Ellie J. Anderson

Willie never thought he'd be a hero, not once, not even in grade school when a lot of kids dreamed about rescues and high adventure. Willie never did that. He loved to listen to other kids talk about such things. He'd say, "Brian dreamed his mother was falling out of a train so he grabbed her by the hem of her dress and pulled her back. Can you imagine?”

 

Willie got a job with the Department of Highways, taking the responsibility as seriously as a surgeon. When the weather permitted, they repaired damage done by alternate freezes and thaws that pushed the pavement up in some places, and created pot holes in others. From the first snowfall at the end of October until well into April, they plowed the highway from the mountain pass bordering Alberta and B.C. on the west, to Lundbreck Falls where the highway moved out of the eastern foothills of the Rockies onto flat prairie.

 

They kept the road open through the Rockies. This was a dangerous job. Blizzards blew up so quickly that they'd lost plows and drivers, men who got disoriented in the blowing snow and drove over mountain embankments. Willie accepted the challenges of his job for more than forty years.

 

As Willie got closer to retirement, the foreman was not so likely to put him on night shift. The foreman put the younger men on that shift. They were more alert, had better reflexes and night shift tended to put a damper on an extensive, damaging party life. One Christmas season a blizzard dumped several inches of snow and the foreman couldn't reach any of the younger men, so he called Willie.

 

Willie was glad to go. He hadn't been on a night shift for a long time and he enjoyed the solitude of it, the way the snow drove in solid, straight lines into the headlights. When he got to the government building, he backed out the plow. Leaving the engine running, he stood inside the open door of the machinery shed and rubbed his hands together to warm them. When he thought the cab was heated, he climbed in and pushed his thermos of hot tea down between the seats where it wouldn't roll around. He put his lunchbox and mittens on the other seat and checked the flashlight in the fastener on the dash.

 

He headed for the summit because the highway there was always the worst. He engineered the plow so it whispered past the guard rails but still dusted the snow off the white line in the middle, pushing it in a curve into the ditch. He liked to do the job in just this exacting way so coming back in the other direction, he wouldn't have to waste time backing up to get the places he'd missed.

 

The clouds moved east. Beyond the fringe of snow flying into his windshield, Willie could see that it was an enormous night. Where there weren't clouds, the black sky filled with blinking stars. He turned around at the summit and went back toward the prairie, following the bank of clouds, removing the snow soon after it fell. There was no wind so it wouldn't get blown back. Sometime after four in the morning, he finished his second pass at the summit road, finding very little snow, just a clear, quiet night. He pulled into the parking lot at the lake near the summit to eat his lunch, and watch the night become lighter. This lightening by degrees over the frozen lake fascinated him. It wouldn't be dawn for hours but the clouds had blown away and the moon shone a bright path over the glittering snow. This was Willie’s favorite part of the night shift.

 

He poured his tea and took the wrapper off his bologna sandwich. He looked at a car parked across from him. It was strange to find a car here at this hour. It didn't have any snow on it, which meant that it had arrived sometime after the snowfall. He bit into the sandwich, and raised the tea to his lips when he heard a sound. A cry, he thought. But he couldn’t be sure because he’d been chewing lettuce at the exact instant he heard it. He swallowed and listened.

 

He heard it again, far away. It was a cry, like a child’s. He set his cup on the dash, grabbed his flashlight and mittens and stepped out. The cold pinched his nose. He took a deep breath and coughed. He walked slowly toward the car. From a few steps away, he shone the flashlight in the windows. There was no one there. He noticed tracks coming from the car and moving toward the lake. Then he heard it again, a piercing cry, followed by another. He followed the tracks to a high rock bluff. He didn't know what to expect. At this time of the year with all the drinking and craziness going on, he could find almost anything. He pulled himself up, holding onto the branches of alpine firs, inching forward in deep snow and over icy patches. The crying got closer. There was someone up there. He couldn't imagine why.

 

Finally at the top, breathing hard, he rested for a minute. On the edge of the bluff a woman held a small child in a blue coat, a boy about three years old. Willie couldn't believe it. How did she get up here with the child? As he walked toward them, the woman called out, "No, stay back."

 

Willie stopped walking. "What's going on here?" he asked. "What are you doing?" They were foreign, maybe Pakistani. He turned the flashlight full on the woman's face. She blinked painfully and he turned it away again, but in that second he'd seen the jewel embedded in her forehead glowing red; the fine, delicate cheekbones, like a tiny bird's wings flaring off her face. She turned away from the flashlight and leaned over the rock bluff, looking down. The light breeze at the water's edge pulled at the dark blue skirt she wore, billowed it, danced it out over the water. The child cried.

 

Willie didn't need to look to know what was down there. The woman had hiked up to the one place on the lake where there is open water in winter. A place where there was a constant churning and bubbling, a warm sulphur spring that kept ice from forming. He'd gone fishing there before, sitting on a campstool in the eerie waves of steam that lifted off the water. Now, he shut the flashlight off and held it in both hands. The sky grew brighter. Very, very quietly, he asked, "Were you thinking of jumping? Is that what you're doing here?"

