(COLD/Posting #5). This 5th episode takes Ewald up to Day-4 of his walk home––only 4950 km to go! (Book is also available in The Netherlands: <https://www.amazon.nl/dp/B076VBJB62>)

Ewald Finds a frozen dead body in the snow––and remembers a father's slap (true story about my father). Buy COLD here if you need a faster read! (FREE on Kindle: <https://www.amazon.nl/dp/B076VBJB62>)

COLD is available in Rotterdam: <https://www.amazon.nl/dp/B076VBJB62>.

(COLD/Posting #5).

Nanra-Naw’s prior advice, covering many aspects of surviving the cold and dangers of Siberia, continues to help Ewald make good decisions ––keeps him organized and alive!

Nanra had explained that the first three days of walking would be the toughest, and that each day I should digest a little of the ginseng root she had supplied. I pulled the plant out of my pocket and chewed on a small chunk. It didn't take much time to feel better. I felt my extremities becoming warmer almost instantly, and soreness disappeared as well. Good. One day down, and two more (with probable stiffness) to go. I stood up and shook off the excess snow from my clothes.

The white frigid dust spilled off me in all directions. I then flipped my hood back and slipped on my glasses. The lessening of glare helped me to scrutinize the landscape. As I said, it was flat. I surveyed my position by turning around 360 degrees, examining all the angles, making sure no wolves or humans were closing in. For sure, man was my deadliest adversary. He could use his intelligence to silently stalk me, jump me when I least expected it, rob me of my precious coat and boots, foodstuffs, killing me by just denying me my protection. So I was extremely cautious. It wasn't unheard of for an enemy to suddenly leap up from a camouflaged position, lurking under a light dusting of snow, to kill his prey. Thanks to Nanra, I also carried two sharp knives, one shorter than the other. But these hand weapons would be no good unless I could immediately un-sheath them when the need arose. She had placed them on my belt which I wore outside my coat, and had tested my reflex. I decided to learn through practice to use them quickly if needed. If I ran out of bullets I would need them in a matter of seconds. It just came down to my reflexes. Would I see an attack coming in time to defend myself? I again began trudging toward Germany, only thousands of kilometers to go, while the ginseng continued to buzz my muscles and mind. It was crazy. I actually felt warm in the sub-zero environment.

Around noontime of that second post-Nanra day, with the sun hanging mid-point between the ground and straight up, I spotted a large mound about 200 meters ahead. To be safe I approached with caution. At about twenty meters I spotted a boot jutting out of the snow. Was there a foot inside? Drifting around to the front I continued my examination. That's when I saw the hood with a frozen face. The man was obviously dead. The skin looked pale and white with icicles hanging from the hair. A death mask held up by a stiff body. Was I glaring at a preview of my own fate? Would I lose my way, get discouraged and sit somewhere too long? I checked to see if the dead man had anything that could help my journey. I had to allow for good fortune, if any was to be provided by fate. I pried open his hands to begin with, and watched as a locket fell quietly into the snow. Picking it up I clicked it open, and viewed a woman holding a baby while a small boy in fancy shirt and shorts stood by. Obviously his family. The man looked old enough to have been born around 1890 or so, older than me by maybe five to seven years, certainly old enough to have started a family. Of course they wouldn't know that he was now gone, would never return. On the back of the locket was engraved the word ‘Stuttgart’ and the date ‘1912.’ Hopes would still be strong for his return. The wife, a young woman in the picture – nice hair and fine features – might, at that very moment, be arguing with her mother or his mother, insisting that he would make it back alive. After all, he had promised! No matter how many other men had not! she’d argue. She was sure in her heart. No one was allowed to kick the ladder out from under her assertion. She just knew. Her love for the father of her children was that strong. But no. He would not return. And only I had that terrible information now. Only I knew the sad fate of this father and husband. But who would I...could I...ever tell, at least in time to make a difference? There was nothing else I could find on the body aside from prying his clothes off and that didn't seem like an effort I could afford. It made more sense to just take the locket. I think that seeing that man in stiff condition only propelled me forward with more determination.

Walking on ahead, I glanced back and watched as the Stuttgart man became just another rise on the horizon. The wind began to kick up, with snow spitting off the high points of the dead body. Night was settling in, so to move on was just stupid. I looked around the landscape and realized that my new dead friend was the only obstruction for as far as my eyes could see. If I wanted any protection from the weather it seemed prudent to return to his side and use the height of the body-mound as a wind-block. I trudged back and settled in, anchored my parka under the mound and pulled it over me, so that the blowing snowflakes would zip up and over and miss me in their full force. I nuzzled into the curve of the former living man and discovered that I got a strange sense of security from having a person (even the frozen kind) next to me. Even a body that was hard as stone still gave me a sense that I wasn't completely alone out there.

As darkness descended, the wind made the deep cold even more dangerous to my survival. I could see snow blowing by against the glowing sky, flakes speeding along with the power to cut a man down in minutes. Stuttgart was saving my life. Had he dropped dead a kilometer or two further down the road I would have been defenseless against such blizzard conditions.

