2.
Traveler sits watching television alone. Not alone, with Terrier. Huddled on sofa with Terrier in dark house, furnace beneath floorboards rumbling, outside snow falling again. Remote on couch handy. Traveler’s flatscreen plasma television, hulking presence, only glow in warm-dark house in white-dark night. Terrier watching too, head cocked at motion, throaty growl at anything remotely ratlike, shadows skulking to edges of screen. Terrier who has never caught any actual rat. Satellite dish provides Traveler with five hundred channels, at least in name, though dozens are fallow, wastes of pay-per-view, cooking, sports, cartoons. Still, forty or fifty channels of films, only a handful of those with commercials. Traveler tonight watches Insomnia, tale of weary detective, unsleeping, trudging through barren noon-lit landscapes in killer’s pursuit. Traveler feels déjà vu, has perhaps seen this film or another like it, remake or sequel. Nonetheless trudges as detective trudges through story, camaraderie of sleepless. Night long-fallen everywhere, windows less-frequently lit by passing headlamps, now only yellow siren-flashing glow of Plowman passing. In this, his smalltown country life, Traveler has learned his few scattered neighbors keep a newborn’s hours, asleep at first dark, six, seven o’clock, rising at five, even four. Traveler long accustomed now to keeping his city hours, habit impossible of breaking, possibly the sole waking presence in a hundred-mile radius. Traveler and Plowman, on a night like this. Plowman scraping road, high in steaming plow’s cab, watching funnels of volcanic white swirl in headlamps through widescreen of windshield. Traveler shudders.
As if snow outside invading, Traveler’s screen begins defecting, digital freezing, slurry of staticky white pixels corrupting shots of insomniac detective. Traveler ignores until he can’t, as picture worsens, glitching story line irretrievably. Traveler sighs. Time’s come as he suspected. Satellite dish outside caked, icicles shredding signal, white stuff needs bumping off. Not the first time. Terrier needs decanting anyhow. This duty preeminent, regularly dragging Traveler outside cave of warmth, into snowfall, needs of Terrier for an earth patch to perfume. Traveler dons coat, knee boots, gloves. Terrier at door trepidatious understanding. Traveler gathers kitchen broom for knocking off accumulation from dish, freeing of signal, resumption of movie. No reason Traveler and Terrier can’t be back on couch in minutes. So, outside, into the howl. Traveler tucking Terrier under arm, a protected football. Practically impossible in this height of snowfall for Terrier to find a place to squat. Find an evergreen with snow-sheltered interior, bed of cones barely dusted, best hope. Preferable to carry dog seeking ideal spot. Otherwise Terrier’s low belly beads with icicles, Terrier runs discouraged frozen yelping for porch. Trial and error, Traveler now carries Terrier.
Satellite dish first. Traveler trudges hip-deep in drifts at the side of the house. Raises broom into swirl, rattles ice on heaped dish, scoops snow from concavity. Icicles clatter to shards deep in snowbank. Dish freed, adequate. Through own window like yeti peeper, Traveler spots lit screen, image rescued. Distant stratospheric signal unblocked from local occlusion of particles. Unfathomable mysteries of science best ignored. Sleepless detective restored oblivious to malfunctional interlude. Empty rooms equally oblivious, carrying on without. Now only remains the Terrier’s peeing, then inside, cleave to warmth, boots-puddle melting by vent. Traveler carries dog and broom across open margin of yard, high-fall of snow, into the woods, into the trees, where canopy offers Terrier possibilities.
