A Tale of Two Timelines

February, 1948 -

St. Moritz, Switzerland

The crowd gathered closely around the boards of the outdoor skating rink. Men in wool overcoats and leather gloves slapped the wood of the barriers, calling out the names they'd read in their local newspaper to see if any of the players would look in their direction. It was the first Olympic Games held since the end of the war. It was both exciting and yet remnants of the horrors still lingered in the pale faces, thin frames and tattered clothing of the participants from nearly every country.

Josef Bergeron heard his name called out a few times, but not as often as his teammates. He wasn't one of the better players, but he'd earned his spot. He knew how lucky he was to have the opportunity to play hockey, and at the Olympic level, for his country. It was something so normal, and yet, so cherished now that the world had experienced hell together. In the depths of the war, while he remained captured by the enemy, would he have believed he'd play a game like this again? No. It was unfathomable.

He gripped his hockey stick tightly, focusing on the puck and blocking out the noise. He hadn't eaten anything that day despite the coach's urging. He was too nervous. Being back in Europe so soon after the war was giving him anxiety. He knew that Germany and Japan were barred from these Olympic games, but that was only of little comfort to his anxious mind. The crowds, the shouting, the mountains in the background, it all brought him back.

He tried to remind himself that all of his teammates were in the same boat; they were all part of the Canadian Air Force and had all fought alongside him. Many had their planes downed over Germany or Poland along with Josef's. A few had shared the experience of the POW camp he'd been held at. But he tried to remind himself that they were the lucky ones, they'd survived, and could play a game so innocent such as hockey, surrounded by 5,000 Swiss spectators in the gold medal game. How utterly bizarre life was.

The ice conditions were horrendous. Josef's blade of his skate kept lagging in the soft ice. Puddles formed in lower areas from the mild weather and overuse of the rink. The game dragged on. Unfair penalties from the referee were adding up while cheers from the Swiss crowd were getting louder. It was clear the game was in favour of the Canadians winning, making the referee and and the Swiss team angrier with every minute left. In the third period, with a score of 3 - 0 for Canada, the crowd became unruly. Snowballs rained down on them, hitting players from both teams in the chaos, and anger erupted both on and off the ice. The clock ran out, the bell signaled the end and the Canadian team threw up their sticks and gloves in celebration. It wasn't how Josef had imagined winning, but it was a win nonetheless. A gold medal for his country. The chaos caused Josef's anxiety to resurface as they hauled his team off the ice and into safety from the upset crowd. He turned just as a snowball hit him square in the jaw, loosening his front tooth. He spat blood into the snow, staring at the red streaks against the white, oddly resembling the Canadian flag. He longed to go back home.

April, 1948 -

Outskirts of Ottawa, ON, Canada

After an exhausting and exhilarating trip and homecoming, Josef arrived at dusk to his small town to a banner at the entrance of the main street, and all the people he'd grown up with (that had made it out of the war), his parents' friends, past teachers and his family clapping. It was a small community and they all knew him by name. He sheepishly waived and awkwardly put his hands in his pockets of his olive coloured slacks. A little boy with a pageboy hat and torn hockey jersey held out his hockey stick with a pen for his autograph. Outwardly, Josef seemed humbled and amused by the showering of attention, however, somewhere deep inside he couldn't let go of the horrors of his past. It was a different time now, a new beginning, and people were eager to forget, but he couldn't. It suddenly felt silly to be awarded such praise for a game he enjoyed playing, when the true heroes had mostly perished just a few years ago. He walked through the streets of cheers and felt the need to escape into the quiet of the woods. He followed the trail behind the library through the path that bordered the skating pond where he'd played hockey as a child with his brother Jean-Francois (JF for short). The pond's ice was receding. Soon the flooding would take over the area, spilling into the nearby streets. Josef stopped to look out across the pond, reminiscing about his childhood days with JF. How he longed to go back to that innocence, before the reality that became his nightmares.

March, 1954 -

Outskirts of Ottawa, ON, Canada

Josef and his wife Gabrielle walked hand in hand along the pathway to the pond. Their four year old son, Charles, stumbled ahead of them with his hockey skates dangling over his shoulders. Josef carried his skates and two hockey sticks. He had been teaching Charles how to play hockey, even at his young age. Gabrielle liked to circle around them as they practiced, making figure eights with her toe pick dragging behind. March's full moon hung low and buttery yellow in the sky. Gabrielle laced up her skates and stepped onto the ice, noticing it was quite soft. They wouldn't have many more evenings out here before the spring thaw. She felt as though she were living in a Norman Rockwell painting as she glided across the pond towards her family. Her red wool hat overstuffed with her curly copper hair and her matching mittens kept her warm.