As soon as I felt a small accumulation of body warmth return to my innards I removed a frozen pelmini dumpling and began the process of defrosting it for my dinner. Nanra had cooked fourteen – fourteen days of food – and so I could subtract my count for living days, now down to thirteen-days without fear of having nothing to eat. I again praised her for packing me out with such completeness. How could I have anchored my parka under frozen Stuttgart without my wife's hunting knife? How could I have been warm enough to survive the bitter cold without my warm hood and coat, the bear-fur cushioning my cheeks, scarf blocking wind, gloves saving my hands from frostbite or dead fingers? Even my wool socks – a second pair if wetness invaded my boots – kept me as positive as I could be. I blessed her (and my coming child) as I adjusted myself in my sleeping spot and sucked on a softening dinner dumpling.

***

The night was severe. Several times I had to punch the inside of the parka covering to disperse the buildup of snow overhead. How did I know it was time to do that? I could suddenly feel a weight pressing down on my face, a cold and wet pillow above me. As soon as that pressure was evident I woke up enough to fix the situation again and again. But overall I was very pleased with my makeshift hut with Stuttgart. As the day's first light began to glow through and below the parka, I knew that I would miss its coziness and protection. But every day was a mental game of grabbing opportunities, and then letting them go so I could proceed toward my goal of reaching Germany and home. Holding and letting go. Stop and go. I would need to remain so very flexible if I was to survive this frozen place and the physical journey of the walk. Thousands of kilometers lay ahead of me. It was no time to sluff off. So I broke the seal of my hideaway, flipped back the parka and took my first full look at the new morning.

My first observation was that the surface of the ground was completely smoothed out, the new snow having painted out all the cracks and uneven parts. With my first steps outside my lean-to I could see that it had snowed at least a foot. With the new depth I would now have more difficulty walking. So I mentally adjusted my goals, realizing that they would now need to be somewhat less. That's all. Whatever hand I was dealt was the truth of my moment. What good would it do to get angry with each new predicament? What good would it do to curse God every time I saw a snowstorm or a hungry wolf? My job was to deal with it all as best I could. Hadn't I got a better break than my friend Stuttgart? He had run out of options. I still had my faculties, my limbs and energy, food and good protection from the freezing cold. I even had a new family coming along every day. My new son, or daughter, was growing bigger every day, thriving inside the belly of my dear Nanra. What man had more?

Off I stepped again, trudging out into the vast flatness of Siberia – gave Stuttgart a pat goodbye. With a backwind that pressed against the parka from behind, I moved along with a good clip. Yes, the wind helped me that day. It whistled by, singing and drumming in my ears. How and why I felt positive in the face of basically certain death will always remain a mystery, but that's how it was. Then, suddenly, my mood turned dark. My mind decided to burden me with a particularly sad remembrance. Thinking of my parents again suddenly brought to mind a ruined moment between my father and me. Why the thought occurred at that very moment I do not know. I guess the satisfaction I’d been feeling about surviving gave way for the brain to spill out some unwanted poison. I hoped that by reliving it once again I would finally get rid of it forever.

I heard my father's voice, a certain time after descending the stairs, summoning me back to the top of the landing where he stood. Oh, what happiness! My dear daddy wanted me! My visit back from the Corps of the Emperor military school for Christmas holiday was proving a good thing. Perhaps now my father would think well of me, maybe even give me a show of affection that had seemed so impossible to obtain when I was previously living at home. I ran quickly to the base of the stairs, then headed up, leaping one rung to another, up toward my reward. Oh, I remember the joy. Joy! What greater happiness is there, to finally be given some validation? Some love! And now I was finally going to get mine. I had, in the past, witnessed the gleam in my mother's eyes as she gazed at my two older brothers, rewarding their efforts in school and on the playing field with a wide smile and nod of her head. Weren't they the fortunate ones, I’d thought, to have such steadfast backing? They had been made into full and nourished men by her adoration. Never so much for me, though, just the family runt – a shorter son by many inches than my big brothers. But maybe now? Was it finally my turn? Well, better late than never.

I reached the top stair and presented my best face and posture to my father. Before I could say a nice salutation, such as Good afternoon, father, or Good to see you today, Sir, I suddenly felt a hard blow to my face. The slap stunned me. I can only say that I was lucky not to have staggered backwards too far. A couple of inches more and I would have tumbled down the stairs – head smashed or neck broken by the fall. Dead, there and then, on the spot. If that had happened I would have surely missed the horrible war, and certainly this cold stroll through Siberia. In any case, his curt words followed.

Don't ever make such noise in the parlor again!

