by Nowick Gray
Again
we tossed around our options, the jobs to return to, the people waiting for us below on both sides of the pass.
The idea of a search party (or two), mobilized into action on our behalf while we sat up there deliberating, made
me wince. Not to mention a day's wages lost. But outside, the snow fell faster and faster. It was almost a relief
to watch it happening, making the decision clearer.
"We've got to think about first things first," I said to Faron finally. "Let's wait. It might just blow over."
Matt nodded. "I think that's a good idea."
Faron let out a loud sigh. "All right." It wasn't her usual style to let caution hold her back, but in this case her motherly intuition seemed to have gained the upper hand. She looked at Suze, who had been silently soaking it all in like a sponge. "Suze, we can unpack all your toys and books and crayons and coloring books after all. We're going to stay here for a while until the snow stops and we can see where we're going."
The snow continued to fall. We read books, drank tea and cocoa, told our life histories, philosophized about the ecumenical movement. Suze colored and played quietly, listening. Before the day was done we'd read all her books to her half a dozen times; outside the snow was a foot deep. There was no sign of clearing as darkness fell.
Our food supplies were running thin. Suze had eaten the last rice cake in mid-afternoon. The soup and porridge were gone. We still had a handful of nuts and dried fruit left, that we'd been hoping to save for the hike down. The cupboard shelves had a little rice, maybe a cup. There was powdered milk, some more of the crusty old cocoa, a can of ox-tail soup. We decided on soup and rice for supper, with our trail food and cocoa scheduled for the next morning.
We ate in moody reflection of our fate that evening. The snowfall was a bit lighter, I thought, as I trudged out to the pond to wash dishes. But I couldn't say for sure.
Faron and I colored with Suze while Matt occupied himself with the logbook. When darkness fell we all crawled into our bunks once again. Matt was still absorbed in reading the logbook and took it to bed with a candle. Faron and I did not make love this night--we simply held each other close and still, until our bodies softened as one into sleep. Outside, the snow fell down and down, thicker and faster in the chill of the night.
In the dream, I saw: this is my house. I walk like a condemned man down the hall to the last doorway, noticing that the door beside it is cracked and weathered, and wears a handle instead of a knob. I try them all again, and all are locked--and just as well, I think. I'm not going anywhhere. I counted in the dim light, three on each side. But no: there had been seven. And now . . . I checked again: up one side of the hall (two locked knobs and a frozen latch), down the other (three locked knobs). Odd, but who was I to try to figure it out? The thing was now, to get myself out. Or was this my final trial, the acceptance of fate closed forever from further possibility--my final home in an oblong box, with no exit.
I was tired. I lay down, looking up at the ceiling, the too-close ceiling, imagining all the billions upon billions of stars out there somewhere, somewhere. I had seen them once; and once, I guessed, was enough.
When the next day came, the weather had not let up. Despite whatever unseen dangers lurked in wait for us on the way home, I awoke with the queasy feeling that we'd made a mistake in staying here, cooped up in this little box.
The cabin was still shrouded in thick fog; but there was one positive sign--the snow was coming down wetter. If we could just get down from the higher elevation, we'd be home free. If not, there would certainly be a search party, at least from the Homewood side, arriving soon. We figured it was safe to eat up the last of our nuts and dried fruit, along with the last of the cocoa and powdered milk, for breakfast.
There wasn't much. We sat on our bunks eating silently. When that was gone, we found that our certainty too was eaten away. The popular subject of our fate was up for discussion again.
Faron was still cautious; now I was all for trying to get her and Suze started down on that trail. "What do you think?" I asked Matt.
"I think we should just stoke up this stove," he said, getting up to do just that, "and sit tight until this weather clears a bit. It's bound to change before too long, I bet by this afternoon. Then if no one's arrived from below yet, we could head down to find the trail, like you say."
"That would leave us too short of time for going down our side today, wouldn't it?"
"Depends. We might still have time. If it was before four or five, say, we'd be okay."
The stove roared now. We all edged a bit closer. Faron finally stood up and stationed herself next to the stove, warming her back.
"That sounds like a good plan to me," she said after some deliberation.
"Yeah, okay," I agreed.
"Oh, but I'm hungry," said Suze. "Faron I want someping a-eat."
Faron twisted uncomfortably, looking as if she wished she hadn't heard that. "You'll have to wait, Suze. We'll go home later today, and you can have whatever you want to eat when we get home."
"And Suze, you just had breakfast," I added. "Besides, that was the last of our food."
"Oh, but how long will it be? I can't wait that long. I need someping a-wait. I need someping nowww." And she began to cry.
I offered to read her a favorite book, The Three Little Pigs. She forgot her hunger momentarily. Three books later, I needed a break, something to relieve my own boredom, to take my mind off my own hunger.
"Where's that logbook?" I asked Matt.
"It's still up by my bunk, on the windowsill," he told me. "Do you want me to get it down for you?"
"No, that's okay, I'll get it."
The little windowsill on the end wall of the cabin was beyond my reach, so I hefted myself up to the bunk, resting my knees there while I found the logbook. Then I jumped down onto the floor.
My right leg crunched through the thin plywood flooring, in a place I should have remembered was less than solid. I yelled in agony, and in distress at my stupidity. The left leg had held, over a joist; the right foot had twisted, half-catching the joist on its way through. It now felt broken, dangling in cold air.
Matt and Faron helped me out of the hole and examined the leg as I lay groaning on the floor with the stabbing pain. The foot was skewed at an unnatural angle, already purple and swollen.
Suze was more upset than anyone; I soothed us both by holding her against my chest as I lay there on the floor. When her panicked cries had quieted down to a soft, plaintive whimpering, Matt said he thought I should have a splint.
