Marilyn Oprisan was the first AU student to respond to our call for submissions for the Voice Fiction Feature, introduced this year. While some readers have felt that fiction is superfluous in a university publication, overall the response to this column has been excellent, and the number of students eager to submit their fiction grows each month. Thus, the Fiction Feature column has helped the Voice to meet its mandate of providing a forum where AU students can publish their work – whatever style they choose, on a broad range of subjects.

Silly, published on April 9, 2003 [v11 i15], is a moving and startlingly real story that demonstrates that people of all ages and walks of life are just people, needing love, understanding, and someone to lean on. The barriers we create to control how human beings express those needs are all in our mind, and are a sentence of loneliness for many.

The chicken smelled done. On the next commercial Fay eased her knitting off her lap, groaned herself to her feet and went off to the kitchen. Her daughter-in-law used a meat thermometer to see if a chicken was done. Young people were so silly.

She was a good daughter-in-law though; she and Fay’s older boy gave Fay three healthy grandchildren. Fay’s younger son, David, still lived at home. A man in his thirties. But at least it meant Fay didn’t have to live alone like most of her Mah Jong ladies did.

She took the chicken out of the oven, set it on a trivet and then realized she had intended to make coffee cakes that afternoon. Fay got out two pans for two coffee cakes, one for the Mah Jong ladies tonight and one for Paulie this afternoon when he came over for sex. Fay found it funny she even liked the sex. She never liked it all the time her husband was alive. But Paulie was different. Gentle. Sex and gentle never went together for her before. Not in the prison camps or with Mort. It was nice, Paulie’s way.

She got out the flour and brown sugar and the butter and cinnamon and all the other ingredients. Such a luxury to have as much sugar and butter and cinnamon as you wanted in the house. It was so many years since the war, but it still felt strange. You thought from the past, you didn’t think from now. She didn’t like riding in trains. Even now, years later, she felt like she was back in the train to the camps, whenever she was in a train. She made her son buy a plane ticket, even when it was only a few hours to go somewhere.

And even now, seven years after Mort died, she was still tense when she heard a car come in the driveway in the evening. Afraid it would be one of those nights, even though now it was only David coming home and he never hit her. A man hit his wife but a boy didn’t hit his mother.

David was a good provider. He could afford as many plane tickets and as much brown sugar and butter as Fay wanted. He made good money in his lawyer office. Still, it would be better if he were married. Paulie would be better off married too, but for now it was nice to have him come around.

She just had time to throw the ingredients together and get the cakes in the oven before the movie started again. Her friends all watched soap operas in the afternoon, but as often as she has tried, she can’t stay interested. It’s all I love you and who loves who. Silly.

There was a knocking at the kitchen door. The door has glass in the top half and wire mesh in the bottom half. Who ever had such a door in the old country? Like it would ever keep anyone out. Then she realized she had strong wooden doors in her house in the old country and they didn’t keep her and Mort from being taken away to the camps, now did they?

She looked over from the stove to see it was Paulie. Something must be wrong. It’s Tuesday; he wasn’t supposed to come over for sex before three. She let him in the door.

“Paulie, something’s wrong?”

Paulie’s eyes were so pained. Such beautiful blue eyes like a girl’s. He fell against her and buried his face into her bosom.

“Fay, he knows. David knows.”

She cradled his head, stroking his hair as he stood there holding onto her. Soft brown hair. On top of his head was the only place Paulie had any hair. Her sons were both hairy apes like their father was.

“No, no,” she crooned, “It’s all right. It’s going to be all right.”

He pushed away from her and stood staring. “All right? You didn’t see his face! He’s ready to kill me!”

“Come into the living room. Sit down. Tell me about it.”

The only part of him that moved was his eyebrows up and down all over his forehead. Such a good-looking young man. Even his eyebrows were beautiful. Fay had to take his two hands and lead him into the living room; he was too shaken up to move by himself. She turned off the TV and put her knitting into the basket, before settling him and sitting down beside him.

“Now, tell me what happened.”

He clutched at her hands. She wished she could go and wash the chicken and cinnamon smells off, but Paulie was squeezing her hands too tight.

“I went over to his office to get him so we could go for lunch. He was sitting at his desk. He said ‘You’ve got one minute to get your ass out of here.’ Fay, I just stood there. I didn’t get it at first. Then he stood up, just standing there at the desk and he said ‘I’ll kill you. I swear I’ll kill you if I ever see you at my house again. Don’t you ever go near her again.’ That’s what he said, Fay. I didn’t know what to do. I shouldn’t even be here now but I had to tell you . . . The look on his face, Fay. Like I was a monster.”

