The Swim in the Ice Pool

There she stood on the ice at the edge of a turqoise-blue pool mentally preparing herself to dive in. Gofu had a large animal-skin satchel fastened tightly closed around her tools and strapped to her belly. It would create a little drag while she was swimming but not enough to slow her down. She’d done this before but it always shocked her how cold a melt-off pool could be. She looked around her at the white ice rising in peaks, cupping the water in the center like a frozen claw. Gofu had a thick, double-fur pelt that was nearly waterproof, like a polar bear’s, and underneath it dark black skin to absorb the sun’s warmth. She took a deep breath, leaned forward, and dove in. The water was so cold it bit her face and hands, chest and feet. The water rippled out from where she entered it. She surfaced once to gasp at the cold and breathe in as deeply as she could before she dove deep. Once under water, the cold holding her breath in like a mask, she turned downward and began to paddle. She always loved the sensation of moving through the space and feeling the power rippling in her shoulder and arm muscles, thighs tight, controlling every kick. She swam to the bottom of the crystal clear pool and let out some of her breath in a burst of bubbles. She didn’t love having to sacrifice precious air in order to lower buoyancy, but she knew she could hold the rest of the air in her lungs for about an hour. The cold would drive her out of the water before her aching lungs would. When she reached the solid ice along the floor of the pool she opened her satchel and pulled out a roughly made paddle-shaped steel scraper that glinted along the top edge where it was sharpened. She pushed herself down so she could see the ice up close and began to scrape strips of it off and tuck them into her satchel. The guard hairs of her fur waved back and forth dancing with her movements.

When Gofu returned to her camp in the forest at the foot of the ice hills, she lit a fire and opened her satchel. The strips she had scraped from the bottom of the pool were not melted but instead had taken on a light blue color and rubbery texture. Opda, the food of the fey, so her aunt said. The pieces were still cold to the touch. The amount she had harvested would feed her and her clan for a few weeks if she prepared them properly so they didn’t spoil. She pulled a smaller satchel down from the top of a nearby tree and pulled out one of the paper-wrapped packages that filled the bag. Inside was a smooth lump of hard, cream-colored bear fat which she dropped into a metal pot and set near the fire to melt. When the fat was liquid, Gofu sat on a blanket in the front of the opening of her tent and slid the pot closer to her work area. She picked up a piece of opda about the size of her hand and quickly dipped it in the fat then set it aside on a block of ice where it could cool. Her movements were quick and practiced. The fat solidified into an even, protective layer. Once cooled completely, she would wrap each piece of coated opda in a square of rough paper and tie it tightly with twine. She worked and watched the sky breathe colors over the ice hills as they swallowed up the sun.

Photo Credit Dirk Spijkers on Unsplash

the cottage

Dramatis personæ et animalium:

Tangerine Amadeus – a small cat

Vivian – her owner who has lost her mind

Trefoil – Vivian’s Cashmere goat and Tangerine’s best friend

Oatmeal – Vivian’s guinea pig (non-appearance this snippet)

Drippet – Vivian’s bunny; Oatmeal’s friend (non-appearance this snippet)

Carmine – a homeless cat who hangs around sometimes and steals Tangerine’s food

 

Setting: They live together in a river stone cottage with three acres of land covered in wildflowers, clover, and aspen trees. They have two neighbors, one on either side, who also live in river stone cottages.

 

Story: The afternoon sunlight is honey-yellow and shines softly through the lace curtains across the windows above the one-basin sink in the kitchenette. Vivian sits at the card table-size dinner table and scratches funny shapes into a wooden disc with a bent fork. She doesn’t look at the work in her hands, merely gazes vacantly at a spot next to the window on the wall. Tangerine curls around her toes, mewing to go outside where Trefoil the goat chews his food. Vivian continues scratching her cryptic glyphs. Tange tries again, climbs up on the table and catches Vivian’s drawing hand with her paw, stopping the motion. Vivian looks hard at the cat, eyes focusing and says, “oh.” Tange bounds off the table, knowing she will get her way, finally. When Vivian opens the door, she stares at a post in her front lawn until long after the cat has joined Trefoil in the wildflowers and the honey-yellow sun has deepened to burnt amber gold. Carmine has already been in and out for supper.