Lucas Weismann

Another Winter Gone – 9

- Lucas

“Fiction is nothing more than an unmitigated pack lies redeemed by a grain of truth.” Marcus said.

“Dad, you’re trying to sound like Mark Twain again.”  Jack looked annoyed.  “That doesn’t help me.  I’m supposed to write a story for class and it’s supposed to be fiction.”

“Why not tell the story of the time you stopped the thief as a three year-old.  No one would believe that anyway.”

“Dad, that story is true.  We can’t use things that really happened.  It has to be fake.”

“Biography is the telling of lies to flatter the subject of the work.  None more so than autobiography.”

“Who is that supposed to be?”

“Me.”  Marcus smiled.  “Not all quotes come from dead people.”

 

Even decades later, that memory was vivid.  He and Jack had been in Minneapolis visiting Jack’s cousins.  Jack had been in the front seat of their Black ‘69 Mercury Cougar and was wearing his Spider-Man-Man pajamas.  At the time, his favorite game was playing “chase the bad guys.”  Jack would be Spider-Man and he would insist that Marcus be Batman (Marcus never argued.  Copyrighted material isn’t particularly important to three year-olds and everyone knows the old Bill Murray adage.  ‘Always Be Yourself!  Unless you can be Batman, then be Batman!’)

After all, the Cougar looked a lot like it should be the Batmobile reasoned Jack.  It only made sense that they should chase bad guys in it.  So that’s what they did.  His wife Rosemary was shopping at some stores in the Uptown neighborhood and parking was terrible.  Jack was getting impatient, so Marcus suggested the game.

Driving around, they chased “Doc Ock”, “The Riddler” and “Green Goblin” (pronounced Green Gobble-inn)”  and it was too much fun.  All of a sudden, Jack jumped up.  “A real bad guy!  A real bad guy!”

Just then, a young man dressed like he really, really wanted to belong in an gang and wasn’t succeeding ran out of the store carrying a dress.  He jumped on a bicycle and started pedaling down the street as the women from the store came out and shouted “Stop!  Thief!”

Not to be outdone, her coworker came out half a beat later and shouted “Help!  Somebody help us!

Jack jumped up and down, his face glowing with righteous indignation, “Get ‘em dad!”

“You got it bud.”  Marcus revved the engines and started to follow the thief into the neighborhood south of the shopping area.  They followed the thief who pedaled harder and cut into an alley.  They circled the block and entered the alley.  As soon as he saw them, the thief turned around on the bicycle, losing momentum and sticking his foot out to help his turn. He was up in a flash and pedaling hard.

Marcus pulled the Cougar up behind the crook, knocked it into neutral and revved the engine.  The thief panicked and shouted “I give!” and dropped the dress on the asphalt.  As soon as he was out of sight, Marcus and Jack exited the vehicle.

“Good Job Spider-Man.”

“Good Job Batman.”

The dress in the street was an off-white brocade dress, the kind that someone might wear to a Mother’s Day Brunch.  It was slightly scuffed from where the bike tire had rubbed it during the chase.  There was a bit of dirt on it, which Marcus hoped would wash out.

Jack picked it up and got back into the car.  “We need to get that guy Batman.”

“I don’t know,” said Marcus. “If the police catch us with him, we’ll get in trouble for making them look bad by solving their crimes.”

“But he’s a bad guy.” said Jack with a small stamp of his foot.”

“I know Jack-I mean, Spider-Man.  But he didn’t get the loot and we can still get it back to the store before your mom-

“Catwoman”

“Sorry, before Catwoman is finished shopping.”

“Let’s get back to the store.” Jack said decisively.

When they returned to the store, Marcus let Jack carry it in.  He’d even found his Spider-Man Halloween mask that Rosemary had made him the month before.  Jack entered the store, the conquering hero with the dress as spoils of war.  The girls in the store were suitably impressed and flattered his ego, offering Jack his pick of anything he wanted in the store.  Unfortunately there wasn’t a lot he might want.  The store had a few toys as a display, but was mostly adult clothing.  He picked a black Pashmina scarf and declared that he would give it to Batman so he could have a cape.

Jack smiled at his son’s generosity and did what you had to do in these situations.  He swung the cape over his shoulders with a flourish and tied it at the neck.

“How do I look, old chum?”  Asked Marcus in his best Batman voice.  (These were the days when Batman was on TV and much more suitable for children).

“I’d say you look purr-fect” came a feline voice behind him.  Marcus felt familiar arms wrap around him from behind.

“Mom- I mean, Catwoman!”

“Hi Spider-man!  How are you?  And why is Batman wearing that… …cape?”

“We caught a bad guy!”  His face shone.  Rosemary knelt down and put her hands on his shoulders.

“Were you playing that game again honey?”

“We were at first and I’m not honey, I’m Spider-Man!  But then, I saw a real bad guy and we chased him in the Batmobile and Da-Batman chased him and was gonna run him over and he threw the dress and-“  Jack stopped speaking as he saw his mom was fixing his Dad with a look™.  She stood up slowly with controlled movements and pulled Jack toward her in a protective motherly embrace.

“I didn’t run him down.  I just pulled up behind him and revved the engine in Neutral.  He dropped the dress and Jack brought it back here.”

Jack wriggled his way out of the grip and tugged her sleeve.

“Did daddy do something wrong?  We stopped the bad guy!”

“We’ll talk about it later honey,” she said in a tone that was soft and reassuring, but was a warning that there would be a ‘discussion’ later on.

