18 March 2012

Bud Kilgore had known it was not going to be easy. What he had not known--might have altered plans somewhat, had he possessed an awareness of the level of difficulty that awaited him on those snowy slopes--was that for nearly every step he took in that deep, steep snow he would end up sliding backwards by nearly the distance he had covered, leaving progress an incurably slow and awkward thing. Painful, too, as his leg, though perhaps not broken as he had initially feared, certainly didn’t want to support his weight, twisting and collapsing beneath him often as not and soon leaving his knee, hip and indeed his entire injured side an agony of strained, sprained muscles, ligaments and joints. Not his idea of a good day on the mountain, but he kept moving, trying not to grumble but not entirely succeeding. Susan helped how she could, getting him to his feet again when he ended up floundering in the snow and wishing she could walk beside him in order to hopefully prevent some of the falls, in the first place, but dense as the timber remained along their chosen route, there was no way for her to do so. They would, she was beginning to see, be extremely fortunate to reach their rendezvous point ahead of the following morning when Roger was supposed to show up and pluck them off the mountain. It was looking more and more like they would either have to risk radioing him to change plans--a minimal risk, the way Bud had planned and equipped, but a risk, nonetheless, and one both of them really wanted to avoid taking, not only for their own sake but for that of the little family in the basin--or simply miss the meeting, and plan to camp out up there until his next scheduled flyover. Time would tell. For the moment they must continue with the climb, see what kind of time they could make, and they did.

· · · ·

As the day went on, Liz caring for the baby and working on a stew with some of the leftovers from their last big meals with the Kilgores and Einar bit by bit working to renew their firewood supply in the cabin and tunnel, the thought of that cache down in the basin grew in his mind until it became a great shadow over the day, a threatening presence whose grasp could only be loosened by bringing the thing out into the daylight. Which would require a trip to the basin, and he had promised Liz he would wait a few days on any such journey. Would have probably found a way to justify the expedition, anyway, explain it to her, discuss the matter until she came, perhaps, to see his point of view and hurry down there despite his near-inability to stay conscious for more than a few minutes at a time while on his feet, had it not been for the weather. Clear weather, to be exact, no storm on the horizon and no snow-smell in the wind when he stood shivering in front of the cabin and tested it, nothing but the sublime sun-on-firs smell that so marked clear days in the high country, summer or winter, and though he dearly loved that smell, its joys being second in his mind only to those of willow-scent, he wished the wind was bringing him something else, just then. Most welcome would have been that sharp, damp scent, reminiscent somehow of wood smoke even if there was no fire in the area, which meant a change in the weather, snow on the way and, for him, a certain sense of security descending on the basin, too.

Already he and Bud had left tracks all over the basin in their ill-fated quest to retrieve that cache, and hard as it had been snowing and blowing when they did so, there were bound to be areas where by some intricacy of terrain and timber, their trail had been protected from the bulk of the wind-drifted snow, and would remain visible, even if only as a deep, trenched-out depression in the snow which could just as easily have been left by a small herd of passing elk as by men. There were no elk in the basin that time of year, though, a fact which he had to assume his pursuers would know when they flew over and wondered at the origins of that trench, and though they would be unable to follow it far either from air or ground, its very presence would serve to renew their interest in the place, sharpen observation and increase patrols. Which was why he absolutely could not afford to be leaving fresh tracks down there, not unless a storm was literally at their doorstep when he did it. Bad enough that Bud and Susan were leaving their own judicious but perhaps not careful enough trail up towards the ridge.

So, he would wait. The cache would wait, and that shadow, if it must, could hang over him for a day or two or three, as he speculated on the meaning of the tracker’s words and wondered just what he had dug up from the dim, distant past, and why he’d seen fit to include it in the cache. Would be a long few days. Better try and keep busy. So out he went for another load of wood. Had to stop after that. Tunnel was getting full, and he must leave room for them to crawl in and out. Well. At least Liz would be well stocked on firewood ahead of any storm that did happen to come, wouldn’t have to venture out too many times with little Will on her back in search of more. Not that carrying him on her back, even in the wind and weather, seemed to pose either of them too much difficulty. Seemed, in fact, to have gone tremendously well when they were out there bidding farewell to their guests, and curious, he slipped into Liz’s parka, which hung unused near the stove. Thing didn’t fit him, had not been designed to fit him and left his arms sticking out by several inches, shoulders crowded a bit, but not too much, considering how scrawny he’d managed to become. Would work, at least for a test.