“He had to find out some time, Paulie. You’re partners in the same office.”

“Fay, are we really doing anything so wrong? I’m a single man. You’re a widow. You’re not my mother, you’re HIS mother. It’s not really wrong, is it?”

“Of course not. It’s a little strange, but of course it’s not wrong. I still don’t understand why you even want an old lady like me but who’s complaining?”

He dropped her hands. “You don’t get it, do you? I’ve told you over and over again, Fay. I love you. The women my own age – they’re all after me for my looks or my money. But you, you’ve seen life, you’ve seen death, you’ve seen . . .”

“You’re talking like a soap opera, Paulie. My husband loved me. That, I don’t need again, thank you very much.” She had told Paul about how David’s father was, just like she’d told him how it was in the war and in the camps. Young people. They can’t even believe things like that happened. Who knows, maybe if somebody took Paulie away to a prison camp he might change, like Mort did.

“I just feel so dirty. David’s my best friend. Damn it, he’s like my brother. You’re his mother. That makes me almost like your son. That makes me a mother-f . . . ”

“Paul! Don’t you use bad language in this house!”

He dropped to the floor at her feet, crying now, with his head in her lap. There wasn’t going to be any sex this afternoon. Paulie probably wouldn’t come around any more at all after today. She just waited, letting him cry.

While sitting there, with him crying in her lap, she detected the done-cake smell coming out from the kitchen. She’d better go attend to the cakes but she couldn’t just leave him there, so she kissed him first. He liked to be kissed. Hard, like in a movie, but of course he wouldn’t be in the mood for that now. So she just raised his head up from her lap and gave him a little peck on the mouth. “You stay here. I’ll be right back. I just have to check on the oven.”

Then she went back to the kitchen, took the two cakes out of the oven and washed the smells off her hands. When she got back to the living room she saw that Paul had collected himself and also got up from the floor and was sitting on the couch. There were still tears on his face but they were old tears. They’d fallen a few minutes ago and were drying up.

He sniffed and rubbed his face when he saw her come back in. “I guess I’d better go. I don’t know how I’ll face him at the office tomorrow.” He sighed, as though trying to expel all the hurt out his body with the sigh. It wouldn’t work, of course. Hurt stays inside no matter how hard you sigh it out.

It took another ten minutes of talking and soothing before she got him out to his car. She watched him drive off, hoping he would be able to drive home safely – he was so upset.

David was going to be difficult when he came home from work. There was going to be a scene for sure. He’d probably be too angry to eat. She’d have to take both coffee cakes to the Mah Jong tonight. Or maybe just freeze one.

END

Send your short fiction to The Voice for an upcoming Fiction Feature. Contact the editor at voice@ausu.org for more information.

Send your fiction to voice@ausu.org. All forms of short fiction are accepted, from poetry, to plays, to short stories in all genres.

I’m convinced that people who live in Stratford-upon-Avon shouldn’t be allowed to get married. This is not to consign all the residents of Shakespeare’s hometown to lives of sin, but rather to protect tourists who, like me, want to see Shakespeare’s tomb in Trinity Church.

I have only one day in Stratford at my disposal to see the sights in the daytime and “The Tempest” in the evening. On the plane from Vienna, I had studied the internet printouts and planned the whole day chronologically: to begin with Shakespeare’s birthplace, and to end with a pilgrimage to his tomb in a chapel in Trinity Church.

Trinity Church is surrounded, not surprisingly, by a churchyard. All gravestones there are very old and very mossy. Gravestones should be dry things, representing the dead with permanence, to make up for the quick dissolution of that which lies beneath. They should stand fixed, immutable. But these stones are covered with some kind of green scum, no doubt living matter, crawling all over the names and dates, eating away at that which should by rights be sharp, clean and dead.

The wind blows droplets from the Avon against me. I want to get away from all these damp, dead people I don’t know. I need to get into the church and see what I came all this way to see: Shakespeare’s nice, dry tomb.

I walk through the yard to the oak and iron door of the church. There is a wedding party on the path between me and the entrance. I ease past the celebrants to see a piece of computer paper taped to the door. In an unassuming font it states, just as calmly as you please, “Closed for wedding. Re-opening tomorrow 9:00 a.m.”

