The Swan of Tuonela - 12. Der Erlkönig

Shit, Phillip thought. Shit, it’s cold. Phillip couldn’t remember the first week of December ever having been this cold.

“Shit,” Phillip said as he slammed the car door and pulled his jacket close and ran up the stairs.

I’m late, he thought. Again.

“Shit,” he said once more for good measure. He jerked open the door, walked into the kitchen, reached in the refrigerator and uncorked the jug of wine and grabbed a tumbler from the cabinet and filled it and took a swig.

“I’m sorry I was late Mark. Something came up at work, and I couldn’t get away,” he called out into the living room. He sat the wine back into the refrigerator and frowned, thinking about their latest discussion. Mark had asked him to start calling if he was going to be late. He closed the refrigerator door. “Yes, I know. Again. I’m late again.” He took another swig of wine. “And I know we promised to call and everything, but I forgot. And even if I had called, the roads were all snowy and shit, and I would have been late anyway.” The unusually early snow had caught everyone by surprise.

He stopped and listened for an answer.

“Mark, look, I’m sorry. I just forgot. OK?” He looked at the counter for something eat. To eat up time before he had to go face Mark, it occurred to him. The apartment was still quiet. Unusually still, he thought. He took another drink from the glass. Crap, he thought, Mark was angry at him. He put down the glass and walked to the doorway.

There was no sound. Strange. Mark always turned the TV on when he got home, and Phillip was sure he’d turned the radio on for Siegfried when he’d left that morning, but they both were off. He looked into the living room and saw Mark. He was sitting, crouched at the far end of the sofa, staring off down the hallway.

“Mark?”

There was no answer. Phillip walked into the room and went and sat beside Mark on the sofa. He looked down and saw an envelop laying on the table with its top ripped open, empty. He noticed that Siegfried was curled up next to Mark with his head on Mark’s thigh. Phillip reached over between Mark’s knees and raised up one of Mark’s hand. In it he was holding a newspaper clipping. Phillip pulled it from Mark’s fingers easily and placed it on his thigh and smoothed it out so it was readable. There was a black and white photo with a label “Lawrence Robertson” underneath followed by dates: 1929 – 1983. He read the obituary. Cancer. Such a hard way to go. Phillip remembered all the trips home while his mom was in the hospital, the chemotherapy, the wig, and the final telephone call at 10:00 in the morning at work telling him of the death and the funeral two days later. Phillip finished reading the sheet and frowned. The service had been four days ago.

“Your father?” Phillip asked, already knowing the answer. He waited, looking at the picture at the top of the newsprint column. It didn’t really look much like Mark.

“Yeah. Lawrence. That’s funny. Everyone always called him Larry.”

Phillip waited for Mark to go on. He watched Siegfried’s eyebrows shift as the small dog’s eyes move from Mark to him and then back to Mark. “When did you get this?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t check the mail yesterday. It just showed up in my box this afternoon. I guess it’s from someone in town. I didn’t think anyone knew my address.”

Phillip picked up the envelope. There was no name and it wasn’t postmarked or stamped. It was folded in half, so someone must have just stuffed it through the slot in the mail box. Phillip wondered why someone would anonymously send Mark his father’s obituary. Four days late. And take so much effort to do it.

“Mark, I’m sorry.”

Mark pulled away from Phillip and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Phillip glanced out the window at the tree branches swaying in the wind.

“Outside.”

“Outside? It’s freezing outside. It’s supposed to snow some more tonight. The roads are bad already.”

But Mark was already turning the handle. He pulled the door behind him, and Phillip heard the sound of his boots clunking down the stairs. Phillip wanted to go after him, but then he thought maybe Mark wanted to be alone, so he remained on the sofa, thinking of what to do. He picked up the obituary again and began reading. He stopped and tried to think why someone would have sent this now, four days late. Mark hadn’t mentioned the funeral, so he couldn’t have known about it. Phillip began reading again. The usual wonderful stuff they say about dead people in the South. Deacon for however many years at the whatever church. Membership for years in such and such organizations. All about the deceased’s wonderful job and all the wonderful people who had proceeded him in death and all his wonderful surviving brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and cousins and children. Phillip scanned quickly to the end and then stopped and frowned. He held the clipping up closer and read it again, this time slowly. He read the list of survivors and paused and stared. Mark’s name did not appear.

