1

The Eskimo War

"I have to go. I have to leave to catch the bus."

She stood on the porch ignoring him on the sunny Sunday.

"I don't know when I'll be back." He stopped talking. In

the silence there was tension.

She spoke from across the porch. She spoke without turning,

without looking to see his response.

"I won't wait. I won't stay here waiting for you to come

back. I won't."

Silence again.

The air came fresh and clear off the lake, brisk spring in

the air. Heavenly white clouds drifted over head. A bird sang in

the trees.

"I'll come back for you. I'll come back for you when I can."

"You can come if you want. I won't be here. I won't be

waiting for you."

It was the same argument that they had been having for a

week. He had hoped that they would have resolved it by now, it

persisted. He looked at his watch. It was past time to leave.

She stood away from him, angry. He had no words to convince her.

"I have no choice. I have to leave now. I'll write as soon

as I can."

She would not look at him. He went to her reaching out. She

pulled away from his touch and ran crying from the porch, stopping

at the trees to turn screaming.

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"I hate you. I hate you for this. I never want to see you

again. Get out of here. Go on, leave me."

He started toward her, she turned and ran away still

screaming. He stopped, watching her rant.

He called to her as she continued. "I will write when I can.

I am sorry you don't understand but I have to go." Exhausted he

turned and started away. As he did she returned to the edge of

the trees and began pelting him with rocks as fast as she could

pick them up. He stopped and turned. She fled and screamed.

There was no use chasing her, even if he was to catch her it would

be the same as it had been all week. He had to leave.

Making up his mind he started off, this time at a quicker

pace. She ran behind, keeping her distance only slowing to reach

for stones. He began to run. The screaming became more agitated,

more distant, the stones less accurate. Finally he out distanced

her. He didn't turn back again.

She would be good to her word, she didn’t wait for him. Many

years later when he finally made it home nothing would be the

same.

..............................................

The car turned into the driveway crunching over the frozen

snow creeping toward the house. It came to a stop in the silent

yard, beside a large porch. The occupants opened the car doors

and exited stretching, bundling against the cold as they

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approached the house. The driver and the front passenger walked

together leaving a solitary figure trailing behind, shuffling

along without enthusiasm. Up on the porch the driver reached the

door and knocked turning to encourage the straggler.

"C'mon Jack, let’s get moving..... Where's your coat?"

"I didn't bring it." The boy responded still plodding

through the yard seeming as if he would never make the porch. His

dark thin figure stood out against the bright white snow. Black

clothes, a pierced nose and chopped hair, he stood out anywhere.

He stopped three feet short of the porch. Snow accumulated on his

slouched shoulders. The door opened.

"Hey, you made it. We were beginning to worry. Come on in,"

came the cheery voice from within. The busy sounds of the house

emitted.

The door was held open wide for the entering couple. As they

crossed the threshold the man turned to encourage the boy. "C'mon

Jack." Leaving the door ajar as it would be a moment before Jack

made it.

Jack went up the steps lethargically and crossed the porch to

the door. He entered the house cringing. The room was brightly

lit and filled with people, most of which he knew nothing about.

He was greeted, mobbed and fondled by the happy crowd as he tried

to shrink into a corner. They held him and kissed him and spoke

of him as if he wasn't there. He held himself rigid during these

encounters. Finally the siege subsided and attention was directed

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elsewhere. Jack migrated from his corner toward the back of the

house avoiding contact. Someone called that dinner was ready and

amidst rising cheers the holiday crowd shifted to the dining area.

Jack took the opportunity to slip out the back.

The snow fell limp and slow. Jack crossed the yard breathing

an inner sigh of relief to a large garage and took shelter behind

it. He produced a pack of cigarettes from the sock beneath his

pant leg and lit up. He drew on the cigarette and leaned against

the old garage, the crusted ice cold on his back. As he stood

there he heard the back door opening. Holding the smoke behind

his back he leaned out to see who it was.

An old man was fumbling at the door trying to exit. The

oxygen bottle that he towed on a hand cart was hung up in the

doorway. Jack could hear him cussing it as he wrangled and

wrestled with the handle. Finally he made it out the door, the

scene repeated on the steps leading down to the yard. Jack

watched from his place in wonder.

