Tunnels & Homes of the Evanai

It was the third time Patrick had gone upstairs to check on the roof since the three of them had eaten supper. He was trying to keep himself from climbing those five stories more than once every two hours, but it was going to be difficult now that Heather & Josiah were asleep. She had given out shortly after they’d put the baby to bed & he was glad for that. She needed the rest. Seventy-two straight hours of record-breaking snowfall & blizzard conditions were putting everyone in the apartment complex on edge.

They could no longer watch the storm from their third-story window as it was completely frosted over. They’d opened it once during the day just long enough to see how deep the snow had become. At that time, almost eight hours ago, it was less than three feet beneath their windowsill. No telling how deep it was by now.

Over the last twenty-four hours, going to the roof had become Patrick’s thing, his way of protecting & taking care of his family. Making sure the snow had not become so heavy as to bring the roof down was important. So was making sure the sewer vents were clear. Of course, it wasn’t just his responsibility. There were others keeping an eye on things. But this was something he needed to do. It gave him a sense of agency in this time of crisis when it seemed there was little else that could be done.

That had been his primary reason for returning to the roof so often—until late that afternoon. He’d been on the east side where the building provided some shelter for the yard below. The snow fell more gently there. He could see a little further. He could even make out certain contours & shadows in the drifts beneath him. It was beautiful. A part of him just wanted to stay & take it all in.

Of course, he had to be careful. The roof was a sheet of solid ice. If it hadn’t been for the foot or so of snow covering most of it & wind speeds of fifty to seventy miles per hour, it might have made a nice skating rink—their own frozen pond. Instead, he kept a firm grip on the parapet wall in front of him, bracing himself against wind gusts which threatened to carry him right over the side.

And then he saw something.

At least he thought he had. It had only been for a moment—a dark figure trudging through an otherwise sea of white. Everyone told him he was just seeing things, even Heather. So, he’d dropped it. But the wind had been at his back. There had been nothing in his eyes. And now his desire to take to the roof was stronger than ever.

Not that there was much chance he’d see anything in the middle of the night, or that anything would be wandering around with the temperatures hovering around thirty-five degrees below zero & wind chills far below that. But this was a vigil he wanted to keep. And with Heather & Josiah sound asleep, he could.

Of course, he couldn’t stay out very long & warming up was a process. Back down on the seventh floor, Patrick would remove his winter gear, lay it out & allow it to thaw. Then he would descend to their apartment, get something to drink, use the bathroom, check on his family, give them each a kiss, & head back upstairs. If nothing else, that climb got him nicely warmed. The only thing left was to stop sweating before suiting up & heading out to the roof again.

Each of these cycles took about an hour. It was his seventh time out since Heather & Josiah had fallen asleep, around four o’clock in the morning. He was peering through his binoculars & was just about to give up—maybe even head to bed—when he saw it. Passing through the faint light from a fourth story window & barely casting a shadow, a dark figure, not more than five & a half feet tall, slender yet steady despite all the snow & wind.

Patrick couldn’t see their face or hands, only that they were wearing a long black coat with the hood pulled over their head, & sneakers—retro. It didn’t seem possible such meager attire could protect anyone under these conditions, even on this side of the building, yet they seemed comfortable & at ease, as though they knew, not just how to survive, but how to thrive in such weather.

He was mesmerized, trying to understand this apparition, when the figure stopped & looked up at him. This unnerved Patrick just enough to cause him to step back where he slipped on the ice. He lost his grip on the parapet wall as he fell backward into the wind which suddenly gusted, lifting him off his feet…

…& this one did carry him over the edge, dropping him over five stories into the snow below.

Not that Patrick had ever considered stunt work, but with a single puff of snow rising from where he landed, he understood how they could fall from the top of a building & not get hurt. That is, he understood once he woke up. He passed out on the way down. And it’s not that he didn’t get hurt. His binoculars hit him right between the eyes.

He awakened to find the stranger standing over him, digging him out. Her face was weathered beyond her years yet oddly attractive. Her hair was long & black, mostly tucked inside her hood but with a few strands whipping across her face. Her eyes were focused, firm & filled with a wisdom he could not understand.

She checked the lump on his forehead, took some salve & rubbed it in. Her hands were leathery, no stranger to hard work, but also gentle & maternal.

