Pity 'bout Louisa

Pity 'bout Louisa

By

Mike Turner

Ó

Pity 'bout Louisa. She would have surely made a damn fine wife. Girl like that is a rarity out here in this Godforsaken wilderness. Nice buxom, fresh-faced gal. Woulda kept a man cosy and warm during them awful three dog nights. Yeah, she was big and strong too. Did more than her fair share around the place. I heard tell she could cut a cord of wood without so much as raisin' a sweat. That's a mighty fine, and desirable, woman is anyone's language.

Shame though how she came to meet her maker. Lost her footing. Fell into the icy river over yonder. Yep, quick as a wink. Slipped on the icy bank and plunged straight into water that is colder and blacker than a witch’s heart. Never had a chance poor soul. Shock would have stopped her heart in less than a minute. Hear tell she was trying to catch a fish for her Pa's supper. A noble gesture I'm sure. But what’s noble about losing your life over the slim chance of landing a trout at this time of year? Her body ain't been found yet either. I’m guessing it won't. Not at least ‘til the spring thaw. If bears or wolves don't find her first. Any way you look at it though, it's a crying shame such a rare specimen of womanhood could be taken just like that. Here one minute, gone before you can say "Lord have mercy!"

Just about sums up the misery of this place son. Too damn bleak. Too damn cold. Too damn few eligible womenfolk. Yes Sir, this is home. Tis where I’m going to stay, but I despise this back end of nowhere. All on offer is a lonely, wretched existence. Every day is just a battle for survival. Fighting a cruel and ruthless environment that’ll kill ya the minute you let your guard down.

Nothing much for a man to come home to but for a cold, dark, depressing cabin. No one to talk to 'cept for the dogs. Maybe the occasional traveller like yourself that's got way off course. You’re a mite lucky to stumble upon my doorstep. While you get some heat back into your bones son, praise the Lord for delivering you from an icy death.

I've seen lots of lamentable souls who got themselves lost in snowstorms. Froze solid I tell you. Some found in positions you wouldn't believe. Why, in the winter of ‘84, one poor unfortunate was found with his arms locked around a tree. Had to have them chopped off at the elbows so as he could be committed to the Lord. Natural like. You'd probably think such a task would be the work of ghouls and disrespectful to the deceased. But dead is dead. No time for sentiment out here. There was not a drop of blood though. No mess either. He was froze solid. Just like chipping at iceblocks. Made a real crunching sound too.

I remember one grief-crazed widder whose husband was found after a mighty vicious snowstorm. Curled up he was, like a cat on an armchair. Hard as a rock. His widow insisted he be thawed so he could be laid out for his funeral. Son, in the dead of winter such a notion is plain crazy. It's a wonder the widder woman wasn't hauled off to the bug-house for suggesting such a thing. Anyhow, not taking no for an answer, she carted her husband's body back home. Put him in the smokehouse for three days. Lo an' behold on the fourth day, there he is all laid out in his coffin. Sunday best suit. Lying straight as a die. People said he sure looked peaceful. His wife had done him proud. Funny thing though. Those paying respects swear there was a distinct smell of smoky bacon hanging in the air all through the wake. But, there weren't no ham sandwiches in sight!

Ahh, but poor Louisa. A man would give his life's earnings to come home just once to a bright, warm cabin. Smell of a wholesome supper wafting through the place. A fresh laid out table with sparkling plates and forks. Just like them high class restaurants. Yes sir, the love of your life standing there. Smiling. Looking as shiny as a new penny. But, that's not for me friend. Although I want it more than anything else, I can’t.

Humans are a strange breed of animal. Yes animal. There's no other word to describe us. We give up all we hold near and dear to go in search of a few miserly grains of shiny dust. Gold! The devil's powder I call it. Gold! Gets up your nostrils. Drives itself into your brain. Wipes out all commonsense, rational thought and values. Gold! Turns honest men into gibbering fools. Makes murderers and cut throats out of decent folk. Yeah, decent folk who for too long have lived on the false promise of riches and the easy life.

Yes, I can see in your eyes and in the way you cock your head that you're thinking I'm a demented old fool. But you understand that the call of "gold, gold, gold", can drive men who lead peaceful lives to abandon family, friends and stable jobs to dance to the devil's tune. No matter how or where it leads them. You're confident now my young adventurer. Think back on this conversation sometime in your future. You'll be forgotten by your kin and all of those who you called close friends. Even the little gal who professed her undying love will be in the arms of another before too long. And you? You'll be at one with this living hell. You'll become more and more like an animal just to survive. You can never go back.

