Men of Winter

Chapter XV

Pensive, the queen emerged from her chamber. —Odyssey 19

I had not correctly judged Helena's reaction to my mishap in the woods. Instead of clucking, as I had anticipated, she was mortified at my condition. I have been trying to imagine my "homecoming" from Helena's perspective: I, Helena, am relaxing a bit after cleaning the pantry. It still smells bad but not so intensely and at least I am confident there are no vermin hiding in the tent. To my amazement and delight, I have found a jar of black tea on one of the shelves and have made myself a tin cup of it. I am thinking Hektr will be most pleased with my discovery too. I have made a chair of old crates and have put one of the less soiled blankets over my legs – and with the nice warm tea the afternoon is most pleasant. I hear footsteps in the snow and smile as the door is pulled back. I expect Hektr to be apple-cheeked from the cold and tired and I think of how grateful he will be for my tidying up and for the little writing desk I have fashioned him from two crates and a sheet of wood and for the unanticipated hot tea. But what is this? Hektr's face is smeared with blood, his beard matted with the gore on one side. More than apple-cheeked, his whole face is flushed and he is perspiring copiously. His legs appear of lead and I am afraid he will faint before I can get him to a cot....

But this scenario does not explain Helena's shock – her surprise, yes – but not her utter shock. Her complexion turned from white to true white – to virgin white, to snow white ... choose your modifier. It is an old-saw in literature but I shall invoke it nonetheless: Helena reacted as if she were seeing a ghost walk into the tent – and not any ghost ... the ghost of her father or mother, or child, or husband ... a ghost who is made all the more fearsome because of familiarity, because of bonds forged while the ghost was not a ghost but rather walked and lived and loved among the quick. Helena's shock was the Scottish king's shock, in the Shakespeare play, when the ghost of the king's friend comes to dinner – thus was Helena's shock. There was something else about Shakespeare's scene, something to explain the magnitude of the king's shock – oh yes, the king had murdered his friend! Thus was Helena's shock!

She rose from her make-shift chair so suddenly she spilled her tea and the army blanket fell to the newly-swept floor. She opened her mouth as if to speak but said nothing. The shock even seemed to dull her beautiful eyes, which appeared more muddy gray than electric lavender in the lamp-lighted tent. Helena was unsteady, as if she might faint. Her obvious distress enlivened me somewhat. At the same instant, she got hold of her emotions, and we rushed to each other with mirrored intent: to steady and support the other. But Helena was stronger – I was, after all, the one who was physically injured, who had lost blood – and she guided me to my cot, on which she had placed the best blanket and pillow.

She finally managed to speak: "Hektr, what has happened?"

"An accident, that is all. I am fine." She helped me remove my coat and hat and lie down. Helena got some hot water from the stove, water she had been keeping for my tea, and she began cleaning me up. I lay on the cot and sleepily told my tale – too listless to embellish, much. I noticed some color returning to Helena's face but something of the great shock lingered in her eyes and around her mouth.

Pondering her inexplicable reaction, I drifted off to sleep. I tried to will myself to dream of someplace warm and pleasant ... but it seemed the relentless snowcountry and the eye of the dead buck and Helena's shock were to be the pictures of my dreamworld. So it was.

In spite of the disturbing thoughts, I slept hard and Helena woke me just minutes before the lieutenant was to call on us for dinner. My head was aching but not too badly; I figured it was more from the vodka than the arrow. Hm ... vodka and arrows, an intriguing pair of images for a poem. I would have to remember to scribble it down. Meanwhile, I thirsted for Mrs. Strubel's medicinal tiger-root tea.