by Will Decker
Though I wanted to comfort her, and tell her something to cheer her up, I was stunned by her beauty, and blurted instead, “Did you latch the door?”
“Yes,” she stuttered, groping for the right words to broach the subject of my condition.
“I know,” I said softly and resignedly, following her gaze downward to my black and swollen stumps. “I know.”
Tears came to her eyes as she reached out, tenderly encircling my neck with her arms, and embracing me. Tightly wrapping her in my arms, I returned her embrace, never wanting to let her go. With my face buried in the small of her throat, I breathed deeply of her, quickly losing myself in her, and growing intoxicated by the fragrance that surrounded me, filling me with strength and optimism. From a fear of losing her after just finding her, I didn’t want to let go, ever. I wanted her near me forever, always to be in my life. I didn’t want to die!
As well as I did, she knew the seriousness of my situation. We held each other for a long time, not saying anything, just drawing strength from each other. It wasn’t until the bacon warming on the stove began to smell like burning bacon, did she slowly and begrudgingly pull away, mumbling something about fixing me something to eat. As she got to her feet, her hands lingering on my shoulders for a moment, she hesitantly let go and wiped the back of her arm across her face, drying the tears from her now red and puffy eyes. Moving slowly and dreamily toward the cookstove, she repeatedly glanced back at me, a look of joy tempered with a large dose of pity evident in her eyes. We would only be fooling ourselves, and each other, if we tried to claim that everything was going to be all right.
Everything wasn’t going to be all right! In fact, nothing was ever going to be all right again! “It just wasn’t fair,” I sighed resignedly.
Sandy, having made a hurried attempt to dry her eyes, removed her snowsuit, revealing a heavy, wool-knit sweater and skin-tight, Lycra ski pants. Standing with her back to me, she called over her shoulder, “How do you like your bacon? Crisp I hope!”
She turned to face me as she broke out in a strained laugh. It quickly proved contagious, and as the pressure of the situation thrummed down on me, I too broke down and laughed.
It wasn’t real laughter, and it didn’t last long. Too quickly, her smile fractured and broke, her laughter becoming a wracking sob, and a torrent of tears suddenly sprang forth. Crying, she ran back to the embrace of my arms, and we sat on the edge of the cot, holding each other tightly. In a strange sort of way, it was as if we’d known each other forever, and not mere hours, despite the fact that we knew almost nothing about each other. Our pasts were a mystery to the other, and I suddenly wanted to know everything there was to know about her. And I wanted her to know me, both intimately, and otherwise. Time suddenly seemed precious, when there appeared to be so little of it.
“I can’t lose you too!” she sobbed against my chest.
Speaking softly, my face buried in the softness of her hair, I dug deeply to find the courage to match my words. “I know it looks bad, but people have survived worse. You’re not going to lose me. Not just yet, anyway.”
“I want to believe you, I do, but…” her voice trailed off and she gently pulled away, her eyes drifting down to my feet.
“Then believe me!” I said sternly, my hands gripping her forearms with conviction. I wasn’t only trying to convince her, but myself, too. I paused a moment to calm myself. When I continued, my voice had taken on a determination and anger that accented my seriousness. “I have a score to settle with a man who leased me a cabin. When I signed that lease, I have no doubt that he knew there was a wolf pack up here.” I paused again, taking a deep breath, while I considered whether I should share the rest of my suspicions with her. She had so much to worry about already, I wasn’t sure if I had the right to burden her with more. At least not until it could be substantiated with solid evidence, and not just my hunches.
Rather hastily, I decided that she not only had a right to know of my suspicions, but also, if my suppositions proved to be accurate, the knowledge might just mean the difference between her surviving this ordeal, and death. “I don’t believe that I’m the first human that wolf pack has attacked. They’d been in my cabin before, and I believe that Fred knew it!”