“Those fucking shitholes!” he said. “Goddamit! Assholes!” he yelled as he crumpled the clipping up and threw it across the room. “How could they do that?!” he yelled. “How could they leave him out?” Phillip jumped up, threw on his coat and his cap and wrapped a long blue muffler around his neck. He hurried down the stairs and out the front door, slamming it behind him. The sidewalk was wet with snow but not yet freezing so he could run without worrying of falling. He looked both ways down the street, but he didn’t see any movement other than the falling snow, so he ran to the nearest corner and stood looking out into the gray gloom. Still nothing. What little traffic there was on the street a block away was moving slowly, muffled in the snow. As he stood under the streetlight, looking out into the foggy haze and trying to decide which way to go, Phillip heard a soft clattering. He couldn’t see anything, but when he held it out, he felt the grains of ice hitting and bouncing off his upturned hand. Texas sleet. He crossed the corner and began hurrying down the street.

He ran five or six or seven or eight blocks, up and down and back and forth in different directions. He wrapped his scarf over his head and more tightly around his neck. He stood in the middle of an empty intersection and pulled his coat up against his neck to stop the ice from blowing down his back. And all Mark’s got on is a sweatshirt, he thought. He crossed the corner and started cutting diagonally across the park. He knew that the other side gave out onto the wide parkway. He thought Mark might have headed that way. This close to Christmas, the huge trees on the parkway would be strung with bulbs and there would be a little more light and it would be easier to see. As he emerged from the trees and started crossing the park, he saw a huddled shape, dark against the snow, exposed in the middle of the open space. He started running, momentum pushing him faster and faster down the hill in the snow. He started calling out even before he reached Mark.

”What are you doing? It’s freezing out here. There’s ice falling.”

Mark was kneeling on the hard ground, rubbing one hand against the palm of the other. Phillip could see the dirt and snow smeared across the front of Mark’s shirt and his jeans and his face. There was a tear in one of the sleeves. Phillip dropped onto the ground and reached out to grab Mark’s shoulders and help him up, but Mark pushed him away. Phillip reached out again, but Mark shoved him away again. When he tried again to grab one of Mark’s hands, Mark’s other hand exploded and caught him hard in the chest. Phillip fell back into the snow, stunned. When he pulled himself up onto his knees, Mark was still on his hands and knees, his head tucked between his shoulders, looking at the ground.

“Mark. Mark, it’s me.”

“Go. Away.” A hand slashed outward.

Phillip jumped back. The hand swung back in the previous direction. “Mark, please. I want to help.” The hand swung again.

“If you want to help, go away.” Mark yelled into the snow on the ground. “Just leave me alone,” he yelled. “Leave. Me. Alone,” he screamed and doubled over and crouched down into the snow. Phillip started to reach over toward him, but Mark pulled himself up onto his knees and lashed his arms out blindly in front of him and groaned rawly.”

Phillip tried to grab one of Mark’s flailing arms. “There’s nobody else here. It’s just me.”

“Please go away. Please just leave me alone.”

Phillip gave up and knelt and watched Mark fling his arms back and forth and back and forth until there was no strength left and they finally dropped to his side. He watched Mark, weaving in the snow with his head flung back and his face turned up into the ice that Phillip could see falling against the street light.

“I’m not leaving you alone, ” Phillip said. He had moved around behind Mark, and now he jumped on Mark grabbing him with his arms. The movement threw both of them off balance, and they started rolling down the hill. Phillip winced every time the snow on the ground slammed into the side of his face or when Mark’s arm jammed into his chest. Eventually a large bush stopped their movement – Mark on the bottom with Phillip on top. Phillip held on until Mark stopped struggling.

“I’ve got hold of you.” Phillip said, tightening his grip. “You can’t go anywhere. Will you stop fighting?”

Mark became motionless and then nodded.

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

Phillip released Mark. He sat up and rolled Mark over and sat him up beside him.

“Are you OK now?

Mark swayed but then nodded.

“Dammit, Mark. That hurt,” Phillip said, rubbing his chest. Mark looked down.

Phillip took Mark’s hands and pushed them around, under his coat and behind his back, pulling Mark to his chest.

“God, you’re freezing.”

Phillip raised up onto his knees. He held the edges of his coat and wrapped them over Mark’s head and chest. He held Mark and squeezed him hard and thought about someone sending the obituary and wondered who could be capable of such cruelty.

“I’m sorry,” Mark mumbled into Phillip’s stomach, muffled under Phillip’s coat. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I tried. I swear I did. I tried ...” Mark kept saying. Finally Phillip felt Mark’s arms embrace him. He reached up and pulled the top of his coat apart and kissed Mark on the hair. “Jesus, you’re soaked. We’ve got to get you back inside.”

Phillip pulled them both onto their feet. He pulled his right arm out and wrapped his coat around them both and took his knit cap off and pulled it down over Mark’s head, low, so that it covered Mark’s neck and ears. Then he circled his muffler around both their heads and necks.

