Christian Guay-Poliquin - The Weight of Snow

I ask him for another cigarette.

Everyone ends up knowing everything in a village, he continues, handing me his pack. He’s been tailing her ever since. Maria can’t take it anymore, he doesn’t want to understand what’s going on, and I’m discouraged. I’m suffocating here, this place is killing me.

Joseph gets up, goes to the edge of the clearing, and starts up the chainsaw.

We’ll take that cedar there, he shouts over the stuttering motor.

When he leans under the skirt of the tree, the chainsaw roars and sends out a bluish cloud. The cedar falls. Joseph trims off the branches, and cuts three even sections of log. I stand up to help put them in the sled, but he shakes me off. That won’t be necessary.

When he sits back down on the snowmobile, I smell the scent of fresh sawdust on his coat.

You know, he says, going back to his story and motioning me to give him the bottle, Matthias wants to leave this place. With or without anyone’s help. That’s no secret. And he’s not the only one. But Matthias wouldn’t last more than three days on the road. If the cold doesn’t get him, some militia will. Whether he has a weapon or not, that won’t change anything. He wants to get back with his wife, but like everybody else, he has no idea what’s going on anywhere else. And with all the supplies I’ve brought you, he should just sit still for the next little while.

What about you? I inquire. What are you going to do?

I don’t know, Joseph says, looking away, I don’t know. What would you do in my shoes?

I shrug my shoulders and think of the topographical map. I came all the way here to see my father, but I showed up too late. My aunts and uncles left for their hunting camp and never came back. I’m living with a stranger who wants to leave as quickly as he can. I don’t know what’s keeping me here, outside of the fact that I can hardly stand up.

We empty the bottle in silence, then Joseph starts up the snowmobile, and we speed away through the woods.

By the time we pull up in front of the porch, I am frozen stiff. I can’t even lift myself off the seat. Joseph picks me up in his arms and carries me inside. I slump in the rocking chair by the fire, and weakness overtakes me. As if the cold wanted to keep me in its embrace. I hope I won’t get sick like the others in the village.

Matthias is still sorting supplies with great enthusiasm.

I thought you’d cut back on the provisions, he says. But there’s beef, a whole duck, maple syrup, pâté, dried mushrooms, all kinds of things. There’s even coffee.

I’m glad you’re happy, Joseph tells him as he measures the distance between the floor and the ceiling beams.

Matthias expresses amazement when he discovers two bottles of wine.

Why all this? And why now?

Little by little, my blood warms enough to start flowing through my body. But the pins and needles are intolerable. I can barely follow what the two are saying.

Jude isn’t the only one with a secret stash, Joseph points out. I wanted you to enjoy a little. Why not? But don’t talk about it, it might cause trouble. Once, Jude locked Jacques up for two days.

What happened?

I wasn’t there when it happened. Some people say that Jacques pointed a gun at someone who owed him some gas. Other people think it’s just a plot. He was let go, but it’s going to end badly if you ask me.

Matthias thanks Joseph and promises he will be discreet. But he tries to get more information about what happened with Jacques.

His whole arsenal was seized. Jude says it’s too risky to have weapons circulating. That sooner or later, someone will make a wrong move.

The snowmobile ride completely exhausted me. My neck muscles droop and I lose a large part of the conversation. When I can finally lift my head, Joseph is installing the cedar planks beneath the central beams.

That won’t straighten them up, he admits, driving in long nails with expert hammer blows, but it will keep them from sagging more. Now the clouds can dump their load on you, and you should be all right.

As I fight sleep, Joseph picks up his things. When he finishes he hands Matthias a key ring with a small plastic moose on it.

What’s this? Matthias asks.

A present. If you’re still here when the snow has melted, at least you’ll have access to a car. Third house on the left before the edge of the village, you know, right next to the arena. Third house on the left, he repeats, in the garage.

What about the expedition?

I think Jude and the others are seeing to the preparations, but I don’t really know how far they’ve gone. I’m sure you’ll hear about it before I do.

When Joseph puts his hand on my shoulder to say goodbye, I jump as if he had disturbed me in the midst of a dream.

I have to go. Get some rest. Rest up and eat your fill, it’s no time to give up. Your endurance is better already. I bet the next time we meet, you’ll be walking.

I doubt it, I answer, thinking he is making fun of me.

Before going out the door, Joseph turns around and looks at us in disbelief. A few moments later, we hear him rev up his engine, then speed off.

Before I can make it to my bed, my head drops to my chest and I fall into a deep, gnarled sleep.

I wake up in the middle of the night with stomach pains. We ate too much. While I napped Matthias cooked the duck and put the best canned goods on the table. Artichoke hearts, smoked oysters, snails, roasted red peppers. He woke me up, we sat down at the table and devoured as much as we could. It was a change from soup and black bread.

Outside, a cold moon shines through the clouds. Its beams of light penetrate the darkest reaches of the room. On both sides of the window, shadows play. Joseph’s reinforcement posts look like trees growing through the ceiling. Or magical beanstalks that have sprung up in the gaps between the floorboards.

Everything is still. Time is suspended from the night. Both are immobile. Like my legs in their splints. I try to fall asleep again, I think of life in the village, of Joseph and Maria. I think of my uncles. I wonder what they had on their table tonight, in the middle of the forest. As my eyelids slowly close, the little monster returns to gnaw on my sleep. I hear it scurrying around on the other side, gathering up all it can. I’d like to hunt it down with my slingshot and a flashlight. On crutches that would not be easy. I lean on my elbows and spot light coming from under the door that leads to the other side. I examine the moonlit room. Three cedar posts support the heavens, the table is there, the rocking chair, the sofa. The sofa. The sofa where Matthias’s blankets are carefully folded, undisturbed. The trap door to the cellar is open. What is he doing? What is he up to on the other side at this time of night? I hear him walking, stopping, starting again. I hear him turning things over, rummaging around, busying himself. That’s it, I get it. I’ve identified the little animal that pilfers our supplies at night. I know what it is doing: preparing its departure.

The noise drops off for a time, my stomach pains subside, and slowly I find sleep again.

Very early the next morning, when I awake, Matthias is asleep on the sofa. He awakes as soon as he hears me moving around. Outside, the sky is flooded with light though the sun has yet to lift itself above the horizon. There must not be any embers left in the stove because the room has lost its heat. I wrap myself in my blankets and listen to Matthias’s calm breathing. I could use a coffee.

The distant growl of an engine attracts my attention. I pick up my spyglass. In the clear, cold dawn, I spot a yellow snowmobile moving at top speed. It is following the dark line of the forest. There are two people on board. The driver holds the handles tightly and his eyes seem to be probing the distance. The person with him is wearing a red coat. She keeps glancing behind and holds onto the driver as if he is her best hope. Once they climb the slope of the hill, they turn onto a logging road and disappear. I lower my spyglass and think that without Joseph and Maria life in the village won’t be the same. And mine won’t be the same either.