The World as We Know It

by Krusie, Curtis

  By then, we had found the road again, though it wasn’t long before I only knew it by the path cut through the pine trees. The pavement was covered in a steadily accumulating layer of snow. The sky turned gray, and the frigid wind began to pick up, which slowed us down. I was growing hungry, a feeling surely shared by my horse, but food had become scarce as the winter had overtaken the mountains. Once again, my ambition had gotten the better of me.

  It got bad quickly. What began as a light dusting was soon one of the worst blizzards I had ever experienced, and there was no place to turn for shelter. We had no choice but to move on. Nomad was noticeably burdened by my weight in that weather, so I dismounted to walk beside him. Our footprints disappeared in the snow and wind almost immediately behind us, and the road ahead continued upward.

  I couldn’t help but blame myself for the position we were in. After all, it was my own arrogant mistake that had put us there when had I insisted upon leaving the path paved for us to roam the unfamiliar desert without truly knowing the way. Had we stayed on course, we would have reached old Denver on the other side of the Rockies by then, perhaps even the plains.

  The thick clouds and blowing snow blocked the sun in a way that made it difficult to discern night from day. The world was always black and white with shades of gray. But even at night, the white ground helped us to see where we were going. We were exhausted, but if we were to stop for too long, the cold might have killed us, so we kept moving.

  “Don’t worry, my friend,” I repeated again and again. “It’s just over the mountains.”

  Finally, after days of hiking up and down through constant atmospheric torment and sleeping briefly in hollows I had dug in snowdrifts, I saw a dark spot through the falling snow in a wall of the mountain. We made our way to it and found that it was a cave, not exceedingly deep but tall enough for us both to fit without much effort. Inside was little relief from the cold, but at least we had escaped the wind and snow. I could feel my cheeks again. Strangely, within the cave I found a hoard of dry wood that I assumed had been stored there by a previous passer through the area. I started a fire and lay down to rest for the night.

  I was half-asleep when I heard Nomad’s hooves shuffle nervously. Outside the clouds separated, momentarily framing a pitch-black and heavenly white painting of the glowing moon cut in half by the silhouette of the mountains we had already passed over. As if imitating the growling of my own stomach, I heard what I thought was Nomad’s hunger speaking.

  “We’ll find food soon,” I whispered. “I’m sure of it.”

  Just as the separation in the clouds began to close again, I saw the glint of two eyes outside the mouth of the cave. My empty stomach became ill as fear washed over me. They were the eyes of a demon, I thought. The eyes of death looking upon us. I reached slowly for my knife and gripped it tightly, its blade by then dull and chipped from so many months of slicing meat, carving bone, whittling wood, prying stone, and clearing foliage. My hands trembled from cold or terror; I’m not sure which. Whatever it was stayed watching awhile, as I watched back.

  In such a state of exhaustion, just keeping my eyes open was laborious. Though my soul sustained the will to live, my eyes had nearly given up. Sometimes the mind gives up before the body. Sometimes the body leads the mind to its demise. It’s strange how the two so often seem to work independently of one another. The eyes outside, though, were intent and alert, and there was no question in my mind that I would be forced to face the beast, whatever it was. It could be moments, it could be days, but it was only a matter of time.

  I clutched the knife, preparing for the strike, but the more I considered the present circumstance, the more I questioned the wisdom of waiting. On the defensive, I was at a disadvantage, I thought. Surely suffering the winter’s famine as much as I, those eyes saw me as prey. They needed me weak and vulnerable, and they were as desperate as I was to stay alive. If I’m facing a fight, I must face it head on, I thought, and I crept slowly into an offensive stance, guarding my territory and protecting my horse in his weakened state. A sort of primal instinct came over me, and the fear I had felt transformed to the methodical plan of a predator hunting prey.