“OK? Are you ready?”

Mark nodded.

Against the wind, they started walking with leaden feet, crunching back across the park, now white with accumulated snow and ice, their breath steaming through the cloth, whirling in clouds and disappearing behind them. The two figures melted into one.

                                                            *  *  *  * 

They got back to the apartment and Phillip got Mark up the stairs. Once inside, Philip unwrapped the muffler and pulled the cap off Mark’s hair.

“Please turn the lights off.”

Phillip reached over and flipped the switch, which snapped loudly in the quiet room. Phillip took off his coat. He hugged Mark, jerking as he felt Mark’s wet shirt and cold skin. He walked them into the bedroom and stood Mark at the end of the chest. He reached down and took the bottom of Mark’s sweatshirt and pulled it up and easily over Mark’s head but struggled to get Mark’s arms out of the wet sleeves. He quickly unbuttoned his own shirt, pulled it off and threw it on a chair. He pulled Mark to him, sandwiching Mark’s arms between them. He ran his arms over Mark’s back, feeling the tightening gooseflesh.

Phillip held Mark and walked him into the bathroom and closed the door. The heater in the wall gave off a bright glow and warmed the room against the chill in the apartment. Phillip sat Mark down on the toilet and knelt down to take Mark’s wet shoes and socks off. He reached over and turned the water on in the bathtub and listened as the level rose. He stood Mark up and unzipped Mark’s jeans. Mark allowed him to quickly finish undressing him.

“Here, sit down. You need to warm up.”

Phillip helped Mark into the tub, sitting in the warm water, hunched over with his arms around his knees. Mark’s head was turned sideways, looking at the wall in the dark. Phillip turned the water hotter. He got undressed himself and sat in the tub behind Mark. He wrapped his legs around Mark and pulled him close. He pulled Mark’s head away from the dark wall and moved it to let it hang down over Mark’s chest. He picked up a sponge from the slot in the wall, filled it with warm water and squeezed it slowly over Mark’s head, watching as Mark’s hair parted down the middle and enclosed the sides of his head as the water drained away. He sat looking down and then kissed the part line that ran along the top of Mark’s head. He dropped the sponge and held Mark tightly against his body, trying to pull the coldness out.

Phillip watched Mark stare into the flames of the hissing wall heater. Phillip reached around and turned on more hot water and let it run until the tub was warm again. He took Mark’s hands in his and held them down under the water against Mark’s waist. The water was getting high now, so Phillip turned it off, and they had to move carefully to keep from sloshing it over the edge of the bathtub over onto the floor. The room was quiet and Philip heard the faucet dripping behind his back, a high xylophone of a sound echoing through the room. Phillip held Mark tightly in the warm water, with his face sideways against Mark’s neck, looking out into the room.. Mark felt smaller.

Maybe he’s asleep Phillip thought, since Mark’s body had relaxed finally. Beneath the warm water, he could feel Mark’s stomach expanding and contracting as Mark breathed. His arm was falling asleep, so he positioned it a bit, rustling the shower curtain.

Mark began to shiver. Phillip pulled him close with his arm while reaching around to turn the water on again.

“The water’s fine,” Mark said. “Just hold me.”

Phillip paused and then reached up and pulled a large towel from the holder on the wall and wrapped it over their shoulders. He grabbed the ends and stretched them across Mark’s chest. It smelled of soap. In the darkened room, Phillip could hear the heater hissing and the water dripping and the wood creaking as if the bones of the building itself were settling down in the cold. The wind outside wailed as it varied in speed, blowing between the buildings and trees, and from time to time there was a soft brush against the window, as if someone had thrown a handful of sand or salt against the screen. But eventually, the ice crystals became harder and the sound more regular. The room became colder in spite of the wall heater and the bath water. Phillip could feel the ice building up outside on the window ledges and the sidewalks and the parking lots and the streets. With any luck the city and the airport would be shut down tomorrow, and they could be together. Iced in. Shut in. Frozen in. Homebound. Bound home. Maybe for the entire day. Phillip smiled. He wanted them to be together in the warm water in the dark room forever. Or maybe they could spend the entire day in bed, holding on to each other, warm, swathed under the electric blanket with only a couple of peep holes through which they could breathe the cold air in and out. He kissed the back of Mark’s head, whose hair was soft and finally warm. And Phillip gave thanks for the softness and warmth of Mark’s hair. Mark looked away from the heater and at the dark wall again and sniffled sharply. Phillip brought his hand up through the water and pulled it from one side to the other and wiped Mark’s nose with his finger. Then he turned his face back toward the light and laid his head against Mark’s neck.