The Snowy Shroud

The snow was falling fast. There was a very light wind, no sound in the woods except the slight secret sound of falling snow. It smelled of distant wood smoke and pine sap. The quiet was impressive.

I listened to my footsteps pushing through the snow and the swoosh of the flat sled carrying my very old, very sick friend on it.

He was lying on it, holding the side ropes. He was like an old Indian or Egyptian king collecting a snow crown on his head. That head now resting on his sofa pillow I stole from his room.

It was really cold. I had snow down my boots and down my jacket. My glasses were all fogged up.

“Where am I?” said Vincent.

You’ve finally made it to Siberia, I told him.

Are you ready, I asked?

"Ready for what, " he said.

For your walk into the wilds of white Siberia, remember?

“No... maybe...yeah” he coughed.

“Why are we doing this, I’m freezing ?” he said.

Because you asked me to bring you here at the end, when it was time to die, when you couldn’t feed yourself or take your pills anymore, or make it to the bathroom alone, or fuck anymore.…

“Who are you exactly?Vincent asked”

I’m John, your old, ...oldest friend.

“I am trying to remember you.” he whispered.

ok. Vincent. ok.

“Yes , ok “, he echoed.

“Where are we?”

Siberia.

“Which Siberia?” Vincent asked.

The Siberia. The Russian one. It’s at the end of the world.

“…ahhh , the end of the world.”

“I remember”, he said.”This is where I wanted to be!” He yelled loudly.

“Everything hurts, Johnny. Everything`s bad… John, and I’m ready to go now. Die. And we even got snow.”

“Ok, let’s get you going.” I said.

“Please, Let me just lie down under the big old tree over there. Maybe I can fall sleep, I’m so damn tired, dog tired.”

Sounds like a plan, my brother.

“Siberia sure is beautiful, the snow falling so” he said,” It smells like those flowers.”I looked.

“That’s great, Vincent.”

“What’s this?” he asked me.

“It’s your cherry pain juice.” I said.”Here, drink the rest.”

It was full of morphine, more morphine juice than cherry.

“Ok.”

Sleep well, Vincent, know I love you and your wife.

He looked at me like an old dog. He then looked up to study the big tree and its network of branches, or maybe what was beyond it.

I finally walked away. I left him deep in Central Park, New York city. He was only one mile from his little room. To him it was Russia, the unending. It was becoming a crazy blizzard now. Snow was a heavy white blanket.It wasn`t stained with piss or blood and stinking.

“Fucking cancer!” I thought.

I left him there to drift off with his dignity and manhood.

As I looked back I could see the snow covering him like the whitest blanket, a pure white snow shroud. I saw a big snowflake land on his open eye, then another. He didn’t blink. Damn, that was quick, I thought. Good!

I had to walk home, pulling the empty sleigh, to my empty room. It was cold because I forgot to close the window before we left. I looked at my bed with its white blanket and thought how it looked like the snowy ground where Vinnie lay dead. I unfolded down on top of the covers and went to sleep.

END

Glenn Horvath, Leipzig 2012, published by LeipGlo