The effect was frightening, extremely painful, and instantaneous. My body, suddenly slowed, swung forward, pulling my arm half out of its socket. The crowbar jumped off the cable, smacked me in the chest, and went sailing into the void. And my right hand, now the only thing keeping me from total free flight, instantly began to burn from the friction.
But it worked. Like some preplanned if graceless circus act, I slid to a stop just to where I could place my feet gently on the intertwined chairs, and I wrapped my free arm around the first hanger arm, subconsciously praying my weight wouldn’t bring everything down.
It didn’t, and since my face was now inches away from the loose chair’s cable grip, I could see that while it had obviously slipped, it was still securely attached. Only then did I look down at the approximately six-year-old face staring up at my feet, her eyes the size of silver dollars.
“Hi, sweetie. What’s your name?” I asked, surprised I could even speak.
She didn’t answer as I gingerly climbed through the accidental jungle gym toward her, my entire body tingling from exertion and adrenaline.
“Mine’s Max. I’m here to help your mommy. She’s your mom, right?”
The head nodded. I saw people collecting rapidly far below us, talking on radios, sorting out equipment. I knew they were shouting at me, but I continued to ignore them.
I ended up kneeling on the first chair, which was pressed tightly against the second, squeezing the mother’s chest. I stretched out to grab her under the arms when with a slight groan, she slipped again and almost fell free. I snatched the front of her parka and arrested her fall. She groaned with pain and her eyes opened.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I got you.” I tried unsuccessfully to pull her back up.
“My skis are stuck,” she murmured.
I looked down. She was right. Both skis were now below the footrest, preventing her from being hauled onto the chair.
I glanced at the young girl. “Sweetie?”
“Mary.” Her voice was barely audible.
“Wonderful. Mary it is. Mary, I’m going to ask you to hang on to your mom as tight as you can, okay? I’ll help, too, but I’ve got to use my other hand to undo her skis. Put one arm through the slats in back of the chair, and the other one around her chest, and squeeze as tight as you can. Can you do that?”
Without a word, she followed directions, compressing her lips with serious intent.
Slowly, tentatively, I eased my hold on her mother with one hand and began reaching for her skis, hanging almost upside down in the process. Luckily, the skis were new, the bindings not set too tightly, and the first of them fell away on my first try.
But the second was harder to reach, and as my outstretched fingers got hold of the binding release, something shifted between the chairs. Mary let out a small cry, and her mother’s body began sliding by my head. Fearing I’d lose them both, and my own balance in the bargain, I caught hold of the woman’s fanny-pack belt and reared back with all my strength. We shot up, the last ski smacking against the footrest and springing free on its own, and we all ended up staring at each other in a pile on the chair, Mary crying and her mother screaming with pain.
But at least safe from falling.
Which is when I finally took more careful notice of the blood-on me, on the mother, even on Mary. Dark, arterial blood, which accounted for the reduced consciousness.
“Mary,” I said. “Get your mom to talk to you. I need her to wake up.”
Mary stopped crying and took her mother’s face in her small hands, as suddenly calm as any doctor. “Mommy. Mommy. Talk to me.”
The woman opened her eyes and asked me feebly, “Who are you?”
“Max. What do I call you?”
“Jill.” She sounded half asleep.
“Tell me exactly where it hurts so I can try to stop the bleeding.”
One of her hands fluttered near her right thigh. “I tried to stop the chair with my pole.”
I pulled a folding knife out of my pocket, cut her ski pants at the site, and found a deep puncture wound, steadily pumping blood. I infiltrated my hand through the rip, pressed my thumb hard against where I could feel a faint pulse, and instantly saw the bleeding stop.
My nose was almost touching hers by now. “Jill,” I said softly. Her eyes were closed again. “I got it. People are below getting ready to pull us out of here. Mary’s fine and she’s been a big help. All we need for you to do is to keep on breathing. Keep awake and keep breathing. Will you do that?”
“Sure, she will,” Mary said, and I believed her.
Three hours later Linda Bettina-tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in stained work clothes-found me at the summit house where I’d finally begun putting up the trim I’d been assigned to that morning. She was accompanied by a young, aggressive-looking woman in expensive, tailored skiwear. It was clear at a glance who between them could decipher the contents of the average toolbox.
“Hey, Linda,” I said, looking up from measuring a cut.
“Hey, yourself, Batman. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I straightened up and parked my pencil behind my ear. “Meaning what?”
She smiled. “Meaning any other dumb bastard would be taking a break after what you pulled. Which maybe you should do anyway if you plan to collect any workman’s comp.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine. A bit sore. A little rope burn on one hand. The doc checked me out at the base lodge.”
That clearly met with her approval, and she dropped the subject.
“How’s the patient?” I asked.
“You saved her life. And I think the little girl wants you as a dad.”
“Probably not a good idea.” I glanced at the young woman, who’d already snuck a look at her watch.
Linda Bettina followed my gaze, her expression hardening slightly. “This is Stephanie Jones from marketing. They’d like to make a little hay out of your trapeze act, if that’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
There was an awkward silence as Stephanie froze in midsmile and rethought her opening line. “It’s not?” was all she managed.
“Nope.” I noticed Linda Bettina smile before pretending to look out a window.
“Why not? You’re a hero. The press really wants to see this. It’s such good news.”
“I’m a private man, Ms. Jones. I did what I did to help out. It’s over.”
She leaned toward me, all smiles now. “But that’s great, don’t you see? You’re perfect. It’s like real Vermont: the reluctant hero. People will love it.” She actually winked and added, “You might even be able to make some money out of it.”
I shook my head. “Sorry. I’d just as soon forget about it.”
The smile faded. “Well, you might, but the cat’s out of the bag. Like it or not, you saved someone’s life, and in this society you can’t do that and pretend nothing happened. People won’t let you. I can help you out, smooth the way and make it as painless as possible, or you can go solo and be hounded half to death. Your choice.”
I sat on the sawhorse beside me and gazed at her a moment. “Let’s be straight here. This is good for Tucker Peak, or it might be if you give it the right spin. And what better spin than some ‘yup, nope’ woodchuck Vermonter who stared death in the face and told him to buzz off, right? Especially if the resort then makes him employee of the month. Except that if that happens, this particular woodchuck will mention the reason he stuck his neck out was because our ancient, poorly maintained chairlift equipment is just an accident waiting to happen, and that if the press wants something to write about, he’d be delighted to show them all the stuff around here that’s threatening to kill the customers.”
Stephanie’s face tightened. “We’d sue you if you did that.”
I laughed. “Now that would look good.” But I relented. “Ms. Jones, you won’t have to sue me, because it won’t come to that. I’m an employee. I and other employees helped save this woman from dying. That’s your story: Tucker Peak ready for any emergency. You’ll have photos of the ski patrol, the snowmaker first on the scene who threw me that crowbar, and everyone’ll talk about the team effort instead of me personally because they’ll all have been told that I’m a really shy guy who just wants to be left alone. And”-I spoke more slowly for emphasis-“because they know they’ll be fired if they give anyone my name.”