His blood, soft tissue and thoughts were all in a heightened mode. He knew the floor she was standing on could vanish at any instant, any second; it was just a matter of time, not if, but when; should a tree or log bump into the hut, it would crack the 4x4-beams like a match box. The unpredictable water current, was crushing and pushing everything every which way.
It happened for the third time, he throw the rope towards her, cast it right in front of her, he had held his breath, just like one does before shootingpulling the trigger of a gun or rifle (his thoughts were not on business or his son-in-law, rather on the storm and the rope and the lifting of his daughter outsomewhere between now and soon), yes, he had held his breath, then slowly, very slowly, spread the rope to its destination as if it had an arrow on it,
In-between all this, he heard Negro voices:
Dar tis, one voice said.
W-what yu say? says another.
Back yonder, says a third vo ice. Then the third voice added, after the sound of spitting out water,
I gwine. There must had been a raft nearby thought Gnter: goin wher, wher ya think hes goen? the second voice said,
Dont know whar tis? Then he heard just mumbles, and then the mumbles died outand only black shadows floated on the surface of the water
and she caught the rope in her hands, a smile appeared, she looked up at her father, arched neck, proud, then as her eyes caught his two smiles emerged, a log hit the house and she got shook, real shook up, her eyes open up wide, wider than they had ever opened, like an awls, and she lost it again, dropped it, dropped the rope out from her fingers and palm, taking in a deep breath as it slid out of her hands, now looking up, up at her father in shock, disbeliefshe looked as if she may have disappointed himand the old man shook his head: it all right he whispered, but she could read his lips; anybody could.
Now she lost her balance trying to stand still in one place, amongst the damaged furniture; plus her hands were trembling, they always trembled, but now they were trembling even more, more than he had ever seen them tremble, quaver. He smiled at her, as if to reassure her all was well; as if to say, dont worry, well try again. She knew if he was there, all would work out at the end, somehow it would, and it always did, always in the past. Why would it not this time:
Ok, daddy, Im ready again, she cried.
Said he to himself, I need to give her more, more time, more time to put the rope around her waist. He looked about thinking, checking for options, then the chimney, the chimney came into focus, he stared at it, wiping the running water away from his eyes, staring at the brick chimney, he pushed himself back onto the roof more, then untied the rope from his waist, and got onto his knees, and wiggled himself back to the chimney, slowly, very slowly, as the wind and precipitation demanded some of his attention, the chimney got the rest, he then quickly tied the rope secure around its bricks, and crawled back (Gnter had a reputation for precarious witthat is, to the point of undefined courage, and sometimes too direct), crawled back to, to where he was, but this time the rope was not around him, he had more freedom, felt less secure, was less safe. With all the force and power he had in his body, for he was weakening bit by bit, he thrust the rope out to her again; he was now on his knees at the edge of the roof, the tip of the roof: the rope was in the air swiveling down to her like a snakea toothless snake with spittle all over it from the debris and dirty water all about. She caught it, she really caught it, caught it like Annie Oakley would have, She really caught it, he hollered,
Yes, yes daddy, I got it, see, see I got it! she yelled forgetting for the moment the predicament she was in, proud so very proud of her accomplishment. Then she made a knot according to how her father explained it to her, yelling:
PutTTT ittt a rrrr ooo uuunnnnn ddd [around
your waist!
The air stream was now picking up a little more, for a moment anyhow, just a small break: for a fracture in time it had died, not completely, but somewhat, enough to have launch the adventure he just did. She now looked like a porcelain doll, thought her father as he shook his fist at the wind, as if it would yield, but pride comes before destruction, does it not, even when it is done haphazardly, like this time; yes, he possibly had beaten the odds, and he knew it, and it was his, his victory for the moment, and then back to his focal point his eyes went, to his daughter, his eyes and his whole body shifted. The holes in the roof of the house that secured his feet and knees somewhat, were getting bigger and his knees were starting to slide, and not sink downward, with the weakening of the beam under the roof, as a lot of the wooden tiles on the roof were loosening, and some starting to fly off the house, and other structures thereabouts, flying north and east. His position was getting worse then his daughters, possibly, just possibly the roof might give out before her house gave in, he reflected, before he could raise her.
Nay! he said harshly, pushing one of the tiles away from his head as he caught a glimpse of it before it hit him in the side of the head, a second one hit him, hit him in the neck and jaw, like someone took a blow, a fist and socked him a good one, a sharp one with knuckles; he shook his head to gain his senses. He knew he was losing a lot of his strength just trying to keep himself stationary, firm, as everything around him become unfirm.
He tried to stand up, yet could not completelyfalling forward a ting, so he let his knees bend somewhat, and pulled himself up slowly, pulling his body back and forth. With a grim face of pale vigor he pulled his daughter out o f the war zone, yet he still had fifteen-more feet to goto pull her up to his level. She was dangling in the air now five feet above her wet and sinking floor: 130-lbs on the rope. He was now standing, crouching somewhat on the roof looking at her with his swollen face from the wind slapping it, the cold freezing it, the tiles that had hit it. Pain was on his lips as he pulled another foot, icy cold pain that was starting to num his face; inflaming muscles, black blood spiriting out of his shoulders from contracting muscles, and debris hitting him here and therefrom all sides of him, everywhere, causing wounds, and the wounds did open to cuts. A board flew by with a nail in it, ripping a piece of his flesh out of his thigh, it open it to the bone, blood spurted out, cutting through the upper muscles. But he didnt move, he couldnt, should he move, he would lose her again, and hed fall right through the floor, right to the bottom of the Mississippi, right down to, St. Louis, or perhaps to who knows where. Pain; let the pain go he told himself.
Damn this storm! the old man said. Every time he pulled his daughter up another foot he slipped a little on the roof, lost his so called seemingly secure edge, balance, footage, but he knew if he got her to the top, to the very top, they had a chance, she had a chance, but each minute each second, their options were becoming fragmented, less and less, in less than no time, there would be no options. He could see the inky-black clouds rested over his head now. Once he got her to the top of the roof with him they could scale the ridge of the roof together, jump onto what was left of the unsaturated leveeplateau, then climbed the steps by the cliffs to the top that lead into the downtown part of the city, and head on home, or to a secure place to rest out the storm. Thereafter, the only thing they needed to fight was the winds and pouring rain the rest of the way home, which was due north to his hous e, he assured himself, as if victory was in his pocket, this is how it would be. So, a mile past the capitol that was it, that was his home. Possibly they could rest in a building along the way, catch their breath if need be. Everything was closed now, closed down tight, but surely some of the stores harbored stragglers that couldnt make it home, such as: the Emporium, or the Golden Rule, or possibly, the First National Bank. St. Paul was a friendly city to its native people, they had to be with the severe winters. If one was in trouble, you could count on a stranger to take care of you until you got assistance from somewhere. He was sure it would be the same today, once all was smooth. North, yes he told himself for the 100th time, north, we will just go north, go home, get some hot soup when we get home.
See Dennis' site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Chapter Story
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