The church door opens and out comes a priest in black robes. He motions to the wedding party and they move around me, ignoring me as though I were one of those rotting tombstones. One by one they enter where I cannot go.

First goes the brazen bride in her unseemly spaghetti straps. Is that any way to dress for a holy day? Then, her bunch of cherry-coloured, simpering bridesmaids, each wearing far too much perfume. Their fumes must have been etching away another few lines off these already maltreated stones. Finally the groom and his men go in, still barking at some unseemly joke. Doubtless they all derive their living from tourists’ pounds such as I have spent today. They waltz into the sacred presence, while I, to whom they owe their very livelihood, remain outside.

There is nothing for me here, the outsider, the foreigner, the tourist. My love for Shakespeare won’t buy me entrance. But these lusting unworthies, they will go in and leave with the priest’s blessing, to go forth and bring more of their loathsome kind into the world, to spread like moss.

End

The chicken smelled done. On the next commercial Fay eased her knitting off her lap, groaned herself to her feet and went off to the kitchen. Her daughter-in-law used a meat thermometer to see if a chicken was done. Young people were so silly.

She was a good daughter-in-law though; she and Fay’s older boy gave Fay three healthy grandchildren. Fay’s younger son, David, still lived at home. A man in his thirties. But at least it meant Fay didn’t have to live alone like most of her Mah Jong ladies did.

She took the chicken out of the oven, set it on a trivet and then realized she had intended to make coffee cakes that afternoon. Fay got out two pans for two coffee cakes, one for the Mah Jong ladies tonight and one for Paulie this afternoon when he came over for sex. Fay found it funny she even liked the sex. She never liked it all the time her husband was alive. But Paulie was different. Gentle. Sex and gentle never went together for her before. Not in the prison camps or with Mort. It was nice, Paulie’s way.

She got out the flour and brown sugar and the butter and cinnamon and all the other ingredients. Such a luxury to have as much sugar and butter and cinnamon as you wanted in the house. It was so many years since the war, but it still felt strange. You thought from the past, you didn’t think from now. She didn’t like riding in trains. Even now, years later, she felt like she was back in the train to the camps, whenever she was in a train. She made her son buy a plane ticket, even when it was only a few hours to go somewhere.

And even now, seven years after Mort died, she was still tense when she heard a car come in the driveway in the evening. Afraid it would be one of those nights, even though now it was only David coming home and he never hit her. A man hit his wife but a boy didn’t hit his mother.

David was a good provider. He could afford as many plane tickets and as much brown sugar and butter as Fay wanted. He made good money in his lawyer office. Still, it would be better if he were married. Paulie would be better off married too, but for now it was nice to have him come around.

She just had time to throw the ingredients together and get the cakes in the oven before the movie started again. Her friends all watched soap operas in the afternoon, but as often as she has tried, she can’t stay interested. It’s all I love you and who loves who. Silly.

There was a knocking at the kitchen door. The door has glass in the top half and wire mesh in the bottom half. Who ever had such a door in the old country? Like it would ever keep anyone out. Then she realized she had strong wooden doors in her house in the old country and they didn’t keep her and Mort from being taken away to the camps, now did they?

She looked over from the stove to see it was Paulie. Something must be wrong. It’s Tuesday; he wasn’t supposed to come over for sex before three. She let him in the door.

“Paulie, something’s wrong?”

Paulie’s eyes were so pained. Such beautiful blue eyes like a girl’s. He fell against her and buried his face into her bosom.

“Fay, he knows. David knows.”

She cradled his head, stroking his hair as he stood there holding onto her. Soft brown hair. On top of his head was the only place Paulie had any hair. Her sons were both hairy apes like their father was.

“No, no,” she crooned, “It’s all right. It’s going to be all right.”

He pushed away from her and stood staring. “All right? You didn’t see his face! He’s ready to kill me!”

“Come into the living room. Sit down. Tell me about it.”

The only part of him that moved was his eyebrows up and down all over his forehead. Such a good-looking young man. Even his eyebrows were beautiful. Fay had to take his two hands and lead him into the living room; he was too shaken up to move by himself. She turned off the TV and put her knitting into the basket, before settling him and sitting down beside him.

“Now, tell me what happened.”

He clutched at her hands. She wished she could go and wash the chicken and cinnamon smells off, but Paulie was squeezing her hands too tight.

