6 November 2011

Nancy1340 said...

Are we going to FINALLY see an improvement in Einor?

Well, at least he's sitting and talking about some of these things, so maybe that's a start...

No chapter tonight, back with another tomorrow. Thanks to all of you for reading!

5 November 2011

Settling in beside Einar there on the bed, Liz helped him with the soup, seeing that he appeared either to have little interest in it, to be having too much trouble with his hands to reliably keep hold of the pot, or perhaps both; she could only guess, as of course he was making no effort to tell her. At least he seemed able to stay awake now when he wanted to, which had to be a good thing. He’d scared her some with his earlier lapse into unconsciousness, and she was determined to get as much stew into him as he was willing to consume, should such circumstances repeat themselves later. Einar ate willingly, liking the mixture Liz had created and knowing from the feeling of warmth that came over him with the eating that he’d been woefully behind, flat out of energy and beginning to struggle at producing a functional level of body heat. Was time for a good supper.

Finishing her own portion of the stew before Einar got done with his, Liz sat and watched him eat, trying not to stare and tossing occasional bits of meat from the bottom of her bowl to Muninn, who waited only somewhat patiently beside the bed. Her resolve was slipping. She’d wanted to challenge Einar, lash out somewhat angrily, perhaps, about his continued refusal, or inability or whatever it was—didn’t really even matter any more at that point, as the eventual results would be the same no matter the cause—to allow himself the basics required to sustain life, had intended to ask him if he could make a commitment to her right then and there to do whatever he had to do in order to reverse the present course of things so he’d stand at least a fighting chance—and it would be a fight, no matter how he went about it—of being there when the baby came, and after, and she’d meant to announce in no uncertain terms her growing belief that if he was not willing to make such a commitment and give it his best effort, she needed to find a way to get down to Susan’s before her time came too much nearer. She’d done a good bit of thinking during his most recent absence, knew she must do whatever was necessary to see that the child had his or her best chance of making it through those first few difficult winter months, and she’d had the talk all planned out, every point of it rehearsed for what she hoped would be its maximum possible effect, but now as she sat watching him scrape the last traces of broth from the sides of the pot with his finger, somewhat desperately seeking out anything he might have left behind and obviously still so hungry that it hurt to watch him, she knew she wouldn’t be making any demands or announcements that evening.

Despite her frustration and what she believed to be quite a legitimate concern for the child’s future and possibly even his life should things continue the way they were, she had chosen of her own free will the life she was currently living, and the man she was living it with, and that with at least a cursory knowledge of the sorts of challenges which would be posed by both. She had no business going anywhere, or attempting to manipulate his behavior by threatening to do so. Besides which, she could see, despite her earlier frustration and anger, that he was doing what he could, was fighting hard, in his own way, to stay alive and with her and even though there were times when she couldn’t for the life of her make any sense of his methods, he’d somehow managed thus far and she needed to trust that he would find a way to go on doing so.

Einar had finished his meal, and was watching her.

“You needed to ask me something...” The quiet resignation in his voice told her he must have had at least some idea of what had been coming.

“Not ask, so much as…well, time seems to be moving right along, and before we know it little Hildegard or Snorri or whoever’s in here should be putting in an appearance, and I just want to make sure we’ve got everything ready…the place ourselves, everything we’ll need…”

“Ourselves? Ha! Wonder if anybody’s really ready, even those who think they are? We’ll figure it out, though. He’s just gonna be a little human critter with needs similar to our own, after all. I think a lot of folks down there in civilization make it out to be a good bit more complicated than it needs to be.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt! All the things people think they have to buy before a baby comes…cribs and strollers and devices of all sorts to contain the poor little person, when all she really needs is to be close to her Mom…I have no doubt a lot of that stuff does more harm than good, in the long run. Not to mention the complication involved if you end up using bottles, all the scrubbing and boiling and fretting over whether everything’s clean enough. No, there’s really not too much we should need, beyond a way to keep him warm and dry if we have to travel, plenty of usnea and rabbit hides for diapers and plenty for me to eat, which we’ve definitely got at the moment. At least we don’t have to worry about feeding him for the first year or so, because as long as I get enough to eat, I’ll always have his food right here with me, all warmed up and ready to go!”

