The Frozen Man

by Lex Sinclair

  Charles dabbed the butt of his cigarette out in the ashtray and shuffled over to Kate. ‘May I sit down?’

  Kate lifted her head and regarded him for a couple of seconds. ‘Yes, all right,’ she said, unable to hide her anxiety. The strong, pungent smell of cigarette smoke was on his clothes as well as his breath. Kate also noticed his haggard face and yellowing, unkempt teeth. There were skeletons lying in their coffins that had teeth cleaner than this man, who looked like a tramp, she thought. Yet he had bought her and Tom a drink, she reminded herself.

  ‘He’s a nice guy, your partner,’ Charles said, lowering himself onto the leather.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, not knowing what else to say.

  ‘Don’t be afraid of this storm. We always have one a day or two a year around this time that are really bad.’

  Charles could see Kate was intimidated by his presence. ‘We’re all gonna sit around the fire and tell some stories. Why don’t you and your husband come and join us? Keep yourselves nice and warm, if nothing else, eh?’

  Although she was a little afraid of this man, he seemed to give off a pleasant aura.

  ‘Yes. Well, if my husband doesn’t mind. I’m sure he won’t.’

  ‘Good. We’d all enjoy your company.’

  She turned to the window and gazed at the gust of wind blowing sheets of snow across the mountains. ‘Are we safe in here?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah. There’s no need to panic. Honest.’

  The door burst open all of a sudden, billowing snowflakes through the entrance. Kate leapt up, as the door crashed against the wall. Then she relaxed again when she saw three men carrying sleeping bags and wearing backpacks stumbling into the room.

  Carlton was the first man to rush in. He’d barged the solid timber door open, and very nearly fell to the floor in doing so. He was followed by his friend. And the last to get back inside was Tom. He slammed the door shut, gasping.

  Derek came from around the bar and assisted the men. He removed Carlton’s heavy backpack, then advised the three men to sit by the fireplace for a while until they warmed up to a normal temperature.

  ‘He’s fine,’ Charles said, reading Kate’s anxious thoughts. ‘It’s just a lot colder now because night has fallen, that’s all.’

  Kate heard every word he said, yet was still apprehensive. She hurried over to where her husband kneeled and put a supportive arm around him as he shivered in spite of the warmth.

  Derek rewarded the three, brave men by pouring them cups of tea and giving them packet of crisps, free of charge.

  ***

  It wasn’t long before they all found themselves huddled close together around the warm fireplace. The flickering flames spilled their amorphous shadows on the walls. They all huddled close together in cosy warmth, listening to the high- pitched squalls complaining outside.

  Derek looked at Charles and said, ‘Are you gonna tell us one of your stories?

  Or are we gonna have to sit here all night long, listening to that threatening storm out there?’

  Rhian nodded, agreeing with her dad.

  Charles put his bag of salted peanuts down and leaned forward. ‘I thought I told a story last time?’ he said.

  ‘You did... and no one believed it,’ Derek said.

  Charles frowned, perplexed. ‘So, how come it’s my turn again?’

  ‘Because you tell the best stories,’ Derek said.

  ‘Well, that makes a lot of sense,’ Charles said.

  ‘It was about spaceships in the sky. What did you expect?’ Rhian said, and everyone laughed heartily.

  ‘All right. All right,’ Charles said, raising his hands in a mock surrendering gesture. ‘This story I’m about to tell you may or may not be true. I don’t know if it is or if it isn’t... I really don’t. My father told it to me when I was young.

  So the story is an old one... I asked him if it was true, and he said he didn’t know, either. He did say, though that there were many different versions, some like the one I’m about to tell you and some quite the opposite. Also, the people who claimed to have witnessed what I’m about to tell you had - according to the tale - been advised to shut their mouths about it or be tortured to death...’

  The last sentence hung in the air. Charles now had everyone’s undivided attention. No one was laughing any more. ‘One of the stories similar to the one I’m about to tell you about, supposedly, took place in these mountains, deep in the forest.