"Papa! I got a goal!" Charles' voice echoed over the open ice. Gabrielle clapped her mitts together and stumbled on a soft groove, knocking her over.

"Gabrielle, is your head alright?" Josef skated towards her, looking into her viridescent eyes, searching for signs of concussion. She smiled back and brushed him off.

"I'm fine, keep skating with your boy." They both looked up to where Josef had left Charles. The space was empty.

"Charles?!" Josef yelled out.

Gabrielle got to her feet, "look!" She pointed.

Charles had skated to the centre of the pond, calling to them both.

"Look at me!" He waved.

Josef began skating towards him. The ice groaned under his feet, his skate dragged in a soft spot, bringing him back to the gold medal game in Switzerland; the soft ice, the chaos of the crowd, the noise.

Josef called out to his son, "Charles don't move. I'm coming!"

Charles was showing off his skills to impress his Papa. He began skating towards Josef with a wide grin on his face. He looked like his Uncle JF in that moment, back when he and Josef were kids. Determined. No fear. The ice cracked again. Josef quickened his pace. Gabrielle held her breath along the shore. Her red mittens covering her face.

A snapping sound rang out into the air, like a branch had broken from a tree, but it was the ice. Charles disappeared into the newly opened water and Josef slid towards the hole seeing the dark object just below the surface. As he bent to pull him out, the ice cracked under his weight and he, too, went under. Into the cold dark water he felt around. He touched what he thought was fabric but it was too dark to see. As he reached the surface for breath he realized he'd drifted away from the opening. Panicked he felt along the top of the ice until he could feel his fingers push up into the open air. Josef gasped for breath. He could hear Gabrielle screaming from the shore. He went under again but it was so dark. This time he couldn't feel or see anything. His muscles were seizing from the cold. He knew he needed to resurface again soon, but how? How could he come up without Charles? It was just so dark. There were no movements. No air bubbles. He didn't know what else to do.

Gabrielle's screams had summoned nearby neighbours who had alerted the fire department and the sirens began blaring. Josef managed to pull himself out of the water and lay on the ice. His blurred vision could see men running toward him. Suddenly he was back in the war, after his plane had gone down, watching the enemy approach. He coughed up water. His muscles contracted. Men were shouting and looking into the open space. The ice cracked more. There was chaos and shouting, everyone looking for Charles. Josef crawled towards the edge of the pond. He could see Gabrielle 100 feet away, screaming and thrashing. Two police officers were holding her down. Josef stood up, still in his hockey skates, and wiped the water from his eyes. He could hear the bombers flying low, the foreign accents calling out, grabbing his head to make it stop he kicked his skates off and turned towards the silence of the trees. If he could only get some space, he could figure out what was happening.

A sickening sadness blanketed the small town that early morning. Police officers and army vets scoured the woods for Josef. Finally they found him, huddled amongst a cluster of birch trees. His hands were clasped over his ears.

"Josef!" The men called but all he could hear was the Germans shouting. As the men approached they could see Josef's mouth moving, and leaned in grasping at his blue fingers to help him up. "makeitstopmakeitstopmaketistop." He mumbled repeatedly with wild eyes, his muscles twitching. The men dragged him from the forest as he moaned in agony. The sounds rippled out the way a dying animal's cries carry through the forest, alerting the others of the kill.

Josef woke in a single bed in what appeared to be a hospital room. The mint green walls rose high up to a stained white ceiling. A rusted radiator spit out heat under the window across the room, but he could not get warm. He remembered the pond, and Charles. The blackness in the water. He winced at the memory of Gabrielle's screams. How could he have let his son go? Gabrielle would never forgive him. Josef turned to look out the window. The peaks of rooftops had melting frost as the sun grew higher in the sky. He saw his life in two storylines, two alternate universes. One storyline was his first trip to Europe. War and suffering. That would be the story he'd place this tragedy in. Then there was this other life he'd lived. His second trip to Europe. A team of young men winning an Olympic gold medal, and travelling from country to country playing exhibition games before making the trip back home. That storyline was full of laughter and joy. Memories of Charles and Gabrielle are placed in that timeline. It was a happy life. As he contemplated this he felt someone step into the room and stand beside him. He turned to see Gabrielle. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and her hands trembled as she reached out to hold Josef's. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't find the words. His life was the gold medal hockey game; fighting to win, and finding joy amongst the chaos. Obstacles reining down on him, poor conditions, but he was sent there to win, and he had. He squeezed Gabrielle's hand and knew they would someday find joy again.