  We sprang at the same moment, the eyes and I, falling to the snow in vicious combat just outside the mouth of the cave. The black and white world was sprayed with red as teeth and claws fought steel, and from the woods, more glowing eyes emerged. Sounds of snarling, howling, neighing, and screaming echoed from the cave walls, silencing as soon as they hit the snow outside. What saved my life, I believe, was that the first wolf had his eyes on my horse for his meal.

  I don’t know how many there were, but the rest of the pack continued to attack after the first lay dead in the snow. Two went after Nomad as he reared and neighed, and I sprung to his defense, slashing wildly at any beast that drew near. As the pressure of teeth sunk into the frozen numbness of my arm, I dropped my knife. Two more wolves came after my legs and torso, and more surrounded as I fell to the ground, trying to fight them off. They ripped my clothes and gnawed at my flesh, my world of vision blurred by powder-coated fur. With my left fist, I struck the snout of the wolf on my right arm, and he released long enough for me to grab my knife from the snow. Then he came after the arm that had betrayed him. They tore at me from all directions.

  I had but one bladed hand to fight wave after wave of hungry predators, and try as I might to fight for survival, my fate, I thought, had been sealed. The rush of adrenaline began to fade, and my body went limp like the exhausted gazelle at the rear of the herd. For a moment, as I accepted my fate, the sounds of war were silenced. In the snow falling from above, I saw Maria’s face looking down upon me with that beautiful smile.

  “Not yet,” I heard her say. “Not yet.”

  Suddenly, I heard the pounding of hooves and distressed yelping as Nomad trampled two of the wolves attached to me, and I felt my blood pump through the pits left by their teeth as they disappeared into the woods. Others backed away, standing watch and waiting for a moment to strike again. My horse circled in my defense, fending them off until only one remained. With a final stab of my knife, the last wolf on my arm had had enough, and he followed the rest of the pack as they left me lying again in the cold quiet of the snowy night.

  Nomad somehow emerged unscathed. I, on the other hand, was covered in gashes and puncture wounds by the time the sounds of howling and yelping faded into the distance. My clothes were black with blood, as much mine as my foes’.

  At least we had our meal; the first wolf had been left for us. Nomad was not much of a meat eater, but we had no other options then. The beast would fill our stomachs and keep us going for at least a few more days. I lay in wait through the night, just in case the pack decided to return. The next morning I cut up the meat, and we ate again by the fire and then left it burning there as we set off again. I found myself looking up, giving thanks for the sustenance and asking for guidance through the rough terrain ahead. Through the pain of my wounds, I limped on, feeling the blood leaking from them and running down my body beneath my clothes. It was caked onto my skin, freezing red before it could dry black. A gash on my neck. Punctures in my torso. The signature of a full mouth of teeth on both arms and my right thigh. I hoped that the cold would slow the flow, but it could not go on for long, I thought. I would die from the loss of blood before the winter killed me. Behind me, a short trail of pink snow and footprints showed where we had been.

  Two days later, we were famished again, and somehow the deadly cold blizzard raged on. Starvation was an adversary I had come to know well. I had become quite good at simply putting it out of my mind, but that only works for so long. We kept moving, me limping along even more slowly beside my horse, and I began to wonder if the snow would ever cease. I had taken the coat of the wolf, which Nomad and I wore in turns, but even that barely retained the warmth of life.

  The place reminded me of an article I had once read about a Russian family that had fled to a remote woodland part of Siberi
a some time before World War II. After losing his wife, this man and his two daughters and son lived out there without any other human contact, surviving by scavenging for food. They hunted without weapons, tracking their prey until the prey gave up and lay down, and they nearly starved over the length of many lonely winters. Forty years they sustained together in the tiny cabin they had built before a team of geologists from an oil company happened to pass over in a helicopter while scouting the land. During all that time, the family knew nothing of world events and international affairs. Within a few months of being introduced to modern “civilization,” the father, the son, and one of the daughters had died, and rather than integrate into society, the surviving daughter chose to return to the Siberian wilderness. That was the last anyone saw of her.