  ‘They say that all men are equal. But that - like a lot of things which are taught to us from an early age - is not always true. If there’s anyone here that believes it is they might not want to hear this tale...’

  A silence fell in the pub. Charles waited to see if anyone stood up and walked away from the circle. No one did. He assumed then it was safe to proceed.

  ‘Very well... The story is about a man: Nathan Surtees was the name he went by.

  ‘Nathan appeared to be a normal human-being on the outside. He spoke and dressed and behaved like any other ordinary fellow. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t like an ordinary fellow, at all. Nathan had a special gift. A God-given gift. He believed in things like fate; God; Heaven; Hell, and so forth. Nathan was a preacher. He wasn’t a vicar or anything like that... and he wasn’t known to attend church every Sunday like a lot of religious folks. His faith was so strong that he believed God was everywhere; that you didn’t need to go to church to confess your sins, or ask for forgiveness. He believed that God heard your thoughts through your heart and mind. A lot of people weren’t quite sure how to take this religious fellow. Some thought he was queer - and when I say queer I don’t mean to say he was a homosexual. They thought he was rather peculiar, then, if you prefer.

  ‘My dad also informed me that there had been another fellow, identical to Nathan - not in appearance, just beliefs and mannerisms - his grandfather told him about in his lifetime. Anyway, the town’s residents thought this Nathan fellow was basically, full of shit, and that he was simply trying to be an angel- type of person, hoping to restore their faith in the Lord, because the Second World War was finally over. Needless to say some of the people didn’t like him, especially the men. My only speculation to why is because they loathed any man who didn’t drink and talk about women, as if they were merely objects of desire and nothing else the same as they did. Also, I think in the aftermath of the Second World War most men and women became atheists.

  ‘Nathan strolled around town in the spring and summer seasons embracing the sun’s pleasant warmth and the air’s fresh fragrance, as though he appreciated God’s fine masterpiece - like an art lover would appreciate a painting at an exhibition - without a care or a worry in the world. Whenever he would walk by someone in the street, he always greeted that person kindly, even if they hated him, and never said hello in return. Nathan seemed to be free of hatred. No one knew where this strange fellow had come from or where he was going. As far as the townsfolk were aware he didn’t have a job anywhere local. It seemed as if all Nathan ever did was stroll around town smiling at nothing in particular and blessing people he didn’t know as he walked on by, like he was Christ himself..’

  Kate was already captivated by this tale and the affable, husky voice of the experienced yarn-spinner.

  ‘I never saw this Nathan fellow myself, so I don’t know all the details,’ Charles explained, catching his breath.

  ‘The women loved this mysterious Nathan fellow. I imagine he was young, handsome, and in his physical prime. Although, it wasn’t just his good looks, or his fresh face, which had never been seen before. I think it may have been his charming personality, and the fact that Nathan never got drunk, abusive, or angry with anyone. He was like some kind of spiritual watcher over the people, who were still recovering from the terrible events and aftermath of the Second World War. Yet he was still strongly disliked by many of the towns
folk. They didn’t like seeing a young man, without a care in the world, walking their streets, enjoying his freedom, talking affectionately about how God believed in his sons and daughters, and all other kinds of religious spiel.

  ‘The men didn’t like coming home from the mines or from the war and hearing about this charming young fellow giving their wives his blessing on the street. That I can understand. If I’d ever been married and had survived the Second World War by the skin of my teeth, only to discover that some strange fellow, who appeared from nowhere, giving my wife his blessing - I too would become annoyed and suspicious, so would any man. But I also believe there was a lot more to it than that.

  ‘Nathan didn’t just give women his blessing. He also approached men; most of them wounded visibly from the war. He told these men that God felt their pain and sympathised with what battle had done to their souls. So, not all of the men loathed this strange, mysterious individual.

