The Ski Jumpers by Peter Geye

Author:Peter Geye [Geye, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC019000 FICTION / Literary, FIC045000 FICTION / Family Life / General, FIC038000 FICTION / Sports
Publisher: University of Minnesota Press
Published: 2022-09-13T00:00:00+00:00

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*

“Does the bottom of the lake still make you feel restless, Ingrid?” I say now.

She holds the steering wheel with both hands and glances over at me and gives a knowing shake of her head. “You’re playing some of our classic hits?”

“You have no idea how many times I’ve gone myself to those depths.”

She lifts a finger and points at the lake. The horizon has folded seamlessly under the low-slung clouds so it’s indistinguishable from the lake below. All of it mirrors Ingrid’s doubting eyes. “It still troubles me. Even more than it used to. Especially on a day like this.”

“What kind of day’s this?”

“Like the lake’s where we’re headed.”

“I’m sorry, love.”

“Me too.”

We pass over the Wood-of-the-Soul River with its steep cascades crusted by terraced ice and its main chute seething a fine vapor.

“Back at the lighthouse, what you told me about Annika, that’s what you needed to get off your chest?” she says.

“Maybe call it the beginning?”

“The beginning of what? Airing your dirty laundry?” She shoots a cold stare, and the car swerves. She jerks the steering wheel to center it on the road again, overcompensating and hitting the rumble strips before righting it altogether. “I wish you’d just talk to me. You haven’t said anything for thirty minutes, and all of a sudden you’re talking about a conversation we had forty years ago.”

“I don’t mean to be obtuse.”

“It’s like following a falling snowflake, Jon. I just can’t do it. If you want to tell me what’s on your mind, just say it.”

“You remember the night of Pops’s funeral. The snow and getting stuck down in Minneapolis for the night. My spending the night with Anton.”

“All night you caroused at that disgusting bar he runs. Yes, I remember.”

“Something happened that night that I never told you about.”

Her face flushes with anger and she grips the wheel fiercely. “Do you mean to tell me—”

“You’ve asked to hear,” I interrupt, “so let me tell.”

She casts a doubtful gaze at me but drives on resolutely.

“Anton told me about Bett that night. He said that when Pops went to prison, after he’d been away a couple months, Bett tried to commit suicide.”

“What?” Her voice now is changed.

“She took a bottle of sleeping pills. Almost died. Anton found her, and called Sheb, who came and took her to the hospital. She spent four days on a respirator before she recovered and went away.”

“How did you never know this?”

“No one ever told me.”

“Where were you? Why weren’t you at home?”

“I was at Noah’s when it happened. She sent me up here. For the long Thanksgiving weekend. To jump at Chester Bowl. When I got back, all Sheb told me was that she’d gone to the state hospital in St. Peter because she wasn’t well. That’s when he brought Anton and me to his school.”

“And even Anton never told you?”

“Not until the night of Pops’s funeral.”

“He would have been such a little boy then. When Bett did that. Was he keeping it a secret from you?”

“Anton kept pretty much everything a secret back then.

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