I hurriedly went on to tell her about the prior tenant in my cabin to me, and the reason for his early departure. She nodded in the affirmative, when I asked if she’d paid for the year up-front. Since I was telling her everything that I could think of, I also mentioned seeing Fred take a bloody package to the shed on the morning that he brought me up here. When I finished, she thought for a moment, mulling it all over.
“If you can prove what you just told me,” she softly concurred, her belief in me evident in the tone of her voice. “He could be charged with murder, or at the least, homicidal negligence.”
“I think I could have proven it before the cabin disappeared under the avalanche. But now, who knows,” I finished, sounding defeated even before I’d started.
She leaned back into my arms, drawing comfort from my embrace, and we sat in silence, holding each other for a while longer. Although my stomach ached for lack of food, the smell of bacon still redolent in the close air of the cabin, I wouldn’t mention it; I didn’t want the moment to end. Because I wanted her to remain in my arms forever, if going without food could prolong the moment, then so be it.
But it wasn’t going to be so. Without prelude, my stomach suddenly rumbled, startling us and spurring Sandy into action. She immediately jumped up as she remembered the bacon and hash browns warming on the cookstove. As she made her way to the stove, she apologized profusely for her thoughtlessness, muttering that she couldn’t believe that she’d forgotten how long it must have been since I’d had anything to eat. She cursed herself for her inconsideration and selfishness, knowing that I must be starving.
Although I could have stayed in the comfort of her arms forever, my hunger was the distraction that we both needed to take our minds off my feet. It wouldn’t be much longer before the frost thawed out of them, and then the pain would set in. With our limited medical supplies and resources, infection in the form of gangrene will probably follow that. From then on, life as I know it will cease to exist.
Sandy was equally aware of this, and that short of amputating my feet, my chances of survival were next to nil. There was always the chance of course that they wouldn’t become infected. The swelling could go down with time, and the veins might support the flow of fresh, life-giving blood again. It might take time, I thought optimistically, but they might even get their healthy color back.
Taking my eyes off Sandy for a moment, I glanced down at the deformed obscenities at the ends of my legs, and knew that it would take more than a miracle for that to happen. At the sight of my feet, all optimism flowed out of me, and my head sagged.
While Sandy was busy filling a plate with the burnt bacon and potatoes, I began to wonder if I shouldn’t save her a bunch of trouble, and just crawl back out into the night where the wolves can find me. With my carcass to keep them both busy and fed, Sandy might be able to escape the cabin unnoticed, if she tried. She was definitely in good physical condition. With a proper pack of supplies, she wouldn’t have any trouble getting down off the mountain, and finding civilization. Leaning against the wall, between the door and the nearer of the boarded over windows, I noticed a sleek pair of cross-country skis. They must be hers, as they’re in addition to the snowshoes that originally came with the cabin, which were also hanging on the wall next to the fireplace.
If we outfitted her correctly, she could easily make it down the mountain. The thought kept repeating itself in my mind, and it was beginning to stick. There wasn’t any reason that both of us should die up here. By using the skis and snowshoes, she could make excellent time. If she started out early enough in the day, she wouldn’t even have to spend a night in the wilderness. And if she started soon, before my condition deteriorated too severely, she could send back help. But only after she
notifies the authorities, I quickly corrected myself.
Still deep in my thoughts, Sandy startled me, as she set a heaping plate of food on my lap. It was a blue-enameled tin plate with high sides. Almost immediately, I could feel the heat emanating through it, warming the tops of my legs. Taking the fork from where she’d stabbed it into the pile of food, I looked up into her gaze and sincerely thanked her.
“I’ll get you some coffee,” she hastily replied, turning back toward the stove.
Amy used to do the same trick with the fork when she’d bring us dinner in the living room on one of those too frequent occasions where I had to work late to meet a deadline. It was a pleasant flashback. When I’d asked her why she did it one time, she answered with a question of her own, “Would you rather eat from a fork that has fallen on the floor?” I never understood why it was considered efficiency of movement, as Amy was quick to lecture me on during the meal, when you had to make a second trip back into the kitchen to retrieve the beverages anyway. It never failed that, as you carried the beverages back to the living room, you would undoubtedly have a spare hand with which to carry the silverware.
