Christian Guay-Poliquin - The Weight of Snow

The roof is still leaking. We have stopped melting snow on the stove. We get the water straight from the leak. It is transparent, but has a strange taste, the flavour of the wood through which it has passed.

Matthias cooks all the time, as if he was trying to fill the void by making things to fill our stomachs. Again today he made black bread. This time he added meat and dried fruit and a good helping of fat. The mixture has been on the stove top since morning, and he feeds the fire carefully, slowly, to keep from burning his little slabs of black bread and meat.

It’s not black bread, it’s pemmican, that’s not the same thing, he tells me.

When he finally puts his slabs of pemmican on the table, he looks particularly satisfied.

You can survive on pemmican for a long time, he says, a few mouthfuls are as good as a meal. That’s what the explorers took with them when they headed up the rivers.

Outside, the storm rages and bangs against the porch. It howls in the chimney and whips the snow around. Then it knocks at the window and roars. We watch the show with calculated indifference. Suddenly we hear what sounds like a voice. Someone is calling from the other side of the door. Matthias is intrigued and opens up. Jonas is there. He comes in, shaking snow off his shoulders, and pulls the rocking chair toward the stove and sits down. He rubs his hands and holds them close to the heat. He stays there for some time, the way our ancestors did for thousands of years. Finally Jonas turns in our direction, moving his fingers with difficulty, the icicles in his beard slowly melting, his turquoise coat shiny with water. He opens his mouth to speak, but his thought seems to have deserted him, because he says nothing for a minute, hypnotized by the drops falling from the ceiling into the pail.

It’s cold, he says in the end. And the snow, it’s just not stopping. You did the right thing with those posts, you never know. I heard that a little further up, in the forest, there’s twice as much snow. Twice as much snow, can you picture that?

Matthias raises his eyebrows, and I try to imagine my uncles’ camp buried under four metres of snow.

What’s that stuff? Jonas asks, pointing at the pemmican on the table.

Try some, Matthias tells him.

He picks up a piece, weighs it, then bites into it with his few remaining teeth.

It’s a good storm, he goes on, his mouth full, a good storm. But we’ve seen storms before. There are storms every winter. That’s the way it is. Life goes on. Storms don’t stop anyone. The proof is that they left just as it was starting.

Who left? Matthias wastes no time asking.

Jonas stops chewing a moment.

Jude, Jean, José, and the others.

In the minibus?

Yes, in the minibus, you should have seen it, that machine, floating on top of the snow, that’s what it looked like, like that boat in the Bible.

Matthias’s face darkens.

Did they go to the city?

I don’t know. They left, they left to look for food, gas, medicine most of all, for the sick people who can’t get over the flu. I met them just before they left. We were the only ones outside because of the wind. I asked if I could go with them. To sell my empty bottles. They said yes, but next time. I insisted, I’m not afraid of blizzards. They told me they were enough as it was and that they wouldn’t be gone long. I went home before I got too cold. They’ll be back soon and I’ll be on the next one, the next expedition.

How long ago did they leave? Matthias wants to know, caught off guard.

I don’t know, Jonas says, thinking hard. It must be four or five days ago, yes, I think so. Whatever it is, we’re expecting them any time now. We can’t wait to see them. The village is empty without them. And ration day is coming fast.

He takes a big bite from his pemmican.

It’s good, he compliments Matthias. A little hard, but good.

Matthias mutters something and pays no mind to the rest of the conversation.

Hear anything from Joseph and Maria? I probe.

Ah, pretty Maria, Jonas sighs. I knew what was going to happen, I knew it all the time, but I didn’t say anything. Not to anyone. They ran away. What do you expect? That’s the way it is. I knew that it wouldn’t make sense trying to follow them. Joseph, he’s no fool, Joseph. He wouldn’t let anyone catch him. I’m no fool either. I don’t look like much the way I am, I sleep in the stable, I go about my business, but I know everything that’s going on. Now I’m the one taking care of the cows and feeding them. Someone has to keep company with those poor animals.

As Jonas goes on with his story, I glance at Matthias. He is staring into the void as if struck with paralysis. As if he had lost control of his fate.

You might not feel it, Jonas continues, but the days are getting longer. It’s lighter in the morning. And darkness falls later. Usually, this time of year it stops being so cold for a few days at a time. Sometimes it rains instead of snowing. That’s how it is, there are always mild spells in the middle of winter. Can I have more pemmican?

Yes, Matthias says, his mind elsewhere, take all you want.

Jonas stands up and slips a few slabs into his pockets.

That’s for, that’s for the road, he explains on his way out.

With all the snow that has piled up over the last few days, my window looks more like an arrowslit in a fortress. We are living in a bunker built for ambushes. Or an underground hiding place, with limited access to the world outside.

Dawn breaks slowly. Matthias is staring at the coffee maker, looking like he had not slept all night. His expression is serious, severe. I check out the horizon with my spyglass. I inspect the foot of the hill, toward the village. All quiet. Only three chimneys are smoking. It’s winter, people hibernate.

We are far from the mild spells Jonas promised us; the landscape is frozen in silent stillness. The barometer branch is fixed in the horizontal position, the trees submit to the snow, squirrels huddle deep in the trunks. Even the leak stopped dripping for longer than usual. But then it goes back to its ways, always a bit faster than the day before. The drops seem attracted by our presence. By our smell, our heat, like the big meat-eaters that can never completely overcome their predator’s instinct. In their veins they carry the ancient memory of their ancestors that methodically surrounded their prey before devouring it.

Suddenly Matthias slams his hand on the table. His coffee cup tips over and shatters on the floor.

This can’t be! he cries. It’s impossible!

He disappears into the other side and comes back a few moments later, hiding something in the small of his back, underneath his shirt.

I have to go to the village.

I stare at him hard.

I have to go to the village, he repeats, uncomfortable, maybe Jude and the rest of them have come back, the way Jonas said. Maybe they’re getting ready to go to the city now that they’ve tested the minibus. I have to tell them to save me a spot. That’s the agreement, I have to have my spot on the minibus.

He pulls on his coat, grabs his snowshoes, and hurries out.

I finish my coffee as I watch him make his way through the snow. The porch suddenly seems enormous and perfectly calm. The only sound is the crackling fire and the faithful drips of water. I could use the opportunity to change my bandages, do my exercises, or trim my beard. Instead I think about the bottles of wine Joseph gave us. I let my eyes wander over the room. The thought of going back to bed occurs to me. Then my eyes fall on the door that leads to the other side.

I grab hold of my crutches, get to my feet, and move toward the door. The hinges turn without making a sound. A draft of cold, stale air hits me. I breathe deeply and cross over to the other side.