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------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- “Look, Morris! The first footprints in the snow.” Terry had to shout to be heard over the wind. -------“That’s great,” Morris answered. ------- “I love snow. It makes everything beautiful.” ------- “Uh huh.” -------Morris pulled the hood up over his stocking cap. His fingers were numb, and he could feel the cold through his parka. He could barely see the trail. ------- “This is crazy!” he shouted. ------- “It’s why we came,” Terry called back. ------- But they’d have come in any weather. They walked early in the morning because Terry worked at the candy store until six. She’d kept her car and her job when she moved in with Morris. Terry was in her early thirties. He was almost fifty. He couldn’t believe his luck. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him. -------Once earlier that winter the wind had plastered snow on every branch and tree; it froze and lasted for days. The oak leaves were topped with white, and the pitch pine needles gleamed like stickpins. They took too many pictures. Another time, the snow fell in soggy bundles and collected on the branches like biscuit dough. The day warmed as they followed the boardwalk through the swamp, and melting snow fell on their heads. They saw deer tracks and hundreds of rabbit tracks and flocks of robins eating cedar berries. They’d passed an elderly couple on skis. -------Today they were alone in the storm. The sky and water were strange colors. The wind left pine cones on tiny pedestals and carved the drifts into fantastic shapes. Everywhere, the young cedars were wrapped in white. He’d never seen snow like this in the Bronx. -------They held on to one another as they crossed the causeway over the salt marsh and paused halfway and let the wind press them against the rail. -------“Look, Morrie, the ducks!” -------“Black ducks,” Morris said. -------“Are they?” -------“I just mean they’re black.” -------“I think there really are black ducks,” Terry insisted. “Everything else is white. My favorite color. It makes me think of weddings.” -------“In China it’s the color of funerals.” -------“Have you been there, Morrie?” -------Morris nodded. Terry was pleased when Morris revealed even a small detail of his past. -------A skier appeared, hooded and mysterious. Morris felt for the automatic he no longer carried, but the man strode past and vanished in the swirling snow. -------They topped the final rise. The ocean waves were huge, their crests blown back in plumes and rising like smoke. There were no boats or birds, just the angry green water. -------“Snow on the beach is so strange,” Terry said. She leaned on him. -------“What’s that, Morris?” She pointed. “It’s like a dune.” -------“It can’t be,” Morris said. “It’s…. God, I think it’s a whale. A dead whale washed up on the beach and covered with snow.” -------“Oh Morris,” Terry said, “it’s a white whale.” -------For just an instant, Morris felt its enormous weight. ------- ------- |