But I soon discovered the obvious, and that was the futility of arguing with a woman. In the end, it never nets the man anything but grief, and the longer you persist in the argument, the more grief you will end up with on your plate.
The food didn’t look as burnt as it smelled, and I took a heaping forkful. Testing it cautiously with the tip of my tongue to insure that I didn’t burn myself, I inserted it into my mouth and hungrily bit down on it, only to discover that my teeth were loose. After putting the fork back into the mound of potatoes, I gingerly grasped my front teeth between my thumb and forefinger, and was immediately dismayed when I found that I could wiggle them back and forth with ease.
Sandy returned with two steaming cups of coffee. She watched me with interest as I continued toying with my teeth. She set the cups on the floor at her feet and sat down next to me, being careful not to cause my plate to spill.
“What are you doing?” she asked softly, a worry line taking shape across her forehead.
“It’s my teeth,” I simply replied as I picked the fork back out of the food, not wanting to alarm her. “They’re loose.”
“When did you last eat?” she asked, a nervous concern mounting in her voice.
“I can’t say as I rightly remember. How long have I been here?” I asked, cautiously biting down on a small piece of potato and being thankful at how soft it was.
“You have been asleep for the last twenty four hours or so, since you got here, and it was eight days before that when you stopped by on the way to your cabin,” she answered, glancing at a small calendar pinned to the wall by the head of the cot.
It was one of those little paper ones that has all twelve months on it, but still only measures three inches wide by six inches long; it was the kind found in the back of a checkbook.
As I followed her glance to it, I noticed that there were two days each month with the letter ‘X’ drawn through them in ballpoint pen. One of the ‘X’s indicated the day that supplies were due. I knew this, because our supplies would have been delivered on the same day.
But the other day signified something of even more meaning to her than even supply day. The ‘X’, although drawn in with the same ballpoint pen, had been made much darker; the ink having been pressed into the paper with repeated passes. If I intended to find out what the other ‘X’ signified, I would have to resort to prying into her personal life. I was sure that if I asked her, she would unhesitatingly tell me. But was it really my place to ask? Moreover, if I do ask, and she tells me, must I feel compelled to divulge the details of my tragedy?
Veering away from the consequences of that significant date on her calendar, I did a simple calculation in my head and said, “I left the cabin the day after I got there. That same day, I lost my pack and all of my supplies in the avalanche, along with the cabin. Somewhere, I seem to have lost some time, because that means I haven’t eaten for at least a week.” Her mouth dropped, and I instantly wanted to alleviate her concern, so I lightly added, “Of course, my last meal was an awful large stack of pancakes, and we both know how nourishing pancakes are.”
It didn’t work. The seriousness stayed on her face, and she sternly asked, “When was the last time you’ve had any fruit, or vitamins?”
“I haven’t had any meat or fruit since leaving the base cabin the morning he brought me up here,” I meekly replied between small bites. She stared at me unbelieving. So, I told her more truths. “Since I lost my daughter more than six months ago, I haven’t taken very good care of myself.” And then, to lighten the mood, I quickly added, “But since I’ve come up here, I have quit smoking. That must account for something.”
She forced a smile, but she wouldn’t meet my gaze. Instead, she looked down at my plate. When she saw that I wasn’t going to be able to eat the bacon, she asked if I’d mind her eating it. She went on to explain how the wolves had managed to raid her meat box, even though it was secured shut by a latch. Of all the meat supplies Fred had dropped off just last week, the bacon on my plate was the last of it. She couldn’t bear the thought that it should go to waste just because I wasn’t capable of chewing it. I couldn’t agree with her more, and I gladly pushed the bacon from my plate onto hers.
