I take a long drag off my cigarette and tell Joseph I should have done like him and become a carpenter.
Forget about it, he sighs, that wouldn’t have changed anything. But you’d be better off not getting mixed up in that minibus business. Matthias should be careful too. The last few meetings have been pretty stormy. Some people want Jude to open the books. Other people want us to vote on every decision made. I’m trying to keep my distance, but events keep pulling me in. Judith died last week. She never got over the flu. There were complications. She was in terrible pain and José helped her cross over. Her family buried her not far from the village, in the snow. It was sad, what with her two small children. She got the flu, her temperature rose and it never came down. Even with the medicine. Ever since people get scared when they hear someone cough. Some of them are afraid of Maria, you know, because she has a lot of contact with the sick.
Joseph throws away his cigarette butt and hands me the bottle. With two free hands, he quickly sharpens the chainsaw.
And with all that, he shakes his head, pointing to his eyebrow, José knows I’m sleeping with Maria.
I ask him for another cigarette.
Everyone ends up knowing everything in a village, he continues, handing me his pack. He’s been tailing her ever since. Maria can’t take it anymore, he doesn’t want to understand what’s going on, and I’m discouraged. I’m suffocating here, this place is killing me.
Joseph gets up, goes to the edge of the clearing, and starts up the chainsaw.
We’ll take that cedar there, he shouts over the stuttering motor.
When he leans under the skirt of the tree, the chainsaw roars and sends out a bluish cloud. The cedar falls. Joseph trims off the branches, and cuts three even sections of log. I stand up to help put them in the sled, but he shakes me off. That won’t be necessary.
When he sits back down on the snowmobile, I smell the scent of fresh sawdust on his coat.
You know, he says, going back to his story and motioning me to give him the bottle, Matthias wants to leave this place. With or without anyone’s help. That’s no secret. And he’s not the only one. But Matthias wouldn’t last more than three days on the road. If the cold doesn’t get him, some militia will. Whether he has a weapon or not, that won’t change anything. He wants to get back with his wife, but like everybody else, he has no idea what’s going on anywhere else. And with all the supplies I’ve brought you, he should just sit still for the next little while.
What about you? I inquire. What are you going to do?
I don’t know, Joseph says, looking away, I don’t know. What would you do in my shoes?
I shrug my shoulders and think of the topographical map. I came all the way here to see my father, but I showed up too late. My aunts and uncles left for their hunting camp and never came back. I’m living with a stranger who wants to leave as quickly as he can. I don’t know what’s keeping me here, outside of the fact that I can hardly stand up.
We empty the bottle in silence, then Joseph starts up the snowmobile, and we speed away through the woods.
ONE HUNDRED FIFTY-ONE
By the time we pull up in front of the porch, I am frozen stiff. I can’t even lift myself off the seat. Joseph picks me up in his arms and carries me inside. I slump in the rocking chair by the fire, and weakness overtakes me. As if the cold wanted to keep me in its embrace. I hope I won’t get sick like the others in the village.
Matthias is still sorting supplies with great enthusiasm.
I thought you’d cut back on the provisions, he says. But there’s beef, a whole duck, maple syrup, pâté, dried mushrooms, all kinds of things. There’s even coffee.
I’m glad you’re happy, Joseph tells him as he measures the distance between the floor and the ceiling beams.
Matthias expresses amazement when he discovers two bottles of wine.
Why all this? And why now?
Little by little, my blood warms enough to start flowing through my body. But the pins and needles are intolerable. I can barely follow what the two are saying.
Jude isn’t the only one with a secret stash, Joseph points out. I wanted you to enjoy a little. Why not? But don’t talk about it, it might cause trouble. Once, Jude locked Jacques up for two days.
What happened?
I wasn’t there when it happened. Some people say that Jacques pointed a gun at someone who owed him some gas. Other people think it’s just a plot. He was let go, but it’s going to end badly if you ask me.
Matthias thanks Joseph and promises he will be discreet. But he tries to get more information about what happened with Jacques.
His whole arsenal was seized. Jude says it’s too risky to have weapons circulating. That sooner or later, someone will make a wrong move.
The snowmobile ride completely exhausted me. My neck muscles droop and I lose a large part of the conversation. When I can finally lift my head, Joseph is installing the cedar planks beneath the central beams.
That won’t straighten them up, he admits, driving in long nails with expert hammer blows, but it will keep them from sagging more. Now the clouds can dump their load on you, and you should be all right.
As I fight sleep, Joseph picks up his things. When he finishes he hands Matthias a key ring with a small plastic moose on it.
What’s this? Matthias asks.
A present. If you’re still here when the snow has melted, at least you’ll have access to a car. Third house on the left before the edge of the village, you know, right next to the arena. Third house on the left, he repeats, in the garage.
What about the expedition?
I think Jude and the others are seeing to the preparations, but I don’t really know how far they’ve gone. I’m sure you’ll hear about it before I do.
When Joseph puts his hand on my shoulder to say goodbye, I jump as if he had disturbed me in the midst of a dream.
