ENTRY A - Part One
Suggested Subjects: Water, Fire, Wind, Earth.
He had always been a duffer at all kinds of sport. He was too slow, too clumsy, too big somehow. He did not mind much, and found his pleasure and escape in reading, sometimes to his parent’s despair – they thought a boy should be out playing. The Eleven plus exams were approaching, and he was expected to do well.
That winter it got unusually cold. There was no snow to speak of, just day after day of freezing temperatures. Gradually the living waters of lakes, ponds and small streams turned solid, unforgiving, lifeless. One day his parents produced a pair of skates: the nearby lake had been declared safe for skating, would he like to try? He shrugged his shoulders – no doubt here was more failure coming, but he was accustomed to that.
Down on the ice he put on the skates and took his first sliding steps, expecting to sit down any moment. To his surprise he stayed upright. Cautiously he tried out the experiment of digging one toe in as his mother had explained and found himself, not only still upright, but turning and skating backwards in proper fashion. From then on there was no hesitation in his mind. Soon he was skating with confidence and speed out on the open lake. From then on every day, every hour he could snatch was spent on the ice; books, exams, homework, all forgotten in his joy in this new element.
One day as he was speeding along, the ice betrayed him. A slight unevenness sent him flying through the air. He had time to think of all the possible consequences: at the very least a bruising fall, maybe broken bones, concussion, a broken back . . . . he landed light as a feather, as thistledown; felt no impact at all, just the friction of sliding flat on his back along the ice for 10 yards or so until he came to rest against the reeds. Though it was cold, it was a still and sunny day, and he was happy just to lie there, marvelling at the miracle of a surface so unyielding and yet so gentle.
The reeds that grew around the lake were cut every few years in winter, usually from a boat, but this year more easily from the ice. The best was used for thatching; the rest was burnt, piled into great wigwams. Because it had been a very dry season they burnt easily, with a quick, hot, bright flame. He liked to watch them, the flicker of the leaping flames among the fragile reed-stalks, enjoying the brief warmth they gave.
One day he overheard his parents talking quietly about a rumour they had heard. After one such fire a small boy was missing, and it was feared that he had crawled into the reeds, and had perished in the flames. For many years after, into adulthood, this would come into his mind whenever he could not sleep at night. Had the little boy died quickly, overcome by smoke and shock? Or . . . .?
He never found out if the rumour was true. He never spoke to his parents about it.
One day he was on the ice with a friend, who dared him to try skating right across to the other side of the lake and back. They set out in mid afternoon, and crossed the ice with marvellous speed and ease, flying along on the wind. When they came to the other side and turned round to go back, it was as though they had hit a wall. It had been blowing fairly briskly when they set out, with the wind coming from behind; now it was blowing a gale, and they had to skate right into it. There was no other way of getting back, and it was getting late. Clouds were coming up, threatening even earlier darkness than could be expected on a winter’s afternoon. Determinedly they set out, into the gale. Out in the middle of the lake the wind was a living monster, tearing at their scarves, their coats, blowing the tears from their eyes, from their cheekbones; at times nearly blowing them backwards. All the time it grew darker and they started worrying about getting disoriented and lost in the howling fury. They could still just make out the lights they were heading for, but by the time they got back, it was completely dark, and everybody else had left the ice. They did get back home just in time for dinner, just in time not to be badly missed, with cheeks burning and stinging from the cold wind.
Though he did not realise it at the time, this was the beginning of the end of his time on the ice. The gale brought milder, wetter weather, with snow that would fall on the ice, thaw in the daytime and freeze at night, making the surface difficult. Also at times now there would be the sound as of gunshot echoing across the lake – the ice was beginning to move and break up. One day all access to the ice was banned, and he could only watch as the hard, safe, dependable ice turned back into soft, treacherous, deadly water. He knew that the chances of such another winter were poor. Life would never be the same again, ever.
His birthday came, and with it a heavy parcel. He opened it to find a pair of roller-skates. This was something he just had not thought of. He could barely wait to get out into the street to try them out.
Of course it was not the same – a different way of moving, slower, needing more effort, above all noisy. Still, some of the same glory was there. He grinned up at the sun. He had had a wonderful gift, experiencing the wild kingdoms of wind and ice. This was more down to earth. But, above all, it was on earth, good old reliable, permanent earth, and his life need never be the same again.
It was enough, it would serve.