The Farmer's Son

[Stinky]

February
Snow.
A boy is missing, we are twenty kilometres from the nearest town.
Professional help, already stretched will be more than an hour.
The Farmer’s family are battering doors in the commune.
They are suffering.
Emotions, yes.
But more from the cold.
Calf deep snow, and unprepared to launch a search, they cope.
He has been gone two hours.
He is seven and he is wearing nightclothes.
Time.
We do not have it.
The boy does not have it.
He commands, literally.
The Farmer is sending people to hideaways.
To secret places.
To places we do not want to think about.
The river.
Groups of two.
He is Genious.
Find the boy, one stays, one gets help.
I am paired with the boy’s sister.
Claudette.
He spares me two seconds of recognition, a nod and he is gone.
Find my child.
I am the adult, so I turn to Claudette, but she is gone ,running and I struggle to keep up.
She bounces through the snow.
I plough.
She screams her brother’s name.
I try to breathe.
Lights in the distance give hope.
But just another search party.
This is not good.
Time.
Cold.
Whistles and shrieks and we, with tearing gasps run.
And witness the absolute worst.
Desperate grabbing hands in the snow.
An animal instinct has taken over.
Men and women fighting for a place in the digging.
But it is not a child.
A lamb without the strength to carry on.
And a keening wail of despair tears my heart.
His face broken, his eyes wet and yet bleak, he still orders.
This way, go, now.
That way.
I am carrying Claudette.
Small frail, frozen and desperate.
Her Brother.
Lost .
And now long out of time.
Shotgun.
And again.
And again.
Again.
Again.
Sobbing cold breaths.
Such pain in my chest trying to breathe.
Claudette’s face grey and her cries slowing.
Torches.
Torches and more torches arrive.
Gasping from the cold.
Gasping from the exertion.
Gasping from the fear of what might be.
White eyes in the torchlight.
But Bovine.
Enough, I can go no further.
On my knees I try to keep Claudette from the snow.
Her fists are punching me as I try to hold her.
Strength she should not have, tears her from my grip.
Running, screaming from me and I am too tired to understand.
A rough hand grasps my collar.
Head jerked up to to a madly grinning face.
The boy is here.
Alive
Safe between the Heifer and her calf.
And the smiling Farmer, my friend, punches me so hard on the shoulder.
I wish I had the strength to return the gesture.