THEY BUY HER a sled for Christmas, take it to New York with them just in case it snows; they get about six to eight inches of it that morning and he goes to Riverside Drive and 116th Street with his two daughters to test the sled out and says to Fanny at the top of the fairly steep hill, “I think for the first couple of rides you should go on top of me to see how the steering works and other things,” and Josephine, his younger daughter, says, “I want to go too, but just with Daddy,” and Fanny says, “But it’s mine and I know how to do it — I’ve been on the same kind on an even bigger hill in Baltimore,” and he says, “You went down alone, last winter? Because up till today, perhaps, we haven’t had any snow there this year,” and she says, “With a friend. And I did it well and all the steering,” and he says, demonstrating, “So you know to turn it left if you want to go this way and right to go this way?” and she’s nodding, and he says, “It still feels tight, because it’s so new, so you’ll have to turn the bar hard … and there’s one big tree at the bottom, so that, of course, isn’t the direction you want to go,” and she says, “Of course not, Daddy, and I’ll never get that far anyway,” and he says, “You never know; most of the snow seems flattened down by all the other sleds and disks and cardboard people are using,” and she says, “I’m not going to steer to that tree. I’m only going where there are no trees, and straight,” and he says, “If you run into any trouble—” and she says, “I know, I know,” and he says, “Just listen; if a sled’s stopped right in front of you and you can’t steer out of the way in time, roll off, just roll off,” and she says, “How do you do that?” and he says, “By letting go of the steering bar and rolling off into the snow and making sure the rope’s not caught around any part of you and letting the sled go on without you,” and she says, “Suppose there’s a sled behind coming right at me after I roll off?” and he says, “There shouldn’t be; there should be lots of spacing between the sleds going downhill,” and she says, “Just suppose,” and he says, “Then you’re in trouble if you can’t jump out of the way,” and she says, “What if I jump out of the way in front of another fast sled?” and he says, “The chances of that also happening? Well …” and Josephine says, “Can’t I go with you?” and Fanny says, “No, first time I want it alone,” and he says, “So, have we worked everything out? Staying away, when you’re sledding down, from the people walking back up the hill with their sleds?” and she nods and he jiggles the steering bar back and forth to loosen it a little but it seems to stay the same, good enough for steering but not sudden sharp turns, puts the sled down and points the front of it to the clearing at the bottom of the hill; she says, “You still don’t have it going far enough away from that tree,” and points it even more to the left and gets on the sled on her stomach, says, “Don’t push me, I might be not ready and I don’t need any help; I can do it with my boots,” and he says, “My, you’re the professional sledder,” and she says, “I told you, I’ve done it before,” and Josephine says, “Have a nice ride,” and he says, “Maybe I should go to the bottom of the hill first, just in case,” and Fanny says, “Why?” and he says, “You might go faster than you think, past the clearing and into the little sidewalk, or walkway, or whatever it is there, and there’s a lamppost by it,” and she says, “Nobody so far has gone that far, and if I do go all the way to the lamppost I’ll be all slowed down,” and he says, “So, you might as well get going, for I want to have a chance too with Josephine. And remember—” and she says, “I know, bring the sled up myself and on the side, out of the way of sleds going down,” and he says, “Right,” and she says, “Goodbye,” and he says, “Wait’ll that man goes,” and the man to their right on his sled goes, and he says, “Give him about ten seconds … in fact, almost till he’s at the bottom … now it’s clear, he’ll be nowhere near you, and nobody else is going, so go on,” and she pushes herself off with her feet and starts down and picks up speed and is aimed straight for the clearing, nothing in her way, sled going faster than he thought it would with her forty to fifty pounds on it — must be a good sled, runners never used, so like ice sliding down ice — when it starts veering right and he yells, “Turn it slowly to the left, Fanny, turn it left!” but it continues going right and now it’s heading for that tree, as if being pulled to it, and he yells, “Fanny, turn the sled left or roll off — roll off, Fanny, roll, roll!” and she goes into the tree — he’s sure her head hit it first — and is thrown off, and he screams and runs down the hill and keeps yelling, “Oh, no, oh, my God, no!” and Josephine’s somewhere behind him shouting, “Fanny! Daddy!” and he reaches the tree, she’s on her back, doesn’t seem to be moving, he thinks, Oh, Jesus, her fucking head, her head! and gets on his knees, her eyes are open, looking at the sky, not at him, and he says, “Fanny, my darling, Fanny, it’s Daddy,” and lifts her head up softly, she’s bleeding a little from just above her eye, and he says, “Oh, my poor dear,” and her eyes move to him and she says, “I couldn’t roll off; I was too afraid to; I didn’t know how; I’m sorry,” and he says, “We got to get you up the hill; a doctor, a hospital,” and she says, “No, I think I’ll be okay,” and he says, “I’ll carry you, or get some people to help me,” and puts his arms under her shoulders and knees, and she says, “Are you picking me up? No, don’t, Daddy, I just need to rest here; all I feel is dizzy,” and he says, “You’re really not feeling worse than that? No big headaches, pressure, something hurting terribly? Because I should do something,” and she says, “I didn’t hit the tree that hard, or didn’t feel I did,” and he says, “Let me at least do this for you, to keep down the swelling,” because a welt’s forming around her eye, and wipes the cut with his hanky, no new blood comes out, and puts snow around her eye and on the cut, and she screams and says, “Snow’s cold and I’m getting wet, my face!” and he says, “Just stay with it a minute, that’s all it’ll take,” and a few people are around them now, and every so often a sled zips past or stops with a sudden directional shift just a few feet from them, and he says, “This damn tree, I don’t know how it happened. It’s as if there was a magnet or some other kind of powerful attractor that pulled her right to it from the opposite direction or whatever she was trying to do to get away from it. I feel like chopping it down,” and a man says, “She looks okay, talking, lucid, no bleeding from the nose or ears; those are good signs. Want me to help you carry her out of the park?” and she says, “I can walk by myself, but my sled—” and he says, “The back’s bashed, I don’t know why, you hit it from the front, but we’ll get it fixed,” and she says, “When?” and tries to get up, and he and the man help her stand and she starts walking and he’s holding snow to her eye till she pushes his hand away; has the sled under his other arm and says, “Jesus, what a trooper — I’d sure let someone carry me if I’d just been hurt, but no, not her,” and they trudge up the hill where Josephine, near the top, hands over her mouth, seems to be staring at them harriedly. “It’s gonna be all right,” he yells out, “she’s gonna be okay. She’s a big brave girl, hurt but in much better shape than your careless lunkhead daddy first thought.”