Snowblind (4 page)

Kris Carlson sat on a folding metal chair in the carpeted confines of the ski-fitting room. She was listening to the snapping and buckling of equipment, the mumbling voices of the students, and the shouts and shrieks from the training hall next door. She picked her way through the various sounds, listening for the soft, melodic male voice she remembered so well.

She did not hear it. Instead, she heard the booming, screeching, distinctly African-American voice of Lorraine Turner, ski instructor from hell.

"Is Kris Carlson in here?!"

Kris pulled her head in like a frightened turtle. The boy sitting next to her nudged her arm. "Hey, you Kris? She's calling you."

Kris swallowed hard. "Where's my mother?" she asked.

"Where's yo' mamma? You ain't got no mamma. All you got here is Lorraine. That's me. I'm your instructor."

She was coming closer. "No..." said Kris. "I mean, I can't, not right now."

"Why, who you waitin' on? Justin Bieber?" Her voice seemed to be inches from Kris's face.

"I... need to use the bathroom first."

"Twenty feet to your left."

"I need some help."

"Something wrong with that cane?"

Kris could smell the Cheetos on her breath.

"You don't look like no cripple to me. Get off your lily ass and get into that bathroom. And I mean now!"

The shout drove Kris up from her seat. Angered, she tapped her way noisily toward the bathroom. "If you had any idea..."

"If I had any idea what? Girl, I'm as blind as you are, so get your sorry-ass in there already!"

Kris pushed her way hurriedly through the door.

*  *  *

The Fairbanks Psychiatric Hospital lay forty miles east of the airport on the northern shore of the frozen Chena River. Dr. Raoul Katukan, a dwarfish but burly black-haired man of Inuit descent, left the red-brick building shortly after he'd made his afternoon rounds, within minutes of receiving the call from Chief Adashek. "We've lost contact," was all the Chief had told him.

Katukan drove his twenty-year-old Mercedes as fast as he dared down the icy stretch of Richardson Highway. Staring into the cold glare of the ebbing sun, he thought of the last words he'd heard his homicidal patient speak. Bound in a strait-jacket, melting into a narcotic haze, the killer had asked an unanswerable question. "Why is light given to one who cannot see the way, whom God has fenced in?" The doctor had watched the light of consciousness fade from the frightening eyes. How could one with such a mind, so intimate with the Word of God, have strayed so very, very far? A question perhaps equally unanswerable. The madman was a paradox of the sacred and profane.

The windshield had just begun to thaw when Katukan reached the exit for Fairbanks International. He parked near the Tower and realized that in the rush he'd forgotten his boots. He climbed out and hurried across the lot, tip-toeing through the snow in his wingtips.

Adashek was waiting for him in the glass-walled tower.

"Any word?" the doctor asked him.

"Not a peep," the Chief replied. "Lost radio contact over an hour ago. They were still on the ground."

"The patient?"

Adashek shook his head. "We don't know."

They started toward Dean Stanton's post. Dr. Katukan scanned the room, grimacing at the smoke. He waved the air from his face. "Is this
allowed?"

"Federal jurisdiction. They could be smoking pot for all I can say about it."

Dean Stanton swiveled from his console, cigarette dangling. The Chief introduced him to the doctor. They shook hands.

Stanton turned and gestured toward the radar screen. "We've got another problem. Winds have shifted. The storm that was supposed to head east is moving south."

"How close?" Adashek asked.

The air traffic controller studied the radar screen. A splatter of green light edged the top of the glass. "If they're still on the North Slope, they're probably okay. But if they're in the air, and they've managed to cross the Gates, they could be in real trouble."

"They're in real trouble either way, Mr. Stanton."

Stanton turned around. It was the doctor who had spoken.

"Whether they're lost in the storm," he explained, "or just waiting it out, either way it will take time. Time in which the drugs may wear off."

Stanton continued looking at him. "Just how crazy
is
this patient of yours, Doc?"

Katukan glanced at the Police Chief, then looked grimly back at the controller. "Do you have a wife, Mr. Stanton?"

"Fifteen years."

"Children?"

"Yes. Two girls."

"Do you love them?"

"Yeah... of course I do. Why're you asking?"

"Because, Mr. Stanton, if you ever want to sleep soundly again, you'll do everything in your power to bring those two pilots back."

Stanton stared blankly at the doctor. "Right," he said after a moment. He swiveled around in his chair, flipped a switch on his radio, and picked up the microphone.

"Whiskey Four-O-Three, this is Fairbanks Tower, do you copy, over."

The three men listened, staring into the black void of the radio's speaker. After a few moments, Stanton spoke again.

"Whiskey Four-O-Three do you read me, over."

The men waited.

Nothing came but the empty sound of static.

Kris stood at the top of the fifty-foot slope, her skis teetering at the edge. Below her beckoned an imagined abyss. Her heart pounded. "I... I can't do this!" she cried.