I scare you my friend? Relax, drink up. Move a little closer to the fire. I'll just sit back here. I don't like to sit close to an open fire. Can't stand to look directly into the flames.

 Well now. I want to tell you that not all of the foolhardy souls who come to this point of desolation do so on account of the gold. You see, this alien land is also a refuge for all the scum who fear the demons chasing them. They find comfort in the deluded belief that they have escaped their pasts. Here, there is no law other than the law of survival. That's why I'm here son. I killed the only woman who ever loved me. Didn't mean to, but I did it. I hurried to this place. But the horror of my crime followed me. It torments me every waking minute. I see her blood-soaked face in everything I do. Hear her screams on every moan of wind. When I try to sleep the mournful howls of the wolves call my name. Force me to relive the horror over and over again.     

It seems like ten lifetimes ago. Genteel folk they used to call us. I had a loving Christian wife and three precious little ones. Matthew being the eldest. My pride and joy. Just turned four. Twins Camille and Rosemarie were 'bout eighteen months old. Life was good. Nothing could possibly go wrong. Yeah, life was good.

I worked as assistant manager of the First National Bank. It was only a matter of a few months before old Peterson took his gold watch and headed for a life of tending his precious roses and fussing over his darlin' grandchildren. I would then become the youngest manager of a First National branch office anywhere in God's land. I was a mighty content man. Yes, nothing could go wrong.

Four p.m. one balmy summer afternoon, the air was thick and still. Thoughts were squarely on closing up for the day. Doors of the bank flew back with splintering crash. The calamity shattered the afternoon peace, and the rest of my life. I just stared at him open mouthed while my brain deciphered his frantic yelling. It was my next-door neighbour. He was standing there. All red and sweaty. Arms flailing in every direction. Eyeballs almost popping out of his head. I’ll never forget his face. It was a mask of sheer terror. Don't recall what else he said. All I took in was the shed in back of my house was ablaze. My darlin' little ones were trapped inside.

 Don't remember much after. Ran home. Shed a roaring fireball. My wife being restrained from jumping into the inferno. A mother’s futile attempt to save her children. It appears that earlier Ruth. That was her name, had a headache and decided to lie down for a spell.

Matthew. He liked to explore. Took the girls down to the shed while their mother was asleep. Fire chief said he must have tried to light the paraffin lamp. I, I still can't bear to think of my angels suffering such a fate.

Well after that son, my soul blackened. My heart turned to stone. I blamed my wife for the loss of my innocent little babies. Should never have left them alone. She was damned to live with the reality that she could never again clasp our beloved children to her bosom. I was bent on making sure she would never forget. The flames. The screams. The charred little bodies. In a drunken rage, I spat out an oath on our dead children. I cursed her for all eternity. I would never again share her bed. The very space in which we whispered our undying love for each other. That place of tranquillity and sanctuary where we lovingly conceived our babies.

 In my moments of grief filled insanity. There were many. She tried to soothe me. When I wouldn't let her touch me, she would just gaze at me through teary lead grey eyes. Lead grey. Used to be sparkling bright blue before. Before when life was good.

I could taste the pain slashing at her soul. Didn’t lift a finger to render solace. I knew all it would take was a loving hand on her shoulder. A knowing look of shared grief, to help us heal our hearts. We could have set forth together on the laborious feat of reassembling our lives. It would have been testing but together we could have overcome our grief. She made every effort to keep us together. To rekindle the extreme love we once had for each other. It was too late! Too damn late! You can't rekindle a fire that's been doused with the coldest water imaginable.

I took to drinking, gambling and whoring. I often stayed out. Not going home for days. Sometimes I would wake up after a binge. Find myself in the middle of the cemetery. Lying across the grave of my children. I wanted them back. I wanted life to be good again. I wanted to stop the pain. As money started to dry up, I just helped myself to a little of First National's funds. Had to ensure I would remain in my alcoholic fog. Keep the thoughts away. Banish the sight and smell of the inferno from my head.

 I'll never forget the look of sorrow on old Peterson's face when he told me I was finished. Never get a responsible position again. Head office will press charges. Hell, apart from breaking the old man's trust in me, I felt no remorse. Just a thirst for the liquid that would numb my brain. Quell the unbearable pain I believed no other man had ever felt or would be likely to feel.