I have to go. Get some rest. Rest up and eat your fill, it’s no time to give up. Your endurance is better already. I bet the next time we meet, you’ll be walking.
I doubt it, I answer, thinking he is making fun of me.
Before going out the door, Joseph turns around and looks at us in disbelief. A few moments later, we hear him rev up his engine, then speed off.
Before I can make it to my bed, my head drops to my chest and I fall into a deep, gnarled sleep.
ONE HUNDRED FIFTY-ONE
I wake up in the middle of the night with stomach pains. We ate too much. While I napped Matthias cooked the duck and put the best canned goods on the table. Artichoke hearts, smoked oysters, snails, roasted red peppers. He woke me up, we sat down at the table and devoured as much as we could. It was a change from soup and black bread.
Outside, a cold moon shines through the clouds. Its beams of light penetrate the darkest reaches of the room. On both sides of the window, shadows play. Joseph’s reinforcement posts look like trees growing through the ceiling. Or magical beanstalks that have sprung up in the gaps between the floorboards.
Everything is still. Time is suspended from the night. Both are immobile. Like my legs in their splints. I try to fall asleep again, I think of life in the village, of Joseph and Maria. I think of my uncles. I wonder what they had on their table tonight, in the middle of the forest. As my eyelids slowly close, the little monster returns to gnaw on my sleep. I hear it scurrying around on the other side, gathering up all it can. I’d like to hunt it down with my slingshot and a flashlight. On crutches that would not be easy. I lean on my elbows and spot light coming from under the door that leads to the other side. I examine the moonlit room. Three cedar posts support the heavens, the table is there, the rocking chair, the sofa. The sofa. The sofa where Matthias’s blankets are carefully folded, undisturbed. The trap door to the cellar is open. What is he doing? What is he up to on the other side at this time of night? I hear him walking, stopping
, starting again. I hear him turning things over, rummaging around, busying himself. That’s it, I get it. I’ve identified the little animal that pilfers our supplies at night. I know what it is doing: preparing its departure.
The noise drops off for a time, my stomach pains subside, and slowly I find sleep again.
Very early the next morning, when I awake, Matthias is asleep on the sofa. He awakes as soon as he hears me moving around. Outside, the sky is flooded with light though the sun has yet to lift itself above the horizon. There must not be any embers left in the stove because the room has lost its heat. I wrap myself in my blankets and listen to Matthias’s calm breathing. I could use a coffee.
The distant growl of an engine attracts my attention. I pick up my spyglass. In the clear, cold dawn, I spot a yellow snowmobile moving at top speed. It is following the dark line of the forest. There are two people on board. The driver holds the handles tightly and his eyes seem to be probing the distance. The person with him is wearing a red coat. She keeps glancing behind and holds onto the driver as if he is her best hope. Once they climb the slope of the hill, they turn onto a logging road and disappear. I lower my spyglass and think that without Joseph and Maria life in the village won’t be the same. And mine won’t be the same either.
ONE HUNDRED FIFTY-ONE
The sun has been up for a while now, but the sky clouded up through the morning. The barometer is pointing at the ground. The air is heavy. I can see its weight. The snow has lost its lustre. In the village, smoke issues from the chimneys, climbs, levels off, then settles to the ground. As if it could not lift itself to the sky. Here and there flakes of ash fall to earth and form small black constellations against the infinite whiteness.
Once he has hung the washing above the stove, Matthias inspects the reinforcement posts. They help me move from the bed to the table without crutches, but still the poles get in the way. They cut back on Matthias’s space when he brings in wood, sets the table, and does his exercises.
Are they going to hold up? he asks in a doubtful tone.
They’ll hold up, I tell him. They’re Joseph’s work.
Matthias feeds the stove, opens the cellar door, and takes out a few items. I watch him rub his hands together, satisfied, before starting to cook. I ask him if an animal has been helping itself to our supplies.
No, he answers, I don’t think so. I didn’t see anything.
I heard noise during the night, I pursue.
Impossible. I didn’t hear anything. Not last night or any other night.
He sets the food on the counter and closes the cellar door.
You must have been dreaming, he says sharply. Forget about it, get up, we’re going to do our exercises.
I drop the subject and prepare for battle. I get to my feet, avoiding putting weight on my left leg. We begin. We stretch our arms toward the ceiling and rotate our wrists, and we breathe in. We bend our knees, keeping our spines perfectly straight, and breathe out. In the middle of the session, the church bells begin ringing. The echo returns from the distant mountains. It is the village alarm. Something has happened. I take my spyglass and look toward the village. Through the trees, nothing. The bells keep ringing. Finally they stop, and everything goes back to normal. According to Matthias someone will come and alert us if it’s serious. If not, Joseph will tell us what happened.
A little later we hear the simultaneous growling of several snowmobiles. We rush to the window. There are three of them. One of them is moving through the village, the other is going past the forest, and the third is heading in our direction.
That must be Joseph, Matthias speculates, and takes the spyglass from me.
Unless it’s Jean coming for me, I add.
The sound of the engine grows louder. The door opens. It’s José. With him is a guy and a young woman. All three are armed. Matthias beckons them to sit down at the table, but they don’t bother answering.