At the bottom of the steps the old man stopped and

readjusted the plastic tube that hung around his ears and beneath

his nose. Completing this task he started across the yard

directly toward Jack's position following the path Jack had left

in the snow. His big boots and a heavy coat left a pair of

flannel pajamas exposed at his legs. He shuffled through the

accumulating snow making his way, the bottle dragging reluctantly

behind. Seeing him coming Jack snubbed out his smoke and stood

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flat against trying to think but nothing came to him as the old

man came directly up to the corner of the garage and turned into

him.

"Hey kid, got a smoke," he huffed. He was wheezing from his

hike, panting. He gasped for air before going off in a spastic

coughing fit. He made an adjustment to his bottle.

"What?"

"You gotta smoke I said." He repeated this loudly between

hacks and coughs as he gagged up a chunk of phlegm and spat it

out.

Jack stood stone still a second then found his attitude.

"You think you should be smoking with all that gear on." A

sarcastic look tainted his face along with the remark.

"How do you think I got this gear kid? Gim'me a smoke before

I give you a kick in the britches!" Jack's look changed to blank.

He doubted the old man could put on his own britches more less do

any britches kicking.

"I know what your doing out here. I seen you sneaking out

here from the window. Now give it up." The old man continued

still trying to control his coughing.

Jack gave in. What did he care. He brought out the pack and

gave one to the old man. The old mans mouth worked around,

smacking and chewing as if he where preparing to eat the thing.

He took the smoke in his wrinkled fingers and held it in his mouth

awaiting a light. Jack gave that to him also, refraining from the

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obligatory "do you need a kick to get your lungs started too",

fearing it may actually be coming next. The old timer puffed and

chortled and puffed some more. Coughing a little he puffed up

another big smoke cloud and dropped the hardly used cigarette

down, mashing the butt with his boot.

"Thanks kid." He said standing in his pajamas, wrapped in an

overcoat, bare headed in the cold. He gagged up some more phlegm

and spat it out weakly not far from his feet.

"No problem man." The kid said trying to seem unbothered by

the sight of this old codger dragging his air bottle around in the

snow to bum smokes.

"What's with your hair kid." He was fumbling again with the

air line under his nose.

"What do you mean."

"I mean it's all sticking up."

"That's the way I like it."

"Really, what for?"

Jack didn't respond.

"Well whatever makes your motor go," said the old timer in

his raspy voice. "Hey come over here I'll show you something."

"No thanks." Jack responded with an air, trying to maintain

his aloof attitude.

"C,mon kid, I need a hand over here. I've got something

you’ll want to see."

The old man started around the back of the garage dragging

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his bottle in the fresh snow. Jack remained where he was.

"C'mon kid, what else you got goin' on." He called

continuing the feeble pace.

He had a problem negotiating the corner and began cussing the

bottle again. He jerked the bottle around trying to free it from

the snow piled beneath. Jack relented at the sight of the inept

old man, feeling he would probably never survive out here without

help. He walked up to the old man and took the handle, easily

freeing the wheels. Accepting the assistance without

acknowledgement the old man started again to make his way. He

stopped at the large doors in front of the garage trying to lift

the board that held the doors closed. Becoming irritated with the

impossibilities of the old mans actions Jack stepped forward

lifting the board nimbly and opening the doors wide, trying now to

anticipate the mans needs in order to save himself observing his

pathetic attempts. The old man remained silent allowing Jack to

complete the job. As the doors opened light flooded into the

dusty dank garage. As the light filterd in the form of a car

became evident. It was a large car covered by a tarp, virtually

the only thing in the garage. The old man seemed very pleased.

"There she is, ha ha!" The grizzled face now held glinting

eyes, his gaping smile was hollow.

Jack tried not to show it, but he was a bit impressed by the

size of the car. He had never seen one that big before. Seeing

the old codger trying to lift the tarp covering it Jack slowly

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peeled it back over the hood and continued working until the car

was completely exposed. The shiny car now dominated the small

garage. The old man giggled like a naughty child as he held up

the keys.

"How old are you boy."

"Fifteen." Jack lied he was only fourteen, his birthday

wasn't for another six weeks.

"Do you know how to drive."

"What do think." Jack tried to seem offended by the

insinuation of his inability although he had never seriously

considered driving before.

"Good, let’s take her for a spin." The old man chortled as

he began for the door. Jack went around and opened the car

helping him into the icy seat, cold and stiff. The old man seemed

not to care as he worked his way in with effort. Jack placed the

oxygen tanks comfortably between the old timers legs and went

around to let himself in on the other side, as he settled in the

old man handed over the keys.