Traveler had in warmer months begun carving path back into woods, labor of unfamiliar intimacy with saplings, wood saws, mammoth treetop clippers. Pushing through woods, foot by foot, toward rendezvous with path already established, deep in trees, running behind all their houses invisible. Known locally as “Drunkard’s Path,” ribald suggestion of shitfaced farmers sneaking home concealed from judgmental porch-views. No sense how much farther to reach this older path, Traveler had simply gone on clipping, chopping, making his own mark. Provides place for Terrier to defecate anyhow. Tonight path’s a white tunnel, trees large and small draped silent, cone of moonlit intensity. Traveler sets Terrier down in relative shallow, waits. Terrier alerts, snarls. Traveler looks. Ahead on path now, arrayed in woods, seven wolves. Teeth bared, snarling too, ready. The always feared. Traveler’s seen animals here, sure, mostly prey, deer, bunnies. Nobody from this place would call them bunnies but he can’t think of another word. Once a fox, harmlessly decorative. Eagles overhead sometimes turning, as if with Terrier in sights. Locals joke he’d best keep Terrier inside. Keep close, city dog. Now here they’ve come, the deeper locals. Patrolling for drunkards maybe, but they’ll take what they get. Traveler thinking always danger to Terrier never to himself. Is broom enough to fend them? Then sees basket.
Wolf now emerging from back of group, padding in white path, basket in jaws. Others part to allow this passing. Terrier still growling low in throat, wolves unimpressed. Traveler cranes to look in basket. A baby there, human animal faintly squalling. Tucked in bare blanket, lightly snow-clung. Wolf perhaps proposing a trade, baby for Terrier, as if claiming canine sovereignty here. Do they expect Traveler to eat baby? Why haven’t wolves eaten baby themselves? No way to ask. Traveler as by instinct turns broom to extend handle. Wolf permits. The basket is unexpectedly light. Traveler reels it in. Wolves turn on path, scatter, not demanding Terrier or anything else in return. Terrier, idiot, goes on growling at retreating forms, as if having routed them personally. Traveler gathers basket to his arms, letting broom sink in snow. Find it later. No arm free for Terrier either, so the dog’s left to hopping through snowbanks, vanishing below their height and encrusting entirely, thusly following Traveler and basket with baby onto porch, and indoors.
Baby, unwrapped indoors, is a boy baby. White blanket unstained, though even as Traveler makes this observation baby arcs yellow to moisten the basket’s lining. Traveler finds towels, pats limbs dry, replaces blanket with towel, first lesson in baby’s consummately blunt demands. The other being to feed. Mouth pursing in silent expectation. No question of any task but find it satisfaction. Traveler has barely anything in the fridge, much less milk. Ill-prepared for self not to mention newcomer. Should have laid in groceries before storm, Traveler’s classic city-man error, now car waits for plowing, locked in driveway helpless. Plowman uncallable, ranging out in night’s campaign. Likely wouldn’t call if even could. Traveler’s got no notion how far down he dwells on Plowman’s list, but certainly low. Often plowed in dawn hours, wakes to find it done, silent reprimand of countryperson’s early rising. Plowman never billing, denying Traveler ground for complaint. The times he’s asked, Plowman laughs gruffly, as if Traveler’s plowing is comically negligible. Then offered a rural cipher: “I’ll bill when I’ve done enough to be worth billing.” Bastard. Hence no counting on when the way might open to groceries, milk, bottles with nipples, baby food in jars if this creature’s even ready for such. That mouth won’t be reasoned with, won’t wait, Traveler knows this much. Delves in fridge, finds one shred of dairy, a sliver of Brie. Terrier to one side watching, high whine in throat. Unhesitating on baby’s behalf, Traveler carves off the cheese’s white horny rind, thinking as he does how it resembles plowing the cheese like a snow-crushed road. But no time now for fruitless comparisons. Traveler frees gooey center from cheese’s interior, douses in bowl with waterdrops, mashes it to yogurt-like fluid with a spoon’s bottom. Dribbles mixture into waiting mouth. Baby feeds in eagerness too primal to give the name of gratitude. Naps for two hours then demands repeat. Traveler repeats. At third waking Terrier, finally bored with new rituals, pads off to curl in sleep. Baby naps, wakes, Traveler repeats. In this manner Traveler and baby manage through night’s dark. Waiting for light and a path to town, doctors, grocery shelves, diapers. Outside somewhere, Plowman working.