Einar laughed softly. “Yep, that’s a fact. Always kept at the perfect temperature for the little critter…”

“I am a little concerned though…just since I’ve never done this before, this ‘mothering’ business. Some women just don’t have enough milk, even if they do everything right. I know it’s not many, but what if I’m one of them? Or if…not that I expect it, but what if something happens to me? What will you feed him?”

“Nothing’s gonna happen to you. But if it did---or if for some reason you didn’t make enough milk--well, I’d have to make him a substitute out of fresh liver, I guess. Sure don’t have access to milk producing critters up here, or eggs or anything like that, so I’d just have to carry him with me on the trapline every day on my back all wrapped up in that rabbit fur blanket you made him, and get ahold of fresh liver for his food. Simmer the stuff up in some elk or deer broth, mash it up real fine, add a little bear fat and some real well pounded and powdered spruce needles for the vitamin C…and probably some scrapings from inside the stomach of a deer or other critter now and then for the bacteria…and do the best we could. Wouldn’t be anything near as good as having his mama, but just might see him through. Don’t go anywhere though, alright?”

“You’ve been thinking about this…”

“Got to think about everything. It’s a new little life. I owe that to him.”

“Yes. And you owe him…yourself. A father. To have a father who’s here to teach him all the things he’s going to need to make it in this life, how to trap and hunt and climb and fight and have the unfailing, bullheaded stubbornness and persistence that a person has got to have out here, the faith and courage to keep going when there’s really no good logical reason on earth to think it’ll get you anywhere at all and how to just…be a man. I can keep him alive, provide for his needs and teach him some of the skills, but he needs you for all of that."

“He’s got me. Here I am.”

“Well then stick around, why don’t you?”

4 November 2011

After a brief test of her new tether system for Muninn--had proven both that the concept was practical, and that she needed to come up with a better way to attach the tether to the anklet; he’d had her knots untied within minutes and would, she was sure, be faster the next time--Liz, who had no intention of leaving the cabin again in that storm unless absolutely necessary, freed the bird, much to everyone’s relief. Except for Einar, who was still asleep and didn’t much seem to care one way or another. Liz suspected he wouldn’t have liked the idea of restraining the bird, probably would have dismissed the creature’s bloodying of his head with some little remark or another, allowing that it could have been a lot worse, and besides, the bird was just doing his job in trying to keep me from sleeping in the daytime, which I most certainly should not be doing, and Liz smiled at the thought, shook her head and finished unlacing the nettle cord, removing the anklet and setting it aside.

“Alright, you’ve got free run of the cabin again, but don’t let me catch you over there by the bed, ok? Or it’s right back on the leash with you.”

A theory which Muninn promptly tested by hopping over and perching himself on a raised rumple in the bear hide at the foot of the bed, sitting still and silent as if keeping watch, and Liz, despite her threats, let him be. It seemed right, somehow, that the raven should stand vigil over Einar as he slept, and knowing that the bird had on more than one occasion in the past either alerted him to danger or even awakened him when he was sleeping too long out in the cold, she hoped the bird might alert her if Einar’s condition changed in a worrisome way, without her noticing. Which may be exactly what he was trying to do while I was outside, but I can’t see that anything’s changed with Einar and really, we just can’t have birds pecking holes in the sides of people’s heads, now can we?

Liz had a quiet day working in the cabin as Einar slept--she hoped it was sleep, though his lack of response to Muninn’s earlier actions had left her to think it must be something deeper--continuing her work on the first pair of mukluks as the wind continued to rush and whistle through the trees outside, occasionally slamming the side of the cabin with such force that she might have feared its collapse, had she not seen how sturdily it had been built. For the most part though, the cabin was shielded from the wind by the immense wall of granite that rose up behind it and the timber that stood dense and black all around, and Liz, sitting there with sleeves rolled up in the stove-warmth and smelling the rising aroma of the evening’s simmering stew as she worked, could not help but think that in many ways, they really were quite well off. Now if only Einar would stay in that bed for a day or two or three, let himself regain a bit of strength and put on some insulation for the winter. Despite being glad that Einar was finally getting some good solid rest, Liz was beginning to worry just a bit, knowing that there was some chance his state of apparent unconsciousness might be related to unusually low blood sugar after his days of hard travel and very little eating, and if that was the case, she knew no amount of rest would remedy the situation. Doubted that was the problem since he’d consumed at least a little of the honey water she’d given him that morning, but not wanting to take any chances, she scooped up some honey in a spoon and got his mouth open--not an easy task--leaving it there to dissolve so it could perhaps help bring him back, should lack of sugar be part of his trouble.