“I went over to his office to get him so we could go for lunch. He was sitting at his desk. He said ‘You’ve got one minute to get your ass out of here.’ Fay, I just stood there. I didn’t get it at first. Then he stood up, just standing there at the desk and he said ‘I’ll kill you. I swear I’ll kill you if I ever see you at my house again. Don’t you ever go near her again.’ That’s what he said, Fay. I didn’t know what to do. I shouldn’t even be here now but I had to tell you . . . The look on his face, Fay. Like I was a monster.”

“He had to find out some time, Paulie. You’re partners in the same office.”

“Fay, are we really doing anything so wrong? I’m a single man. You’re a widow. You’re not my mother, you’re HIS mother. It’s not really wrong, is it?”

“Of course not. It’s a little strange, but of course it’s not wrong. I still don’t understand why you even want an old lady like me but who’s complaining?”

He dropped her hands. “You don’t get it, do you? I’ve told you over and over again, Fay. I love you. The women my own age – they’re all after me for my looks or my money. But you, you’ve seen life, you’ve seen death, you’ve seen . . .”

“You’re talking like a soap opera, Paulie. My husband loved me. That, I don’t need again, thank you very much.” She had told Paul about how David’s father was, just like she’d told him how it was in the war and in the camps. Young people. They can’t even believe things like that happened. Who knows, maybe if somebody took Paulie away to a prison camp he might change, like Mort did.

“I just feel so dirty. David’s my best friend. Damn it, he’s like my brother. You’re his mother. That makes me almost like your son. That makes me a mother-f . . . ”

“Paul! Don’t you use bad language in this house!”

He dropped to the floor at her feet, crying now, with his head in her lap. There wasn’t going to be any sex this afternoon. Paulie probably wouldn’t come around any more at all after today. She just waited, letting him cry.

While sitting there, with him crying in her lap, she detected the done-cake smell coming out from the kitchen. She’d better go attend to the cakes but she couldn’t just leave him there, so she kissed him first. He liked to be kissed. Hard, like in a movie, but of course he wouldn’t be in the mood for that now. So she just raised his head up from her lap and gave him a little peck on the mouth. “You stay here. I’ll be right back. I just have to check on the oven.”

Then she went back to the kitchen, took the two cakes out of the oven and washed the smells off her hands. When she got back to the living room she saw that Paul had collected himself and also got up from the floor and was sitting on the couch. There were still tears on his face but they were old tears. They’d fallen a few minutes ago and were drying up.

He sniffed and rubbed his face when he saw her come back in. “I guess I’d better go. I don’t know how I’ll face him at the office tomorrow.” He sighed, as though trying to expel all the hurt out his body with the sigh. It wouldn’t work, of course. Hurt stays inside no matter how hard you sigh it out.

It took another ten minutes of talking and soothing before she got him out to his car. She watched him drive off, hoping he would be able to drive home safely – he was so upset.

David was going to be difficult when he came home from work. There was going to be a scene for sure. He’d probably be too angry to eat. She’d have to take both coffee cakes to the Mah Jong tonight. Or maybe just freeze one.

END

Send your short fiction to The Voice for an upcoming Fiction Feature. Contact the editor at voice@ausu.org for more information.

This week, The Voice is pleased to present another instalment of Student Fiction from new Voice contributor, Marilyn Oprisan. To learn more about Marilyn, read her bio in AU Profiles, this issue.

The King’s Creek outpost was far enough north that in summer there was neither warmth nor darkness. The half-dozen Mounties stationed there were determined to talk Ken out of his foolhardy plan, but the cabin that served as their headquarters afforded little privacy. They figured they would have to wait until his American friend was asleep, but that took a long time in the midnight sun. Finally, the American dropped off and they had their chance.

“Ken, wake up,” said one, unnecessarily since their movement and muttering around his cot had already awakened him. Ken’s eyes eased open, squinting against the sunlight. The lead dog, Trailblazer, who had been sleeping beside Ken’s bed, was already fully alert and on guard.

“Yeah, we have to talk to you. Come into the kitchen.” They kept their voices low so that the American sleeping in the cot beside would not hear and awaken. Ken followed them into the kitchen and dropped, still half-asleep, onto a chair. Trailblazer trotted along and stood watching.