"Start out a little slow. She's big but she can throw rubber

with the best of 'em."

Jack took the keys. Sitting on that frozen seat looking out

of the garage at the snow drifting down he began to loose his

nerve a little. He tried turning the wheel a little back and forth

getting the feel of it. He reached for the peddles and had a bit

of a stretch. With his foot on the peddle he tried to look out

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the windshield, finding it took a little dexterity to accomplish

but he felt he might be able to do it.

"We can move the seat up."

The old man had been watching him getting set, his bald head

protruding from the collar of the heavy coat. He still wore the

gaping smile as he rocked in happy anticipation. Jack began to

consider his accomplice, perhaps he had misjudged himself as the

deviant of the two.

"Pull the handle on the side there and scoot it up."

The old man demonstrated as he spoke, wiggling on the seat.

Finding the handle Jack pulled it forward and began to mimic the

gyrating body beside him. A few tries and the seat slid forward,

locking hard, up close to the wheel. His feet now reached the

pedals. He was starting to get a little intimidated by the

thought of actually driving, uncertain at best.

"The key hole is right there." The old man pointed then

returned his gaze forward. He seemed to take no notice of the

youngsters preparation now, only hinting that they should get

going.

Jack felt committed for better or worse as he inserted the

key and turned it. The big engine began to turn slowly cranking

over in uneven rotations.

"Pump the gas pedal until she catches."

Jack started pumping the pedal as it turned over. The engine

popped a few times then caught. Jack tried to conceal his

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amazement. He gunned the engine a couple of times then sat

listening to the engine as it idled smoothly. His success bred

cockiness.

"Where too."

"At the end of the drive turn right." The old man never

looked over.

The moment of truth upon him Jack grabbed gear shift, slick

under his sweaty palm, and pulled it down stopping at the D. The

car started forward. Jack stomped the brake in surprise. Both

occupants lurched forward at the abruptness.

"The brakes are a little tight, you'll get the hang of 'em,"

encouraged the old timer helping him cover the mistake.

Jack relaxed a little and eased up on the brake allowing the

car to start moving forward, idling. Out of the garage slowly

they crept down the drive past the neatly parked cars and the

empty windows of the house. The sounds of the tires crunching

over the ice seemed exceptionally loud to Jack and he expected

someone to peer out at any moment but they did not. They

continued on undetected. At the end of the drive they made a

right turn slowly moving away down the road. Slowly, quietly,

smoothly the car went trolling along at a snails pace, idling.

"You can give her a little gas if you like."

Jack hesitated; he knew they were going to slow but was

trying to get the feel of things, avoiding any new mistakes for

now.

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"I mean we'll get there at this rate but I'm definitely not

going to live for ever."

Goaded he stepped on the gas. The rear tires spun wildly on

the ice causing the car to slide as it gained momentum.

"Steering to the middle of the road helps sometimes," was the

advice that came from the passenger as the car bounced up the curb

then spun back onto the road.

"Now you got 'er", came a cheery comment.

The car careened down the slick road curb to curb carrying

the two escapees.

..................

In the turret the gun banged away, rounds spewing into the

sky in all directions. Attacking planes circled their position

like gnats around a porch light, endlessly, without relent.

Gunners swung from one target to the next, tracers streaming from

the hammering guns. The smell of burnt powder, sweat and fear

filled the air. Fire crews battled under the enemy's attack which

intensified as the flames grew larger. Sensing weakness they came

in for the kill avoiding the other ships now, coming in again and

again. Strafing bullets constantly ripped at the metal ship with

a dull pinging sound. Frantic return fire continued from the guns

of the ship in the madness of survival.

The young gunners mate waded through the piles of hot spent

brass for more ammo, the guns blasting barrels pounding in his

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ears. In the blinding smoke he acted without conscience thought.

His training taking over to keep the hungry gun fed. The attack

seemed to have been going on forever. Survival was hopeless yet

they continued to resist in a fit of desperate rage.

A low flying plane came directly at them skimming above the

water. Renewed fire erupted as guns from every position focused

on the incoming menace. The torpedo dropped leaving a white trail

as it swam straight and true. The pilot buzzed past untouched

roaring into the sky leaving his cargo trailing in his wake. The

torpedo struck the side of the ship directly below the mate and

exploded. He was thrown to the deck by the violent jolt, the heat

from the blast singeing his body, burning at his flesh. His ears

stung, deafened from all noise. Listing hard on her side the ship

began to sink.

