The Mountainside

Many, many years ago, when tigers used to smoke, there lived an old man on a mountain. He lived in a secluded cabin far, far away from any other people. He was happy there alone with nothing but his own thoughts. Until he met her. Life became brighter.

His beautiful wife, a lovely creature, all smiles and sunshine, pretty blonde curls, blue eyes the color of the clear running mountain stream that flowed past their cabin. Her voice as soft and sweet as the tufted titmouse, she would sing all day while she worked around the cabin. He could hear her songs when he was doing the outside chores and his heart would soar.

Since the day they had first met, in a church in the valley, love had blossomed and grown as the years went by. They seldom saw other people, and seldom went into town. The two of them were happy just being alone together on the top of the mountain.

After that first Sunday all they could think of was one another. The next Sunday, after the service ended, after all the congregants had greeted one another, after everyone had shaken the preacher’s hand, when the parking lot was empty, and no one remained but the two of them they stood, six feet apart. Neither had spoken to the other. There were no words that needed to be spoken. They knew.

He turned and began to walk towards his old pick up truck. She just stood there staring at him. A sad smile on her face.

He reached his truck, opened the squeaky passenger door, turned to her and said, “Well, are you coming or not?”

A smile broke out on her face, so bright, so shiny, so wide he thought his eyes would burst out of his head. His heart soared as she took first one step and then another. The closer she came the lighter his heart became. He could feel the love radiating off her. She stepped up into the truck seat and settled back as if that truck seat had been made just for her.

The cab of the truck was warm even though the sky was cloudy, and a cool mist fell. By the time they reached his cabin the desire between them had grown exponentially. On the ride, somehow, without words, their souls had joined into one. It was as if they were the other part of the other. They were one person from that moment on.

He never knew her name. She never knew his. He called her, “woman”, almost reverently. She simply called him, “husband.” Years later they migrated to pet names such as, “baby”, “honey”, and other meaningless words that meant everything to them.

They worked side-by-side for years. Their love never waned; they never spoke a cross word to one another. It was as if their union had been ordained by God, although neither one was particularly religious. All the salvation they needed was found in one another.

Each day was a new adventure. Sometimes they didn’t speak for days. Each knew in their heart what the other was thinking and reacted accordingly. Their lovemaking was passionate and fiery, and they became one. Their love was the most perfect under the heavens. Had Adam and Eve, Antony and Cleopatra, Romeo and Juliet, and all the great couples thought history been on the mountain they all would have envied this couple.

Years passed by slowly and at the same time way too fast. They treasured every minute they were together and not a moment was wasted.

Over the years his beard grew white, along with his hair. Hers stayed bright and blonde and shiny. Their eyesight grew strained, but they only saw one another and that view never changed. His back became bowed from years of hard work, but he never complained. Her hands shook but she still massaged his tired, aching muscles at the end of the day.

He picked wildflowers for her from the mountainside and she thought she’d rather have that flower arrangement than the most expensive gift he could buy from the most expensive store in the biggest city.

Every meal she cooked for him would surpass any gourmet meal ordered from the finest restaurant anywhere in the world. He savored every bite and never failed to tell her how delicious the food was and never forgot to thank her for her hard work.

The days passed ordered and serene but there was an excitement and a spark whenever they touched or heard one another’s voice.

It had been years since they had made a trip into the valley. He often wondered if his old truck would even start after so long. But there was never a need to go down the mountain. Everything they needed was right there at the mountain top. As long as they had one another, life was perfect.

The seasons passed, day by day, month upon month, year after year. They braved the weather whatever it brought. On cold days they would stay inside the cabin by the fire. They would hold hands as they read books.

Time was their friend. And their enemy. Somewhere way back in their minds they knew that someday this bliss would end. They had talked about it. They had a plan. When it was time for one of them to go, they would lie side-by-side on their bed, hold hands and quietly, silently say goodbye, I love you and drift off.

That was the plan, but plans don’t always work out the way you want them to.

One day, like today, it was bitterly cold, snow piled high against the side of the cabin. The windows were frosted from the outside cold and the inside warmth. But the firewood was running low, so he dressed in layers of clothes and went outside to gather logs from the woodpile.

For the first time in many, many years he had walked out of the door without saying, I love you, and giving her a kiss. That was a mistake. One that he would regret for the rest of his days. It was the first day in years that tears had run from his eyes. It wouldn’t be the last time.

When her husband went through the door she said, “I love you!” out loud. He never heard those words as the wind and snow whipped past him. If only he had heard. If only she had called him back. But the moment was done, and they’d never get another chance.

And while he fought the snowdrifts, she realized that the water pipes had frozen and they had no water for the house. So, she too bundled in many layers of clothes, covered her head, and put on her gloves. She grabbed two buckets and made her way to the stream to get water.

She slogged through the snow at a snail’s pace until she finally reached what she thought was the edge of the stream. The snow had covered the banks though and the ice would not hold her weight. She fell through the thin ice and slipped under the water. The current caught her and with the weight of her layers of clothing she floated down the stream, under the ice, and drowned.

Her body wasn’t found until the next Spring.

Today is just like that day. Snow piled high, wind howling, tears flow down his cheeks as he dresses warmly. Layer upon layer of clothes. It feels like he is wearing a ton of clothes.

He steps out of the door, leaving it open. He makes his way down to the stream battling the knee-high snow.

He reaches the edge of the stream. It is bitterly cold. He shivers and he cries for his lost love.

He continues to walk until he is at the middle of the stream.

He stands there for a moment. He whispers, “Here I come, my love.”

He stomps as hard as he can on the ice. Once, Twice, Three times and the ice shatters. He falls through into the freezing cold water and is caught in the current of the swift stream. His heavy clothes hold him down as he slips under the ice.

He does not fight or struggle.

His last thought was of his beautiful woman.