“Look, I know what I’m doing,” Ken began, hoping to forestall yet another lecture. “I was born and raised in the north. I know how to handle a dog-team. My friend’s always wanted to go on an arctic expedition, and I promised I’d take him for his thirty-fifth birthday. We’ll be fine.”

They spent another half hour badgering Ken. Was he crazy, going off into the wilderness for two weeks for no other reason than to drive around and give his friend an arctic adventure? They had only met Ken a couple of days ago when he had flown in with his American friend, equipment, sled and dogs, but he was a fellow RCMP officer, even if he was on vacation.

Finally Ken ended the matter by saying, “I guess it’s kind of a reverse-Sam McGee thing. I just miss the north and want to spend some time at home again. Can’t you guys understand that?”

They could, so they let him go back to sleep.

———-

Trailblazer trotted to his spot in front of the rest of the dogs who were already in harness and waiting. Ken strapped him up, gave him a last pat on the head and then straightened, looking off into the snowdrifts and grey ridges that made up the landscape ahead.

“This is it, Blaze. We’re off. Just like the old days.” He turned to Rob. “Climb aboard and I’ll wrap you up. You might be cold sitting and doing nothing, so I’ve got extra furs.”

Rob didn’t climb aboard. “You said I was supposed to learn to drive this thing.”

“Tomorrow. Today it’s me and Blaze and the call of the wild.” Ken smiled to himself as he looked out over the sun-lit frozen landscape. He took a breath of frigid air deeply into his lungs and said softly to himself, “Home.” Then to Rob he said, “You’ll have plenty of time to learn to drive. Come on, your chariot awaits.”

———-

When the sun had circled as far west as it was going to that day, Ken decided to make camp for the night. Rob put up the tent while Ken tended and fed all the dogs but Trailblazer. Then, Trailblazer and the two men retired to the tent where Ken fired up their Coleman stove and warmed up their tins of beans and a kettle of tea. Trailblazer preferred hot milk to tea, but made do while they were out on expedition.

After they ate, Ken leaned back against one of the packs and stretched his thermal-sock covered feet towards the stove. Trailblazer lay curled up by Ken’s side, his flank pressed against his man’s flank.

“So, our first day out. How do you like it so far?” The question was directed to Rob. Ken already knew the husky was having a fine time.

“I wasn’t cold. Every movie you see about the North, the dudes are cold. I was great under all those furs.”

“You know what we say in the North?” Ken said while scratching Trailblazer behind the ear. “There’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad dressing.”

“And tomorrow I drive. You promised.”

Rob located their two sleeping bags among the baggage, tossed one to Ken and unzipped the other for himself. “I hate sleeping in this light. It’s spooky.”

“There are strange things done in the midnight sun . . .” Ken quoted with a chuckle as he opened up his sleeping bag.

———-

Trailblazer and the rest of the dog team were good teachers, trotting along at a pace just fast enough to give Rob the right feel for the movement of the sled and just slow enough for Ken to be able to jog along beside, shouting pointers.

By midday Rob felt he had the hang of it and Trailblazer felt he had Rob sufficiently trained. But Ken declined to get onto the sled and ride. “Lazy men ride,” he declared, then seeing his friend’s insulted look he added, “or beginners who aren’t used to running in the snow.”

“I’ll show you who’s a beginner!” To the dogs he called out a sharp “hee-yah!”

Trailblazer picked up on the cue, took control and dashed off at top speed, while Rob bounced along on the back of the sled.

Ken ran off after them shouting, “Rob! Blaze! Wait uuuuuh . . .” He felt resistance against his left foot, a sudden wrench in his ankle and he found himself face down in the snow. He pushed himself up and sat, legs splayed, looking like a toddler sitting in the snow and feeling just as helpless. The ankle throbbed.

Meanwhile Rob and Trailblazer had, at Ken’s cry of pain, made the simultaneous decision to halt the sled and turn it around. Ken watched his human friend jump off the sled and plod through the snow towards him.
“You okay?” Rob held out a hand to pull the Mountie to his feet.

Ken shook his head. “I can’t walk on it. Lift me up onto the sled.”

Ken muttered and groused as Rob lifted him up onto one foot then swung him over onto the sled. “Didn’t look where I was going. Put my foot right into a crack in the ice. Can’t believe it. Just like a rookie,” Ken grumbled as Rob packed furs around him.

“So, what happens now? Can I set off that Emergency Locator Transmitter you showed me?”

Ken snorted. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Dramatic rescue in the high arctic. The guys would never let me live it down.”