A premature darkness was creeping over the plateau; she could see the crack above the door slowly going from blue-grey to grey-black, and wanted to bring in a bit more wood before full darkness fell, perhaps clear away more of the accumulated snow from in front of the doorway, and she was about to hitch Muninn up once again to his tether but he was too quick for her, left the perch and hopped over to the door. She laughed softly at his antics.

“Alright then, come on out. I’d rather not have to tie you up, anyway, and everyone can use some fresh air from time to time. Just don’t get lost in the snow, unless you want to spend the night out there. Which of course wouldn’t do you any harm. Your kind spend the winter north of the Arctic circle with no trouble at all, but you wouldn’t be too happy if I closed you out for the night, would you? And I guess I really don’t mind your company either, with Einar out cold--not too cold though, with all those bear hides over him--and little Snorri here doing a lot of kicking but no talking, yet. No, don’t mind having conversations with you, sometimes.”

With the snow having fallen steadily through the day, Liz had a bit of trouble getting the door open, and no wonder; a good eight inches had piled up against the door, and she worked to clear it, stomping down a path over to the area beneath the meat-cache trees and gathering an armload of wood before returning inside, glad to be out of a wind powerful enough to cut through her clothing--she’d left the parka inside for that quick trip--despite being significantly buffered by the timber.

Einar was sitting up on the side of the bed when she returned, elbows braced against his knees, leaning forward. His face was a bad color and he seemed to be working hard to get enough breath, but she knew that look in his eyes, saw him searching for his boots and feared she was going to have to resort to the rabbit stick, if she wanted to keep him inside.

“You’re awake! Can I bring you some soup?”

“Need my boots.”

“Where’re you going? It’s quite a storm out there…”

“Up to the overlook. Above the spring.”

“There’s nothing to see. Snow’s blowing sideways, and it’s starting to get dark.”

“I don’t need to see.”

You’re all worn out. It’s a blizzard out there, and besides, you’re going to die if you keep wearing yourself out like this and never resting.”

“I don’t want to die in bed.”

“I don’t want you to die before our child’s born. But that’s not going to happen if you’ll just slow down for a few days and let yourself catch up. Now if you’re not ready to eat, how about you get some more sleep if you can? Things will look different in the morning. You’re going to be just fine.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“Heart’s not working right.”

“Of course it isn’t. That’s because you’re dehydrated, haven’t had a decent meal in days and your electrolytes are all messed up. Try the soup.”

“Need to go to the overlook. Might not be able to…get there in time if I wait.”

“You’re not thinking straight.”

“Probably not.”

“I am. And I think you need to lie back down, get a little more rest and I’ll be right there with some soup. Just give it a try. It’ll help.”

Einar shook his head, not what I had in mind, not at all, but maybe old Bud Kilgore was right, and I need to try and…yeah. Do what she said. Which he did, slumping back down on the bed and pulling his legs in after him--had to use his hands; they wouldn’t move on their own, which provided further evidence that he’d better be getting up to that overlook, and quickly--and watching Liz as she busied about over the stove, preparing supper. Next thing he knew Liz was crouching there beside him, worried wrinkles on her forehead as she roused him from a sleep into which he hadn’t even been aware of falling.

“What’s wrong? Don’t sleep yet. You still need to eat.”

“Nothing’s wrong, just…can’t breathe when I lie down. Think that’s what woke me. Felt like I was drowning.”

“Well then for goodness’ sake sit back up! Why didn’t you tell me? Here, I’ll make you a place against the wall where you can prop up, right here in the bed. Is that better?”

“It’s good. Thanks.”

“Stay awake then, because here’s the soup, and we’ve got some things to talk about after you eat. The raven’s good to talk with when there’s no one else around, but there are some things you need to answer for me.”