Lorraine's voice came thundering up from somewhere below. "Can't means won't means chickenshit. You know you can do it. You've downhilled a thousand times."

"When I could see! I can't do it this way. I'll fall!"

"Which is exactly how you learn. It's no sweat, girl. The nets'll catch you if the railing doesn't. Worst thing can happen is you make a fool of yourself. No shame in that. Shame is if you won't even try."

"Please," Kris pleaded. "Don't make me do it. I can't!"

"Listen to me, young lady. You're replaying a bad picture in your head. Something that happened to you. Am I right?"

"No."

Lorraine said nothing, then sang teasingly, "You're
ly-ing
."

In a flash of memory, Kris was plunging through the air toward a mirror of frozen ice. As quickly as it came, the image disappeared, and she found herself gripping the guardrail with both hands.

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"'Cause I got the same problem, honey. Now I want you to throw that picture away, understand? Just get rid of it. Right now. Okay? Are you following me, Kris?"

She again saw herself free-falling and felt a shiver.

"Kris?"

"Yes..."

"Concentrate. I want you to picture yourself skiing down this slope just like you've done a thousand times on Dome Mountain. Remember how it feels, Kris, to be relaxed, in control. You got that picture?"

Kris trembled, her voice barely audible. "Relaxed. Skiing blind. Right. Sure, I get that."

"Say what?"

"Yeah."

"Yes," said Lorraine.

"Yes."

"Say it louder!"

"Yes!" she shouted and pushed off the edge.

The skis swished beneath her. She felt a sudden, exhilarating rush of speed. She was plunging through the dark, out of control; instinctively, she pulled up, straightened her knees, leaned back. She caught an edge and abruptly tumbled, crashing to the carpet and sliding across the slope. She rolled right under the padded railing, slipped over the edge and flew into the safety net.

Tangled in the ropes with her skis twisted beneath her, she lay still for a moment, her head in a spin. Then she felt someone's hand on her ankle, disentangling her ski. She heard Lorraine's voice.

"You okay?"

Kris rubbed her sore hip. "No thanks to you. I told you I couldn't do it."

Lorraine ignored her. "That's one," she said, walking away. "When you get to a hundred falls, let me know. Now get those buns of steel up there again." Lorraine headed across the huge room toward the exit.

Kris didn't move. "Do you hate everybody, or is it just me?" She heard Lorraine stop walking, turn.

"I don't hate you, Kris. Nobody hates you... 'cept maybe yourself." She turned away and continued across the room. "You're getting your only private lesson today, you better make use of it." She opened the door. "I'll be back in half an hour. You do some thinking about what you're doing here."

Kris heard the door shut. She lay back in the net, angry and exhausted. "What
am
I doing here?"

*  *  *

The half hour felt like an eternity.

"That's enough!" Kris shouted. She was lying tangled in the net again. Lorraine was gone and Kris was alone — and getting nowhere. Not once had she made it to the bottom. And suddenly she didn't care if she did. She didn't care if she ever wore skis again.
What is the point?

I'm
blind
.

She lay still in the net, alone in the cavernous room, the only sound the distant laughter of the children out in the snow.

I've left their world. I live in the dark. Mom will never understand, she'll never really know. But I know. I know I'll never see a human face again as long as I live. Never. The sun, the trees, the blue sky, the mountains. They're gone. Gone forever. There's nothing...

She lay motionless in the net, alone with the sound of her breathing and the blackness of the void. She saw the images that came, that always came, pale shades of the vivid past — the pink mountains of Denali, the falls at the pond, the sunlight on the water and the blue and white ice, the aspens and cottonwoods, the red-wing black bird flickering on a limb.

And the dead. Her little brother Paul, his piebald mouse spilling from one tiny hand to another. Her father, chopping wood, shirtless in the snow. She could see them in her mind as clear as day.

They were all she had now. They were all that was left.

Kris pulled herself up in the net. She had to find her mother now. She wanted to go home. She lifted her skis awkwardly, disentangling them from the mesh. She slipped her legs over the edge and tried to lower herself to the floor. But she was higher than she'd thought. Her skis weren't touching down. She clung to the ropes and stretched her toe toward the floor, finally touching bottom with the tip of her ski. She let go of the net and fell hard, banging her elbows on the floor. She kneeled there, and started to cry. She fought to stop herself, tried to rise from the ground. But she didn't have the strength. She couldn't seem to move. A teardrop splashed on her hand.

Then she felt a warm hand fall gently on her shoulder. She heard a young man's voice. A soft, soothing voice.

"Are you all right, Kris?"

Kris sniffled, brushed her arm across her face. She was afraid to stand up — Josh would see she'd been crying.

He crouched down beside her. "Hey. Is this some new concentration technique, or are you just saying your prayers?"