  I feared then that the frozen wilderness might hold my fate as well. My toes were numb inside my shoes, and I suspected that they were frostbitten. Perhaps I might lose them. I kept the wolf’s fur tight around me, and I wondered if there was another soul up there with us somewhere, suffering the same as we were. Perhaps I was not the only man so foolish. Even my horse knew better, but he had trusted that I knew the way.

  “I’m sorry, my friend,” I said to him, “but it’s too late to turn back now.” He knew it, and we pushed on.

  How deep was the snow beneath my feet?

  How low were the clouds above my head?

  How far was Heaven from the top of the mountain? Had I reached the summit of Olympus? Was I among the gods?

  It was Nomad who collapsed first, his massive body crashing into the snow beside me, leaving a white puff as though the precipitation fell upward for the moment. In my next step, I did the same. We lay there face to face, hearing only sounds of heavy breath and wind, freezing and starving to death, and as I stared into his black eyes, my thoughts drew me to that sunny weekend at the farm just before it had all begun. Before the markets had melted down and the world as we knew it had been lost forever. Those last few days when I had thought life was perfect, and I’d found everything I would ever need. I saw Maria lying out there by the stream behind the cabin, the yellow sunlight beaming from her fair skin. The beautiful, contented smile on her face. I saw her head turn when she noticed I was watching her, and she sat, propped on her elbow, and lifted her sunglasses to look back at me. We gazed at each other across a short distance awhile, saying everything that needed to be said without words at all. Then, as if to provoke some climax, her lips spoke in silence, “I love you.”

  This was it. The end of it all. My death would not be entirely in vain. I had accomplished what I had set out for. The system was working, and perhaps the recipient of the final piece of mail I still carried had already received the same word from the writer back east. I regretted the risks I had taken. I had been too impatient to wait for winter to pass before taking on the Rockies, and that impatience had brought me to my ultimate demise. I was broken. Such a short time ago, I had been certain that I would see my wife and family again so soon, but how wrong I had been. I’d been doomed from the start. The day I had left so many months ago would be the last I ever saw of my wife.

  You had better come back to me.

  Though I may have succeeded in my service to the New World Mail Network, I had failed my wife in the most profound way. How long, I wondered, before she replaced me? Would she ever? More likely she would wait years, alone as her hair turned gray; alone as her skin wrinkled; alone as her bones became brittle and the frame of her body shrunk. She would wait, every day watching and wishing for my return. Then, eventually, she would die even more alone than I was at that moment, still with the question of my fate unanswered, and it was all my fault.

  I love you more than you’ll ever know. I’ll always wait for you.

  Her voice spoke the words she had written, echoing in my head as I lay dying in the snow. I looked at my horse, the moisture freezing in his nostrils. Tears turned to ice on my cheeks.

  “I love her so much,” I said to him. I coughed blood, and I could see the snow darkening around my head as it ran from my mouth. “I’m sorry I took you here, but you couldn’t understand. You trusted me, and I failed you too.”

  I turned my eyes to the sky and spoke, choking on the fluid in my throat.

  “They say you work in mysterious ways,” I said, “but I’ve never felt so betrayed. If you’re out there, how could you have let this happen? What good is everything I’ve learned now? How could you have me come so far only to die alone in the woods so distant from my home? Why have you abandoned me?”

  Perhaps I was waiting for an answer, but I didn’t say anything else. We lay there in silence for a time that felt endless. My breathing slowed. Nomad closed his eyes. The world around us was quiet as the gray clouds passed overhead, and my body was slowly absorbed by the snow.

  “Look, he’s opening his eyes.”

  “All right, children, why don’t you go outside and play? Build us a snowman. Make some angels. Someone add a log to the fire on the way out.”

  “I’ll do it. And I’ll get him something to eat.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he’s starving.”

  “The venison? Some bread and cheese? And sweet potatoes?”

  “Yes, and some water. Not too cold.”