3 November 2011

Though reasonably certain that she could manage the trapline herself without any trouble--things had been more settled for her that day, the episodes of tightness in her belly less frequent, and it seemed the rest had done her some good--Liz did not want to leave Einar, concerned that he might decide at some point to attempt following her, and end up spending another hour or two lying out on the frozen ground before she returned. Seemed he’d probably had enough of that for one day--especially with the storm worsening outside, snow blowing at times nearly sideways so that it plastered itself against the wall of the woodshed, turning it white--so she stuck close to the cabin, bringing in firewood so they’d have plenty should the storm continue for several days, working on the mukluks and preparing a big pot of soup which, Einar existing largely in a state somewhere between stupor and sleep, she ended up consuming a large portion of, herself. Einar had sat somewhat reluctantly with Liz for a time in front of the stove after coming in, allowing her to warm him and coax him into drinking some hot broth with honey, but had refused to go back to bed when she gently suggested it--was bad enough that he’d had to abandon his plans to run the trapline; he wasn’t about to laze about in bed all day, on top of it all--crouching instead against the back wall near the stove, and Liz had been glad that he was at least allowing himself to remain where it was warm. Trouble was, the warmth was leaving him dreadfully sleepy, eyes trying their hardest to drift shut whenever he wasn’t consciously focusing on keeping them open and an almost overwhelming dizziness urging him to the ground lest he fall and strike his head on the stove, and he fought it, but dozed in snatches here and there despite himself.

When awake Einar busied himself with preparing more of the sinew thread Liz was using to sew the boots, as he had greatly depleted their supply of prepared thread in finishing her parka. Having saved the round tendons from the legs of all their larger kills and the long, flat strips of backstrap sinew as well, they had plenty of raw material with which to work, and Einar stuck to the leg tendons, saving the far longer and more valuable backstrap strips so they would be available later for special projects of one sort or another. Working slowly, dizzy and for the most part not entirely sure of himself, hands wanting to cramp up on him, he gently pounded one tendon after another with a rounded rock until they went from clearish, solid snakes to masses of white fibers, rubbing, separating and then pounding a bit more until he could pull apart the individual fibers, setting them aside for Liz to use in her sewing. During this time Liz tried now and then engaging him in conversation, but the best he could seem to do in response was the occasional shrug or nod, words having apparently entirely fled him, and eventually she gave up, let him work in silence. It took Einar all of an hour and a half to process two of the tendons--not that he had much concept of time at the moment, but could tell from watching Liz and what she was accomplishing that he was dreadfully slow, and by the time he got done his hands were cramping up so badly he could no longer hold the pounding rock, let alone pull apart fibers and straighten them the way they needed to be, and finally he heeded Liz’s repeated urgings and crawled into bed, face down on the hides with one hand trailing on the floor as if still not quite willing to give up, but his body was more than willing, leaving him asleep almost instantly when he allowed himself to relax and stop fighting it. Liz just shook her head, pulled the bear hides up over him for warmth and returned to her work, watching out of the corner of her eye as his breathing slowed, hard lines that creased his face easing a bit in slumber.

Took you long enough to get there, didn’t it? And I don’t know how long you’ll be able to stay like that lying on your stomach with your ribs hurting you again…but for the moment, this is good. It’s a stormy, windy day out there, a perfect one to spend inside by the fire. Be warm, sleep, and when you wake, I’ll have more soup waiting for you.

Outside the wind howled on, plastering snow against the sides of the woodshed and cabin and drowning out the soft rasping with which Muninn was asking to be let in, but the bird was persistent, croaking and squawking and finally beating at the door with his wings until Liz eased it open, pushing several inches of newly fallen snow ahead of it--dry, fluffy; the first snow that hadn’t fallen wet and heavy and quick to melt, and she expected it would be with them a good while this time, perhaps for the winter--and let him in.

“Unhappy with being left out there in the storm, were you? Wanting food and a dry, wind-free perch for the day? Well, I can’t say I really blame you. Here. Shake the snow off your feathers though, why don’t you? Or you’re gonna get everything wet in here!” Muninn did shake his feathers--scattering bits of snow from one end of the cabin to the other; he was a big bird--but surprisingly showed little interest when she offered him a rabbit bone with bits of meat to pick off, hanging back by the door, pacing, glum and standoffish until finally Liz moved back over to the stove, out of his way, and he hopped over to the spot where Einar slay sleeping. Chortling softly and twisting a bit of Einar’s hair, the bird became increasingly agitated at his lack of response, flapping and rasping and twisting harder until Liz, worried that he would eventually succeed at waking Einar--she was somewhat worried, actually, at how very soundly he appeared to be sleeping; it wasn’t at all like him--and not wanting that to happen, shooed him away.

