Skier's Heaven
The rain was heavy, coming down in sheets now as Bones cupped his hands over his eyes and squinted to watch a car round a corner a few blocks up the avenue. He took a deep breath and smelled the clean scent of the fresh air and felt good, renewed and invigorated. But the chill of the night had begun to penetrate and a nearby coffee shop came to mind, a place he had gone long before, a place that the mere thought of made him feel warm inside, a simple refuge, a moment’s respite. Benjamin had given him some money so he could actually afford the coffee, if they didn’t throw him out first. He started in the direction of the coffee shop, crossing his hands against his chest to hold down the flapping cloth that wrapped his frail form. He arched his body against the wind.
He had come close to committing suicide after Rachel had died. Life is what it is and that’s all. No reason, no nothing, nothing to think about. No reason to think of the way it could have been had he saved her. Yet he always thought about it. And the thinking had almost caused him to lose his mind.
A flash of lightening threw light on the sidewalk and the sides of the buildings, a crack of thunder followed. He tried to pull up the tattered shirt around his face.
Even now as he pushed himself through the storm, Rachel was in his mind, forever in his mind. She was the only thing he had ever loved and he had let her down. She died again every day, over and over again in the images that would play themselves out. He couldn’t stop thinking about her and what could have been and maybe he didn’t really want to stop himself. He needed to punish himself to keep her alive in his mind.
On some level he felt that if he forgot, if he didn’t experience the pain of the memory, then he would lose even that. Letting go of the pain would be like losing her all over again and that pain was too much to bear. It was like being in a circular prison. If he let it go then she would be gone. The pain of her being gone was too much to bear. So, keep the thoughts and the pain alive. But the pain of remembrance was too much to bear. Around and around again.
A car passed, splashing its way through the flooded street, followed closely by another. The second one stopped and turned around in the street, shedding light on the sidewalk and the street up ahead. If it were not for that light, he might never have seen her, the old woman, huddled and shivering in a storefront alcove, protected only by a broken awning hanging, swaying and creaking in the wind. He stood there, looking at her, at her shopping bags, at what remained of her life. Her eyes, full of fear and secret terror, peaked out from behind an old, wet, dirty scarf. She pulled the scarf against her face.
What was her story? Was she someone’s mother? How did she end up like this? She wasn’t young. Was it just age that threw her out on the street? What kind of crazy world throws old people out to fend for themselves? What terrible tragedy befell this woman? What kind of family life did she have that led her to this? What terrible thing happened to the poor child, what had it endured to make it grow into this tormented adult?
He walked over and knelt down. She told him she didn’t have any money. He said he didn’t want any but she kept telling him she didn’t have any, anyway. She reached into a nearby bag and slipped on a pair of broken spectacles, letting the scarf fall from her ravaged face. Her skin was cracked, swollen, and red. Her hair, what was left of it, was matted and dirty. He didn’t know what to say, not certain there was anything to say. Why did this happen, why should it ever happen?
He asked her how she came to be out in this weather and if she had a home, a place to go. She spoke of a husband and a family, of sickness and death, of bad luck and mistakes and loneliness too. And as she spoke the words became mixed and then made no sense, a salad of words. Bones listened.
Though he told her his name, she would only call him ‘Mister’. When he asked for her name, she would only talk faster as if trying to hide some deep secret. She told him she couldn’t leave because her husband would be back soon and she had to wait. “He’ll be here soon, just late is all”, she said in a strained voice. “But he’ll be here soon. I know he’s coming. Just late is all.” Then she asked Bones to get her some hot soup, and after that her words got mixed up upon one another and made no sense again.
He hated the thought of leaving her there, in the alcove, in the cold, the rain. But the best he could do was to get her some hot soup, call the police and have them send someone over. Then he thought better of the police part. If she had wanted a shelter, she’d already be in one. So he told her he’d be right back and hurried up the avenue. The rain intensified, coming down like pellets. He tried to stretch his shirt up to protect his face. He wondered if it was beginning to hale. Otherwise why would he feel the sting?
The lightening was so brilliant and the thunder so loud that it took him by surprise. He thought the storm must be very close for the sound and the light to come so close together. Unusual for the city to experience this kind of lightening storm. He worried about the woman and walked faster.
The sky lit up, the thunderclap was deafening, and he saw them in that terrible light, their faces uncovered. They didn’t seem to mind the rain. They didn’t seem to notice it. They walked straight ahead as though there was no wind blowing, as though the wind did not blow on them. The long black coats flapping around them in the wind, whipping back and forth like dark wings. They looked like birds of pray, searching, waiting.
The two of them stared straight ahead in a kind of mindless trance. But more than that, not mindlessness at all he thought, but driven by something, something more focused, like hatred. The lightening ended and now they were enveloped in darkness, shadows that dissolved into the night. Bones felt the beat of his heart against the walls of his chest. He kept his head down and kept going as they passed him by. They didn’t miss a step, marching to some hidden rhythm. He took a deep breath. Then he thought of the woman.
He hoped they wouldn’t see her, maybe they would keep going and disappear into the darkness. He walked for a short while and then turned to watch them, knowing the danger in doing this, the possibility of attracting their attention. But he had to watch, to make sure they bypassed that woman. He saw them pause by the alcove. One went inside. Then the other.
Would it be better to run for help or to go back and face them? Perhaps they were only curious and would not bother her. After all, she had nothing of value. What could they want with her? Why would they waste their time?