The mate tried to gain his feet but found it impossible. The

deck beneath him heaved sharply, steadily, dumping him into the

water. In an instant he was hysterically thrashing amongst the

corpses of his dead mates trying to clear himself of the sinking

vessel, trying to stay afloat as the ship slipped away under the

ocean. Crackling and snapping the hot iron hit the water. The

strafing continued zipping through the water even as she went

under sucking those unable to clear themselves down with her. He

floundered in the frothing water desperately trying to stay at the

surface. He struggled surrounded by the chaos, the terror and

burning oil. Then she went under completely, bubbling steam was

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the only evidence of her last position. His ship was gone.

He found himself grasping a floating barrel, left in the open

ocean for dead with his remaining shipmates. Amidst the debris

the young gunners mate broke down and began to cry. Ashamed of

himself he turned from those survivors nearby and tried to hide

his emotions in shame, his heaving body betraying him as he

sobbed. But the crying was contagious as others started to cry

also. When it was over the young sailors lost control and became

boys again crying uncontrollably while their dead friends bobbed

like corks around them.

..................

The man sat on the bench facing the lake, bundled deep into a

heavy coat, his steaming breath thick like ocean mist. The park

was deserted in the icy winter. Rigidly he hunched beneath his

hat, pulled down tight, in the falling snow. His tracks, now full

of snow, showed his path from the street. Alone on the bench the

smells of burning wood drifted past but held no warmth for him.

The bright flames of the merry fires were hidden within the

foreboding walls of the nearby homes. In the yellow windows the

shadows danced about, but he did not look, instead his gaze

remained fixed downward at the snow accumulating on his boots.

The clock struck two. He counted the hours in his mind until it

would be time to move back into the city to better shelter and a

scrap to eat, undisturbed after the shops closed. Quietly he sat,

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waiting in the snow.

His mind wandered in and out of focus trying to forget

the cold. He thought in a near dream state as he dozed. Then a

noise came to his attention. Low at first, hardly audible, but it

continued to grow louder. It was unusual, hard to identify. The

heavy snow fall diffused it making it difficult to hear clearly.

Coming to a more conscious condition he strained his ears and took

a look around to determine what it was and from which direction it

was coming, realizing finally that it was a car approaching, a car

with its motor racing up and down. Like the driver couldn’t have

a clue how to drive. He could hear it, when suddenly it came into

view as it turned the corner spinning wildly. It straightened out

for a second then turned hard again bumping over the curb and out

into the park. With every over correction the car wheels spun,

weaving through the trees wildly in the direction of the man, the

accelerator oscillating up and down. He had never seen such

erratic driving. He watched immobilize by surprise as the car

screamed by the bench so closely he could easily make out the

occupants even though the frosted windows. The driver's spiked

head was low in the seat and a skeletal looking bald man sat

beside him. Both turned their heads in unison with eyes wide as

they screamed by. Fear and uncertainty emanated from their faces.

In an instant the car was past him, the motor roaring, it hurled

itself out onto the frozen lake. The man sat watching stupefied

as the car diminished out over the ice. He expected to see the

15

car break through at any second but it didn’t. The car continued

far out onto the lake. The sounds of its engine carrying back to

the bench for a long time finally lost behind the falling snow.

In the silence he sat pondering their fate.

....................

When finally they rescued the mate from the sea giving him

aid and comfort, he was despondent. He did not speak or

acknowledge anyone. He sat shaking with his head down and cried

softly to himself. He could not release the horrid images burnt

into his memory.

--------------------

"Where are we going anyway."

"I've got someone I need to see. It's not far. This is the

short cut."

The heater roared blasting hot air into the cab. The windows

still mostly frosted. Jack drove without restraint foot hard on

the accelerator, a bit over confident now but he had managed not

to hit anything yet and this bred an air of boldness. It was

still slick but there didn't seem to be as many obstacles now.

The old timer had a coughing fit that lasted a minute or two. He

looked a little weak afterwards.

“How do we know if we’re on the road. I can’t see the

sides.”

"Your O.K., just head for those tall trees, dead ahead.

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You’re doing just fine."

The old man sat up as straight as he could still choking

slightly.

“Are you doing O.K.” The boy looked concerned.