“What’s your trouble, fella? Just missing Einar‘s company, or do you need to tell him something? Surely there can’t be too much going on out there with this storm, can there? No one hanging around here or…” Briefly the thought occurred to her that Einar, weary as he’d been on his return from the valley, might not have been quite so careful of his trail as was his usual custom, might have been followed if one or both of the men who had been with Kilgore had grown suspicious, turned around or even returned later, without the tracker, but she dismissed the idea almost as quickly, knowing that the storm ought to have more than adequately concealed by that time any trail he might have left. Still the raven’s behavior unsettled her, left her pulling on her parka and heading out into the storm for a quick survey of the area. Not that she expected to be able to see or hear much in all that howling, blowing snow, but it seemed better than simply remaining inside and discounting the bird’s antics. Muninn could not be persuaded to follow her outside when she tried--evidence, she supposed, either that nothing was wrong out there or that he believed only Einar capable of doing anything about it, if there was, and she did not know how to interpret his actions--so she left him in the cabin, hoping he wouldn’t take a sudden interest in the food strong enough to temp him to upset the soup pot all over her mukluk project…

Incredibly windy was the afternoon when Liz squeezed out the snow-drifted door to take a look, so windy that she found her breath snatched away, quickly ducking into the woodshed until she could get her parka hood pulled up and tied in place, after which she ventured once more out into the gale, using her feet and a piece of split firewood to scrape some of the piled snow out from in front of the door, knowing that they’d have a real job of it by morning, should things keep up at their present rate. In that storm there was little point in doing much listening, and, standing for several minutes watching the tall flexible spruces--what she could see of them, with visibility so severely limited--bend nearly double through the swirling snow, any concern she might have had regarding their safety and solitude there in the basin was greatly lessened; if anyone had been following Einar, he certainly would have lost the trail in all of that, and would be struggling simply to keep himself sheltered and alive until the storm slacked off. Good enough. Gathering an armload of wood she stomped and shook off as much of the snow as she could from her boots and parka, returning to the warmth of the cabin. And a terrible scene inside.

Muninn, apparently unhappy with Einar’s lack of response, had returned to his hair-twisting and loud, rasping demand-making the second Liz was out the door, but still the man had not stirred, leaving him to tap lightly at the side of his head and then, when still no movement resulted, to keep at it, harder and harder until finally he drew blood. Einar, somewhere in the shadowy territory between sleep and unconsciousness, had felt the strikes in his dreams, but had been unable to rouse himself sufficiently to respond but had somehow managed to throw off most of the covers and smear blood all over his arms in trying, leaving things looking a good deal worse than they were when Liz got her first look. Diving at the raven she caught hold of his tail, pulling out a feather as the startled bird hopped as gracefully and quickly as he was able over out of her reach behind the water barrel, Liz quickly turning to Einar and attempting to ascertain the source of all that blood. Seeing, after some frantic searching and wiping and pressure-holding on various areas of his upper body, that it all seemed to stem from a relatively small injury to the area just above his cheekbone she cleaned him up, stuck a small mullein leaf to the side of his head and re-arranged the bear hides, all the while scolding Muninn and silently fretting to herself over the fact that Einar had not once stirred during the entire process. The bird, it seemed, must have somehow recognized that he was not simply sleeping, taking it upon himself to remedy the situation and while Liz could see that such behavior might be useful or even life-saving under certain circumstances, she could hardly have Einar ending up a bloody mess every time she went out to bring in a load of firewood.

Cutting a wide band of elk hide just longer than was necessary to go around the bird’s leg she punched holes in either end of it, wrapping the anklet just above Muninn’s foot and securing it in place with a length of nettle cordage whose loose end she tied securely to the branch they’d stuck into the cabin wall for a perch, allowing him to move freely on it and reach the water barrel, but preventing his reaching the bed. An unnecessary precaution so long as she was in the cabin, but wise, perhaps, when she went out for any length of time. Simpler perhaps might have been to take the bird with her, but she had already found that shooing him out the door against his will could be quite a task, and she didn’t want to wake Einar with the clatterment that would likely result. Immensely unhappy with his new restraint when Liz left it in place for a few minutes’ trial run, the raven immediately began studying her knots as if trying to plot their undoing, as Liz had absolutely no doubt he was.