While we sat next to each other, silently eating our food, I contemplated my feelings toward her. I hadn’t shared such a closeness with anyone since Amy, and that had been different, a father-daughter closeness. What I was feeling now was more primal, more basic, and yet, it was gloriously pristine. We were developing a bond with many facets. We were sharing food, or breaking bread, as it used to be termed. It inspired friendship, comradery, and a closeness that could only be felt by the sharing of one’s food. It gave the act of dining out a much more intimate meaning than I had previously felt. It wasn’t anything sexual. In fact, it would make little difference if the participants were male or female. But an undeniable closeness could be felt and shared by two people when they partook of food together.
And yet, the bond growing between us was so much more. From the first time that we’d met, we’d both felt something. Now, it just needed time to grow, and to blossom.
We ate a while longer in silence; or rather, as silent as one can be when ones chewing overly crisp bacon. The potatoes had been fried in the bacon’s grease, an indulgence of saturated fat that Amy would never have allowed, but now contained essential calories that I desperately needed. My body was emaciated even before I put it through the ordeal of the last week. But now, I’d shy away from looking at myself in a mirror for fear of what I’d see. I felt like a skeleton covered in nothing more than a thin white layer of skin. I had to wonder how Sandy could bare to look at me; I had to be a fright.
By morning, I was afraid that I wouldn’t be in any condition to carry on a conversation. And it seemed important that Sandy know everything that I know, or at least, she should be familiar with what I suspect about the landlords.
“I need to tell you something,” I said slowly, not sure if I was doing the right thing, or if I was just burdening her with unfounded suspicions. “I know that I already told you about my suspicions regarding Fred, and the former tenants in these cabins. But in case you’re the only one left to tell the story to the authorities, you need to know everything that I know, or suspect. There was something strange going on at base camp the morning Fred brought me here. At first, I thought that I was just imagining it.” I paused for a moment, still debating if I were doing the right thing. In addition, it wasn’t easy sharing my feelings and shortcomings with someone that I’d just met, no matter how comfortable we felt together. “I was nervous that morning, setting out on a journey of unknown consequences, and all. But then, you’ve been there yourself, you know what I’m talking about.”
“I’ll bet you weren’t nearly as afraid as I was!” she burst forth, trying to ease my obvious unease.
Smili
ng at her, feeling more comfortable because of her effort, I continued. “I couldn’t help but pick up on the nervous tension between Fred and his wife. They acted almost as if they were afraid that I was looking for something, and that if they let their guard down, I just might find it. Moreover, they hedged around my questions, especially when I brought up the subject of prior tenants and the reasons for their early departures. But there was more to it than that.” I paused to catch my breath and swallow a mouthful of potato. “I told you about the bloody butcher-paper package, and how Fred reacted when he saw me watching him come out of the shed. It wasn’t anything he said, really, but the look he gave me. He was livid! I had no idea why. At least, not then, I didn’t. Now, however, I have my theories.”
Pausing to catch my breath again, I thought back on that cold dark morning. It seemed like a lifetime ago. I tried to remember the details about that morning that had been nagging at me. But they wouldn’t materialize no matter how I tried to force them. Finishing the last of the fried potatoes, I handed her the plate.
“Thank you,” I said sincerely as she took the proffered plate and fork. “They were delicious.”
“I’m glad. You need all the nourishment we can get into you”, she said encouragingly as she returned from the table where she’d set the plates. Bending over, she retrieved our cups of coffee from the floor. She’d set them there earlier so they would be out of the way while we ate.
Taking the proffered cup, I was mildly surprised that it was still warm. Speaking softly, with just a hint of encouragement to continue, she said, “I’d like to hear more, but if you’re tired, I’ll understand.”
“I’m afraid that I don’t really know much more than I’ve already told you. But I do have some theories that I’ve formed, if you’re interested.”
“I’d love to hear them,” she said enthusiastically.
“Well, I’ll give you the main theory that I’ve come up with, and you can think on it, while I take a nap. After such a wonderfully delicious meal, I’m afraid it won’t be long before the sandman shows up. Now, are you sure you want to hear this?” I asked once more before continuing.