"Listen sonny. I've been through eighty some years of

living, a world war and two marriages. I'm just fine."

"You were the world war." Jack had never met anyone who had

been in a war. He looked again at the old codger beside him.

"Yea, I was there. Spent most of my time up in Alaska

fighting them damn Eskimos."

"Eskimos? I didn't know we had a war with the Eskimos."

"They don't teach that one in schools. But let me tell ya.

Those Eskimos were the worst. They can really put it to you. The

hell with Korea, that's the one we don't talk about. Never bring

up the Eskimos. People won't look at you the same after that."

....................

An icy sweat chilled his body as he watched from the

window. The night glowed white, driving past in a blowing storm.

He stared out into the night, his pallid face contorted with the

fear grinding in his guts. The churning bile in his stomach made

him want to puke. He gagged it down, resisting the impulse,

laying low in the window, watching. The attack was eminent. Only

his eyes moved in their sunken sockets. His head still. His body

numbed by the cold tile floor through the thin pajamas. He

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watched as the cold white night blew past paralyzed with fear.

Balled up on that icy floor he waited. He waited in the dark,

waited to die, to die on the icy floor, killed by Eskimos hiding

in the frozen night. He watched through the barred window

suppressing the screams of terror welling up his throat.

The door behind him opened. He started, letting out a small

gasp, protecting himself with his hands held in front of his face.

"No, No seaman. You've got to get in bed. You can't be

lying out on the floor like that. You'll catch your death of

cold. C'mon, let me give you a hand gettin' back in bed."

The big man crossed the room and reached down to the young

gunners mate helping him to the bed. The mate lowered his hands

slowly still not completely convinced of his safety.

"I don't know how you keep gettin' out of them restraints.

You’re just lucky I come in here lookin' up on you every so often

or you'd die of pneumonia here real quick."

He situated the young man on the bunk reaching to the straps

that lay over the side, examining them a moment before beginning

to replace them on the mate’s ankles. He was so thin the straps

would not tighten properly. He lay compliant with his head turned

looking out the window. The man started talking as he worked.

"Now you listen to me. You got to stop actin' so if you want

to get out of here, you hear me. You can't be flopping around

here all night yelling and screaming' all the time keeping

everyone else awake. You got to settle down some. Them doctors

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ain't going to let you go nowhere if you keep this up now. You

hear me."

He finished with the wrist straps and reached into his

pocket. Pulling out a small container he placed a couple of pills

in the boy’s mouth. A cup on the night stand held a little water.

"There now, that should hold you alright until morning. Now

you just settle back and relax. You go on to sleep."

The boy had made no sign that he had heard a word. He

continued to strain to see out the window. The orderly prepared

to leave the room when the boy spoke in a low cracking voice.

"I wish they would come. I can't stand the waiting any

more."

The orderly stopped to look at the young seaman, or what was

left of him. The war had been over for three years.

.................................

The man walked from the parked car across the frozen lake in

the blowing snow looking up at the house. His bare head exposed,

ice formed on his ears. Low lights showed in the windows as they

headed for the house. The boy walked beside the man, one hand

thrust deeply in his pocket the other dragging the air bottles for

the codger. The transition from lake to land was almost

unperceivable, the slope up to the house being so slight but

slick. The two went slowly up to the house where they stopped,

stinging snow flying in their faces.

"You in there, you old witch." The old man hollered

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surprisingly loud but the wind carried it away.

"C'mon out here." He managed to reach down and pick up a

stone, "C'mon on out I say." He yelled as he launched it toward

the house. It landed harmlessly, without enough momentum.

"What you going to do hide in there, show yourself."

Kicking at the frosty ground he loosened another rock. Reaching

for it he prepared to repeat his act. Jack sensing a predicament

tried to intercede too late. This one made it to the house and

bounced around on the porch a little.

"Yee-ah," chortled the old man in glee, his feet shuffling in a

little jig. He had to stifle a coughing fit at the effort in

obvious pain but delighted all the same. The windows remained

empty, the lights continued to glow. He searched for another

missile. Yelling as he did so. Although with less energy now he

was tiring quickly.

"How do you like that one, hea, hea. You can't hide from me

you old bat." He looked around at his feet scraping the ground.

"You want me to go knock." Jack asked trying to settle the

man down.