I didn't relish the prospect of forcing the bone straight again. But without really considering the alternative, I asked Matt, "Is is really necessary?"
"You'd be better off with it. With your leg loose it would be too easy for the broken bone to tear through the skin. A splint will keep it stable. It may even start it healing properly."
"What will we need?" Faron asked him. "A board, some strips of cloth?"
"Yeah," said Matt, "actually a couple of boards, and some padding; I'll see what I can find outside."
Suze was now fascinated with the preparations. I could only think of the pain, and the pain to come. When the plank ends, strips of a T-shirt, and handfuls of melting moss were gathered at my feet, Matt bent to do his duty. Faron, holding Suze, knelt close beside me.
"This is probably going to hurt," Matt didn't need to say. I squeezed Faron's hand. He pulled gently, pushed slightly. Nothing happened; I lived. He tried again, harder, and this time I thought I was going to die. One attempt more, and bone cleared bone, sending a bolt of lightning pain straight through my head. But my ankle was almost straight. "I think that's going to have to do for now," my doctor decreed, and with Faron's help, he proceeded to wrap up half my leg, cushioned with moss pads, between the boards.
I managed to say, in a hoarse whisper, "Thanks, Matt."
"Oh," he shrugged. "You're welcome. You know, I've never done that before, except on a dummy in a first-aid course years ago. It's not the same."
"No."
Faron bent closer and brushed her cheek against my suffering face. Her tears started flowing freely. I put my arms around her and let my own tears come. Then Suze, of course, also started crying, and Faron had to laugh and turn her attention to comforting the child.
"Are you ready to get off that hard floor, yet?" Matt asked. "You don't need a body splint, you know."
They helped me onto the lower bunk where Suze had slept. And then it was time to decide in earnest what to do. It did seem that the snowstorm might be on its way out. The sky was somewhat brighter than before.
Faron and Suze headed down together to get help; it seemed a good bet that they'd meet up with a rescue party on their way. Matt and I spent the rest of the day waiting, helplessly waiting. The pain in my leg was unbearable, but I had to bear it anyway. We hadn't even any tea left for Matt to nurse me with, never mind brandy, aspirin, morphineanything to muffle the ringing, throbbing pain.
He tried to comfort me with thoughts of home, the approaching rescue, my deliverance from the hells of treeplanting. He tried to divert us from our boredom and nagging, ever-present hunger with talk about baseball, politics and the downsliding economy. Faron hadn't returned, so she must have found the trail. Unless she'd got lost. Or had got down to the bottom and then had driven off the road. Or some other nameless possibility. The question remained: Where was that goddamned search party?
Suppertime came and went, providing no supper. I tried to read myself to sleep, without success.
The night was a dark and hostile place whose walls leaned in and threatened to crush me, then fell back away so my body could lay open to cold, penetrating points of starlight.
In the morning we saw patches of blue sky beyond the billowing clouds of mist that still swept over the mountains. We felt certain it would be our last day here. But the clouds hung on, and by noon, when no help had arrived, Matt's patience had run out.
He'd just brought in a fresh load of firewood and dumped it in the box beside the stove, and now he stood between me and the door, with the door still left open. His dark eyes sagged and his mouth was drawn down into his shaggy, black beard.
"Will, I hate to suggest this, but what would you think about the idea of me going down on the east side to try to get help?"
I'd be up here alone . . . with only the bears for company . . . but I, too, was tired of waiting.
"You mean take my truck and go to phone somewhere?"
"Yeah. I'll get you a ride on a helicopter. That would be fun, eh?"
A wall of fog moved across the door, sucking Matt's words out with it. The cold air swept in.
"Sure. Anything. Yeah, go ahead, Matt. Hey, close that door, will you? Yeah, it's a good idea. We've got to do something. We can't just rot away here waiting forever. I don't know what's happened at Faron's end."
I stared at the ceiling, trying grimly not to think about it.
"Will," Matt said. "I'm sure they're okay. The fog must be still too thick . . ." he faltered, "down there, for the others to follow the trail up. It would've been easier for her on the way down."
I wasn't convinced. But it didn't much matter what either of us thought.
"Yeah, you're right. Go ahead then. I'll manage."
Matt stood silently debating for a moment--still framed by the door, now closed.
"Really," I told him. "I think you should go."
"No, I was just wondering," he said, "whether to take my pack or not. It's got my climbing gear, and extra clothes in it--"
"Don't worry about it. Go ahead and take it, just in case. I know you're not going to desert me up here. You don't need to leave a deposit."
Matt snorted a laugh of appreciation. "Yup. Right. I'll take it, then."
He packed up in short order. A brief hug around my shoulders, and he straightened up to leave. Then he thought of something. He carried the half-full bucket of water from the counter, got a cup to go with it and set them on the floor next to my bunk. Then he took the roasting pan I'd been using as a chamberpot out the door, brought it back in, empty, and set it down on the floor beside the bucket.
"There," he said. And there's plenty of firewood. The stove's full, so you may not even have to drag yourself out of bed. Do you think you can manage okay, now? I'll be back in a jiffy. Anchovies and double cheese?"
"Uh, hold the anchovies, thanks. Yeah, I'll manage."
"Bye, Will."
"Take care."
My pain had become rather dull, but we kept each other company just the same. I counted the hours till salvation. Matt left at close to one o'clock. By three he should have been striding with his long, strong legs down the road. I ticked away the minutes approaching four o'clock, the time I safely estimated as the hour of Matt's arrival at the truck.
My heart beat faster as I looked at my watch, riding with the imperceptible sweep of the long hand to the top of the hour. Two o'clock. Matt would be opening the door of the truck, throwing his pack into the passenger's seat, climbing in, reaching for the key--
--the key that was still in my pocket.
DREAMBOX--To return to dreambox Press 