He approached Liz, walking somewhat stiffly in the too-small parka. “Mind if I take the little one for a while? Want to see if this works as well for me as it did for you, and if it does, I may modify my parka just a bit to allow me to carry him in a similar way. He looked so cozy and content when you pulled him out of there a while ago. Figured the two of us could take a little walk, give you your hands and some peace and quiet to finish putting together that wonderful-smelling meal…”

Liz looked doubtful, took a quick step towards him and shoved him hard in the shoulder. Einar winced at the hurt of it--doggone ribs--tried to catch himself but was already too badly off balance, and fell hard to the floor. Didn’t know whether to laugh, or growl. Odd, unpredictable woman. What’s got into her, now?

“What was that?”

“The wind. Big gust. What if you’d been outside with little Will on your back, and a gust like that had come along, as unexpectedly as my hand did just now and probably more forcefully, too? You would have fallen, that’s what, and him with you, and he might have been crushed.”

“Aw now, I’m not heavy enough to crush him, and besides, the snow’s real soft. We would have been alright. Now come on, help me get him situated.”

“I’d like you to eat first, so you’ll be a little steadier on your feet before you take him.”

“Did eat, and not too long ago. I don’t need to be…”

“Ah, you know that’s not true. Don’t go getting all stubborn on me already. Just a little snack of broth and elk jerky, and then you can go for your walk with him. How about it?”

Einar nodded, sat down beside the stove and accepted the pot of broth she was pushing his way. Shook his head, began to eat. She sure isn’t gonna give me an easy time of it, is she? Doggone persistence of hers. And I was just starting to get really hungry again, too. Wanted to save it for later so I could really enjoy the supper. Which, as he knew, was simply an excuse, his brain’s attempt to return him to the pattern in which he’d lived so many of the past months and he knew Liz was right to try and jar him out of it, knew there was only one place such a path would ultimately lead him, and he finished the broth. Liz, nodding her approval, helped him get little Will situated in the back of the parka, and he crawled carefully out through the tunnel, muttering all the way about what a strong, insistent woman your mother is, you know that little one? Incredibly strong and persistent, and there are no two ways about it.

Comments from 17 March

Philip (from 2 March posting) said…

philip here, once again, a rough week.

A Godly week.

Integrity questioned, but that is all right by me.

To be called a thief, but no answer to "what did I steal" is not a Christian way of judging another Christian.

I now live in Cheshire, Oregon, near Eugene.

Internet finally hooked up.... none at all for Fourteen Days.

Glad I have lots to read, the Baby must have doubled in size since I read last, cutting his teeth & walking upright, with a small flint knife.....

Oh, maybe that's next month ;-)

philip

It may be a month or two yet, on that one! But probably not much longer..

I’m sorry it’s been such a rough time for you--humans can be very, very difficult critters to understand and deal with a lot of times, can’t they?--but glad to hear you’ve got settled somewhere better. I hope things go well for you, there

Nancy1340 said...

Hope Sue and Bud make it out safely and hope Einar retrieves the goody package safely and soon.

It is going to be quit a journey for them to get out of there, but they’re working on it…

Anonymous said…

Thanks FOTH:

The only urgency involving the goodie bag I can imagine is critters getting into it, or enough snow melt to expose it.

Mike

No great hurry, except now to settle Einar’s curiosity. He knows better than to endanger them by rushing down there when there’s no storm to cover his tracks, though.

Thank you all for reading!