"Hell boy if I wanted you to go knock I'd of asked. Here

throw this up there," He handed Jack a large rock that he could

barely lift with his freezing hand, "good and hard right through

that window."

He tried to hand Jack the rock.

"I don't think we ought to be doing that."

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"C'mon boy, what's the matter you afraid of an old woman.

Ain't you got any muscle on ya. Pitch it through that window

there like I'm tellin' ya," he continued still pressing the very

reluctant Jack. Jack took the rock away from the old timer

holding it away from him so he could not reach it.

"Hold on," said Jack," what are you doing ....." Just then

the door opened and an old woman filled the doorway, her hair in a

bun, her big dress waving as she shook her fist.

"You get the hell offa' my property you crazy old coot. Get

the hell outa here Amos McGee before I have'ta come down out there

and give you some of this boot." She displayed the large boot on

her foot by raising it up and giving a little kick in the air.

She seemed not to be bluffing to Jack. She was old but from her

display convinced him she was capable of making this incident

embarrassing enough. Jack found himself holding the large rock

that he had taken from the old man. The thought of dropping it

discretely came too late.

"What you doing Amos, bringing up some young buck to throw

your rocks for you."

Jack quickly dropped the rock preparing to run in the face of

such opposition.

"Ha, ha, ha," the old man scoffed in irreverence to the

woman's threat. "I come a courting you, Maggie Jane Carlson. I

come a courting and I won't be sent away."

Jack now panicked at the idea that the old timer wasn't

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sharing his desire to leave and quickly considered leaving him

there. His only hesitation came at the thought of finding his way

back alone. Although now he had little hope of the old man being

any help, especially in view of this most recent lack in judgment.

The old man had another coughing fit, the activity obviously

taking its toll on him. The woman came closer, now she stood on

the top of the stairs just a few steps away as he gained his

composure.

"I came up here to have you Maggie. You can't sit up here

pining away for me it ain't natural."

This statement infuriated her, "Pining away, I been married

three times and you know it Amos McGee."

"You know that you was just settling after I scorned ya.

They couldn't take my place and that's why you sent them away."

"What!" She screamed coming down the few steps that

separated them, getting in his face with her finger.

"Now you listen her you crazy old coot. I was the one that

sent you packing if you care to remember and I told you then like

I'm tellin' you now. Get the hell outa here and don't you come

back. Now you get outa here, ya hear me."

Just then another figure filled the doorway, a large bearded

man. He was younger than the two arguing in the snow.

"What in the hell is going on out here."

He came out onto the porch. The two old folks were standing

face to face, squared off. Jack too uncertain to move stood even

22

more dumbfounded than before. The younger man called to the old

man knowing him.

"Damn it Amos, how’ve you been. It's been a long time. How

in the hell did you get all the way out here in this weather. You

come on in the house. It's too cold out here to be standing

around."

"He ain't coming in my house." The old woman hollered. Her

tone was absolute and final. The old man looked at her hard. He

coughed into his fist looking pale.

"Now there will be none of that." He came down from the

porch to give him a hand.

As he approached he noticed the car parked down on the lake.

He stopped to ponder for a moment, then looked at the young boy

summing up the situation.

"Are you the chauffeur today."

The cockiness was completely gone from the boy now. He

didn't have it in him to hold any airs.

"Yea. He told me where to go."

"Well it's not the first time Amos has found his way out

here. But it's the first time he came out over the lake."

"Come on in Amos. We'll talk inside."

The woman did not speak this time, consenting only in her

silence. The man started toward the house pulling the bottles,

moving slowly.

"Come on in. We'll call over to your house and let them know

23

your O.K., see how long it'll be before they can send someone over

to get you two."

Maggie cussed under her breath as they moved to the house.

Amos began another coughing fit and had to stop supported by the

man. He was unable to continue and sat on the step there. The

man sat by his side adjusting the tube beneath his nose, checking

the bottle for pressure. Jack watched concerned for the old man

weak and bent struggling for air. Gradually he did better,

getting his wind back but looking fragile. The group prepared to

continue.

Jack trailed considering his father's reaction when he heard

of his driving with the old man. It was not likely to be pretty.

He turned back to look at the car sitting alone in the building

snow, the tracks behind it marked the flat plain up to it’s

present position. He looked at the car and thought of his first

driving experience, the curious old man what the man had said

about a lake, wondering what lake it was that the man was talking

about. He didn't remember crossing a bridge.

THE END