Penelope

My phone rings early Sunday morning. As the county's undertaker, forensic expert, and general dog's body, I'm certain it's nothing positive.

"Charlie?" It's Bob from the the dairy farm down the road. "Charlie, I found a body by the river road this morning. He's frozen stiff." I groan inwardly and tell Bob I'll be on my way shortly. "There's no hurry Charlie, he ain't going nowhere."

It's early January and we've been in a cold snap for four weeks. Forty below weather with no snow. I pull on my mukluks over my wool felt insoles I wear around the house and wonder if the Olds will start without the infusion of ether into the carburetor. My bones and muscles creak and complain just at the thought of venturing out today. Crawling into my parka, I dream of hot chocolate and creamy eclairs. Before opening the door I pull the hood over my head. Ears could freeze in a trice on a day like today.

I brace myself and open the door. The cold snakes in and smacks me right between the eyes. Holy toledo! My nose is tweaked by the frigid air slithering up my nostrils. The big blue Old's 88 sits stoically in the compound. There's not enough moisture in the air to create frost on the windshield or freeze the locks. A bonus.

My woolen mitts cling to the metal of the door handle. Fumbling with the latch I think it's going to be a long exhausting day. I drop the keys and stoop to pick them up. into the station wagon I insert the key and say a silent prayer. The engine sputters and then catches. It will take at least ten minutes to warm up. I could go back inside and wait but I won't want to come back out. I sit in the car wondering about the identity of the frozen corpse. Who would have been fool enough to be caught outside in weather like this?

I begin my trip to Bob's farm. The nylon tires flatspot and create a syncopated rhythm as I travel down my quarter mile access road to the end of my section of land. Reaching the main road I turn right towards Bob's. As I pass the church, I wonder if his wife Jean will have those cinnamon cookies she's famous for. My stomach grumbles at the thought of my missed breakfast. Why do I always think of food at times like these? The country side is crisp and clean. The dirt road a washboard of frozen ruts. Spring will bring the greasy gumbo which clings to the tires accumulating to be catapulted off in huge globs.

I arrive to find Bob waiting in the compound. No cookies for me. He hops into the car and tells me the body is only a couple of miles from here. On the journey, Bob tells me four of his cows have cracked teats and he's worried about their milk production. It's always something in the farming life. Bob is a big guy who came up north to escape the city. He and Jean started up their dairy business fifteen years ago and are still the county's newest arrivals. Jean had trouble fitting in because her style of hospitality was ill suited to neighbors dropping by without an invitation. She'd used to bring out her Limoge china and sterling silver tea service. Jean now has them permanently stored in a locked cabinet ever since one of the farmers spit tobacco juice into the saucer.

"Charlie, the body is just around this bend." I slow down and come to a halt. There by the side of the road, spreadeagled in the ditch is the corpse. I turn off the motor and we go to have a look. "I didn't touch him Charlie." The dead man is not wearing any boots. He has all the other winter gear but no boots. His arms and legs are spread wide as if he died making snow angels. I look at his peaceful young face. He must have fallen asleep in the rapture of the cold night air and succumbed. I tell Bob to grab his arms and I will grab the feet and we can carry him to the back of the wagon. Grabbing the limbs reveals the depth of the cold. He's frozen solid and there is no forgiving flesh under our grasp. We lumber him back to the wagon and prop him upright as I open the back door. "Charlie? I don't think he's gonna fit." I look at Bob and then at the body. "We'll see."

For the next hour, Bob and I try every maneuver possible to squeeze the corpse into the wagon. Whichever way we try there is always a limb which eludes the confines of the inner sanctum. We both lean against the car in exhaustion. I finally consider the possibility of lashing the body to the roof. Tentatively, I mention this to Bob. I am concerned about how it will be perceived by the locals if I go traipsing about with dead body subjected to such indignities. I grab the ropes from the back of the wagon. It's a bright yellow. With one mighty heave Bob and I toss the corpse up onto the roof. I clamber around fixing slip knots to the ankles and wrists. Four lengths of rope dangle down the sides of the car. I glance sideways at Bob. "I won't tell anyone Charlie. Especially not Jean. If we're lucky we'll get to your place without seeing anyone." We slide the ropes through the door handles and tie off the ones on the back doors. We climb into the wagon, roll down the windows and finish off the front ones. I sigh and start up the motor. It's only a few miles back to my place. Hopefully, no one will see us.

As we travel down the road, both of us are silent. It's only a few miles, I remind myself. As we near the crest of the hill, closing in on my place I am struck with the thought. It's Sunday! I look at the clock. Church services will be starting in fifteen minutes. I am filled with dread. Every holy neighbour will be converging on the community church just about now. I am only a few hundred yards from the parking lot. I begin to pray. The faithful have not let the weather dissuade them. There are the regular church goers filing into the church as we sail by with our lost soul.

Arriving home, Bob and I unlash and cart the man into the my heated shop. I offer Bob a coffee and he declines saying Jean will be waiting lunch on him. I drive him home and thank him for his help. For the next month, every time I meet a neighbour I wait for comments. Nothing.

__________________
"Trees cause more pollution than automobiles do." Ronald Reagan ~ 1981

Poetry Editor @ Sacred Twilight

Kimberly Bird

Hi Penelope, I loved that part where you compared clumps of snow to gumbo. It is original and very vivid. Your description of trying to get this frozen body into the car and then finally giving up to place it on the roof was kind of morbid but probably all too true in the northern climate.

Nice writing, I really enjoyed that. Though the thought of winter when summer just got here, makes me cringe.

Kimberly

Penelope

My dad was a 1st aid man and timekeeper on the Alcan highway (Alaska highway) in the 50's. He told me a similar story but I 'fleshed' it out a bit. I tried to maintain the corpse's dignity and Charlie's respect of the body.

I've lived in the north and know exactly how the cold feels. I am lucky to be in lotus land now but I miss the willows looking like ice ornaments when covered with thick frost. I miss the audio clarity of the air on those snapping cold days. I miss the green which bursts forth in a rampaging riot when Spring comes. The north magnifies the glory of nature. And the people who live there! They are an odd assortment of pioneers and escapees of civilization. There must be a million stories to be told of their lives.

I'm glad you liked the story.

TDX

I really enjoyed this. the imagery was very cool. i'd like to know what happened though. how did that man wind up in the cold anyway?-TDX

__________________
"You must first learn to follow before you can lead Mr. Myles" -Dr. Lee from DRUMLINE

Penelope

For the answer to your question TDX, read The Mukluks and then Sister Rose. Glad you liked it. This story was my first attempt at writing fiction.