Ken noticed Rob’s look was getting dangerously like real worry.

“It’s only twisted,” Ken said, so firmly that he almost convinced himself it was true. “Let’s drive on for the rest of the day and if it’s not any better by tonight, we’ll camp out one last time and then you can drive back.”

“Or you could stop being an ass-hole and just let somebody come fetch us.”

Ken let out a stream of good-natured curses that fell just a little short of being anatomically feasible and the general gist of which was that he preferred to keep moving.

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal,” Rob insisted, “we’ll camp here for the night. If your ankle’s not better tomorrow, we go back.”

“Now? It’s nowhere near night!”

Rob looked around at the glare of the relentless sun coming off the surface of the snow around them. “Like day or night makes any difference up here. It’s never dark anyway.”

———-

Rob set up camp under Ken’s direction while the dogs watched. Then Rob hopped him over to the tent door, eased Ken inside and settled him onto a pile of furs.

“Well, you’re not going anywhere. I guess I’m going to have to take care of the dogs tonight. Come on, Trailblazer, let’s go out with your buddies.”

“Rob! You know Blaze sleeps inside!”

“Isn’t it bad for a dog to be warm at night and out in the cold in the daytime? I read that somewhere.”

“Huskies are tough. All Northerners are tough.” Ken assured him, then to the husky he said, “Go with him anyway, for company. Make sure he gets things right, then you can come back inside.” The husky got up and walked over to where Rob stood at the door-flap of the tent.

Rob sniffed. “If I was the other dogs, I’d be jealous.” He slipped out of the tent into the wind and sun, followed by Trailblazer, and zipped up the tent-flap behind him.

“You’re attributing human emotions to animals, Rob.” Ken called after them, then settled back against a pile of furs, closed his eyes and concentrated on ignoring the throbbing. All of Rob’s attempts to get him to take the Tylenol in the first aid kit had been met with impolite observations about the American’s parentage.

It was still a little chilly inside the tent so Ken sat up again and scooted himself closer to the stove. His left foot made contact with a tent-pole and a jolt of agony shot up his leg. It took all his control not to yelp. He sat breathing hard for a few minutes, and then leaned over to pump up the pressure chamber on the stove. Normally he knew not to do that inside an enclosed space with the stove still lit, but his mind was occupied with denying the pain and he just forgot.

———-

Ken became aware that his back was cold. And wet. Why? He drifted into a vague consciousness. Memory of the last few moments came back. Bright flash. Big boom. Now it seemed he was lying down flat. That couldn’t be good.

His awareness expanded. He was lying in a puddle of water, face up. Squinting against the light made him realize there was no tent anymore. It also made his eyelids tingle. A moment passed and Ken realized all of him was tingling.

Rob’s face came into view, right up close to his own face.

“Ken! Can you hear me? You’re badly burned. I’m going to call for help. I’ll be right back to you in a few minutes. Hang on.”

The tingling became pain, all over his skin and just under his skin. It didn’t make sense. He’d been wounded before, but never all over his body at the same time. He thought about this and why he wasn’t cold, even though he heard the wind howling and there was no tent. Something about burns?

Rob was talking again. “Nothing’s working! The INMARSAT, the transmitter, they must have been damaged in the explosion.”

Explosion. It was beginning to make a little sense now.

“You . . . ” the sound dragged pain along his throat as Ken forced out the words, ” . . . hurt? Blaze . . . hurt?”

“No, we’re fine. And all the rest of the dogs. You’re the one that got blown up.”

Stupid, stupid to let himself get blown up.

“I’ll have to drive you back myself, but, Ken, that Global Positioning thing isn’t working. You knew the area and we had all that positioning stuff. Damn it, I didn’t pay attention. I don’t know how to get back!” There was panic in his friend’s voice. Ken knew he had to stay calm and take control.

It’s okay, I DO know the area. I’ll give you directions. That’s what he wanted to say, but the only words that Ken’s throat would allow to emerge were “I” and “directions”.

“Okay, I’ll put you on the sled. Stay with me, Ken. Just stay with me. I’m going to drive you back to the outpost. I think you must have some internal injuries, but I can’t tell. I’ll try to be as gentle as I can.”

Ken’s back was out of the water. Somebody was lifting him. The pain that was only in and under the skin before was now also deep inside his gut. No, this definitely wasn’t good.