 

The ensuing discussion had been considerably less heroic.  Rosemary made it clear she didn’t approve of vigilante justice outside of fiction and that it was reckless and dangerous to include a three year-old in this sort of nonsense.  Later of course, Marcus realized she was right, though at the time, he wisely did not point out that this was Minneapolis, not Chicago or New York and that the man had been fleeing on a bicycle.  She already knew that and to fight her on it would be as dumb as poking a Badger to see what would happen.

They agreed that they wouldn’t play “chase the bad guys” in the car again for awhile and that he would even hang up his “cape”.  Jack and Marcus decided to have a retirement ceremony for Batman in the Batcave (basement), where they put it in a box and put it on a shelf of identical boxes just like in the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Once in awhile though, just once in a while, when it was just the two of them, they would remember that afternoon and bask in the glow of their remembered heroics.

Not long after that, he ended up agreeing to sell the Cougar, which Rosemary said was an impractical car car for a family, on account of the two doors,

 

“What if you change the ending?”  Asked Marcus.

“What?”  Asked Jack.

“What if you changed the ending of the story.”

“You mean, what if we didn’t get in trouble from Mom?” he snorted.

“Yeah.  That- or what if your mom had been right and the thief was a brave criminal who was armed?”

“Whoa, like if he’d pulled a gun or something?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what would have happened then?”  This was another of his favorite games to play with Jack.  Jack was often bullied in school and one of the ways that they dealt with it was to discuss the situation at a distance.

 

Marcus remembered being a kid better than most adults.  Most adults remember the lack of responsibility that kids have, but kids remember the lack of control.  Being a child is having all of the fears that adults have, without the experience to know which ones are real or how big they should be.

Since a child’s world is on a smaller scale, the human sense of the epic plays out on that scale.  The freckled, chubby kid who bullies you is an Unstoppable Juggernaut who is impossible to make fun of back, because he’s so scary!  The principle or teacher is the Judge, Jury, Cop, Bailiff, Warden and Executioner.  A fight with your friend is the falling out of Remus and Romulus writ small.

Marcus figured it was because of this that it didn’t work to talk with Jack directly about the problems.  It was far better for the situation to remind Marcus of a “story he remembered” about “Benji the Wrestler,” or about a similar situation from when he was a kid.

Parents have mostly been in the situations their kids find themselves in, or something similar.  That’s why they can tell if you’re lying and always have the advice that drives you crazy, no matter what situation you’re in.  Anything you’re doing, they’re likely to have done before and that makes most teenagers go nuts when they talk to their parents.

After all, as a teen, you’re striking out on your own, hoping for independence and to be your own person.  Then this old person, worse- in most cases a fallen hero- comes and tells you that a lot of what you’re going through isn’t a big problem.  That THEY have been through it before.  That your experiences are nothing new?  How dare they?  Your love is one that NO ONE has ever felt before.  You can acknowledge that your parents love each other, or that they might have at one time, but how could that compare with Jeannie’s smile.  How could their boring commitment to each other compare with your love and the way her long dark hair falls down her back like an onyx waterfall, how her lips must feel if you were to kiss them (this part is often speculation, of course).

Besides, they were always old!  How could they?  They couldn’t, that’s how!

Marcus knew all too well that this was the likely outcome if he tried comparison, and that’s why he mostly stuck with stories.  He loved telling stories.  He made them up for his son all the time and they would work on them together.  Hopefully this exercise would help Jack with his writer’s block.  Not fun for anyone, but especially not for someone going through all that, plus a healthy heaping of teen worries.

“Let’s chart out the story like in the timeline Back to the Future.”  Said Marcus.

“Ugh, dad! C’mon…”

“Jack.  Let’s do this.  I’ll take the boring timelines and you take the interesting ones.”

“Okay, fine.”

“Okay, first.  Let’s do the real events as our baseline and see what happens if we change any of the points in time.”

“Fine.”  He pulled out a piece of white paper.  Okay, what happened first.

“We dropped Mom off at the store.  Then we couldn’t find parking.”

“Then you were getting impatient”

“Ugh, dad!  Fine.  I was getting impatient, so we played the ‘Chasing Badguys’ game.”  His eyes met Marcus’s for a moment and there was a brief smile.

“Right.  Then what?”

“Then after we chased some ‘Bad Guys’, I saw a real Bad Guy.”

“Alleged bad guy”

“Fine, I saw what I thought was a bad guy.  Then I saw the ladies from the shop scream and ask for help.”

“Right.”

“Then I said, ‘Get ‘im Dad!’ and we chased him.”

“Okay.  Then what.”

We cornered him in the alley and he turned and ran.

“We cut him off.”

“What?”

“We cut him off, we didn’t corner him.  If we’d cornered him, he wouldn’t have an exit.”

“Okay, fine.  We cut him off… Then you pulled up behind him and revved the engine to scare him into dropping the dress.”

“Right.  Then we picked up the dress and I wanted to chase him, but instead we went back to the store, and we got the cape and mom was mad.”

“Err… well, right.  I think it’s more fair to say that Mom was worried.”

 “Okay.  Then later we got lectured about safety and after that mom made you sell the Cougar.”  Jack stood and stretched.  Damn, that kid was insightful.  He’d probably still have the cougar if it wasn’t for that stunt.  He looked up at his son.  The kid must be six feet tall.  When had that happened?  “Okay, now what dad?”

“Now choose how you want the story to go and write it.”  He smiled.