  “OK, don’t let him move too much. He’ll tear the stitches. Does he need another pillow?”

  “I’ll ask him.”

  “OK, I’ll be back with the food. Let’s go, children.”

  I heard small feet tapping on the floor and soft innocent voices as they left the room. It hurt to open my eyes. The snow had stopped, and a bright white light beamed in through the windows of the cabin. A woman was sitting next to the bed with a joyful smile on her face, watching over me.

  “Is this Heaven?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately not. Do you need another pillow?”

  “No, thank you,” I struggled to say.

  “Comfortable?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Just rest. We’ll take care of you.”

  I lifted my arm to look at the date on my watch, but it was no longer on my wrist, and I realized I had lost it during my fight with the wolves.

  “Stay still,” she said. “You don’t want to open your wounds again. It was tough enough to stop the bleeding the first time.”

  “What day is it?”

  “Christmas Eve. Our hunters found you buried in the forest on their way to their ‘lodge.’” She laughed. “It’s really just a cave where they sleep when they’re out on long trips. You were on their path. They only saw you because of the red snow everywhere. What were you doing out there all alone?”

  “Trying to get home.”

  “Well, you’ll want to stay here until the weather warms up. I’m Elizabeth.”

  “I’m Joe.”

  One of the other voices I had heard came back into the room with a plate of food and a pitcher of water. She was a bit older than the other.

  “You’re awake,” she said. “I was beginning to wonder if we might have to take you back and bury you again. I’m Ruth.”

  “Don’t say things like that to strangers, Mom,” said Elizabeth. “People will think you’re crazy.”

  “Nonsense,” Ruth replied. “My humor is rare and precious.”

  Elizabeth shook her head and turned back to me as I finished off the water that her mother had brought and shoveled food into my mouth. “Slow down,” she said. “I know you’re starving, but your stomach can’t handle that much at once.”

  I took a breath then and looked at her before asking the question, the answer to which I was afraid to hear.

  “Was my horse OK?”

  But her reply was not what I expected. She looked at me inquisitively, and she asked, “What horse?”

  “The one that was lying next to me.”

  “You were alone when they found you.”

  “I was alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “There was no impression? No tracks?”

&
nbsp; “No, nothing like that.”

  I leaned back again and closed my eyes, and I fell back asleep.

  I awoke a second time hours later to the sweet sound of song. I was alone then, the sun was setting, and the voices of carolers just outside graced the room with soft angelic echoes. “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen”—“Little Drummer Boy”—“Silent Night.” The first thing I thought of was the letter from the east, and I looked around the room for my satchel. In a corner by the fireplace it lay upon a chair, its leather glowing orange on one side and purple on the other.

  Without a doubt, I knew I was in good company there. They had saved my life, a life so desperately in need of saving. At that time two years earlier, I had been nine hundred miles away, hunkered with my family by a fire and burning everything we owned just to stay warm. I had been without hope and devoid of purpose. Confused and terrified. Weak. Helpless. So many words could describe the feelings that overcame me then, none of them good. And two years later, though many of them still applied to my current state, hopeless, somehow, was not one. No, it was hope that had kept me alive, even in those moments when all had seemed lost.

  My mind fumbled with the possibilities that could explain the mysterious disappearance of my horse. My fears of losing him had been realized, and fault fell upon me alone. As if it were a punishment for those choices that had led to that dreadful loss, I was fated to finish my journey on foot and alone. No friends. No family. Still, though all logic directed me to presume him dead, it was inexplicable that his body had not been found next to mine—that there had not even been a sign. Somehow, I felt I had not seen the last of my friend, the nomad.

  Elizabeth came into the room again and asked how I was feeling.

  “I’m OK,” I said. “A little better.”

  “Good.”

  “Any sign of my horse?”

  “No, I’m sorry.”

  I sighed. “I’d like to go outside.”

  “Why? It’s so cold.”

  “I’d like to hear the carolers better.”

  “All right,” she smiled.