds, one secret, the other extremely flammable, like TNT, and though the sailors are pleasant enough and some married and with children and though the captain turns out to be a kind agent of art …
The kind captain loves these painters. J. M. W. Turner (1775–1851) painted storms and shipwrecks at sea. Goya (1746–1828) painted dark scenes of war and madness. “De Vos” may be Maerten de Vos or Cornelis de Vos, Flemish painters.
… like TNT, and though the sailors are pleasant enough and some married and with children and though the captain turns out to be a kind agent of art history, especially where the works of Turner, de Vos and Goya are concerned, that strange cargo could have cared less when towards the bow, in the first engine room, sparks from a blown fuse suddenly found a puddle of oil, an unhappy mistake any old …
The front end of a ship.
… the captain turns out to be a kind agent of art history, especially where the works of Turner, de Vos and Goya are concerned, that strange cargo could have cared less when towards the bow, in the first engine room, sparks from a blown fuse suddenly found a puddle of oil, an unhappy mistake any old mop could have corrected, should have, but it’s too late, the sparks from …
To turn thick and sour, like old milk; “fear curdling in their guts”.
… until the air comes in a wind, whistling through the corridors like the voice of god—not my description but the captain’s—and they all heard it even before the ugly black smoke confirmed the panic curdling in all of their guts: a fire loose and spreading with terrifying speed to other decks leaving the captain only one choice: order water on board, which he does, except he has misjudged the …
Of the underworld, of the deep earth; dark and ancient.
… captain hears that sound, he knows what will happen next, they all know what will happen next even before the thought, their thoughts, describe what their bodies have already begun to prepare for, the chthonic expectation which commanded the thought in the first place—.
SOS is the international distress signal in Morse code: three dots, three dashes, three dots. Johnny’s text turns it into “Sososososos” and at the end into a hush: “shhhhhh”.
… know what will happen next even before the thought, their thoughts, describe what their bodies have already begun to prepare for, the chthonic expectation which commanded the thought in the first place—. . . sos.sos.sos ...
The right and left sides of a ship, looking forward.
… outside that which has always waited outside but now on gaining entrance, on finding itself inside, has started to make an outside of the whole—there is no more inside—and the decks tilt to the starboard side, all that awesome weight rocking the ship, driving the hull down towards deeper water, closing the gap between the deck rail and the surface of the sea, until the physics of tugawar intercede, …
The long beam along the bottom of a ship that keeps it upright.
… side, all that awesome weight rocking the ship, driving the hull down towards deeper water, closing the gap between the deck rail and the surface of the sea, until the physics of tugawar intercede, keel and ballast fighting back against the violent heave, driving The 298
Heavy material low in a ship that keeps it stable.
… that awesome weight rocking the ship, driving the hull down towards deeper water, closing the gap between the deck rail and the surface of the sea, until the physics of tugawar intercede, keel and ballast fighting back against the violent heave, driving The 298
A strong rise and fall, as of the sea.
… driving the hull down towards deeper water, closing the gap between the deck rail and the surface of the sea, until the physics of tugawar intercede, keel and ballast fighting back against the violent heave, driving The 298
To speak to someone with mild blame.
To come together into one mass.
… within also levels out, everyone hopes for a pause, though really the water never stops, following through on the powerful surge away from the starboard side, heading now towards the port side—Sososososos—past the center—Sososososos— coalescing into a wave—Sososososos .
To echo again and again.
… surge away from the starboard side, heading now towards the port side—Sososososos—past the center—Sososososos— coalescing into a wave—Sososososos . . . useless, obviously—and the captain knows it, hearing their death before the actual impact reverberates through the hull—and there never really had been time for lifeboats .
A wall that divides the inside of a ship.
… habit is never hope, though some actually might have survived—habit does have its place—had there been a little more time, sinking time, except what was flammable below, now explodes, an angry Hand punching through bulkhead and hull, where a reciprocal nearly maternal Hand reaches up from the darkness below and drags all of them down, captain, deck hands, fathers, loners and of course sons—though no daughters—so many of them …
Given in return; matching the other.
… some actually might have survived—habit does have its place—had there been a little more time, sinking time, except what was flammable below, now explodes, an angry Hand punching through bulkhead and hull, where a reciprocal nearly maternal Hand reaches up from the darkness below and drags all of them down, captain, deck hands, fathers, loners and of course sons—though no daughters—so many of them trapped inside it now, tons …
Applying to a time before it was made.
… message written once upon a time, a long, long time ago, though now no more, lost, or am I wrong again? never written at all, let alone before ... unlawful hopes? . . . retroactive crimes?
Beyond what is normal or natural.
… of light upon the ice, inferring something from what is not there or ever was to begin with, otherwise who's left to catch the signs? crack the codes? even if the message is ultimately preternatural and unsympathetic ..
To fall straight down, fast.