17 March 2012

Together they stood and watched as Bud and Susan disappeared up into the timber, leaving nothing more than a few visible tracks in the snow before their path led them beneath a cluster of close-growing spruces which served to obscure even that, Einar nodding in approval at Kilgore’s choice of route. They would be careful, do their best not to leave a trail which could lead enemies back to the basin, but Einar knew that such was all but impossible in the snow, no matter how skilled and cautious a person might be. Would have rather seen them make the trip in a raging storm, but there was no storm, and of course, would have been no plane to meet, had such a storm descended on the basin. The going would not be easy for Kilgore; Einar could see already the telltale signs of exhaustion beginning to set in as he struggled up through the deeply drifted snow and into the timber, and he knew the journey might well be too much for a man less persistent and determined than the tracker. As it was, the two of them would really have their hands full making the meeting with Kiesl, but it seemed they had backup plans, and they would be alright. In the meantime, the wind was picking up, flowing sharp and piercing down from the snowy heights, Liz was urging him to come with her back into the cabin, and he went.

Dark in there. Place needed some windows; come summer, he’d make them some. Stretch them with thinly-scraped, greased rawhide to let in the light without letting in the mosquitoes and such. For the moment, Liz lit a candle, partially opened the stove door to let out some light. He stared into the flames. Cold. He couldn’t seem to shake it, though certainly not for any lack of trying, on his body’s part. Was trembling so hard, in fact, that he dared not even help Liz ease the baby out of the parka-pouch which had so snugly held him during their little outdoor excursion, so he crouched against the wall and watched as she did it, expertly lifting him and swinging him over her shoulder as if she’d done it a hundred times before, and once again Einar found himself marveling at the way his wife seemed to have taken to motherhood, so naturally, as if she’d already known what to do.

Will, when Liz got him out and onto her lap, was quite warm, if Einar was not, the parka having done its job quite admirably on this, its first real test, and Liz was delighted at the discovery. She was now assured of having a means to warmly and securely carry the little one with her in the timber, keeping him close and sheltered through the worst of weather and the comfort and relief this brought her was very nearly beyond words. Her greatest fear and one she had really struggled with, from time to time, since giving birth was that they might at some point in their uncertain lives up there in the basin be forced to flee the cabin under conditions so adverse that the child would not survive their escape, even if they did manage to once more lose their pursuers. The parka’s success gave her a good bit of peace on that front. Now, to see that Einar got himself back into a state in which he would be at least as likely to survive their hasty exit through the snow as the little one. At least he finally seemed willing to cooperate in the process, which was an enormous and somewhat unexpected step in the right direction, but despite his having allowed her to wrap him in the bear hide since coming in he seemed to be really struggling to get warm, making little if any headway against deep chill that had seized him out there in the wind, and she supposed she’d better get some broth going, before things went too much further in the wrong direction. Better attempt to wake him up a little too, if possible, for he appeared either deep in thought or very near sleep, and she took the baby in her lap, sat down beside him.

“What’re you thinking? Do I dare ask?”

He glanced up, looking startled. “What? Not too much. Not thinking too much, really. Just tired.”

“I don’t see how you could help being tired for a few days, after the thing you did out there in the snow hauling Bud up all that way. I hope you’ll take advantage of the tiredness and let yourself rest, for a change, eat, recover a little bit…that was quite the ordeal.”

Einar shrugged dismissively, all in a day’s work, though he knew she was right. The rescue had taken him right to the limits of his endurance, and rather beyond them, and he was, in the quiet moments when he allowed himself to cease moving, still rather in a daze from it all. “Well anyhow, I’m enjoying the quiet. Even with all of Will’s occasional wailing and carrying on, he doesn’t come close to making this place as loud and crowded as Bud Kilgore makes it! Fella’s like a one-man hurricane.”

“He does have quite a presence, doesn’t he? But I’d say it really takes the two of you together in one small space for the hurricane to be fully formed. By himself, I imagine he’s a fairly civilized and decent sort of fellow, or a wise and perceptive woman like Susan never would have married him.”

“Hey, you married me. What’re you saying about yourself?”

Liz was laughing as she fixed the bear hide, which had slid from his shoulders. “Oh, what are you talking about? You can be incredibly decent and civilized, when you really give it some serious effort.”

“Huh.”

“I hope they make it up there alright…Bud’s leg seemed pretty bad.”

“He’s seen worse, I can assure you. They’ll be fine…” With which Einar returned to his silence, seeming once more tremendously distant and Liz didn’t believe it could all be attributed to the cold, and his persisting weariness.

“You’re thinking about the cache, aren’t you? I heard what he said about some of the things you’ll find there…what do you think they are, really?”