2 November 2011

Sitting in Susan’s kitchen that afternoon as the snowstorm swept over the mountains and began swirling its curtains of white between the greenhouses, filtering down on the quiet, still garden beds where they slept beneath their winter coverings of leaves and straw, Bud and Susan shared a meal of turkey sandwiches, hot oven-baked peanut butter applesauce and spiced cider after a long morning’s work repairing a damaged roof section on one of the greenhouses. Susan found Bud to be unusually quiet that day, wondered what might be the matter but knew he’d tell her in his own good time, if it was a matter for her ears. She was well aware that he’d been out for the past several days, wandering the high country with some faction or other of the search, saw from his swollen, purple lip that he must have been in a fight of some sort and she just hoped they’d all made it back with him. Didn’t particularly want anything interfering with the upcoming wedding, and was well aware of the occasional results--body count was pretty high by then, though apparently they had never so much as suspected his involvement in any of the incidents--when Bud and the searchers mixed. And those were just the incidents he’d told her about… Bud was staring at her over the edge of his half-eaten sandwich, seemed to know she was thinking about him and she looked away, smiling, pretending to be busy stirring another dash of cinnamon into her steaming cider.

“Saw Asmundson the other day.” So. That was it. She’d wondered.

“Which one?”

“Ha! Yeah, that’s right, isn’t it? Guess she’s an Asmundson now, too. Just like you’ll be a ‘Kilgore’ here in a couple weeks…strange world, ain’t it? The more ornery and wild of the two, that’s the one I saw. The tall, scrawny one. Critter ended up stalking us down in the valley, spending a day or two staking out our camp before I finally caught him sleeping and walked up on him…boy, was he mad, too. Launched himself at me, busted my lip and woulda ground my neck into the dirt with a stick, too, if he’d been strong enough to do it.”

“Seems you two just can’t meet without some sort of physical altercation occurring, doesn’t it? What do you mean, ‘if he’d been strong enough?’ Is he still having trouble with his ribs?”

“Having trouble with ’em, alright. Trouble is, they’re all sticking out. Fella looks like he don’t eat more than a bite or two every week at best, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s sleeping out on the bare ground half the time too, by the looks of him. But when I tried to talk to him about it, kinda hold him accountable in some way, he just got all quiet like he does, eyes closed up and distant and I’d have liked to take an aspen club to him at that point because it’s really the only way to communicate with a fella sometimes when he gets like that. Can do him a lot of good. I’ve seen it. But seeing as I’d already done a pretty good number on him and he was having a rough time getting his breath, I managed to refrain. He never did answer any of my questions, the doggone stubborn-headed mule.”

“That’s pretty worrisome, with the baby coming…”

“Aw, I figure he’ll pull out of it pretty quick here, take responsibility as the baby’s time comes closer. He’s just a little lost right now. I get the feeling there’s a lot of things Asmundson’d never really stopped to think about for years and years, had spent most of his life pretty carefully avoiding them, actually…I know that’s at least part of why he came to us in Rhodesia, to get away from it--the quiet, the thinking, the memories; no time to focus on any of that when you're spending every waking moment drilling and training and running through the bundu like we were over there--to delay having to sit there and think about all the things he’d seen and done and gone through back there…a number of our boys were like that, running, even if they didn’t realize it themselves at the time…made some of our best fighters, too, with all the unfinished business most of them had left behind in those jungles to motivate them and keep ’em moving. Asmundson was no different, there because he believed it was a cause worth fighting for but also because it let him put off dealing with some stuff, I know for a fact ‘cause of course I was doing the same thing…and then when he came back here, guess he must’ve found ways to go on runnin’ from all that, and you know, it’s just been in these last few years I think, when he’s really running, that it’s all caught up with him. That can be hard for a fella to deal with, especially when it comes all at once like that, and with the stress of the search happening at the same time--well, it’s no wonder he’s having a bit of a rough time getting it all sorted out. But he will. He loves that kid, you can see it in his eyes when he talks about him, and that lady of his is the light of his life, though he don’t exactly say it in so many words. He’s dead set on doing his best by them, just sorta lost his way a little bit somewhere along in there recently.”