She checked his arms, legs & torso, seemingly for broken bones or other injuries, but he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t heard her speak. When she appeared satisfied, she stood up, held her hand out to him, & said, “p’hng gl tk m.”

Assuming she wanted him to take her hand, he did so & she helped him to his feet. She took a few steps, then turned & said, “fl m,” indicating with her hand & head that he should follow. He had no idea where she was taking him other than away from the building, but he thought it best not to lose her.

Patrick struggled to keep up. For him, winter was about shoveling sidewalks & plowing streets. He’d never had to walk through snow that was fresh & over thirty feet deep. He fell repeatedly, lost sight of her, she would find him, get him up & go again.

Finally, she stopped & pointed to her feet. “fl fm.” She took a short step, pointed & said again, “fl fm.” She took another step, but this time she pointed to his foot, then to the footprint she had just left & said once more, “fl fm.”

She wanted him to follow in her footsteps? He lifted his foot & set it down in her track. She nodded, said, “fl fm,” one more time, then resumed their walk into the storm. Through it all, she never raised her voice or appeared angry. But the look in her eyes was both pure & resolute, its meaning unmistakable: “This is serious. Do as I say, or you will die out here.”

As he followed, he noticed a couple of things. First, it was so much easier to walk this way. He didn’t fall anymore, & somehow the storm seemed less vicious & cold. He began to identify with the servant who followed “Good King Wenceslas”—“heat was in the very sod which the saint had dinted!”

Second, he realized she wasn’t wearing retro sneakers. They were boots made from skins which she had decorated, not just once but repeatedly. There were layers to their adornment which fascinated him, symbols & totems the meanings of which he could only guess. The professor in him was tempted to forget the epic storm in which they were engulfed for want of getting to learn everything he could from her.

“p’hng blm,” she announced, indicating she wanted him to come up next to her. As Patrick joined her, she pointed to the snow in front of them. “h,” she said, pointing with one hand while pushing on his back with the other. When he seemed puzzled & failed to respond to her instructions, she repeated herself. “h.”

Patrick still couldn’t see anything but snow, yet she seemed to think something was there. He bent over to look where she was pointing but couldn’t make anything out. So, she knelt in the snow & pointed directly in front of her, repeating, “h,” over & over as she pulled on his leg.

She directed him to kneel in front of her & look forward, pointing over his shoulder. Once he was there, he saw the opening to a small tunnel. He didn’t bother to ask any questions. She seemed quite adamant he should crawl through as she kept pushing him forward by his hind end. So, he did.

They didn’t have to crawl far before he saw light. The tunnel itself was little more than an entryway & windbreak for the room in which he soon found himself. A man was inside, dressed in very much the same manner as the woman who rescued him, but with his hood removed. As she entered, he opened his arms to her & said, “lmw!” She responded with, “lmw!” as they embraced.

“I see you brought home another stray,” the man said, giving Patrick the once over.

“flmuf!” she replied, with an affectionately dismissive smile.

“You speak English,” Patrick interjected with some surprise as well as relief.

“Yes, we both do. My wife just refuses to speak anything but lmt or Evanesce. She claims all other languages are to blame for mullmt’s current fever & distress.”

“Mull…?”

“mullmt. The Great Mother or Mother Earth. People have forgotten her, pretended she is not their mother & made her sick. The fires to the west & drought to the east are symptoms of her fever. You might say this storm is mullmt blowing her nose & coughing up phlegm. We felt her distress & knew we would be needed to help remember what has been forgotten.”

“I see. So, what is a fl-…, fl-…, fl-muf? What did she say about me?”

“She called you a lemming,” he said with a hearty chuckle. “In truth, she was complimenting & teasing you at the same time. You were easy to help. Not everyone is. I think she’s become quite fond of you.”

She gave Patrick a wink & a coy smile.

“You said that you came to help us remember. Remember what?”

“What has been forgotten.”

“And what is that?” Patrick asked, becoming a bit frustrated with his oblique answers.

“That we are family, sisters & brothers, mothers & fathers, sons & daughters all.”

“But why here & why now? Why didn’t you show yourselves before yesterday?”

“We didn’t show ourselves. You saw us.”

“ǁ,” she clicked with the side of her tongue.

“Because our people are here,” he continued, “sisters & brothers who are like lemmings with no one to follow. And because we have been waiting for you.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because you are the one who saw, you are the one who fell, & you are the one the rest will follow.”

“The rest? You mean you’ve found others?”