“Don’t know exactly what that old scoundrel’s up to, and I’m just a little bit…well, I have a few ideas about what I may find, and though I can’t make much sense of any of it, I’m pretty anxious to get down there and see.”

“Give it a few days, will you?”

“I will.”

16 March 2012

I don't have a chapter for today, but will be back with another tomorrow.

Thank you all for reading!

15 March 2012

After sleeping through a quiet and somewhat hasty breakfast shared by the four adults Will woke and began making his presence known, Susan taking a few minutes to walk with him as Bud and Einar wrapped up the last of the packing and preparations. Most of the work having been done the previous evening few chores remained, the time of their departure drawing near. Outside the light was strengthening, sun beginning to show golden white on the snowy timber of the far ridges, and the time had come for leaving.

Susan slipped Will into the back of Liz’s parka, making sure the strap was securely tied beneath his little pouch beneath her hood so he couldn’t slip down any further and marveling at the construction of the thing, much like, its fit and function very closely resembling, she could only imagine, the original garment from which he had drawn his inspiration. Amazing innovation for one who had, presumably, not been raised in the culture from which the baby-carrying garment came, and yet another sign to Susan that between Einar’s brilliantly innovative nature and dauntless if at times slightly less than rational determination and Liz’s calm, practical influence, the little family ought to really flourish. Snuggled down secure and warm against his mother’s back the little one was asleep again within moments, leaving Liz with both hands free to help haul the couple’s gear out through the tunnel and into the snow.

Done. Packs sitting beneath the trees, snowshoes all lined up and ready to go and nothing left to do, really, nothing to detain them any longer but Susan remained reluctant to take her final leave of the place, knowing that there was a very real possibility she might never see the little family again. Shook her head, tried to put that thought out of her mind and focus on the climb before them. They’d better be going, as it was bound to be quite a challenge for Bud, making his way through that deep snow with his leg hurting him so badly and snowshoes all but essential if they were to make any progress.

Einar, too, had been pondering the problem of Bud’s upcoming climb, had quite a bit of experience, himself, with winter travel when struggling with an injured--or broken--leg, and had made a point to remind Bud several times of the importance of changing socks frequently on the injured side in the hopes of preventing the cold damage which would be a much greater risk for him, due to compromised circulation and swelling.

“You still got all your toes and believe me, you want to keep it that way if at all possible. Would never have lost mine if I hadn’t broken that leg and then had to cover a lot of winter miles in an improvised cast…that was the start of the trouble. Reduced circulation in the leg, the foot, and then the cold did the rest. Just be sure you keep an eye on it. Stop and get the thing warm now and then, if circumstances allow.”

Liz wanted to add that yes, the broken leg and cast were certainly factors, but it seems very likely to me that you probably would have managed to keep the toes if only you hadn’t been so starved and depleted that winter that your body wasn’t able to produce enough heat to begin keeping your extremities warm…that was a bit part of the problem too, you’d have to admit. That, and your wanting to spend so much time sitting out in the snow freezing yourself…seems to me one of those little excursions was the final straw for the toes you did have left on that foot, after the initial injury. But you’d never admit to that, would you? So she kept the matter to herself.

“Yep,” Kilgore took a tentative hop, sat down heavily on a snow covered log and began donning his snowshoes. “Will do. Already got a busted leg on my honeymoon, don’t figure I need frostbite to go along with it. Man! Now I guess I know why so many folks just go spend a few days at the beach! What do you say, Sue? Trip to the warm waters and white sand beaches of Koh Chang for our first anniversary? Sound good to you?”

“Where’s…is that in Thailand?”

“Yep. Genuine tropical island, that one. No chance of frostbite, there.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Sounds like an interesting place, but I think I like mountains, best.”

“That’s my girl. Guess I’d gladly take frostbite over Dengue fever and malaria, any day. Don’t you think, Asmundson?”

