The Weight of Snow. Christian Guay-Poliquin

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.

      If you run out of ointment, she added, you can put sugar on his wounds. That will fight the infection. But remember to always give him his antibiotics.

      There are pills for pain, the pharmacist pointed out. That should quiet him down if he complains too much.

      The watchman thanked Matthias, then motioned to his comrades to leave. As he was crossing the threshold after them, Matthias put his hand on his shoulder.

      What if he doesn’t make it?

      Come and get us as quickly as you can. But remember, his life is in your hands.

      I’ll do what I can, Matthias stammered, taken aback.

      Everything will be fine, the watchman assured him as he went out the door. I’ll be back in a few days with the wood and supplies.

      What’s your name? Matthias asked. You didn’t tell me your name.

      Joseph. She’s Maria and her husband is José, he said, pointing to the veterinarian and the pharmacist.

      Joseph left, and Matthias stood in the doorway for a long time.

      Maria, that’s it, her name is Maria, I thought. Then the fog overtook me again.

      FORTY-FIVE

      I am alone in the room. Matthias went out on his snowshoes. I pull on the old quilt that covers my feet. At the end of the bed, kilometres away, my toes are the colour of bruises, but at least they move. With the splints, they are the only part that is mobile.

      Pain is still my master, but at least the bouts of fever have subsided. I have stopped waking up suddenly, gasping for breath, trying to figure out where I am. I have learned to recognize the room, the window next to my bed, and Matthias’s face. When I open my eyes, I know where I am, who I am, and what awaits me.

      Not long after I was delivered here, my temperature shot up and my teeth started chattering. Matthias sat at my bedside. He put on fresh bandages and changed the sheets that were soaked in sweat. He wiped my face, my neck, and applied cold compresses to my body. He spoke to me too. I don’t know what he said, he told me all kinds of things, stories, adventures, it was like the odyssey of a man pursued by a furious god, and all he wants is to get back home after twenty years of absence. In the morning, he broke off his story and went for a nap on the couch. When he woke up later, he lifted my head, gave me something to drink and some pills. They were all the colours of the rainbow. During the day, I struggled against an invisible abyss. At night I slept with my eyes open. The way the dead do.

      Often I dreamed I was running. I was running full out through the corridors of a labyrinth. Everywhere I went a red thread lay on the ground. I ran as if a beast were on my trail. I didn’t see it, but it was there, behind me. I clearly heard its panting breath and the clatter of its hooves. It was closing in. Its claws cut through the air, trying to tear off my legs. I kept on running. I was dreaming and I didn’t look back.

      At the worst of the fever I must have lost consciousness, because I remember waking up, gasping for air, in Matthias’s arms. We were outside, in the pouring rain. My body was on fire and the ice-cold water helped bring me back to this world. When I regained consciousness, Matthias lifted his head to the sky as if he too had been saved. The rain poured down his face and his hair was plastered to his forehead. Then he picked me up and carried me inside. It wasn’t easy. We were soaked and I had trouble clinging to his neck. When he laid me on the bed, I was so weak I felt I was sinking into the blankets. Matthias fell to his knees and tried to catch his breath.

      Over the days that followed, my fever broke and I stabilized. At the time I felt nothing outside of a tingling sensation. Then a sharp, cutting pain took hold of my body. As if thousands of nails were piercing my flesh from the inside, slashing though my spine, driving into the palms of my hands, my feet, fastening me to the bed. A black frozen pain opened my eyes in the depths of the night and made me fear I would never walk again.

      The analgesics Matthias had me take reduced the agony, but they lasted only a few hours. Sometimes he would massage my legs. He would sit on my bed, take off the heavy gauze, clean my wounds, and rub my thighs, calves, and feet. I did not like him kneading me like black