Susan nodded, could see the truth in what Kilgore was saying--had been through similar times with her husband Bill, but they had come earlier in his life, and after a few difficult years early in their marriage, things had settled down some--but Einar’s condition had greatly concerned her the last time she’d seen him, and if things had deteriorated since then… “With the baby coming in something like two months now, I’m just concerned about whether he’s going to be ready by that time to…well, to keep up with things, put food on the table and keep the place warm while Liz is adjusting to caring for the little one, because that’s a lot of work and responsibility in any situation, but doubly so with the life they’re living, and from what you described, he’s having a rough time just looking after himself, right now…”

“Oh, he’s a mess alright, all tore up about some of the stuff that happened over there and taking it out on himself to the point that he can’t hardly think straight anymore just for lack of nourishment, if nothing else, and I suspect there are some other things going on, too--the cold’s not helping any, seems to be hitting him real hard this time around and if he don’t watch out, it’s gonna sneak in and take him one of these nights--but you know, Asmundson’s a fella who’ll do what has to be done, he’ll find a way or make one, because that’s a habit that just doesn’t go away, and the more challenging the situation is, well, the harder he’s gonna try. I’ve seen that in him. They’ll be alright up there.”

Susan rose, began clearing the dishes. “And if not?”

“Well now, I’ve got that covered too, you know...”

1 November 2011

Einar wanted to go run the trapline, knew it had been neglected for a day or two while he’d been gone but it seemed every time he tried to take a step he ended up renewing his acquaintance with the floor rather suddenly, legs buckling and the cabin spinning around him. He kept it up though, confident at first that things would improve and then in the end simply desperate to prove to himself that he was still capable of useful movement, until finally Liz lowered herself to the floor beside him after one of the falls, taking him by the shoulders and preventing him from rising.

“Einar, please. Stop it. There’s nothing wrong with resting. Let yourself rest. Everything’s under control here, we’ve got plenty of firewood and breakfast is almost ready, so how about you just take it easy for a little while, and then we’ll have some stew together? Do you smell it? Mountain goat and avalanche lily with some serviceberries thrown in, going to be pretty good, I think!”

He nodded, had to agree that the soup smelled awfully good but he wasn’t ready for breakfast, certainly wasn’t interested in resting anymore after having lain there all night already but he was so terribly dizzy, and the cabin so small and filled with their bounty of winter preparations that he hardly dared attempt standing again, lest he risk running into Liz and taking her--and the baby, too--down with him on his next fall. Mustn’t do that, and he didn’t but crawling was safe so he crawled over to the door, eased it open and used the log-ends on the cabin corner to haul himself upright once more. The morning was cold and crisp, his breath rising in great clouds about his head and skies that had been clear on his return home that previous afternoon now stretched grey and gauzy with streamers of cloud, early heralds of what appeared to be a major weather front making its way into the high country. The way things were looking--and smelling; he could smell snow--Einar expected they’d be seeing snowfall before noon. Safe out there, no chance of upsetting Liz’s balance with his own clumsiness and after a few steadying breaths he launched himself off the cabin wall and managed to make it to the woodshed before collapsing again, frustrated but--still determined to run the trapline, one way or another--somewhat glad at the progress.

Liz was not glad, left him there for several minutes to shiver in the morning chill in the hopes that he’d come to his senses before heading out after him with the rabbit stick, repeating her invitation to breakfast and muttering under her breath about how it was just about time to use the weapon until finally he relented, struggling to suppress a laugh, followed her back inside and ate. Or tried to. Seemed to be choking on the larger pieces of meat, or nearly so, having difficulty getting them down until finally he gave up and stuck to the broth, not wanting to alarm Liz. Which didn’t really work, as she saw that he was leaving large portions of the meal behind and not understanding why, thinking he was simply being stubborn for some reason of his own that she was not quite able to comprehend. Didn’t want to argue about it, though; at least he was getting something, and she knew that as dehydrated as he’d appeared on returning the day before, the broth would be doing him a lot of good, and she set her thoroughly emptied pot back on the stove to begin simmering a second batch.

Dizziness settled somewhat by the good, mineral-rich broth, Einar was on his feet again, finding it a bit easier to balance than before. “Looks like a storm blowing in out there. I’d like to go run the trapline real quick before it gets here.”