Over there, José says, pointing at the door to the other side.
The guy pushes open the door and disappears.
Matthias wants to know why the church bells rang.
We’re looking for Maria, José answers. Have you seen her by any chance?
She hasn’t been here for a while, Matthias says.
There are snowmobile tracks out front, José insists, his voice hostile, and they’re recent.
Joseph stopped by a few days ago.
Was he with Maria? José questions us.
No, why?
Was he with Maria? he turns and asks me.
No. Guaranteed.
Behind him, the young woman is positioned in front of the door, holding her rifle in both hands. The guy comes back from the other side, shaking his head.
You looked everywhere? José wants to know.
Yes.
Everywhere?
Yes. Everywhere.
They’re not there?
No, they’re not there.
Shit, José swears. And in there, what’s in there? he asks, pointing to the trap door to the cellar.
Our supplies, Matthias tells him, tension creeping into his voice. We keep our stuff there so the mice don’t get at it.
José nods, then inspects the ceiling reinforcements.
Sorry to disturb you.
Matthias takes a step in his direction and asks again what this is all about.
Someone sliced off part of his ankle with an axe, he answers, motioning his companions to head for the door. We need Maria, but we can’t find her. She can’t be far. You two are sure you haven’t seen her?
Absolutely, Matthias repeats.
José sighs, then exits with his friends as quickly as they arrived.
I wonder if you can survive an axe in your ankle. And if Maria could have saved that person the way she saved me.
Outside, the snowmobiles have left bluish furrows. The snow has started falling again, covering the tracks with a thin layer of silence.
ONE HUNDRED SIXTY-SEVEN
As I circumnavigate the table several times on my crutches, Matthias pours hot water into a bowl and rubs soap on his cheeks. His movements are slow and precise as he runs the razor over his skin. He rinses his face, wipes it, and looks at himself in the mirror. He might look a few years younger, but his features haven’t changed. The skin of his neck still looks like a snow drift that has withered under the late winter rains.
As I go around the edge of the table, a drop of water hits my forehead. I stop. Another drop falls. I step back and examine the ceiling. Drops are running along a beam toward the middle of the room. They stretch, hang, then let go. One at a time, unhurried, before breaking apart on the floor. I picture the thick sheet of ice that must have formed without us knowing, right above our heads. With the heat of the stove, the snow must have compacted, hardened, and formed a thick block. Now it is preventing the roof from shedding its water normally. The posts can stand up to heavy loads, but water always ends up going where it wants to.
Matthias turns in my direction and I point to the leak. He watches it attentively, then pivots and places a metal bucket on the floor.
There, he says.
The drops tick off every second as if we were prisoners of a water clock. And our days were numbered.
By the end of the day, the bucket is overflowing and a small puddle has formed on the floor. As he kneels down to soak up the water, Matthias cries out softly as if someone had struck him. He leans heavily on his knees and does not move for several minutes. When I try to help him, he raises a hand.
It’ll be all right, he says, bent double. I threw out my back but I’ll be all right. Don’t worry.
He insists on sponging up the rest of the water. His movements are jerky, as if his limbs had rusted. Darkness settles over the room. I stretch out my hand and reach the oil lamp, then hold it in my hands a moment.
Li
ght it, Matthias tells me. No use waiting for a genie to appear.
I slip a match under the glass chimney and adjust the wick. When I get onto my crutches to go to the counter, Matthias moves toward me, bent like an uprooted tree. He blocks me. I tell him to let me past. And rest up while I make something to eat. He screams. No way that’s going to happen. The kitchen is his space, his space alone. My space is the bed and the chair. And that’s that. Even if he can’t lift his eyes from the floor, he waves his arms in the air and orders me to go back and sit down, his voice both harsh and fragile. I retreat, listening to the drops of water beating on my patience with a disturbing sameness.
Matthias mutters to himself as he makes the meal. He is like an old moose, stubborn and grizzled, beating his hooves on the ground at the slightest pretext. I look at him out of the corner of my eye, convinced that this room will soon be too small for the both of us.
ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY-FOUR
Even before I open my eyes, I hear the sound of dishes and the slap of soapy water.
I awake.
And am surprised to see Matthias already up, in tip-top shape, back straight. He is washing and drying the plates and pots he has piled on the counter. Amazingly, he seems to have recovered from his back problems. He is whistling a familiar tune, and he brings me a cup of coffee and toast. I quickly swallow down breakfast, then sip the coffee and watch the leaky ceiling. In the night, when the fire burned down into embers and the cold returned to haunt our dreams, I woke suddenly and noticed the water wasn’t dripping. The drops had called off their parade. But as soon as we heated up the stove, they went back to their procession, just where they had left off.
With dizzying energy, Matthias shovels the entryway, brings in the wood, and kneads the dough to make black bread.
A beautiful day out there, he tells me, his words coming quickly.
Just as I decide to stand up and put my crutches to work, a snowmobile pulls up in front of the porch. Matthias hurries to open the door, and Jean walks into the room.
The Weight of Snow Page 9