 

"God has sent you to me," the woman said. "You are a sign that I am doing the right thing." She put her face against the child's shoulder. "You must take him home for me. The address is 1714 Hunter Avenue, in Sparwood. Can you remember that?"

 

"I can't go to Sparwood," Willie said. He had to make this difficult. "I drive a plow for the Alberta Government and I'm supposed to be working right now. The plow's down in the parking lot. I can't take an Alberta vehicle into B.C. without getting into trouble. I can't take him to Sparwood. I’m not supposed to carry passengers and it'd be hard to go that far with the plow anyway."

 

She held the child and looked down again, her whole body leaning over the edge. The child struggled to move away, not looking and then looking and growing quiet and still. The wind ruffled little puffs of snow. "My life is terrible," she said. "And bad for him, too." She took a step away from the bluff. She put her hand on the boy's head. “He has the keys in his pocket.”

 

"I know you won't die if you jump off that bluff,” Willie said. “There's no ice because the water is warm there." It was a lie. She'd disappear in the rising mist. The water wasn't that warm. She'd die in fve minutes, maybe less.

 

"I would get under the ice," she said. "I'd die. I want to." She looked at the water again. "Take my car and get my child home."

 

The boy pulled away from her. Willie heard a rattle, then he saw a glint of metal as the keys flew over the bluff and landed on the ice below.

 

Now, how were they going to get home? Willie's feet were numb. He could see the child shaking with cold and fright. "Let me take you home," he said. "The office can fine me or suspend me. It doesn't matter." She didn't respond, so Willie continued, "I've worked for them for years. If they want to suspend me now, I suppose that'd be all right." He shrugged. "I don't care about it that much. You need to let me take you home," he repeated. "The child needs you to stay alive." He rubbed his mittened hands together. "If your life is bad, then change it."

 

She stepped backwards, closer to the icy, black water. "You don't understand," she said. "Nobody understands."

 

"I'm trying," Willie said. "I'm really trying. You've got to give me credit for that."

 

She stepped even closer to the edge and Willie thought she was probably standing on a cornice of snow. She wasn't on solid ground. It was just snow holding her. He wondered how long before it cracked and she fell. "So you have problems," he said. If he was going to say the right thing, it would have to be now. "I hear you," he said. "I hear you saying your life is miserable." He waited a moment. "But everyone has problems."

 

"You hear me," she said. "That makes me mad. I don't know you, but you try."

 

Willie shrugged. "Most people try."

 

"Hah," she said. "The people who say they love me, they don’t try.”

 

"Maybe you got hooked up with the wrong people," he said. He waited for her to say something and when she didn't, he said, "If you're connected to an asshole, just leave. That's all. You don't need to kill yourself. All you have to do is go somewhere else.”

 

Willie wanted to get closer to her, so he could grab for her if she decided to step out or if the cornice started to crack. He took his mittens off. "Do you want these?" he asked the little boy. When he nodded, Willie stepped forward and helped him put on the mittens. While he did this, the woman stepped quickly to the edge. She bent her knees and spread out her arms, as if she meant to fly over the dark spot of open water in the ice. Her skirt flew out like wings.

 

Willie's boots froze to the ground. He stepped forward, but for a long, long time nothing happened. Then one boot let loose with a ripping sound. He wildly pushed the child away from the edge, sending him screaming and sprawling. He grabbed for the woman, and felt the fine bones of her elbow beneath his fingertips. He pulled her with him and ran backwards as fast as he could, until he lost his balance in the brush and fell. The woman fell on top of him, screaming. She struggled and for a moment he thought she'd get away while he was still trying to get to his knees. But he pinned her against his chest until she stopped straining against him. "Release," she said, "I can't breathe." He loosened his arms a little.

 

Beyond her dark head, the stars wheeled in blackness, glittering and blinking. The child cried. Willie felt snow against his back, the light weight of the woman on top of him, not struggling now. He aimed to lie motionless until whatever possessed her moved away. When they got to their feet, everything would be changed.

 

But then, the child stopped crying and Willie began to worry in the silence. He couldn't wait a long time. If that child fell asleep in the snow, he might die. There was no telling how cold he was already. Willie rolled the woman to one side. He got up and pulled her with him, holding her forearm tightly. His hands were numb. He hoped the woman wasn't too alert or she could get away.

 

"C'mon," he said. "We've got to get this kid in where it's warm." He dragged her with him through the snow to the child and shook him. He roused but couldn't seem to get to his feet. "I'm letting go of your arm," Willie said to the woman. "If you make a dash for that edge, I'll," God what could he say? "I'll catch you," he said.

 

When he let go of her arm, it dropped like a lead weight. Willie picked the child up and held him against his chest. They stumbled down the hillside to the plow. Willie opened the door on the passenger side and put the child down. "No more fooling around,” he said. “Get in, so I can turn the heat on." He lifted her foot up on the step and then held her elbow. Finally, she got in and put her arms around the child.