Luke vs. Dexter Writing Contest – Round 1 – Pie, Hatchet, Dog

- Lucas

The following are the results of a short writing contest between me and my nephew Dexter.  The rules were that it had to use the words Pie, Hatchet, and Dog.

I was to write after he started and stop when he did.  Hope you enjoy! 


Dexter’s Entry – 

One nice pie was living in ancient Egypt. He had a pet dog named Hatchet. Unluckily, his dog loved to eat pie so he had to put him in his in his boat where the food storage was. One day he went fishing millions of miles away in the ocean carrying his boat the whole way. As every one knows pies have super strength and super speed. It only took him about 3 minutes. When he got there he saw a seal and said “OK.” Then got on his boat and saw his friend Roger and caught him with a fishing rod. “f*****uck” Rodger said as he was pulling the fishing hook out of himself. “Whoa man watch you language” Pie said. Suddenly Pie felt hungrier than ever before he felt an urge for cake the he reached down under his tarp. Suddenly Hatchet said “the cake is a lie” then Pie screamed and jumped into the ocean and that was the life of Pie.

Luke’s Entry – 

I remember looking at the dog as I picked up the hatchet.  The savory scent of fresh baking wafted out of the house and on down to the woodshed.  He looked back at me opened his mouth in a lolling doggy grin.  Our breath steamed in the winter air.

The sun was low on the horizon and the trees in their skeletal winter form make the cabin seem warmer and more inviting by comparison.  I put the hatchet back in its sheath on my belt and headed toward the house, warming my hands with my breath as I did so, before grabbing an armload of wood.

Snow crunched underfoot as I approached the house and the way I stamped my feet must have gotten her attention, because when I looked up, I saw Elsa there, framed in the doorway like a backlit angel.

She smiled to see me and I suddenly forgot the cold.  Okay, it was mostly the smile, but knowing that after dinner we would be having a freshly baked apple pie might have had some effect.

“God kväll Elsa,” I said.  Most of my ability to speak Swedish was limited to greetings, asking about the weather and giving basic directions.  Fortunately, she spoke English at least as well as most people I grew up with in these parts.

“God kväll Lucas,”  She pronounced it ‘Luu-kass’ and it was one of the few traces that remained of her accent when she spoke English.  Elsa kindly held the door for me and I entered, trying my best to kick off my shoes so that there would be minimal water in the rest of the house as I carried the wood into the living room.

The fire was already burning.  It had been since the power had gone out two days before.  I didn’t mind.  It just made the whole place more cozy.  There was camping gear lined around the living room and over the fire, there was a dutch oven, in which baked an apple pie.

“You know, I think we live better when the power is out, than when it’s on.” I said, “I certainly feel better at the end of the day.”

“That’s because you’re getting exercise for a change,” she said playfully.  “Your mood is always better after you’ve worked up a sweat.”

“And an appetite!” I agreed.  “I think I’m happier because being trapped here with the roads closed means there’s enough time for us to cook real food.  Eating out is never as good as the food you make at home.”  Elsa smiled awkwardly.  It was true, she was an excellent cook, but neither her Swedish heritage, nor my Midwestern upbringing would allow either of us to accept compliments well.

“It’s just a good thing we got all those barrels and that salt pork.”  She said.  “Oh and that your brother-in-law thought that I’d want 4 kilos of pickled herring.”  I liked that she used the metric system even after ten years living in the United States.  It made me do some mental arithmetic whenever it came up, but I liked it all the same.

 “That’s just Andy being Swedish.”

She wrinkled her nose.  “No Swedish eats that much pickled herring, except at christmas maybe.”

“Maybe not, but you’ve got it lucky.  You grew up there and so you get to be Swedish without doing anything.  Poor Andy has to do Swedish things to ‘connect to his past’ otherwise, he risks losing his heritage.”

“Well, his weird American version of being Swedish might save our lives.  He bought what must be twenty cases of Julmust at the ikea down in Minneapolis.  Between that, and that outhouse you put on the lake, we might have enough food to last until the snow melts and we can head down to somewhere less remote.”

“It’s an ice fishing shack,” I corrected her.  “it makes it less miserable to get us some fish.”

“Not so much less miserable.  I tried it last year.”  She crossed her arms and pretended to be mad.

“Well, we should have enough fuel for the next eight hours or so.  Then I’ll bring another load of wood.”

“Tack så mycket” she said with a polite nod.  “I’m afraid it won’t be very exciting, since we’re running low on real food and only have the pickled things, soda, alcohol, and whatever is in those military food things your brother left.”

“Well, we have a full spice kit and you’re a great cook, so I’m sure we’ll be fine.”  It was true that I was a bit concerned.  The last week or so had been terrible.  It snowed at least eight inches every night.  And the 20.3-ish it was in centimeters didn’t make it sound any easier.

The reality was that as kind as we were trying to be to each other, we needed food, heat, and electricity- and soon.  Right now, we were doing our best to keep fed and warm as the cold and hunger threatened outside the small protections we had- a cabin and a fire.  The depth of the snow made it just possible that we could live in a snow fort for awhile, okay… but really?  There just wasn’t a good solution.

We were about a mile out from the nearest road, and homes or cabins were fairly uncommon.  twenty miles from the nearest town or person likely to be in a position to help us made leaving more dangerous than staying.

No matter how you sliced it.  We were in trouble, or we would be soon.

 

Bonus – Shortest stories using the required words.

Sale:  Dog, Pie, and hatchet- used.

Sale:  Dog Pie, and used hatchet.

Sale: Dog, pie and hatchet used.