What could Bones do anyway? Not his responsibility. He hated himself for having the thought. Maybe he was overreacting. Why did he think his instincts were so good anyway? He hadn’t been brought up in the city. These were city people. They dressed differently. They acted differently. He might be misreading them.
Another flash of lightening, and in the light he could see them dragging her out from the meager protection of her alcove. He froze. He thought of his rule, don’t hesitate, react, do it for Rachel. She screamed over the clap of thunder. He found himself running toward them, his legs navigating the sidewalk as if on skis, skis with a will of their own.
They were kicking her. “Stop. Get the hell away from her.” They weren’t aware of him, too engaged in their sport. “Rachel, Rachel, I’m coming.” White fog, snow, he had to get to her. “Rachel.”
He grabbed one of them by the shoulders. Pushed him to the side. Something hard against his head. Red filled his eyes. A sharp pain in his side. A voice said, “You are about to die. Remember The Rill.” He pulled away from the knife and somehow got it away from his assailant. Knocked it to the ground. Confusion. Try to get a fix on where they are. Another sharp pain. Screaming. In the back, in the front, knock one down and there is another. Round and round. Fog. Snow dust.
One of them came into focus. He was holding something metal and dull in the streetlight. Bones dove for the metal object. A blast.
There was a dense fog and in it Bones could barely move though he tried. It was like trying to move through a thick liquid. The man faced him. He had no face, no eyes, no nose or mouth. The man’s voice came at him through the fog as though it was being played back in slow motion. “Remember the Rill.”
The words were coming from everywhere like echoes. His head spinning. The glitter of metal against an ever encroaching, impenetrable fog. Somehow darker than before but lighter still, the avalanche kicking up a blizzard of snow, can’t see, can’t see, must find Rachel. The woman screaming. Another explosion, the fog turned red, blood hot and sticky everywhere.
The sidewalk was white and cool against his burning face. There was something comforting about the whiteness. It spread out and soon was everywhere. And a feeling of great calm set in and there was a sense of freedom and the whiteness was snow.
The sky was blue and clear, the air fresh and cool, and the snow was deep and untracked. The glittering white snowfield extended as far as he could see. He wondered about the silver skis, didn’t remember them. They had a mind of their own. He had never skied on anything like them before. They took him sailing down into the snow, a flurry of crystals following him down, clinging to his face and his feather-like beard as he swept through the light, cool powder.
Then, from nowhere, a voice called out. He turned, shifting his weight and digging the downhill edges of his skis into the fresh snow, coming to a wide curving stop amidst a cloud of light snowflakes. The voice of an old woman, called out again, “Mister. Mister. Are you all right?” But it made no sense to Bones: this was not the place for a voice such as this. Soon the voice stopped and Bones went on.
He skied through a cloud, past an ice covered cliff, and then came to a ridge from which he could see endless valleys and tall pointed white peaks, shrinking in the distance against the warm, blue sky. It occurred to him to be strange that he was the only one skiing on this perfect day. Something told him that it was all his and his alone.
Then he came to a grove of pine trees and skied in and out of them, yodeling as he wound his way through, though he had never been able to yodel before. Beyond the trees, he came to a field of hard packed snow, dotted with huge, well formed bumps. He found himself dancing in and out of them. It was odd there was no burn in his thighs. He couldn’t recall ever having skied large bumps like these so well, with so much control and yet without the slightest burn.
After the field of bumps, again he came to a wide open slope of light powder. He stopped to rest, though he didn’t feel tired. He took in the never ending view, the silence and the stillness of it all.
No matter how he might listen, it was still and quiet, he wondered where the lifts were, the machinery and the noise. Something told him there were none; he accepted that, let it go from his mind and went on.
He followed a trail down alongside a ridge and looked out over the valley below and the place seemed familiar. Below him there was a deep valley with a little knoll on the left and a high peak to the left of the knoll. He could see her in the distance on the knoll. There was a booming sound that filled the valley. Avalanche. He looked up to the peak on the left and saw it forming, rolling, a cloud of thunder.
Bones knew what to do. No time to waste, just react. The silver skis knew what to do too, for as soon as he thought of it, the skis were in motion as if they could read his mind and his intentions. Faster, faster, toward the knoll, toward Rachel. “Rachel, get out of there,” She didn’t hear him. He skied faster, into a crouch.
The Avalanche was getting closer. He could hear its roar, like rolling thunder. The ground vibrated under him. The ice crystals forming in the air around him, creating a veil. Faster. In and out of the forest of evergreen trees, the trees became a blur. Out of the trees, coming down the trail that led to the top of the knoll. Close to her now.
He reached for her as he and the avalanche approached her together. Her, the prize for them both. The roar, the ground thundering, snow smoke blinding his vision. He slowed down enough to sweep her up in his arms and then he turned downhill to pick up speed, racing the avalanche at his heels. Faster, he must go faster. Don’t fall. Can’t fall. He was in a crouch, Rachel over his back, in a full schuss, the crushing thunder of the avalanche at his back, chasing him down, a monster of snow intent on devouring them.
Can’t fall. No weakness, no mistakes. Focus on the schuss. Hold it tight. Hold it. He was winning. The rumble of the avalanche receding. Keep it going until there was no sound and then some more. Keep going. It was done. It was over. Stillness.
Then, as they began to descend through a cloud and into a valley, next to each other, gracefully moving together as if in a wonderful dance, white peaks rising all around, feeling loose and free, nothing had ever been so beautiful. And he wanted to stay in this place forever and never leave, because even heaven could not be so perfect and so splendid a place as this.