Christian Guay-Poliquin - The Weight of Snow

The barometer points skyward and daylight floods the room. I lie in the sun the way cold-blooded animals do.

Ever since he forced me to call Fire! Fire! Matthias has not stopped pressing his advantage.

The neighbour lady never came, and your aunts and uncles left you here. We are alone in this world. But at least now you’re talking. I know it’s true, I heard you. I always knew you’d end up giving in.

Suddenly, the sound of a motor in the distance. Matthias freezes, as if he had heard the cry of an animal that has been extinct for millions of years. I get out my spyglass and scan the horizon. A yellow snowmobile appears at the top of the hill. It is pulling a sled piled high with wood. The driver is standing, head lowered, both hands gripping the controls. I lose him behind some trees, but the noise of the clattering pistons comes closer. The yellow snowmobile speeds into sight, then halts by the front door. It’s Joseph with his load of wood. Matthias hurries to open the door.

Smells like smoke here, Joseph says.

Matthias dodges the subject and asks him how he managed to find some gas. Joseph leans against the door frame. His eyes are shining.

I didn’t have to convince anyone, you know.

Matthias pitches in to unload the wood. When they finish they come inside to warm up and drink coffee. Joseph figures we can heat the place for quite a while with what he brought. Not all the way to spring, but almost. But there’s some green birch in the lot, he warns us.

You’ll see, some of the logs will hiss.

He pulls out a metal flask and pours some brownish alcohol into his coffee. Then he inquires after Maria.

I bet José was with her when she came. He’d follow her everywhere if he could.

Matthias and I look at each other.

We haven’t seen Maria in a long time, Matthias says.

Really, Joseph says, surprised, that’s strange. Everything’s quiet in the village. I’m going to go see her, he decides, turning up the collar of his coat. If José lets me. You know, it’s never easy with guys like him.

Then Joseph drinks off the rest of his coffee, wishes us well, and climbs onto his snowmobile. Before he starts it, Matthias runs out to remind him not to forget to bring milk next time. For cheese. Joseph nods, pulls on the crank, and damages the landscape by revving up the engine.

Meanwhile, in the woodstove, the green logs whistle in the flames as if cursing their fate.

Today, everything is grey. The snow and the sky run together. Only the black triangle of the tall spruce trees hints at the horizon.

Matthias has gone out. With my spyglass, I watch him trudging ahead, fighting the snow. More than once he stops to catch his breath, then sets out again with a determined step. Further on, in the folds of the landscape, I spot another figure. The person is wearing a bright red coat and moving quickly, as if she were gliding over the snow. When Matthias sees her, he waves. They move toward each other and come together in the clearing, near the snow gauge. I watch them talk a moment, then they turn toward the house.

A short time later the door opens and Matthias comes in with Maria. As he shakes off his snowshoes, she leans her cross-country skis against the wall and unbuttons her coat. I try to sit up in bed in as dignified a way as possible.

How are you doing? she asks.

I go to answer, but Matthias cuts in first.

He’ll make it, he says, he’ll make it.

Joseph told me you’re doing better, Maria pursues, looking me in the eye, and I see he’s right. Can I examine you?

I nod. She comes closer, acknowledging my smile, then puts down the bag she was wearing across her body. When she leans over to place her hand on my forehead, I can sense the shape of her breasts beneath her sweater.

I would like to thank her. Tell her I’m happy to see her, that I remember her, back when she was young, when we were in school together. Tell her how beautiful a woman she has become, that her wavy hair and delicate features and the ease of her gestures would bring a dying man back to life. But when I open my mouth to speak, she sticks a thermometer into it.

Keep it under your tongue and close your lips around it.

Then she uncovers my legs and loosens my splints. Matthias joins her.

José isn’t with you? he asks.

No, José isn’t with me. Jenny is going to give birth any day now. He stayed behind with the family. In case the contractions begin.

While she unwraps the gauze, I stare at the ceiling beams. It is the only way to stay calm. And keep pain at a distance. I feel ridiculous with my injuries, my silence, and my underwear that fasten on the side. I know my legs are covered with bruises, and my thighs and calves are atrophied. I know I look more like a ghost than a man.

Did Joseph come and see you? Matthias asks.

No. I mean yes, he came by, Maria says, blushing.

Then she palpates my bones, bends my knees, and gently turns my ankles. Her hands are warm and attentive. Pain rises in me, along with desire.

You’re experiencing pain, and that’s normal, she tells me, because of your ligaments. Still, we should cut back on the analgesics because sooner or later you’re going to have to get used to the feeling. Your right leg is healing well, but the left is recuperating more slowly.

Suddenly I remember what Matthias told me at the beginning to frighten me. And force me to accept his care.

You see that? he shouted, pointing to the handsaw hanging on the wall, that’s what’s awaiting you. We’re living like the old-time lumberjacks in the camps. A cabin buried by the snow, a woodstove, just enough to survive on. Their techniques are ours too. When the axe slipped from a man’s hand because of cold, fatigue, or overreaching, and it sunk deep into his thigh or tibia or foot, there was only one solution. Brandy, fire, and the saw. Otherwise it was gangrene, fever, and a horribly slow death.

As I gaze at the handsaw hanging on the wall, Maria takes out my stitches one by one, using tweezers and a pair of scissors.

She works gently, but I can feel my flesh pulling. I turn toward her.

It’ll be all right, she tells me, her eyes focused, I’m almost finished.

As she rewraps my bandages, Maria asks me how I feel. I make a few unintelligible sounds. She laughs and takes the thermometer out of my mouth. She had forgotten all about it.

I’m okay, I tell her, looking at the immaculate whiteness of my new bandages. I’ll be all right.

When he hears my voice, Matthias lifts his head.

In any case your fever is gone, Maria says.

When am I going to be able to walk?

Be patient, she tells me. Your bones are knitting well, but your muscles are still very weak. Start by taking off your splints from time to time. That’ll do you good.

Then she gives me a wink and turns and hands Matthias her bag.

Take this. There’s fresh gauze, ointment, antibiotics, and everything else you’ll need. Some of it is past the expiry date, but that doesn’t matter.

I’m making soup. Why don’t you stay and eat with us?

Thank you, she declines, but I really must go. I’m expected in the village. I’ll be back soon.

Everyone says the same thing around here, Matthias mutters.

Maria smiles, but says no more, takes her skis and goes out the door. Through the window, the red stain of her coat grows fainter, giving light to the landscape.

Matthias puts the soup on the stove and shakes the fire with a poker. When he turns in my direction, his pupils are the colour of burning embers.

Matthias carries a chair to my bedside and sets up the chess game on my table.