Another Winter Gone – 8

- Lucas

“Hello Ms. Rogers,” Said the old man.  “What brings you out here today?”

“Hello Mr. Johnson,” she replied, “I’d like to ask you some questions for a piece I’m writing.”

“Oh?” He asked.  He seemed happy at the prospect. “Do come in and have a seat.”

She did and accepted a cup of coffee, black with two sugars, she looked around the cottage.  It looked like your typical hunting cabin, trophies that were all clearly antiques, except for the fish.  Those were recent.  None of the animals were less than 60 years old.  Everything was scrupulously clean and there were little to no sharp edges anywhere.  Even the rifle over the fireplace had the trigger mechanism removed.  This was a man who was very precise about fitting in and doing the right thing, but he didn’t like guns or hunting or risk of any kind.  Why even have the animals then? she wondered.  Amos reentered carrying the two coffee cups on coasters on the tray and set it down on a placemat on the coffee table.

Once they’d exchanged a few pleasantries, Janet decided to get to the point.

“I’d like to ask you about a mutual friend of ours, Mr. Marcus.”

“Not Mr.” he said smiling, “and no you’re not.”

“What?” She asked.

“Marcus is his first name.  The only one he gives out himself as a matter of course, and anyone who’d be a friend of his would know that.  Not that he has friends really, not what’d you call friends.”

Shoot.  She’d miscalculated.

“Oh?”

“Anyone who knows Marcus knows the man is more antisocial than a skunk with distemper.”  The words were said like he was angry, but Amos was known to be one of the worst (and most enthusiastic) poker players in the whole of the Iron Range and the increased twinkling in his eyes was giving him away.

“Really?” She said.  “He seemed nice enough when I was there.”

“I’ll daresay he was tolerating you Ms. Rogers, and if he did, it was because he likes your writing.”  he sniffed. “can’t say I care for it much myself.  I prefer to read the paper for the funnies.”  He was clearly winding her up, though she couldn’t see just why.  It was probably best to just let him know what she wanted.

“I am writing a piece on Marcus to show the effect he’s had on the people around him.”

“Does he know you’re doing this?”

“No.  I had the idea that it might be nice to have a party for him after the article comes out.  A sort of ‘thank you’ from the people around here who’ve been touched in some way by the things he’s done.”

“Is this about Jessica?”

“Not just her Mr. Johnson.”

“Amos, please.”

“Not just her Amos.  Did you know that she saved thirty people in her time as an EMT and a first responder?  There are other people he’s helped over the years.  I’d like to see what the effect has been beyond just the immediate circle of people he’s helped.”

“I don’t know…  I don’t think he’d approve of the attention.”

“Yeah, but he should know what effect he’s had on the people around him.”

“Listen ma’am, I don’t know if I like the idea of you using Marcus to get a story.  Especially if he doesn’t know about it.”

“Please Amos, do you think it’s fair that he should be alone, 95 years old, stuck away in the cabin with no one.  No man is an island.”

“I used to believe that, until I met Marcus.” he said, “What exactly do you want to know?”

“I want to know anything I can find about him.  Who he was before he came here, why he came, who are the others who he’s helped over the years.  There are rumors of a man in an oilskin or fur-lined coat coming out of nowhere to help stranded people, injured people, even people who’ve gotten injured doing illegal things.  Then, as soon as he’s done the work and gotten them to the hospital, he disappears.  Why does he do it?  Somewhere there is a story in here if I can just find it.  Please Amos, help me.”

“I suppose I’ve resisted enough to say I’ve put up a fight.  I’ll tell you what:  I’ll give you the stories as I think of them and you follow them wherever they lead, but I can’t promise he’ll like the article, or even come to an event thrown in his honor.  Marcus just isn’t the type.”

“Thank you Amos.  Where do I begin?”

“If I were wanting to know more about Marcus, I’d go talk to Frankie Bleeker.  He’s probably had as much contact with Marcus over the years as anyone I can think of.”

“Frankie Bleeker?  You mean Sheriff Bleeker?”

“Yep.  The one and the same.  Think about it.  You’re looking for someone who would be everywhere that Marcus has helped someone, that is somewhere where there’s been trouble.  Sheriff Bleeker has been there too, often after the fact, of course.  He’s the one you want though.”

“Thank you Amos, I’ll do that.  And please, let me know if you think of any other information I can use.”

Writing Prompt 5 – Pebble

- Lucas

Like a pebble disappearing as it sinks into water, so are those who incur the wrath of the Great Khan.

Upon mountains of skulls and a throne of bones does he build his great and lasting peace.

For his will is the divine will of heaven, so say the Priests of the Christians, the imams of the Muslim, and the Monks of the Buddha.  All pray for the health of the Khan that he might bring us the wealth of the city-dwelling cattle.

Those beasts of burden whose art serves to glorify the horde.  Whom we seasonally harvest when they are ripe, just as our women pick the berries at summer’s end.

Woe to any who resist the Khan, for to do so is to stand against heaven.  See how the Golden Khan has fallen.  This once proud group, who were free men of the Steppe are now lowly beasts in their nests.  See how their weak were culled and the strong added to the glory of the horde.

See how merciful is the Khan, who allowed those whom he spared to prove their loyalty by being the first to fight for his honor against their former comrades and neighbors.  How when given the chance to be free, they join and become men at last, if only for a second.

Note too, how any women of worth join the horde and become wives to the Khan and his men.  For truly it is the first time many of them have seen a Man, rather than these paper-worshipping pigs they called husbands.

