Graham Joyce: The Silent Land

‘No, please let him come in.’

The doctor nodded to the nurse, who went out of the room. After a few minutes she returned with an elderly gentleman, his leathery, tanned face wreathed with lines. His grey hair was shaved close to his skull. He had a miraculously thin and close-trimmed moustache. There was a smile on his lips but his eyes glittered with sympathy for her grief, like sunlight on frost.

It was perfectly natural that Zoe should hold out her arms to embrace the stranger who had saved her. The doctor drew back so that he could lean across the bed and accept her embrace. ‘ Vous bénisse! Vous bénisse! ’ he said.

He reeked of tobacco.

‘Thank you thank you thank you.’

He stood back and spoke to her in French, not appearing to care if Zoe could understand. The doctor translated. ‘He says you are the third person he has dug out of the snow, but you were the one he had the least hope for.’

‘Can you ask him how long I was under the snow?’

‘He says maybe twenty minutes, maybe more. Your holiday rep had seen you go up early and she was able to give the rescue team your number. They were nearby and they got there very fast. But all the others were looking in the wrong place. He says he listened to the snow.’

‘Listened?’

‘That’s what he said. He said his colleagues were using thermal sensor equipment but they were wrong. He went to a different place and found you. He said they quickly got hold of your phone number and tried to call. He says he heard your phone ringing under the snow. But it kept stopping and he was praying to let it ring.’

‘ Laissez sonner. ’

‘ Oui. Laissez sonner ,’ said the old man.

She knew his voice. But it wasn’t possible that, buried under snow, she could have answered her phone.

Then he handed her a card. It was wet, almost disintegrating, and it was the size of a large playing card. On one side was a picture of a Christmas tree, decorated with gifts. She had seen it before. But this time there were no words on the card.

‘What’s this?’

The man spoke and the doctor translated. ‘He said it was in your fist.’

The man spoke again to the doctor, flicking at his own large ears and smiling at Zoe. ‘He says he’s always had good hearing. His friends joke about it. And he said he heard tiny movements under the snow. A tiny scratching. Then he knew you were there, and he called the rest of them. And they all came.’

‘What did he…?’ she tried.

‘He doesn’t trust the new ways. He said he even gave you cognac when he found you, though it’s forbidden now.’

‘I remember the taste of the cognac.’

The doctor translated and the old man’s eyebrows danced. He spoke in animated fashion. Then the man became sombre and turned to look at the doctor.

‘Now he says he doesn’t want to look at you while he apologises for not finding the other one.’

Despite this, the old man turned and nodded at her.

‘Please tell him that he did save another one. He did.’

The doctor explained something to the old man. He stepped over to the bed and tenderly he reached out a weathered hand and placed it on the cotton covers above her belly. He let his hand rest there for a moment and again the reek of his tobacco was strong.

‘He’s very happy,’ the doctor said. ‘He’s a coffin-maker in the village, and he says he’s glad to be involved with life instead of death.’

Zoe felt the tears welling up. The man wished her luck and took his leave.

Once more the doctor offered her something that would help her to sleep. Zoe refused it. There would be a great deal to think about in the coming days, and a lot to do. She lay back with her hand resting on her midriff. She wondered if Jake had made a deal in some dark place; a trade wherein he had not abandoned her at all, but had saved her; and if such a thing were possible.

She heard a light grazing on the window and she looked up to see huge, gentle six-pointed flakes from a picture book blown by a breeze onto the glass. It was snowing again.

For long-term support and friendship: Anne Williams, Pete Williams, Simon Spanton, Luigi Bonomi, Pete Coleborn, Julie-Anne Hudson, Brig Eaton, Chris Fowler, Julie Flanders, Daniel Hanson, Julie Hanson, Helen and Tim Bennet. Thanks and praise also to Lisa Rogers for superb copy-editing. Finally, to the memory of the inspirational Robert Holdstock.

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