 

He got in and started the engine. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them. He poured a cup of tea and gave it to her. She tried to take a sip but she was shaking hard and still sobbing. "Here," Willie said. He held the cup for her until she'd had enough. Then he propped the little boy up straighter, tipped his head back, and touched the tea to his lips, hoping he wouldn't choke. The child's eyes moved under his eyelids and after a long time, he swallowed. So Willie did it again. "What's his name?" Willie asked.

 

"Raul," the woman said.

 

"Raul," Willie repeated. "Can you open your eyes?"

 

Willie cranked the heat higher. He pulled Raul into his lap, took off his boots and began to rub his feet. This was a never-ending nightmare. "How long were you out there?" he asked the woman.

 

She shrugged in a sulky way and Willie felt a rush of anger. He wanted to shout at her, but he swallowed it. He couldn't do that now. He'd brought her this far. She could still jump out and run back. "Rub his hands and arms," he said, "This child doesn't look good." He unbuttoned Raul's coat to feel his chest and stomach. If they were too cold, the child might die. He felt some heat, not much, but some. He unbuttoned his coat and felt his own chest. His body was much warmer. He removed the child's coat and pulled him close, held him and pulled his coat around him.

 

Willie felt his own heart thumping under his jawbone. If this child died, he'd never forgive himself. He should have taken the child and left the woman to kill herself if she wanted to. Why had he thought he could save them both? He could go to all this trouble, risk all their lives and take them back to Sparwood and she could overdose or shoot herself. What did he think he was doing? And now this child. Willie looked down at him. Wisps of hair escaped the fringe of fur on his hood. Willie felt his tiny breaths against his cheek. Oh God, he prayed, I was trying to help. Please don't let him die.” Willie held the child against his chest with one hand and backed the plow in a wide arc.

 

At the hospital, Willie pulled into the emergency drive. Inside, they'd decorated the reception desk with Christmas lights and cardboard reindeer. Willie lifted Raul over the string of lights and laid him down on the desk, on the papers and pens. The nurse looked flustered, started to hand him a clipboard, said, "You'll have to fill this out."

 

“He got too cold,” Willie said. “There's no more time."

 

The nurse pulled Raul's eyelid back and looked into the eye. Then she gathered the child up and carried him down the hall, scattering papers and pens. Willie watched until she disappeared. Then he picked up the papers and put them back on the desk. He gathered the pens and pencils and organized them point side down. He went back out to the plow.

 

He wanted to tell the woman to get out and start walking. If she walked all day and through the night, she'd probably die somewhere and her wish would come true. He wanted to tell her to leave the child at home the next time she wanted to kill herself. But she was depressed, ill, desperate in a way he didn’t understand and it didn’t feel right to be angry with her. She had stayed near the door when they came into the hospital. As he walked toward her, he saw that she worried, that she wanted Raul to be all right. The sun was up now, bright and blinding. "Let's get a cup of coffee,” he said. “They'll help him and there's nothing we can do."

 

"What's your name?" Willie asked, "I don't know your name."

 

"They call me Mistal," she said.

 

The hospital cafeteria seemed dim compared to the glare of the sun on the snow outside. They sat on stools at a long, white counter and Mistal told Willie she'd emigrated with her husband and child two years ago, that they had not adjusted well. Her husband was a mining official who was never home. In the old country, she'd had servants. Here, she did all the work. “When there was a drainage problem in the front yard, I dug the ditch. Sharouk watched while I dug." When she mentioned his name, tears came to her eyes. “He watched and he was angry.”

 

Willie didn’t know what to say.

 

After a while, the nurse came in. "The child will be all right,” she said. “Do you want to see him?" Willie watched Mistal's pace pick up as she left the cafeteria.

 

He found a phone by the admissions desk and called the locksmith. "There's a car in the parking lot at Summit Lakes. There's been trouble out there and the keys were lost. Could you make a new set? Take someone with you so you can bring the car to the hospital. Leave the keys in it. Okay?"

 

Then he backed the plow out of the parking lot and headed for the machinery shed. He wrote down his mileage. An icicle dripped by the door. "How'd it go?" his boss asked.

 

Willie started to tell him about Mistal and Raul, thinking it would be better to have a chance to explain, but then he stopped. That woman's grief was private. And he felt like a hero but he couldn't tell anyone. It would go unsaid like so many things we notice but never talk about. Like that spot of open water. It wasn't just the mist that was fascinating, rising and falling, folding in on itself. It was the water, too, being hidden and then revealed. That mist could pull you toward open water, make it seem gentle and quiet and satisfying in a way that overshadowed an ordinary life. He understood that desire in Mistal. But he didn't want to explain it to anyone and he didn't want to talk about it. He wanted the memory to stay with him: pristine snow blowing over open water. "It was an uneventful night," he said. "Nothing happened."