It is only too sad that all are not fit to live free.  Such as the men who fought about whether to resist or join the horde and killed their OWN countrymen.  None could trust men of these and the Khan mercifully ended their lives that they might seek a better one the next time around.

Wise is the Khan, who will not be questioned, but seeks the wise council of the engine-makers who fight city to city, and the sages, monks and other wise men of all nations, that he might be as wise as they and truly understand how best to bring heaven’s will to pass.

Glory to the Khan, may he live a thousand years, in this flower of peace he has  wrought though the fertilizer of war.

 

– Unknown Khan Officer

Writing Prompt 4 – In a Pink Room

- Lucas

The room is too pink.  Somehow this is the only thing that Johnny could think as he entered the second grade classroom.  Pink winged babies with weaponry he would not be allowed to use in school, pink hearts with white lace, pink streamers and altogether just too much pink.

Miss Winkler always did that.  Every day was celebrating some sort of holiday.  Finally it was Valentine’s day.  The decorations had been up for three weeks.  The unfairness of the world weighed down on him as he thought of how he’d been teased for being in the kissing classroom.  He slunk lower into his seat, wishing he could melt out of the room.

None of the other teachers do that, he thought as he pulled his books out of his desk and slammed them down a bit harder than was strictly necessary.

He looked over at Josh.  Josh looked just as miserable.  So did Dickie and Billie (the class twins).  It was alright for all the girls.  They were supposed to like all that kissing stuff.  No one made fun of them.

Oh well, he thought.  At least tomorrow it would all change.  Leprechauns and Rainbows and Pots O’ Gold.

“Hello Class!” sang Miss Winkler.  Johnny hated that.  People should sing when they sing and talk when they talk.  It was so stupid when people just sang everything they said.  It always made him feel like they were treating him like a little baby.

He turned to the door, bracing himself for what he knew would be one of her ‘special outfits’.  Miss Winkler always wore her special outfits every holidays.  Every kid knew it.

On president’s day last year, she dressed as Lincoln, beard and all.  After Easter Break she wore an easter bonnet and bunny ears, and a normal outfit, but glued a big cotton ball to her butt to make a bunny tail.  (Okay, that one had been funny, but only because no one had seen the tail until she turned to the board to write something).

Oh no.  It was worse than he’d thought.  Her dress was a pink Alice-In-WOnderland Dress with a giant Cupid on it.  That wasn’t the bad part.  The cupid was him.  It had his green eyes, curly brown hair and small pointed chin.  Oh no, this was not going to be good.  he had to get out of there before

*RIIIINGGG*

Too Late.  Class had officially started. There was no escape and now everyone came to order as she started with Roll Call.  This was terrible!  Everyone was gonna see the picture when she put down the Roll Sheet and then… then… well, he didn’t know what would happen, but he knew it would be bad.

Oh no, she was halfway through the list now.  She called his name and he raised his hand slowly.  Not long now before his school career and friends were over.  There’d be no playing on the cool parts of the playground after this.

Another Winter Gone – 7

- Lucas

Marcus approached the truck and found Amos and Jessica chatting away inside.  He smiled.  Amos wasn’t a bad sort, and his talkative nature would help make the ride go more quickly (for Jessica at least).  Seeing them getting along made Marcus decide to invite Amos to keep the girl company.  He took off his snow shoes, slid them behind the bench seat and got into the driver’s side of the truck.

Then he passed Jessica a small wet lump.

“Your clothes,” he said by way of explanation.

“Oh yeah, thanks!  That’ll probably make things easier after I’m done at the hospital.”

“Amos, you want to drop your Snowmobile over at my place?”

“Yeah, sure Marcus.”  He got out of the truck and went over to it.  “See you later!”  Amos was practically wagging like a golden retriever.  Then he paused.  “Say, why don’t I just take my truck and meet you in town?”

Marcus sighed, but it was no surprise really.  When had he ever invited Amos (or anyone really) to help him or join in anything?  Well, not in the last 50 years, and it doesn’t really count when it’s your own son.  He’d worked with people sure, told them what to do, commanded them and told them what they were going to do, and it had worked.  But when had he last asked, requested, or invited someone to join him.

Hell, even at the Ely steam, he just nodded and moved aside to let someone in.  He’d have to think about that.  After all, there’s no reason to be unkind, when kindness will serve just as well.

“Let’s just meet at your place Amos.  It’s on the way to town and I’m sure we could use your company.”

Amos swelled.  “you got it!  you won’t have to  worry.  I’ll be right behind you.  Okay! Well….” Marcus rolled up the window as the man outside nearing retirement dithered in excitement.

Oh right, that was why.  I mean, there’s not being unkind and then there’s inviting this sort of foolishness.  He grunted slightly in what might have been a laugh.  A few yards down the road, Jessica spoke.

“You don’t really like him, do you?”

“Him?   He’s alright.  He just,”

“Talks a lot.” she finished.

Marcus nodded.  He knew she could see him.

“My dad’s like you.”

“I doubt that.”  he said with a half-smile.

“Never has a word kind or unkind for anyone, but when there’s trouble people bless their lucky stars that he’s around.”

“hmph.”

“He tries to be all stern and stone, like he’s trying to be The Man With No Name.  But underneath it all, he’s a good guy.”

“hmph.”

“Thank you, by the way,” she said.  “It really was stupid of me.”

“Yes.  It was.” he said and did not ask about the wolves.  The truck pulled up to the driveway and just afterward, Amos pulled up.  Apparently being deprived of an audience hadn’t affected him, and he seemed to have been monologuing on the snowmobile.  Jesus the man would talk when no one listened.