  ‘Nathan had no wife or children of his own. He had no friends, despite claiming that everyone who needed a friend could come to him at any time and speak freely, in confidence, about whatever troubled them. He took lodgings with an elderly lady, who let her spare bedroom out just so she could be able to afford to eat and stay warm in the bitterly cold winters. Nathan arrived at her doorstep one day in late November and offered her six months’ rent in advance, plus a little extra for her taking in him at such short notice.

  ‘The elderly lady spoke graciously of this great man, lodging in her house in the town church. She claimed her life had been made richer (not money wise, although the extra money went along way, too) in a spiritual and physical way.

  The elderly lady had suffered with bad arthritis ever since she turned fifty. One night, according to this woman, Nathan had come downstairs and knelt before her, removed her socks and placed his soft palms around her brittle ankles. Then he did the same with her knees, wrists, elbows, back and her neck. She said if it had been anyone else, she would’ve stopped them immediately and demanded they leave her home at once - but not with Nathan. When he touched her, she fell into a trance, and couldn’t move even if she wanted to. The subsequent morning when the elderly lady came to and rolled out of bed (she usually felt her bones creaking and causing her agonising pain after being motionless for so long) and put her feet on the floor. She realised after half an hour of walking around going through her usual waking-up routine that there wasn’t any pain or discomfort in her bones. None at all.

  ‘She proved this in church during a Sunday service in front of the congregation by holding her arms out in front of her and squatting down, keeping her back straight, below parallel, something she’d never been able to do since she was thirty. No bones creaked; neither did her shin splints crunch. Then she picked up two buckets, full to the brim of soapy water, and curled them simultaneously, like a bodybuilder, with ease. She didn’t wince once. The buckets must’ve weighed eleven or twelve kilograms each, a witness said afterwards.

  ‘Needless to say the people were aghast by what they saw. I don’t think they had ever seen anything so amazing in all their lives - and they had seen a lot, having survived two World Wars, remember. This elderly lady was known as a frail person, who was standing at death’s doorstep. And there she was exercising like a twenty-year-old fitness instructor in the church in front of stunned spectators.

  ‘There was a mixed reaction to this occurrence. Some people believed this Nathan fellow was miracle worker, while others - mostly men - became jealous and refused to believe the elderly lady’s tale. To a certain degree I can understand their jealously and disbelief. It’s not right for a human being to be able to perform such powers, when others cannot. It’s not right.’ Charles paused and took a sip of his drink before resuming. ‘Nonetheless, some of the townsfolk began to believe that Nathan wasn’t a human at all. They thought of him as an angel. This kind of talk caused a great amount of aggravation. It enraged a lot of the men. But other townsfolk were enchanted by the elderly lady’s tale. They wanted to believe this to be true. It gave them hope, something which they had not believed in for a long time. It was something the survivors of the Second World War longed for; to assure them that life was still worth living, and that good things still happened in the midst of all the evil and loss of their loved ones, fighting for their country and the country’s freedom.

  ‘The men protested against this ludicrous tale of there being a young man who could perform such miracles. They would argue and say things like, “If he can perform miracles, why didn’t he stop the war from happening?”

  ‘Of course there was no response to that question and similar ones alike. A group of these men of the town, who refused to believe the elderly lady, took a wounded soldier - who had returned home from battle minus his legs to the lodge - where this Nathan fellow currently resided. They wanted to see him perform a miracle for themselves before they believed it. They wanted to see Nathan bring the soldier’s legs back.

  ‘Nathan answered the aggressive rapping on the door and asked the irritated gentlemen what they wanted. They told him sternly about the elderly woman who informed them how he had, “supposedly”, healed her. Nathan, of course was a rather timid fellow, who politely told them that all he had done was ease the woman’s pain for a short while, and that, unfortunately, he was no a miracle worker. But he did ask the gentlemen if he could have a private moment with the cripple in the wheelchair. At first they said no... the cripple was a war hero; a legend to their town and country. Nathan agreed that the man had indeed been courageous. The cripple then said to his friends that it was fine for Nathan to speak to him alone. It was only then did his friends take their leave, albeit reluctantly. Nathan wheeled the victim of battle into his room and closed the door. Then he sat down on the end of the bed.