“Sure, it would be my preference. Seen plenty of that part of the world, and I’m guessing you have, too. Rather have an icy little tarn surrounded by snow-covered granite than a beach, anyway! But I do know that not everyone shares my preference on that. Doggone good thing, too, or all my favorite places would be crowded with tourists just standing in line to feel the soft powder snow between their toes and happily soak in these frigid mountain waters until they turned purple…my mountain waters, I’ll have you know, and that’d just ruin the entire thing for me! Doggone tourists. I’m awful glad most of ’em prefer beaches. But that’s all beside the point. My point was that you can probably avoid the frostbite as well as the malaria and Dengue, if you’re careful. Suit yourself, though.”

“I will. You did, when it came to your own toes, and I see how it’s turned out for you…but I figure I’ll be a lot safer suiting myself than you’ve been suiting yours. You’ve got a pretty doggone strange self, Asmundson, and it’s a wonder you’re still breathing. Anybody ever tell you that?”

“Get off my mountain, you addle-pated, slub-skegged old scoundrel of a wingless buzzard. You’ve way more than worn out your welcome here.”

“Ain’t your mountain, Asmundson.”

“Want to bet?”

Laughing, shaking his head, the tracker rose, took a hobbling step in his single snowshoe--nope, that’s one bet I’d lose sure as anything, and wouldn’t live to see the other end of it, either--grabbed Einar and the two of them embraced.

“Take care of yourself, man. Family’s counting on you.”

“You too. Safe travels.”

That was it, Susan thinking they ought to have more to say to each other after the rather dramatic events of the past several days but so relieved that Einar hadn’t seen fit to run her husband through with his knife in response to his rather forward gesture--had been a moment there when she hadn’t been so sure, that dangerous gleam showing in Einar’s eyes, but it had passed--that she couldn’t concern herself too greatly over what had or had not been said. Bud was having trouble strapping on his second snowshoe, the one that was to go on his bad leg, and she knelt to help him. Wondered if it might be better to have him try and keep the weight off of that leg, altogether, but she had done enough traveling through deep, drifted snow herself to know that trying the hike one-legged would be a sure recipe for disaster. The leg, while clearly still paining him a good deal, did appear less swollen that morning, and she was growing more and more hopeful that what she had initially taken to be a fracture might prove no worse than a bad strain, sprain or perhaps even a damaged ligament of some sort…bad enough, for sure, but perhaps not something that would be tremendously worsened by the bearing of a bit of weight.

Einar had disappeared into the cabin by the time Susan straightened up and began working on her own snowshoes and she thought they had perhaps seen the last of him but he re-emerged as she was saying her good-byes to Liz, wordlessly handing Kilgore his spear. The tracker took it, and they were off.

Comments from 14 March

Good on ya FOTH:

Excellent chapter. One of the great attributes of the human mind is that it naturally protects us by remembering the good and forgetting the bad; or at least sequestering the bad in a place where it does not interfere with our daily functioning, or a reasonable ability to enjoy life. When the mental trauma is so deep and so strong, the mind cannot properly mitigate the pain, and we see people like Einar. His being able to sing along with Bud and enjoy some of the good memories without it triggering the bad is a sign of healing; of keeping the demons in their proper place.

Mike

Mike, good points I think--though there never were too many demons for Einar in Rhodesia, really. Strange as it may sound, he went there to get away from them. Guess that didn't work either, in the long run.

Thanks for reading.

14 March 2012

That evening after supper the five of them sat around the stove, Will sleeping in Susan’s arms and Bud going over the contents of his pack for a third and final time, trying to find additional items he could leave behind in an attempt to further reduce its weight. Difficult as he knew the climb was to be with his injured leg, every ounce would count. Which was how Einar became the proud if temporary new owner of a vintage canteen cup and stainless steel mess kit, the ones Kilgore had carried with him through all his years in the jungle and in the Rhodesian bush, as well.

“You take good care of these things for me and don’t go losing them if you have to take off running, Ok? Because I’ll be back someday and expect to find them in good repair. No more dents and dings than they already got. Been a lot of places with me…”

Einar nodded, set the things on the granite shelf beside the stove. “Bet they have. The stories they could tell…”

“Oh, yeah, that’s for sure! Like the one about the time Roger Kiesl and I mixed up a batch of very hastily improvised C-4 in that mess kit because we had to…” took a look around, saw Susan watching with rapt attention and thought better of the narrative he’d been about to give, laughing and glancing at Einar.