“I don’t want to be rude,” Jessica said, “but is there any way we could have him not come with?”

Marcus was surprised for a second.

“what?”

“I just need some time to think and some quiet to do it in.  Oh, is that rude of me?”

“You think I’m gonna argue?”

“Great can you… …oh, you mean I have to tell him.”

“Hey, you’re old enough to get chased by wolves into a ravine, you’re old enough to tell the nice man who helped rescue you that you want him to go away.”

“err…”

“You’ll get no argument from me mind, but he did make it possible for you to get back to the road and I wasn’t exactly sure how I’d get you back to the truck before hypothermia set in.  Again.”

she inhaled through her teeth.  “Okay.”

“Besides, the man works for the city in the permit office, making sure people fill out paperwork properly.  This is probably the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to him.  He is a hero after all.”

“What?  But you…”

“Did what needed to be done.  Same as him.”  Damn my overinflated sense of fairness.  Outside the truck, Amos’s face was starting to go from smiles to concern.”

She opened the door.  “Hi Amos!” she smiled brightly, “Thanks for rescuing me.  I don’t know what I would have done if you two hadn’t come by.”

Amos’s big round face reminded him of the Parsee man in the Just-So story about the Rhinoceros and the currant cake.  “…and he smiled one smile that ran all round his face two times.” In the book of course, it had be an ominous portent, but Amos was smiling a smile as bright as the sun who shone in “more-than-Oriental-splendour.”  Hmm… I should re-read Kipling, Marcus thought as they drove on to the Hospital to find treatment for the girl.

 

Meeting Jessica had been thirty years ago and Marcus still remembered her whenever he read Call of the Wild.  She had grown up and gone off to have kids of her own.  She even visited during the summers for several years, the gap between each a visit longer than the last.  Eventually he’d learned that the wolves chasing her on her snowmobile- that’s right.  She’d been on a  snowmobile not snowshoes- the wolves chasing her on the snowmobile had been a group of local teens who’d fancied themselves tough.

Later Marcus found out that one of the boys had been the one to alert Amos that the girl had fallen off the ridge.  He’d had a crush on her, but didn’t have the status to openly stand against his friends.  When Jessica fell, they’d all scattered and marcus even managed to track them down because of the paint from their rides one or two had left on the trees in their haste to leave.

Jessica and the boy (Thomas, was it?) had been seen together in town for awhile, but eventually it was clear that his bravery had been temporary and she had no desire to be saddled with a man who couldn’t hold his own and stand up for what is right except in extreme circumstances.

It was good, Marcus thought.  That girl had been pretty brave, and had gone on to do good things.  Even working as a Wilderness First Responder for awhile during college.  She saved several people during that time and whenever the writers at the local paper got wind of it they printed an article.

Marcus kept every one in a binder, though he never showed any outward sign he was aware of her work when she visited.

Eventually Jessica went and moved to the city, where she did something laudable with bringing city kids out to the wilderness to show them the stars or something.

Of course, he never thought about it in these terms, but there were a good number of people who wouldn’t be alive today if he hadn’t been there to save the girl.

 

These were the types of stories and rumors that circulated around the Iron Range about Marcus, the last of the old-time trappers.  A guardian of the woods who appeared in town for supplies every few weeks in the guise of a grumpy loner.

These stories were the real reason that the Journalist had sought him out.  It was a good story.  A man who did what needed to be done and didn’t much think about the consequences; a man didn’t ask for a reward, or attention and had mostly gotten what he’d asked for.

Such a shame, thought Janet.  Everyone should get to know the effect they have on people.  She paused outside the door of the house and was about to knock, when she saw the curtains twitch and the door opened to reveal a man of about 75 or 85 who was all smiles and joviality, and whom retirement seemed to have agreed with.

Another Winter Gone – 6

- Lucas

Once dried, Jessica re-dressed and they wrapped her foot as best they could.  She would still be cold, but at least she was alive and would likely keep all her extremities.  Marcus remembered when he was a boy, meeting a farmer named Al who’d lost lost fingers to the cold and other accidents.  He remembered the farmer describing the aches and pains or just tingling that would sometimes occur in the fingers that were no longer there.  It still gave him a shiver almost a century later- though he’d gotten better at hiding it.

He remembered the story he old man told him, saying that as a younger man he’d played the guitar until he’d lost the tips of a finger or two in a threshing accident.  At that point he’d switched to the accordion, until he lost fingers to the cold.  When he couldn’t play the accordion anymore, he switched to the hammer dulcimer.  By the time Marcus met the old man, the only instrument he could play anymore was the Harmonica.

He admired the stubborness and tenacity of the old man.  He unwillingness to let any accident or fate prevent him from partaking in his love of music.

With any luck, this Jessica would be alright.  Of course, they weren’t out of the woods yet and the shadows already stretched long over the land.  But at least the girl was hydrated and responsive.  Marcus had melted some water for her from the snow and given it to her.  It was a mercy she hadn’t hit her head on a rock or broken her neck with a fall like that.

Remembering what he’d seen in terms of destruction of the branches and the dislodged trees on the way down the ravine reminded him about her story of being chased by wolves.  It was such an obvious prevarication that it almost didn’t seem worth asking about.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts.  Now that the immediate danger was past, there was the very real problem of what to do to get the girl back to the road and the relative safety of his truck.  It had been a 10 minute walk, plus some odd switchbacks, but that was with snowshoes and the girl only had one of those left.  Plus, she’d be hopping on one foot.  That wouldn’t do.  

