The main thing is not to straggle. Stay calm, wait for a bit of clearing. Move only enough to stay warm.
He remembers hearing that polar bears have a nictitating membrane in their eyes, to wipe the slush away. His own eyes sting. He can barely see his hands.
For an hour or so the blizzard clears. It’s warmer — the snow on his back breaks up a bit. He moves slowly, deliberately. If he overexerts, he’ll start to sweat and his clothing will grow damp.
Soon the snow begins again, visibility is reduced once more. Still, he doesn’t rush. Dimly, he sees his horse lie down in the snow.
Assuming the blizzard continues, what method will his colleagues use to find him? Rescue systems are well coordinated in resort areas and major scientific outposts; though Comtex has not yet made a commitment here, surely the engineers came equipped.
A device to trace his heartbeat (would it be muffled by snow?) or detect his body heat. No — the snow he upset when he fell is thick, temperature will vary wildly from mound to mound.
X-ray fluorescence? Radar?
In the seventeenth century rescuers set bowls of water on the rubble after an avalanche. In the water floated pieces of bread. Wherever the bread “pointed” the rescuers dug for victims.
The wind howls like air inside a shell.
He reaches into his backpack. A geologist’s pick. The Philosophy of Hegel. An extra pair of drumsticks.
Whatever possessed him to pack these things? He longs for warm sand, tropical fruit. Coconuts, bananas, berries. The cold, sharp pang of juice.
A man springs, fully clothed, from the snow where Adams spit the tooth. The tooth is gone. The man looks at Adams, picks up the backpack, walks away, pausing only to pat the freezing horse’s nose.
Stop this.
He’s hungry. He’s hallucinating.
If he could send a new self into the world, how would he act? Take Carol home? Fight for his kids? Would he be a smarter man, stronger, more articulate than the one beneath the snow?
Both his arms are free. He can move his legs. Sore but intact. He feels the pack beneath his cheek. For some reason he thought he’d lost it.
He digs with the pick and the drumsticks — 9A, thin, not much good in the snow. If only his hands were bigger. The snow is starting to harden, but he’s got room to wiggle.
A half hour later he’s free.
Standing unsheltered in the wind, he shivers. He tries to build a shelter of ice, but this proves ineffective. He can already feel the effects of hypothermia.
The horse lies in the snow like something dropped from the sky. Not quite dead. Adams huddles near it for its body heat, but the temperature continues to drop.
Without thinking, he lifts a heavy chunk of ice from the avalanche pile and brings it down on the horse’s skull. With his pick he slices the belly, hollows out a space inside, removing the internal organs. They are slippery, bilious, gray. He is nauseated, but his stomach is empty. He takes a deep breath and crawls inside.
He can only stand lying inside the horse for a period of, he guesses, one hour. Then the smell gets to him and he has to crawl outside. His clothes are damp with snow and blood, the wind eats through him.
He sits beside the dead animal, smelling of shit, clots of hair, bone, and blood. He rubs his face, balls of hard flesh stick to his lips. He opens his mouth, the crumbs fall onto his tongue; slowly he chews. The animal creaks like an old chair whenever he lifts the stiff flap of ribs and hair, icy now, to crawl in or out.
From time to time he hears sounds. Looks around. Shouts.
He’s afraid to sleep. His legs are numb. He stumbles out of the horse, walks a few steps to keep the blood moving, drinks water from a piece of ice, curls up again inside the horse.
To stay awake he thinks of Pamela and the kids. Deidre, naked in the tub; Toby, naked on the floor of his room, doing sit-ups; Pamela, naked in his arms.
Why are they all naked?
His body has grown too stiff inside the horse. He crawls out and walks around, vigorously rubs his legs.
He can’t find his tooth in the snow. It has become a man and walked back to camp. They won’t come looking for him now.
The horse’s body is losing its heat. Soon it will be a rock, frozen.
His cheek stings. He has fallen asleep on the ice. No snow. No wind. A rapidly clearing night sky. He pulls himself up, grabs his pack. He pauses, wondering what to do with the horse. He doesn’t have the strength.
His lips are chapped. He licks them, feels a gap in his gum. Did he lose a tooth?
His muscles relax as he walks. Feeling returns to his feet and hands.
He imagines Carol, or tries to. He cannot picture her. He has forgotten what she looks like. Without touching his face he tries to recall his own features. High cheekbones, short nose, thick head of hair. Is that right? Yes, yes, his fingers confirm it. His skin is cold, like bone itself.
His jaw aches. He’s hungry. He dreams of steak and wine, but his stomach constricts and he falls to the snow, heaving.
The rule is, Stay where you are until they find you. Too late for that. But the polestar’s clear. He’s sure of his direction.
A curtain of color bursts above his head. The aurora borealis. Cepheus, Cassiopeia, Ursa Minor, awash with red and green. An hour or so later the sun begins to rise. Ridges and gullies take the light inside their slowly forming ice, glow from within.
He can see the camp far off, figures running toward him. The whole plain is lighted, like a tungsten bulb. He laughs. Stops to catch his breath. The last stars fade.
Part Seven
DADDY, how do fishes put their coats on? One fin at a time. What kind of jacket does a yellowjacket wear? A jacket made of rice.
What do roly-polies do in the middle of July?
Watch gangster movies in the alley, in the back of the horned toad’s home.
What does a peach tree eat, Daddy, that it stays so thin?
Shoe buckles left in the rain.
What does a falling leaf wear?
A lemonade T-shirt.
Who are you when I’m not here? Daddy?
The children’s questions get bolder. Does he hate Pamela? What happened to Jill? Was she nicer than Mom? (Jill is very happy with her job at Murray State College and her new live-in, a fellow est-ian who once met Albert Einstein.) Adams answers the best he can; he’s comfortable with the kids. There even seems to be less tension between Toby and the rest of the world.
“Did you almost die,” Toby asks.
“No. If I died, you’d get all my money. I didn’t want that to happen.”
“I wish I could’ve gone along.”
Deidre stops what she’s doing to listen.
“Maybe someday you’ll be in a job where you get to go places.”
“I can’t draw,” Toby says.
“You can be a travel agent — ”
“A stewardess,” Deidre adds.
“Or an interpreter. Essen.”
“That means ‘eat.’”
“Your mom’s been teaching you.”
“She says the world’s going to blow up. Is that true?”
“I don’t know. What would you like to eat?”
“Ice cream,” Deidre says.
“Besides dessert.”
“Mom said you almost died.”
“Peach ice cream and strawberries and Cool Whip. And french fries with catsup.”
“One thing at a time. Burger King? And no, I didn’t almost die. Your mother jumps to conclusions.”
“I don’t think she hates you anymore,” Toby says.