“Yeah, I bet you had to! How’d that work out for you, anyway? You and Roger were legendary over there for those ‘hastily improvised’ little projects, and seeing as the two of you are still around…more or less…I’m guessing you must’ve got it down pretty good. No second chances with a lot of that stuff.”

“No indeed!” After which Bud launched into an exhaustive and heavily detailed narrative of several of the rather hairy near-misses he, Roger and a few of their Rhodesian associates had endured over the years. Listening, Einar reclined against the water barrel with arms crossed behind his head, appearing warm and something close to relaxed for the first time in what seemed to Liz many months, the quiet, almost contented expression on his face disturbed from time to time by a slight smile, but then Bud--reaching, apparently, a critical point in his story and needing to illustrate his point with something more powerful than mere words--broke into song, Einar joining him, much to everyone’s surprise.

For several minutes the two of them carried on their raucous merriment, on their feet and proving somewhat a comical sight, as neither of them were able to stand too well and ended up having to brace hands against the ceiling in a quest to keep their balance as they sang out a rather lively story of the long march to a place called Mukumbura--Susan remembered it from the festivities after the wedding--Einar doing the “talking” portions of the song in such a strange, out-of-character voice that he had Susan and Liz laughing out loud before he’d got halfway through, even though they really had no earthly idea what he was talking about. Muninn even added his own unique rasping notes to the cacophony, and by the time the song was over not only was Will wide awake but left staring in wide-eyed wonderment at the two men and the big, awkward bird who seemed to be enjoying the merriment nearly as much as they.

Song ended, Kilgore reclined happy and out of breath against the wall by the stove, Einar laughing but exhausted, holding his injured side and fighting for breath through a bigger grin than Liz had seen from him in some time

“I think that’s only the second or third time I’ve ever heard you sing, and the first time ever when we weren’t descending through bands of broken cliffs in a howling blizzard, as I recall... You’ve got a good voice! You ought to do it more often.”

“You call that a good voice?” And he started laughing all over again, Muninn lighting on his shoulder and cackling with him until, seeing how the laughter hurt his bruised ribs and side, Liz shooed away the bird and did her best to quiet him.

“Yes, I call it a good voice. Not the talking parts, so much--those were just plain goofy--but the singing ones. You should do more singing!”

No more singing that night, though, for everyone was getting tired, ready for bed and Bud and Susan especially knew they needed their rest ahead of the long hike that awaited them in the morning. They didn’t have to meet Roger until the morning after that, but had agreed that they’d better begin the climb at least half a day early so as to give themselves a better chance of reaching the rendezvous point in a timely manner, taking into consideration the deep snow and Bud’s leg injury. Bud, also, wanted some time to look the place over, make sure he wasn’t leading his new bride into a trap when they went out in the open to meet that plane. Trusted Roger, knew he’d never willingly participate in any such operation but the enemy could be awfully cunning and clever, as well, and one could never be too cautious. Which meant they really needed to leave the cabin sometime in the morning hours, that next day.

The night, thankfully, was a quiet one for everyone, Bud stirring some in his sleep with the hurt of his leg but still managing a fairly restful night and Einar, once he allowed himself to lie down and close his eyes, falling into an exhausted sleep so deep that Liz, waking to switch sides with the baby, became alarmed and had to check to make sure he was still breathing. As the night wore on she had less reason to worry that he had ceased to breathe, as the cold of the night crept in beneath the hides and set him to trembling so hard and so incessantly that she found it all but impossible to sleep for worrying, tucking the hides around him and moving closer in an attempt to provide a bit of extra warmth, allow them both to get good sleep. Liz’s efforts were effective after a time, and she slept.

A frosty white half moon hung low in the sky early that morning as Bud and Susan rose and began their final preparations to leave the basin, Einar disentangling himself with some difficulty from the pile of hides beneath which Liz had securely tucked him for the night--guess she wanted to make good and sure I wouldn’t be going anywhere, and it’s a good thing I didn’t have to!--fighting his way through the wave of vicious cramps that seized both lower legs upon attempting to place his feet flat on the floor, and joining them. Liz was not far behind him, first feeding little Will and easing him down into the bed for what she hoped might be a reasonably long nap, so she could have a bit of time to help the couple prepare for their departure.