Marcus realized he’d left his phone in the truck.  The damn thing barely got reception anyway, but still.  Minor chance was worth more than no chance.

“Jessica, you got a phone?”

“Yeah, I…” she grabbed her pants and went through the pockets. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“Great.  You got reception?”

“No.”  It figured.  They probably had the same carrier.  

“Well, we’re going to have to figure out how to get you out of here.  I don’t have time to be bringing firewood all night and I don’t want to risk you going into shock or dying of exposure.  Lemme see your ankle.”  It was swollen, purple and angry.”

The whine of a small gas engine became more apparent as it approached the ridge above them and then from up top a voice cried out, “Hey, Marcus, you okay?”  Christ.  That was all he needed.  That darned Amos was here, and he’d probably want to… wait.  

“Down here Amos.”

“You injured?”  

“No, but there’s a girl who is.  Heard a scream.  She’s got a busted up ankle and we have no reception here.  Help me get her to the truck.”

“Sounds good”  Sounds good?  Marcus had never heard Amos say so little at one time.  The engine whirred to life in that fly-buzz register that snowmobiles seem to share with squadrons of mosquitos.

A few minutes later, there was Amos dismounting his snowmobile and digging under the seat for his spare helmet.  Well, for once the man’s insistence on doing everything by the book might be of use.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Snowmobiling and I saw your truck with the emergency lights on and the door open on the side of the road.  Then I saw tracks and thought… “hey!  If marcus is running in the woods, either he’s in trouble or someone else is.’ And then…”

“Good job.” Said Marcus.  “I’m sure you have more you want tell me about it, but let it wait until we get her back to town and in some clothes.”

Amos seemed to just notice the girl next to them covered only in an old saddle blanket.  He reddened.  Internally, Marcus face-palmed.  Amos had to be what, 55?  65?  And here he was blushing like little  kid.  This provoked a similar reaction in Jessica, who up till now had been too concerned about survival to worry about propriety.

“Alright children, let’s get back to the truck.  Amos, keys are in the ignition, so start it up and make sure she stays warm. I’ll be there when I can and will put out the fire.”

They fumbled their way on to the snow mobile, with Jessica’s feet still in Marcus’s mittens.  The heels hung out a bit and looked silly, but at least it wouldn’t take long to get back, he thought as they rode off toward the truck.

Marcus took one of his snowshoes and used it as a shovel to extinguish the fire, using the tail of it to stir in the ashes and make sure it was completely out.  He’d seen what could happen if a fire went underground, or cinders whipped up and wouldn’t leave anything to chance.  

Afterward, he put the snowshoes back on, clenched and unclenched his now-chilly fingers and and started back to the truck at a brisk trot.

Another Winter Gone – 5

- Lucas

In times like this, Marcus knew that talking and keeping people alert was one of the best ways to avert disaster.  He went to talking her though the task at hand.  Namely hypothermia and how to avoid it.

“There are four stages of hypothermia” he said as he wandered around and started gathering branches and sticks.  “Mild, moderate and severe.  mental confusion, shivering.  This is the part where you feel cold.”  He took out his steel and set it on a flat rock nearby so he’d be have it to hand.  

“Ok-kkkay” said Jessica.

“Now, you’re past that, because you’re having trouble controlling your shivering.  If you weren’t, I’d be less concerned.  you’re probably a bit confused and your lips and ears are turning blue, which indicates at least moderate hypothermia.”  Marcus dug through his pockets seeking something.  He pulled it out.  “Aha! wait, damn.” he said.  That’s not what I wanted.  Well, here, eat this.”

“A film canister?” She said confusion on her features.

“No, what’s inside it.”

“What is inside it?”

“Crushed potato chips mashed with dates”

“What?”

“Calories kid. It’s an easy way to transport them.  You need fuel to burn; speaking of which” he pulled out a film canister wrapped with several layers of duct tape.

“More chips?”

“nope.  Waterproof matches and kindling.”

“W-wwwere you a boy scout?”

“Nah, but I like the books.”  Marcus started making a rat’s nest of the duct tape- first tearing it into small strips and then making it into a loose bundle.  “I like the Civics lessons, but I never went in for the ‘God’ part of the whole ‘God and Country’ part of the scouts.  Seemed silly to exclude all those Atheists, Buddhists and others who might want to go camping.”  He struck a match and set it to the bundle, which now hung loosely underneath a pile of kindling on a flat rock.  The smell was bitter and acrid.  The burning plastic of GI Joes who’ve met a magnifying glass at noon on a summer’s day.

“Now, the stumbling and difficulty that you’re having moving might be because of the log that fell on your foot, but it might also be because you’re in wet clothes and nearing severe hypothermia.  How long were you in the water?”

“A few minutes-s-s-s, I think.”  Marcus blew the flames gently to give them life.  They grew and Jessica found almost dove toward the small bit of heat.

“Careful there.  Don’t knock it over.  I’m going to add bits of wood.  I need you to lean over and blow on the base of the flame.  Think you can do that?”

“Y-y-yeah”  she said.  Good, giving the girl something to do would keep her occupied and might lessen the effects of shock.  He got up to get the wood and brought it back.  

“Not bad.  You already figured out you have to coax the fire out of the wood.  Lotta people try and blow like its birthday candles and cause no end of trouble.”  Marcus placed the wood next to the fire and started adding some.  Then he grabbed the blanket and his mittens from the ground and gave them to her.

