The Weight of Snow. Christian Guay-Poliquin

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СКАЧАТЬ morning, every morning, Matthias does his exercises. With the concentration of an alchemist, he carries out a series of odd postures, lengthy stretches, and quick contractions. Sometimes he maintains the same position for several minutes. His immobility is powerful and subterranean. Generally he accompanies his movements with deep breathing. He bends, straightens, contorts. His gestures are broad and flexible. When he breathes out, you can hear the strength of his diaphragm, as if he is fighting, with great slowness, a stranger, a bear, or a monster. Then, without warning, he stops completely and stands straight with an air of triumph. His day can begin.

      The sky lightened some time ago, but the sun has scarcely made it above the forest. At certain spots its rays have pierced the trellis of trees. I take out my spyglass and examine the surroundings. The snow is unmarked except for Matthias’s heavy footprints and the skittish traces of squirrels. The other animals have retreated deeper into the woods. They can concentrate on surviving that way, far from our eyes.

      Matthias is making coffee. Since there is not much of it, he mixes two spoonfuls of grounds with one of fresh coffee.

      That was exactly what he was doing when I was brought here. Strange how clear my memory is of the smell in the room. Matthias opened the door to the veterinarian who was standing before him in the rain. Behind her, the watchman and the pharmacist were carrying me on a stretcher. Matthias invited everyone in for coffee.

      Fever and antibiotics had cast me into a state of lethargy that had nothing to do with sleep. I was in a sort of passive wakefulness, halfway between a coma and a coherent dream. I did not move, I did not speak, but I heard everything.

      Who is he? Matthias asked as he bent over me.

      The mechanic’s son, the veterinarian told him. He was in a car accident.

      The watchman looked around the room. There was a woodstove, a rocking chair, a table, and a sofa. A single bed bordered the window.

      You’re well set up here, he remarked.

      The house was abandoned. I fixed up this room in the meantime.

      In the meantime?

      Matthias hesitated.

      Until the neighbour lady comes, he said finally. She’s taking her time, but she’s going to come for me. For sure. She knows I have to get back to town. She understands.

      The watchman rubbed his chin.

      You’ve been saying that for a while now. Why do you want to go back to the city so much? It’s eight hours by car in good conditions, and you know, with the power out, you can’t get around like you used to. There are roadblocks everywhere, militias, highwaymen. They say it’s chaos in the city, accidents at every corner, the stores looted, people fleeing. Maybe your neighbour had a problem, the watchman said, weighing his words.

      She’ll come, Matthias insisted. She’ll come.

      What if she doesn’t? What are you going to do? Steal a truck?

      Matthias kept his eyes fastened on the grounds in his coffee cup.

      There’s no more gas anywhere, you know.

      I have to get back to town, Matthias repeated.

      They stood there in silence, as if the discussion had come to an end. Then the watchman started talking again.

      We’re lucky here, our village is hidden in the middle of the forest. Having no power complicates things, but at least everything is under control. We watch the entrance to the village, we consolidate our resources, we help each other out.

      Matthias did not react. He waited for what would come next.

      You know some people are talking about making an expedition if the outage continues. The idea is to get in contact with the outside world. They would go to the villages along the coast, then to the city. Some of them want to find family members who live there. That’s normal, you know, when you haven’t had news from relatives in a long time.

      The watchman paused for effect and cast a glance in my direction. At the time, I remember, with the fog of medication, I had to concentrate to follow what was happening around me.

      I have a proposal for you, the watchman went on. You look after him and we’ll keep a spot for you in the convoy that will be going to the city. From now on, you’ll get two shares of rations. That way you’ll manage. And you won’t have to go down to the village, I’ll come by and bring it to you.

      Matthias looked out the window.

      I have to get back to town before winter.

      I understand, the watchman went on, but it takes time to organize an expedition. You have to find gas, food, equipment. You have to consider security, and plan out the itinerary. No one wants to get caught by winter, you know, especially when there are no more plows clearing the roads.

      When will you be leaving?

      Spring.

      This spring? Matthias said, discouraged.

      Yes, this spring. As soon as the roads are passable.

      That’s too late, Matthias complained, how am I going to get along?

      You’re going to be patient and you’re going to take care of him. That will be your contribution. Then you’ll have your spot in the convoy.

      He’s in bad shape, Matthias muttered, looking at my splints.

      Yes, but he’ll make it.

      You think so? Matthias questioned, raising his eyebrows.

      The veterinarian wanted to step in, but the pharmacist motioned her to wait. Matthias paced the room.

      What about wood for the stove?

      I’ll see to it, the watchman promised, I’ll bring everything you need.

      Matthias thought it over.

      I’ll stop by once a week, the veterinarian said, to give you a hand and see how he’s progressing.

      Matthias nodded.

      Put him over there, he said reluctantly, pointing to the bed by the window. I’ll sleep on the sofa.

      The watchman and the pharmacist did as he asked.

      Come here, the veterinarian suggested. I’m going to change his bandages with you, that way you’ll know how to do it.

      The pharmacist took out a roll of gauze, the first aid kit, and the jars of pills. The watchman sat on the stool by the door

      and lit a cigarette.

      Doesn’t he talk? Matthias asked.

      Not really, the watchman answered, you know, with the accident and the medication, that’s normal. And I suppose his father dying shook him up pretty bad. At least I think so. Give him time.

      Once the veterinarian saw that Matthias had understood her instructions, they tightened my splints and threw the soiled bandages into the burning stove.

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