In my teary shock I watched as he turned his back, abruptly crossed the second floor landing, and closed his study door. Snow was still billowing down and across. I didn't stare directly at it but kept my slotted goggles trained ahead, keeping myself aligned toward what I perceived as my southern route. The sun came out for a while and raised my spirits. It helped to occasionally divert my eyes to my shadow tagging along beside me, undulating up and down over the slightly uneven snowdrifts. During those few hours of walking I was perhaps hypnotizing myself, forgetting as much of my past life as possible. How far had I come during the ‘father on stairs’ flashback? I had no idea. But when I snapped out of it, the landscape looked completely different. And immediate worries flooded back in. Where were the wolves? I could certainly understand their need for me. I was a meal for the taking. If I was a wolf it would have been a very happy experience to strip my skin off with sharp teeth, biting off ears, fingers, toes, and gulping down soft stomach flesh. But as a human I had a different job to accomplish. I needed to present myself once again to my mother and father. Perhaps this time I would get some respect, some love, just for surviving the war. But why would I return for more parental abuse? Why couldn’t I just accept that my parents loved my older brothers more than me? I don’t know. I needed to test their feelings again. That’s all. I had to risk my validity once more. So sorry, wolves. To eat me would be unacceptable to my plan. My pain would have to come from somewhere besides your sharp teeth.

The sky darkened quite quickly, the air temperature dropping instantly by at least ten degrees. Such weather boggled the mind. Even as I bundled up tighter, picked up my pace and scoured the landscape for my next nightly resting spot, I gave praise to the mystery of nature. If only I could find another Stuttgart. Strange to miss a long dead and frozen human body. But I did. He had been a good friend, to protect me so well from the brutal cold. I got maybe another one-half kilometer before night started accelerating. It would be totally dark within minutes. I looked to both sides, making sure I hadn't missed some opportunity for shelter. Nothing. Just a completely flat landscape for kilometers and kilometers. So my walking stick would be essential for survival. Nanra-wife had insisted I take it along, even though I had explained that I wasn't, as yet, an old man. She said it would probably be needed as not only a weapon against wolves, but also as a tent pole. The heaviness of it – the extra weight had seemed burdensome – would now become an asset. And I guess my arms had become stronger because of wielding it for several days. Anyway, I got to work.

The brace and bit she had added to my pack before leaving had also seemed extra weight to carry. But now I bowed to her wisdom. With several turns of the handle I was able to create a hole in the icy, hard-pack ground. When I guided the end of my walking stick into the depression I found it was a perfect fit! My magical wife had thought of everything! With parka slung over the stick, I soon had my shelter.

After aiming the parka opening in the direction the wind was going I then used her small hatchet to pound in tent pegs around the parka’s edges. cinching down the flaps that carried grommet holes (she had supplied all these things!). Crawling inside and lacing up the parka opening, I used my flint stone and hunting knife to shave sparks onto the hairy plant-stuff Nanra had filled my pockets with for just such an occasion. She had said that my puffed up pockets, filled to capacity, as they were with plant-hair, would give me about two weeks of fire-starter. She had cautioned me to watch for more plant-hair as I traveled along, to replenish it, but all I'd seen so far was snow and ice. At any rate, I now had warmth as well – a new-home enclosure with heat – someplace to shield myself from a night of probable 30-degrees-below-zero cold.

Nanra had also supplied me with a quiver full of small split logs (carrying them had given me a hunched-over peasant look I’m sure). As I removed my gloves and felt the flames from the fire, I imagined her next to me, her lovely face glowing back toward the hot embers. How I missed my magician-lover. How I missed the soon-to-be-mother of my child. As the memories of our so-short life together came to mind that third night, I realized that those thoughts were also logs of fuel for my survival. For now I could warm myself with almost just that love...if I concentrated properly. Whenever it was that I ran out of supplies – eventually that would happen – I would need to prepare myself for that particular exercise, imagining her to generate heat against the cold.

Laying down on a tarp of animal skin (Nanra-gift...), my head inside the furry hood of my coat, I fell asleep.

5.

Day-four morning arrived in an instant. The dawn light fluttering through the parka with the bursts of wind that crossed the Siberian plains and shook the material. There was only a dark stain on the snow where my little fire had been burning. Looking out, I could see that the speed of wind had accelerated. Snow dust was blowing hard and fast over everything. For a minute I wondered if I should just stay put and wait for quieter weather, but words from Nanra jumped into my head. She had given much advice, and had addressed that very situation. While I contemplated to stay or go, her instructions had been clear on the subject. You must move every day, no matter what the weather conditions, or you will die. Even one-tenth of a kilometer is progress.

OK.

And if I hadn't understood her lesson clearly enough, she had added the particulars, given me a list of actual orders for getting myself activated (some was written in tribal words she had taught me, some in Russian words we both knew, some shown in tiny pictures she had drawn):

Tighten your hood.
Pack.
Slip on your backpack.
Adjust your slit goggles.
Slide on your gloves.
Pull out pegs around the parka-tent. Disconnect parka from the pole. Put on parka.

So I did all that, wrapped my parka around me, tied it off and got myself moving again. After a few steps it dawned on me that I must remember to make a mark – 4 notches now – somewhere on my belt or stick each day, so that I would know it when I hit eight months (she was already a month along). There would only be 236 more grooves needed before I became a father. There would be a child of mine that I would not see born. And he or she would never know me. A fatherless child.

(To be continued…)

(COLD/Posting #6 next)