  ‘Now, no one actually knows what had been discussed between the two men, so this bit is somewhat improvised,’ Charles said.

  Everyone in the room was considerably warmer now that they were sitting close to the crackling log fire, listening intently to this bizarre tale.

  ‘Nathan gently asked the man how exactly he lost his legs,’ Charles went on, when he cleared his throat. ‘The man studied Nathan’s face for a short while before finally realising it would be in his best interest to answer the unpleasant question. So he told Nathan in graphic, disturbing detail, how he inadvertently stepped on a live grenade. “There was a blank space after that,” the man said.

  “Go on my son,” Nathan urged, and leaned closer.

  “I recall being placed on a stretcher and feeling numb all over and weary and disorientated.”

  “Go on my son.”

  ‘The wounded soldier found it hard to evoke what he’d tried to forget, but continued like Nathan suggested.

  “Then I woke up in a hospital and began to panic - I mean really panic like a fool when I saw that my legs were no longer where they should be. It freaked me out! I had a fit right there on the bed... I still get horrific nightmares about what happened. But the worst are the flashbacks, which come about out of the blue when I am alone in my bed in the middle of the night.”

  Nathan looked at him sympathetically. “Go on my son.”

  “And now all I think about is drinking heavily and pretending to be joyous with my chums, then going home, retiring to my room, swallowing an overdose of painkillers so I won’t have to wake up every morning and realise that the nightmare wasn’t a nightmare... that it was very real.” Once he’d said that the man understandably began to weep.

  ‘Nathan handed the man a handkerchief, waited for the man to control himself and dry his eyes. Once the gentleman calmed himself, he thanked Nathan, and then apologised for his tears. Nathan shook his head, told him the tears were genuine and it was perfectly normal to cry after the terrible ordeal he’d endured.

  “Can you help me?” the gentleman croaked.

  ‘Nathan asked what he meant
by this. The man wanted to know if Nathan could bring his legs back.

  ‘Nathan gave him a weak smile, and then said earnestly, “I cannot give you your legs back. It’s not your legs that disturb me. It’s your soul that concerns me more than anything else. Although very useful your legs are of this world; they are not everlasting my friend. You have battled against the forces of evil and have the wounds to show for it. Neither I nor God can help you here on earth - only you can help yourself.

  “The freedom you and many men and women - far greater than me - have earned the right to enjoy the peace that so many of your contemporaries have given their lives for. If you take your own life, it would be the same principal as defecating on their graves. I beg you to reconsider committing suicide. It is an awful sin. Perhaps the worst sin.

  “I may not understand your exact pain, but I do know what doesn’t kill you, only makes you stronger. Live out the rest of your life to the fullest - if you do, the splendid soldiers who lost their lives will appreciate it for ever. And you will have a special place in their hearts.

  “I believe God chose you to be one of the few survivors for a purpose. He chose you because you are strong, in here,’ he tapped the left hand side of his chest. ‘He brought you here to see me today, so I could assist you in these dark times, and point you in the direction, towards the light. “God saw the light was good. God separated the light from the dark.

  “Remember what I have told you on this fine day, my son. God feels your pain. He truly does. He knows what you are going through. He has given you a duty to live out the remainder of your life, speaking of the heroes, like yourself, who gave their lives for our freedom and world peace.”

  ‘The man wasn’t looking at Nathan. Instead he stared vacantly at his lap when he muttered gravely, “But I don’t believe in God.”

  ‘Nathan touched the man’s chin with his fingertips and lifted his head so he met his gaze and said proudly, “It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe in God. It’s whether or not God believes in you... He believes in you.” Nathan rested a hand on the man’s brow and prayed for his suffering soul.’