Liz made no objection--not aloud, at least; her eyes might have told a different story, had Einar looked--simply nodding as she stirred bits of bearfat into the heating water on the stove, very deliberately breaking up and adding bones from their supper of rabbit so that all the goodness could be simmered out of them, working for a time before she spoke. “Want any company?”

“Not necessary. I’ll be quick about it. You might as well stick around here and work on those boots, because we’re gonna be needing them pretty soon, and I can see that you got a good start on a pair while I was away!”

Another nod from Liz as she remained intent on her work, back to Einar as he struggled into his boots and took his pack down from its peg on the wall, unsteady on his feet but managing somehow to hold his own, tossing in a container of water, some bits of jerky and the coils of cordage he would need should he find himself having to repair a damaged snare or two. Without another word to Liz--seemed she was unusually quiet that day, and he supposed with the baby’s time drawing nearer, her energy might not be quite what she was used to expecting; all the more reason for her to stick close to the cabin when possible--he slipped out the door, heading up the trail to the spring, and the start of the trapline. And pretty promptly landing face-first on a rough, re-frozen patch of snow, legs refusing to carry him. No matter. He’d brought the spear, used it to leverage himself up again and get to his feet, make another try. Which, rather to his dismay, went no better than the first but he kept at it--rise, forward by a foot or two, fall, try to crawl but that wasn’t working much better than the walking…on and on--battering himself rather mercilessly against the hard, snowy ground until at last his strength was entirely spent and he could do little more than lie there face down on the ground, waiting for a bit of the weakness to leave his legs, hoping it would, hoping things might get better.

From inside Liz had been watching, had seen the entire thing and had not been the least bit surprised as she saw him fall again and again until finally he stopped moving and lay there immobile, clearly exhausted and, she had no doubt, growing badly chilled there on the frozen ground. She couldn’t imagine what he’d been thinking, heading out on the trapline like that when he was clearly struggling so hard even to remain standing for seconds at a time, but his decision had not particularly surprised her, and though she’d wanted to try and dissuade him, it had seemed the far more effective strategy would involve simply letting him go without argument, running up against his own limits and hopefully learning a lesson whose effects would be far more lasting--and come with far less resentment towards her on his part--than anything she might have done to prevent his going. Which had all sounded very logical to her at the time, but made the waiting no easier as she watched him struggle there on the ice, straining, trying but failing to rise and she wanted so badly to go to him, throat tight and aching at the thought of leaving him like that but she knew that she must, shook her head, blinked away the tears and returned to her work. From time to time Liz would pause in her sewing, stick her head out of the door and give Einar a quick glance, checking with binoculars to make sure he was still breathing before once more attending to her mukluk assembly, stoking the fire and stirring the big pot of broth that simmered slowly on the stovetop, awaiting his return.

More than two hours had passed in slow succession by the time Einar, silent, grim and starting to go quite purple with cold, crept back into the cabin on hands and knees and curled up in the corner farthest from the stove, wedging himself in behind the water barrel and tucking numbed hands beneath his arms as slowly he began to thaw a bit, aching and stinging all over with returning circulation, finally, slowly, beginning to shiver himself warm again as the first snowflakes curled their way down outside. For some time Liz left him to his own devices--he would know that she’d seen him out there, know that she had deliberately avoided interfering, or helping, or however a person wanted to look at it, and why--working quietly on the first pair of mukluks and tending the fire but at last when she could no longer stand the sound of his rattling teeth and shivering breaths--was taking him a terribly long time to begin warming way back there in the dampest, chilliest corner of the cabin, and she knew he needed more of that broth and probably some dry clothes--she went to him. Einar jumped when she touched his shoulder, looked up at her with bright, hollow, sorrowful eyes and reluctantly allowed her to help him over nearer the stove, voice sounding cavernous and immensely weary when he spoke. “I can’t do it. Not today. Legs don’t work, and when I try to crawl…I’m sorry.”

She didn’t answer, had no words for him, just held him close and sought to rub some warmth back into his hands, offered him a pot of broth.

Comments from 31 October

Nancy1340 said...

Well at least it "sounds" like Einar "may" be thinking about taking a little better care of his skinny ol' hide.

Guess he’d better be doing that.

FrRichard said...

Naw E is doing fine, just ask him....

Sure he is! So far as he can tell…