Read Online A Christmas Blizzard by Garrison Keillor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Garrison Keillor
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flattened out and two fronts sort of intermixed. So we’re not going to be moving anytime soon.”
“Any estimate?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
He walked back to the car slowly. It wasn’t his way to make up stories but he needed an excuse not to go to Uncle Earl’s bedside right now. The thought of it made him almost cry—holding the old man’s hand and—what? Saying the Lord’s Prayer? Singing “Kumbaya”? He sounded chipper on the phone, but—what was the real deal? “I’m on this mission,” he told Leo, “and it’d be better if it weren’t general knowledge that I’m in town right now. It’s very complicated. We’re using the blizzard for cover. It’s all a front. Confuse CanTell. Businessman snowbound. It’s to throw them off. I wish I could tell you more. Is there an undisclosed location where I could spend the night and nobody be any the wiser?”
“I thought you were going over to Earl’s.”
“Tomorrow. Got to think of the mission first.”
Leo thought for a minute. “Well, probably your best undisclosed location would be Floyd’s fish house seeing as how he’s dead. Faye still has them tow it out on the ice every year. Nobody ever uses it.”
He could sleep the night in a dead man’s fish house. Why not? Better than being a guest. He just plain wasn’t up for a bunch of grief and hand-holding tonight.
“Where can I get some warm boots?”
“All of Floyd’s stuff is out there. Help yourself. It’s the fish house with the Christmas star on the roof. I’ll drive you out there.”
And Leo swung left at the next corner and a minute later he was driving onto the vastness of Lake Winnesissibigosh, heading for the fish houses out towards the middle of the lake, a long string of them, ghostly in the falling snow. The ice was 23 inches thick, according to Leo, yet it gave off banging sounds like an underwater howitzer, and Leo coasted to a stop. “I don’t know about this,” he said.
“It’s nothing. Ice expands and contracts. Happens all the time. I grew up here. I remember.”
“You sure?”
He was sure. He was pretty sure he was sure. On the other hand, he didn’t have to stay out here. No. He had a cell phone, he could call the pilots and tell them he wished to spend the night aboard the Lucky Lady where the rear couch folded out to make a queen-size bed, but he couldn’t do that with Leo there, listening. Let Leo think him a coward, a cake-eater. No way. He’d decided to be a C.I.A. agent—so he’d be a hero. No way out. He had to sleep in the fishing shack. Leo dropped him off a hundred yards from the shack—“Looks to me like there might be a soft spot up ahead”—and James climbed out. An electric star shone brightly on the fish house roof.
“Why’d he put that there?”
Leo said Floyd needed the star because he often was drunk.
“He lived out here?”
“If you were married to Faye, you might, too.”
“Well—” said James, and Leo said, “Yeah. Guess I better head back.” But he didn’t move.
“Getting late,” said James.
“Looks like it,” said Leo.
“So anyway—”
“Good to have you back.”
“Good to be back.”
“Ten years is a long time to be away.”
“Well, I don’t really know anybody here—”
“Hard to know anybody if you never come around. I’m just saying.”
“Yeah.”
“Anyway—”
James thanked him and closed the car door and Leo did a big U-turn and headed for shore at a good clip and James stood in the enormous silence of the snowfall and looked across the snowy drifts on the broad reach of ice toward the lights of Looseleaf barely visible in the distance. He thought, “This is the beauty of an obsessive irrational fear like the one I got. You focus on that and your other fears recede. Probably men ran screaming into ferocious battle, into the teeth of the beast, swinging their broadaxes, who were terrified of spiders.” General George S. Patton could not bear the sight of sheep.
“Any estimate?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
He walked back to the car slowly. It wasn’t his way to make up stories but he needed an excuse not to go to Uncle Earl’s bedside right now. The thought of it made him almost cry—holding the old man’s hand and—what? Saying the Lord’s Prayer? Singing “Kumbaya”? He sounded chipper on the phone, but—what was the real deal? “I’m on this mission,” he told Leo, “and it’d be better if it weren’t general knowledge that I’m in town right now. It’s very complicated. We’re using the blizzard for cover. It’s all a front. Confuse CanTell. Businessman snowbound. It’s to throw them off. I wish I could tell you more. Is there an undisclosed location where I could spend the night and nobody be any the wiser?”
“I thought you were going over to Earl’s.”
“Tomorrow. Got to think of the mission first.”
Leo thought for a minute. “Well, probably your best undisclosed location would be Floyd’s fish house seeing as how he’s dead. Faye still has them tow it out on the ice every year. Nobody ever uses it.”
He could sleep the night in a dead man’s fish house. Why not? Better than being a guest. He just plain wasn’t up for a bunch of grief and hand-holding tonight.
“Where can I get some warm boots?”
“All of Floyd’s stuff is out there. Help yourself. It’s the fish house with the Christmas star on the roof. I’ll drive you out there.”
And Leo swung left at the next corner and a minute later he was driving onto the vastness of Lake Winnesissibigosh, heading for the fish houses out towards the middle of the lake, a long string of them, ghostly in the falling snow. The ice was 23 inches thick, according to Leo, yet it gave off banging sounds like an underwater howitzer, and Leo coasted to a stop. “I don’t know about this,” he said.
“It’s nothing. Ice expands and contracts. Happens all the time. I grew up here. I remember.”
“You sure?”
He was sure. He was pretty sure he was sure. On the other hand, he didn’t have to stay out here. No. He had a cell phone, he could call the pilots and tell them he wished to spend the night aboard the Lucky Lady where the rear couch folded out to make a queen-size bed, but he couldn’t do that with Leo there, listening. Let Leo think him a coward, a cake-eater. No way. He’d decided to be a C.I.A. agent—so he’d be a hero. No way out. He had to sleep in the fishing shack. Leo dropped him off a hundred yards from the shack—“Looks to me like there might be a soft spot up ahead”—and James climbed out. An electric star shone brightly on the fish house roof.
“Why’d he put that there?”
Leo said Floyd needed the star because he often was drunk.
“He lived out here?”
“If you were married to Faye, you might, too.”
“Well—” said James, and Leo said, “Yeah. Guess I better head back.” But he didn’t move.
“Getting late,” said James.
“Looks like it,” said Leo.
“So anyway—”
“Good to have you back.”
“Good to be back.”
“Ten years is a long time to be away.”
“Well, I don’t really know anybody here—”
“Hard to know anybody if you never come around. I’m just saying.”
“Yeah.”
“Anyway—”
James thanked him and closed the car door and Leo did a big U-turn and headed for shore at a good clip and James stood in the enormous silence of the snowfall and looked across the snowy drifts on the broad reach of ice toward the lights of Looseleaf barely visible in the distance. He thought, “This is the beauty of an obsessive irrational fear like the one I got. You focus on that and your other fears recede. Probably men ran screaming into ferocious battle, into the teeth of the beast, swinging their broadaxes, who were terrified of spiders.” General George S. Patton could not bear the sight of sheep.
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