The Trap by John Smelcer

Author:John Smelcer
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466872165
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)

When confronted by the menacing bear, the old man wasted no time. He hit the grizzly across the nose, knocking it over. Then he hit it over the head until it was dead. The old man had killed a great bear with only a stick!

IT WAS GETTING LATE, later than the old man usually stayed awake, but he and the night were restless. Several times he rearranged his bed of green boughs, pulled the strings tight on his fur-lined parka hood, turned on his side and tried to sleep. But sleep did not come. His body was restless and tense from sitting under the tree all day with nothing to do but worry and wonder.

It was a perfectly clear night. Frost-sharpened stars filled the sky; a full moon lit the landscape so bright that he could see across the wide valley; and on the horizon above the far white mountains, the northern lights were shimmering and dancing, pulsing across the sky in long shifting ribbons. The only noise was the creaking of the tree in the wind. He watched the dancing sky for a long time. The shimmering waves of green and red light were beautiful. Words were useless. The borealis must be experienced firsthand to be understood by the heart.

It was a beautiful clear night, even though it was so cold now that his boots and gloves barely kept the old man’s feet and hands warm. If the temperature dropped much farther, they would be useless. If there was any consolation in the cold, it was that there were no tormenting clouds of mosquitoes.

He carefully dropped a few more pieces of wood onto the fire, and for a few minutes the flames were happy and provided light and warmth. But no matter how good it felt, the old man knew that there was not enough wood to burn such a bright, hot fire all night. He had to ration what firewood he had, so he curled into a tight ball, hugging himself to keep his body heat from being swept out across the field and into the clear, star-raddled night.

But no matter how tightly he curled up his arms and legs, as if to have them vanish entirely so that the cold could not touch them, he still shivered and trembled. When he opened his eyes, he could see the snowmobile and sled, where his sleeping bag lay inside a dark green waterproof bag.

“How different this night would be curled up in that bag,” he thought.

He closed his eyes again and tried to sleep, tried to dream about home and his warm bed in his cabin with its smell of wood smoke and fish-head soup. He tried to dream about his old wife nestled against him in their small, warm bed.

He was close to falling asleep finally when he heard something in the distance. It was getting closer. It sounded like breathing, like panting. Then it was closer, sounding like the panting of sled dogs after a long run.

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