She sniffled. His hand brushed back the hair from her eyes.

"Whaddya know. Still as pretty as ever. Can I give you a hand?"

"I thought that was against the rules around here," she said, taking his arm.

He pulled her up. "I see you've met Lorraine," he said. "She does have her own unique approach to training."

"It isn't working," she said, and sniffled again.

"Maybe you just need to give it some time."

"No," she said. "I'm useless. I can't see and I can't ski. No one can change that."

"Well, don't be so sure about that." She heard him unzip a nylon bag and rustle through it. "I want you to try something I've been fooling with. It helps blind people see."

"My blindness is total, Josh. There's no way—"

"I know, but wait a minute. You can
hear
, can't you? In fact, your sense of hearing — along with your sense of touch — is what you use now, in a way, to help you 'see' without your eyes."

"Well, I can hear things that make noise, like people, and telephones, and cars. But I can't hear trees or hills or walls."

"That's exactly what this does. It's a radar system keyed to audio outputs that allow you to actually
hear
those things. It's similar to the sound waves that bats use to 'see' in the dark."

"Is it something you invented?" She knew he was an electrical engineer, he'd told her that last Spring.

"Somebody else actually invented it. I've just made some modifications. Here, check it out."

He handed her what felt like a cotton headband, with two crescent-shaped molded plastic pieces and a short, flexible antennae wire.

"What is it?"

"It was originally a helmet, like the ones they use in the Special Olympics, but I thought that was too bulky, especially for skiing. So I stripped it down to an ear band that's light and comfortable. You want to try it on?"

"No, I... I think I've had enough skiing today."

"Oh. Well, I'll tell you what. Let me show you the basics off the skis. Then if you want to, we can try it on the slope later. Deal?"

"Sure." She unhooked her skis and stepped out on the floor.

"Give me your hand," said Josh.

A warm shiver went through her body as he touched her. He guided her hand to the small, coin-sized object sewn into the ear band halfway between the two plastic crescents.

"Feel that? You wear that part in front on your forehead, and the plastic pieces over your ears. Like this."

He slipped the band over her head. It fit snugly, with the round coin object at the center of her forehead, and the molded plastic parts curled over her ears.

"How's that, comfortable?"

Kris adjusted it slightly, making sure her hair was straight. She nodded.

"Okay, now, you'll hear two different sounds. One is a high-pitched beep — a screamer. The other is a low bass tone. It's constant; it gets louder or softer depending on how close something is to you. Listen."

He took her hand. They began to walk.

The bass tone was barely audible at first, then gradually increased in volume as they crossed the floor. Kris walked through the dark, listening to the tone. It grew louder, and louder, and louder, until she instinctively raised her arm out in front of her.

She touched the wall. "Wow!" A smile came to her face.

Josh laughed. "That's how you 'see' walls!"

Kris felt a surge of excitement, as if a door had been suddenly thrown open inside her. "This is so cool!" she said.

Josh held her arm and began turning her. Kris's whole body tingled to his touch. "Now turn slowly in a full circle. The tone will be loud or soft, depending on the direction you're facing and your distance from whatever objects are in front of you."

As she faced away the low tone fell off to the faintest hum, and then slowly came back louder as she continued turning and faced the wall.

The smile hadn't left her. "You said there was a second sound?"

"The high-pitched 'beeps.' They're produced by an infra-red sensor that's wired into the ear band. It's omni-directional: it'll pick up heat signals from anywhere around you. Here," he said, bringing her hand up to the button that turned it on. "Press that."

She pressed the button and a high-pitched "beep" sounded in her ears.

Josh continued: "Let's say another skier is coming full on at you. The beeps will increase in volume and frequency the closer he gets. Wait here, don't move, I'll show you."

She heard him walking away behind her.

"Now turn around," he shouted from far across the room.

She turned and faced the direction of his voice. She heard a high-pitched beep... beep... beep grow louder, and louder, and faster, and faster — BEEP-BEEP-BEEP — BEEP — BEEP — until suddenly Josh's hands touched her shoulders. She shrieked with delight. Josh laughed again, a long soft laugh.

"Let's see how good you are," he said. "Cover your ears and count to ten. Then come looking for me."

She turned around, put her hands over her ears, and started counting out loud. When she reached ten, she turned back. Walking forward, she listened for the high-pitched beeps as the infra-red detector scanned the room. She began hearing a faint beeping sound when she veered toward the right. As she continued toward it, the sound grew louder and faster. When she thought she was right on him she reached out quickly — and grabbed the back of a chair.

Josh giggled. She lunged around the chair, grabbed his arm with a shriek of laughter. "Got you!" she shouted.

Josh held her hand, laughing. "You sure did," he said. "What do you think? How about trying it on the slope?"

She hesitated, but only a moment. "Okay. I'll try it," she said, wishing he would never let go of her hand.