Sarah St.Vincent - Ways to Hide in Winter

“It didn’t look much like him,” he said finally.

“What’s it to me, whether it was or wasn’t him?”

“Come on, Kathleen. It’s not like I’m not upset, too.”

My shoulders sagged, and I turned my head away. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

We lapsed back into silence, gazing down at the ruins of the furnace stack.

“We did our best,” he said eventually. “We did what we thought was right. And it was right. No matter who he was. Is. I don’t doubt that.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No. I don’t.”

I kicked a shoe against the cement.

“‘For I was hungry,’” he said softly, “‘and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home. I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you cared for me. I was in prison, and you came to me.’ Matthew twenty-five.” He looked out at the yard, the stone furnace. “It’s a beautiful chapter.”

“I don’t need that bullshit right now,” I said. “No offense.”

He went silent.

“I mean, yeah, those are some nice words. But…” I rolled my head back. “Well, anyway, I didn’t.”

“You didn’t what?”

“I didn’t do what I was supposed to do. Or rather, I did something I shouldn’t have done.” I picked at the edge of the bench. “I think. I don’t know.”

“You mean helping him?”

“No. The opposite of that.” I felt myself grow heavy. “I was angry with him. He told me…something. Not what they told us today, but something. And I…”

I found I couldn’t finish.

“Listen,” he said, and surprised me by touching my hand. “That anonymous tip.”

My stomach turned. “Yeah?”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Of course it wasn’t.”

“And it wasn’t you.”

Flinching, I pulled my hand away and gazed at the roof of the porch, frowning.

“They said it was some guy who called this morning,” he said gently. “It wasn’t you. It wasn’t either of us.”

“Don’t be so sure,” I said.

“It was a man,” he said again. “They told me.”

My vision began to blur. I wiped my eyes tiredly, looking away.

“Then it was Jerry.”

“Who?”

“Jerry Calaman.”

“Jerry Calaman ? What’s any of this got to do with him?”

“He was angry with me. And he knew something was going on.”

Martin ran a hand over his face, pulling the skin down. “Listen to me. When they arrested Danya, he was in his room. He wasn’t in the basement. He was sitting there on his bed with his suitcase packed.”

“So?”

“I think—well, I think it’s pretty clear what happened.”

“Yeah, he was waiting for me to pick him up.”

“No.” He sighed. “Well. Maybe. But I don’t think so.”

“What are you trying to say?” I asked.

He looked at me.

“I think he turned himself in,” he said quietly.

I fixed him with a long stare. A kind of jerk, or shudder, ran through my body. He looked away.

“Why would he do that?” I said.

“Because there were risks he decided he couldn’t bear to see you take on his behalf.”

I stood up rapidly and walked to the edge of the porch, crossing my arms.

“Or because on some level he always meant for this to happen,” Martin went on behind me. “Or both.”

“What do you mean, always meant for this to happen?”

I heard the creak of the bench, could picture Martin hunching forward, staring down at his feet. “Regardless of what he is or isn’t,” he said slowly, “I think that man was carrying around some heavy burdens. And even though he was hiding here, he wasn’t really hiding. He was running, but he also wasn’t really running. I think—” He stopped before going on. “I think we may have been watching someone do slowly what many people do a lot more quickly. People who feel guilt. People who feel sadness. People who don’t know how to ease either of those things. You didn’t see it, and I didn’t see it.” His words grew softer. “Or maybe I did see it, but I didn’t do enough. I wish I had.”

I left the porch and walked onto the grass, to the edge of the hill, looking down over the trail and the park. Wrapping my arms around myself, feeling my own body under my clothes, I stared down at the blank stretch of the picnic grounds.

In my mind’s eye, I saw the stranger as he had stood before me the previous night, turning his head away shyly, covering his nakedness with his hand. The image was more than I could bear.

Martin came and stood beside me.

The spring breeze passed over us, over the trees, stirring everything around us invisibly before fading and disappearing.

We were quiet for a time, side by side, the descending sun shining into our faces.

“I’m going,” I said then.

He studied me for a moment before answering. “Okay.”

“No, I mean I’m really going. I’m leaving.”

Closing his eyes, he straightened as if bracing himself.

“All right,” he said finally. “Where?”

“I don’t know yet.”

He took a deep breath. Then he motioned toward the hostel. “Come with me.”

“No.” I suddenly felt too exhausted to stand. “That’s okay. Some other time.”

“Oh, just come on. It won’t take long.”

He turned and walked up the hill, and I followed him.

I was afraid we would go down to the basement, but we didn’t. Instead, he led me to the top floor, the one with the dormitory-style rooms that gave a view of the trail as it disappeared into the woods. The bunk beds inside had been pushed back against the walls, leaving a large space in the middle, and a strange contraption stood there, something with multiple wheels and bars and a set of protruding gears. There was some sort of seat in the middle of it, set at an angle, long and black. I thought I saw a handle jutting up somewhere, but I couldn’t be sure. The linoleum around the thing was smeared with grease.

I stood in the doorway.

“I don’t understand,” I said after a pause.

“It was for you,” he said. “If you wanted it. I had to guess your height, but I did my best.” He stepped forward, placing a hand on what seemed to be a pair of pedals.

“But—” It was difficult not to feel as if I were moving through a dream. “What is it?”

“It’s a recumbent bike.” Slowly, he spun the pedals, looking thoughtful. “Although I’ve realized lately that you wouldn’t want it. I originally thought—with your hip and everything—it would be easier on you than a regular bike. That you might enjoy it.” He stole a glance at me. “But, you know, I think…well, I think I probably should’ve know you wouldn’t want to use anything different from what everyone else uses.”

I was still confounded. “You made this for me?”

“Yeah. But it’s all right. It doesn’t have to be for you. Somebody else will take it. I guess I just—” He laughed to himself. “I’m not sure what I was thinking, really.”

I looked from him to the thing.

Penance, I thought.

“Martin,” I said then, looking at him and, for the first time in all the years I’d known him, truly seeing him, this man with his quiet intelligence and unwavering compassion, his strident and almost foolish faith in human goodness. “I’m so sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry about?”

“I don’t know. All of it. You’re never anything but kind, and we all—”

“Oh,” he interrupted, “nonsense. Now.” He took his hand off the machine. “What do you need me to do?”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

“Well,” I said when I’d gathered myself, “if you could call Herman—you know, the store’s owner—and maybe find somebody else who can watch the place—”