Rob’s voice came back. “Your coat and the furs and all our first aid stuff got burned up, but there were a few blankets left on the sled. I’m going to wrap you up now. Okay?”

———-

“Turn left . . . after . . . next snow bank.”

Sometimes Ken drifted towards someplace very soft and comfortingly dark. Rob’s voice always called him back, always asking the way. Ken somehow knew he had only to relax, and he would be out of the pain and the constant, searing light. But Rob was so helpless.

“Look for . . . two boulders . . . follow . . . the gully.”

Shameful to shiver like this. Bad dressing.

“Turn right . . . at . . . boulders.”

The sled bounced and sometimes it turned. But it never took Ken to the soft, dark place.

———-

Rob pulled the dogs to a halt. “What now?”

There was no answer at first from inside the blankets.

“Ken?”

Rob was answered by a gurgling sound, like a voice from under water. “What . . . time . . .”

Rob pushed four layers of coverings back from his wrist and exposed his watch. “A little after eleven. At night.” he added.

The gurgling gave way to a choke, and then a cough that sent a fine red spray into the air in front of Ken’s face. “Good . . . head away . . . from the sun. Do you . . . see . . . hills?”

Rob swung his back to the sun and peered out into the swirling snow. “Yes! Hills! I see them!”

Ken’s voice hadn’t been loud before but now it was barely audible. Rob crouched beside the Mountie’s head and brought his ear close to the furs. As much as the words themselves Rob had to hear Ken’s voice just to know his friend was still around.

“Go . . . towards . . . hills. Count the . . . third from the left . . . Go . . . there.” The last word was actually a grunting burst of air.

“Right. Just let me have a look at you before we get going.” Rob reached to open the bundle of blankets but Ken’s voice said, “No, keep it closed. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Rob said this automatically but he did notice Ken’s voice was louder and steadier than it had been just the instant before. Before Rob could reflect on this further, Trailblazer whimpering and twisting about in his harness distracted his attention.

“What now, Trailblazer?” The dog became more and more agitated. Rob went over and undid his harness. As soon as he was loose, Trailblazer bounded to Ken’s side, pushing his nose into the wrappings and letting out a series of pathetic yips.

Rob bent down beside him and petted the animal about his neck and ears. “Ken’s hurt bad, Trailblazer. We can’t stay here. You got to help me get him back.”

Trailblazer ignored him. “Don’t leave!” he begged Ken. The husky was too distressed to notice that, for the first time, he could actually speak to his man.

“It’s too late. I’m sorry, Blaze, I tried to hang on.” Ken felt a little less humiliated when he realized that at least now he could talk without burning his throat.

“But I can’t smell my way home in the snow. I need your eyes. This other one, he doesn’t know where to go. I’m afraid.”

“I’ll get you both back, I promise.”

———-

“Now follow along this ridge, keep it on your left, and in about half an hour you should get to an innook-shook.”

“A what?”

“A marker. Pile of stones shaped like a man. You can’t miss it.”

“You feeling better? You sound better.”

Ken hated to lie to his friend, but the truth wouldn’t get Rob home any faster. “I’m not in pain anymore,” Ken ventured, hoping Rob would be satisfied.

“So maybe we should stop and rest a little. Let me have a look at you.”

“No! You’re almost there! Once you get to the innook-shook, it should be only another few miles to the outpost.”

“Just how stupid ARE humans, anyway?” Trailblazer wanted to know.

“He’s not stupid, he’s just exhausted. He’s been driving for hours.”

“Well, I’m tired, too.”

“Be brave, Blaze. You’re almost there.”

———-

Three of the Mounties came running out of the cabin as the sled pulled up.

“Ken. Hurt.” Rob mumbled before passing out in the snow.

“I’ll take this one.” One of the Mounties hefted Rob onto his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and trotted off.

Another pulled aside the blankets, frowned and then placed two fingers at the base of Ken’s neck. The frown deepened and he took hold of Ken’s forearm, giving it a gentle shake. As he expected, it was completely stiff.

“Look at this. Must have died at least six hours ago, probably more.”

The men stood looking at the corpse frozen in place on the sled.

“Poor son-of-a-bitch.”

“How’ll we get him off?”

“Damned if I know.”

“Tell you what, let’s get the dogs first, then we’ll figure it out.”

As they unstrapped the dogs, each man heard a voice and assumed it was the other one talking.
“Trailblazer sleeps INSIDE,” the voice said.

END

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