“Alright, next step.  You’re gonna strip down outta those wet clothes and wrap up in the blanket.”  Jessica nodded dumbly.  “Next, you’re gonna wear mittens on your feet and we’re gonna try to prevent frostbite from getting more than just a little bad.  If something turns black, chances are, it’ll have to go.”

“O-okay.”  She said.

“Now me, I’m going to keep myself occupied with the fire here, so you don’t have to worry about me sneaking a peek and remembering things I’m too old to be thinking about.”  She actually guffawed.  Marcus couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard a guffaw, and certainly not from a chit of a girl who had no business being this far out by herself, being chased by wolves.  That was an oddity he’d explore if it seemed important when-

“Umm, Mr. Marcus…”  She sounded worried.

“Just Marcus, no Mister.  What’s wrong Jessica?”

“I can’t get my boot off.”  Of course not.  Why would he think it would be otherwise?  

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“I think it’s t-t-too s-s-swollen.” She said.  Marcus moved to the boot, took it in his hands and cut the laces and the tongue with the multitool he kept on his belt.

“Hey!  Those were expensive boots!” She said.  Anger pushing the shiver out of her voice.

“Yeah?  They worth more than your foot?”  She mumbled something.  “Didn’t think so.  Listen girlie, so far I’ve been kind to you.  Don’t take that kindness as weakness.  When I want to know how to get lost and nearly kill myself of hypothermia and a broken ankle, I’ll ask you.  Until then, you’re in my woods, so you’ll do as I say and you might just get out of here in one piece with only minor extremities lost.”  She winced and made a controlled exhalation, as he pulled off the boot.  To her credit, she didn’t whimper or cry of fuss too much once it was off and she got to the business of removing her frozen, soaking clothes.

Marcus busied himself with the fire until it was a roaring blaze.

Another Winter Gone – 4

- Lucas

The sound came from the woods.  A scream, someone in pain.  Marcus looked up from his book and immediately put on his coat and boots.  Mittens, hat and scarf went on as he walked through the door.  He tossed the old horse blanket in the back of the truck and started to head down the drive.  The voice called again for help and he pulled over the truck.  It must be coming from the creek bed near the ravine.  Who the hell would be stupid enough to be down there this time of year.

Marcus grabbed the blanket and tossed it over his shoulder. Then he pulled the snow shoes out from behind the bench seat in the truck and put them on before heading off the road and into the woods.

A short 5 minutes later, he crested the ridge of the ravine.  Giant disturbances in the snow on the other side gave him an idea of what had happened.

Someone had been jumping down the hill in the deep snow, like a skiier doing a mogul run.  Based on the broken branches about a third of the way down, it was clear that he (it was almost certainly going to be a he, and almost certainly going to be a young “he”, Marcus knew) had lost control of his descent and would be found somewhere below.

“I’m coming,” Marcus cried out.  “I need you to tell me if you can move.”

Whimpers met him from below.  Marcus swore a bit and worked his way down the ridge as safely as he was able.

“Tell me if you can move your arms and legs.” he said again, then remembered his voice was deep and sounded like someone who had been interrupted in his reading of Jack London to tend to an idiot in the woods who had fallen down.

“My name is Marcus, I’m here to help.  What is your name?”

“J-j-j-jessica.” came the reply.

“Huh, 95 years on the planet and surprises abound,” he thought.

“Okay, Jessica.  Can you move your arms and legs?”

“I can move my arms, but one of my legs is stuck,” she said.  Then she whimpered again with the pain.

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

“What?!  Are you crazy, of course it hurts, I f-fell down the hill after being ch-chased by wolves.”

“I’m sorry, what?  No, never mind.  we have more important things to get to.  Where are you?”

“I’m in the s-stream.

“on the ice?”  He asked.

“Well, part of me.  I think I must’ve knocked a tree loose when I fell because the trunk is on me.”

Jesus, that was bad.  Being wet, even in February could be a death sentence with no appeal in minutes.  Okay, I’m working my way over.  Just then, he rounded the corner.  Sure enough, it was a teenage girl half submerged in the water and pinned under a tree.  He looked around and found what he needed.

“Okay, the good news is, you probably didn’t break your back or you wouldn’t be able to feel your legs.  The bad news is that the hypothermia will still kill you quickly if you don’t do exactly as I say.  Do you understand?”

“Yessir.”  She looked small, cold and wet.   What was her name?  Jessica.  Right.  Jessica.

Taking a 10 food section of ash, he found a gap to wedge it under the trunk of a tree and used an exposed rock by the shore to lever the trunk off of the girl. Marcus realized how little he was used to talking this much.  When was the last time he’d said this many sentences to someone?  10, 15 years ago?  Well, no matter; he had more to say before the evening was over.

“Okay, on the count of three, I’ll lift the tree and you move back as far toward shore as you can, okay.  One, Two…  Damn.”  He noticed the snowshoes tangled in the branches of the tree.  “One second.”  Marcus walked around the tree and saw the buckle was bent.  Damned metal thing.  He removed his mitts and whipped his knife out of his belt and one motion and started to cut through the nylon strap.  She screamed once or twice as he finished each cut, but the work was over in less than a minute.

“Okay, on the count of three one, two, three.”  Marcus lifted the tree using the smaller branch as a lever and Jessica scooted out of reach so it could come back down.

“Alright, first things first. We need to get you back to the truck.  Can you walk?”

“n-nnnn” she shook her head.

Damn.  Mumbling was already setting in.  This wasn’t good.  What they needed was fire, and fast.

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