… blacker than any Haitian night or recounted murder, though he did find a flashlight, not much against the darkness he could hear outside and nothing against the cold rushing in as this great coffin plummeted downwards, pressure 299
A light wind that makes small ripples on calm water.
Hard, not giving way.
… five blonde daughters, I’m losing any sense of who he was, no name, no history, only the awful panic he felt, universal to us all, as he sunk inside that thing, down into the unyielding waters, until peace finally did follow panic, a sad and mournful peace but somewhat pleasant after all, even though he lay there alone, chest heaving, yes, understanding home, understanding hope, and losing all of …
At Tex’s tea Johnny met Ashley, with green hair and Doc Martens boots. Years later she called him, and he wanted to wait and court her, but he lost her number and then his memory of her.
Some people sneeze when they look into bright sun: the photic sneeze reflex. Johnny joins the sun of the memory with her name.
Not Texas but Tex’s, Tex’s tea, where I met Ashley—Ashley, Ashley, Ashley .
With great eagerness.
… make you sneeze—only back then her hair was dyed neon green, matching her Doc boots, a match made in heaven, both of us together, talking and talking, at first timidly and then responding more avidly to the obvious attraction both of us could feel until she gave me her number and I wrote down my number, my first name and my last name, which was how, years later, she …
To try to win someone’s love, with a view to marriage.
I had fallen in love with her, flash of gold and sunlight and Rome, and I wanted to wait, in three days call her, court her, marry her, impregnate her and fill our house with five blonde daughters, until .
The thin, clear skin over the white of the eye.
… flooding through me, what back then had only been weeks away, in fact right around the corner from there, a legacy of leaving, fast approaching: excrement—let go .. . —urine—let go .. .—and burst conjunctiva—letting go streaks of red tears.
A state of lost memory in which a person acts but later remembers nothing; also a musical form.
I lost her number, I lost her, and then in a fugue of erasure, I lost the memory of her, so that by the time she called she was gone along with the kisses and the promise and all that hope.
The rope breaks and Navidson films a last message before the film runs out.
Kernmantle rope has a core (German Kern) inside a woven sheath (Mantel). Climbers and cavers use it. A “dynamic” rope stretches to absorb a fall. The Editors’ note gives its breaking strength: 6,000 to 7,000 pounds. So a very large force tore it.
(Considering this was a 7/16” dynamic kernmantle cord it is not difficult to imagine the sort of force acting upon it.)?5° 250Breaks at 6,000 to 7,000 pounds.
A rope with a core inside a woven sheath (see References).
(Considering this was a 7/16” dynamic kernmantle cord it is not difficult to imagine the sort of force acting upon it.)?5° 250Breaks at 6,000 to 7,000 pounds.
An interview with Billy Reston, part of the material around the film, which Zampanò cites. Reston says the pulley tore from the banister and Tom caught him.
In The Reston Interview, we learn from Billy how the pulley at the top was torn from the banister.
Everything, the whole lot.
Luckily, Tom managed to grab him as well as the rope before “the whole kit and caboodle” plummeted back down the shaft.
To find out where one is and what is happening.
“It took us a few minutes to get our bearings,” Reston tells the camera.
Film stock that is very sensitive to light and balanced for tungsten (warm, artificial) light. Navidson uses it to film in almost total dark.
For the final shot of this section, Navidson loads his Arriflex with a 100ft of high-speed tungsten, uses a five minute ultra high intensity lightstick to illuminate the area, and rolls his Hi 8 to record sound.
A metal used in lamp filaments; tungsten film is made for that warm artificial light.
For the final shot of this section, Navidson loads his Arriflex with a 100ft of high-speed tungsten, uses a five minute ultra high intensity lightstick to illuminate the area, and rolls his Hi 8 to record sound.
Confused, not able to think clearly.
I’m too muddled to do the math but it doesn’t take a genius to realize I'm an impossible distance down.?5!
The distance around a circle or a sphere.
511f Dg=16t? where time is calculated in seconds, the quarter would have to have fallen 27,273 miles exceeding even the earth’s circumference at the equator by 2,371 miles.
The distance a body falls in a vacuum is d = ½gt². With g = 32 ft/s², that gives 16t² feet. Fifty minutes (3,000 s) gives about 27,000 miles, more than the Earth’s circumference (about 24,900 miles). The second figure in footnote 251 (54,545 miles) wrongly doubles it.
Johnny says the formula is “not entirely accurate”, and the Editors say he never finished the note. In air, a coin soon stops speeding up (terminal velocity), so the real distance would be much less, but still many miles.
Joke Latin (“dog Latin”) for “not worth a rat’s ass”, as the Editors translate it: worth nothing.
But what will that do? Non gratum anus rodentum.2*4 Hell.”
“Not worth a rat’s ass”: worth nothing.
But what will that do? Non gratum anus rodentum.2*4 Hell.”