I went home that night. I recall a chill in the air. Too cold to stay outdoors. No establishment would serve me liquor. No money to see out the night gambling with other wretches. No coins to seek out the comfort of a whore. I staggered into the house. Found my way to the front room. A fire was burning in the hearth. Something I had forbidden since the tragedy. I reeled toward the flames. Steadied myself by the mantelpiece. My wife was staring into the fire. Trancelike. She didn't even notice me.

She was poking at the fire. Stirring up the embers. I looked into the flames. I could see the faces of my babies. They were screaming to me. Daddy! daddy! Get us out! I looked at her. She stood there wide eyed. Shadows danced across her face tracing a slight hint of a smile. She was pushing my babies back into the flames with the poker. Denying my little precious ones the chance to come back to their daddy. Denying them the chance to make everything good again. I had to save them. Grabbed the poker from her hand and. That's it son. That's why I'm here. She should never have pushed them back…         

Don't be alarmed, there's nowhere else for you to go in this storm. You're good as dead if you go out that door. Now calm yourself. Take another sip of fine brandy. Only keep it for emergencies. In case someone strays off the track needs to get their blood circulating. That's it. Big sip. Now please sit with me while I finish my story. I really am coming to the best part.

Where was I? Oh yes. The irony of what I have told you is I found gold. Plenty of it. Richest vein any man could ever wish to see. Right here on this very spot. Funny how it all works out. A while back I made a decision to pay the price for my sins. I wanted to end it all. I wasn't scared, just very tired of life. I'd seen enough men die from the cold. It's not really painful. A bit of discomfort and the shivers, you just really nod off to sleep. Your body shuts down and the heart slows. Finally stops. I was right on this very spot, settling down to die. Willing myself to die. The snow gave way and I fell through a narrow crack.

As I regained consciousness, I couldn't believe the sight before me. Thought I was in a prospector's heaven. I had to build this cabin over the crevice so no one would know what I had found. See that rug? Underneath are some loose boards Under the boards you’ll find the stairway to a fortune. A fortune to quench the dreams of a million fossickers.

So there's the rub. I can't tell the world about my find. Every villain from miles around would just love to relieve me of my hoard. Cut my throat as an afterthought. I also can't take my treasure back to the Capital as I would surely be identified and wind-up waltzing with the hangman and a six foot drop! I'm sure not going to kill myself now, seeing as how I'm probably the richest man in the whole wide world!

So you see son, now I've told you my tale you know all there is to know about me. You can't leave here alive. I only told you my story because I long for the company of other human beings. Get sick and tired of just talking to myself night after long night. Keeping my secret is just eating me alive. I have to tell somebody. Now I don't want you to worry. You'll have plenty of company. There's four of your fellow travellers also down there watching over my gold for eternity. Our gold should I say. I'm happy to tell you that you're now an equal partner. Sure gives a man comfort knowing he can sleep easy while honest folk are keeping an everlasting vigil over the gold. Oh, I almost forgot. Remember poor Louisa? You've also got her for eternal companionship. She didn't drown. Stumbled into this cabin one night during a blizzard. Caught me admiring a box of "our" gold. What else could I do?

Feeling sleepy now son? I told you it was fine brandy. Got a little something special in it. Works on the muscles first. See? You cant' move. Don't try to fight it. There’s just nothing you can do. Soon it'll work its way down to your diaphragm. Stop your lungs from taking in air.

Anyway son, your future home is right cosy and don't fret, your body will keep pretty well intact for Lord knows how long. It must be the cold or the atmosphere or some such down there. Not one of my guests has rotted away on me yet! Why, old John has been with me nigh' on six years. He's as good looking as the day he died.

 Tell you what, just as a treat I'm going to sit you next to Louisa. I think you'll make a mighty fine couple. Oh, I'll be down a least once a day to have a little conversation with you all. My, my, my, possibly won't be able to get a word in, that is with all my friends wanting to have their say. Well, goodbye son, I promise this won't hurt a bit.

* * * * * * * *

Another morning. Ah, surprise, surprise, it brings another miserable day. I hate this hostile wasteland. Every day the same. No respite from the cold and desolation. What was that? Someone is at the door. Yes that’s a knock on the door.

Well hello stranger, you're way off the track. Lucky to find my place. You shouldn't be out in such treacherous weather. Why, only a little while back a young lass fell into the river and drowned. Conditions were exactly like these.

 Pity 'bout Louisa would have surely made a damn fine wife out here in this Godforsaken wilderness.