Ushuaia

I went again today to the lighthouse, and made the mistake of wandering too far, seduced by all that white. In the summer, the lighthouse is on an island, but from July to November the salt water freezes thick enough to walk on. I’d only ever seen it frozen, so I didn’t brace myself when my right leg went through to the hip, and I toppled so abjectly that head slung forward and my nose cracked in two on the ice. Then, trying to lift myself out of the trap, my other leg plunged through and I was left encased to the hips, pinned by the weight of the snow and the splay of my legs, watching roses budding in the snow.

I rested, to slow my mind and gather strength, let the burning flow out of my legs. I listened to the sound of the wind over the ice, watching the slow pant of my own breath crystallize and fall. Apart from that, there was nothing. The small declivity I was in hid the lighthouse and the sea, the tourists and their brightly colored coats. The sky was grey and even, the earth a crisp white, and my legs numb as I could ever have hoped.

Warmth crept out from my chest, made me drowsy, and I wandered into a dream. I saw a twig protruding from some buried bush; a teardrop of blue hung on the horizon. High over my head a seagull circled, a speck of grey moving against the grey, slow as a hypnotist.

I slipped further, comfortable for the first time in a year. My life seemed a quiet and a calm thing. I yawned, and settled. Then, something was erased. I didn’t know what, because it was gone, but I felt a subtle lightening. Maybe I knew I was dying, and that my last vision wasn’t of you, but of that small patch of sky. What did you see? Or have you decided never to answer me?

I lay there for a long time. Then, about to fall asleep, I heard a scuffling behind me, and I felt two hands pulling at my parka, and my eyes began to open. The guide pulled me out of the snow, led me back up the small hill and sat me in the bus beside the heater, took off my boots and unzipped my jacket. “Why don’t you call me for help?” she asked. “I’m fine,” I told her, still dreaming. “Don’t worry.”