PLEASE STAN BY

SLEETMUTE

Sleetmute,Alaska 1969  

Page 96

“THE TIN MAN

It was probably January when I decided to move a short distance into an abandoned log cabin right on the riverbank. Now there were two things I didn’t know. First, it was abandoned because it’s too cold right on the river, and if that wasn’t enough, this cabin had been lifted up in a flood and rotated so now its front door faced north. Right into the wind. I didn’t know. I thought it looked good. It was impossible to heat.

That night, with no warning, I got sick. Really sick. I became very weak. I had a fever and I was burning up. I felt terrible and to top it off I had to take a wicked shit.

I can’t claim to have been thinking clearly but the only thing on my mind was to make it to the little outhouse near my previous cabin. It wasn’t far. Maybe 2 football fields away. I already had on two pairs of thermal woven cotton long-johns. I put on sweaters. I got on my parka. I opened the door.

It was brutal. Maybe 40 below. It was 4 am. The moon lit the snow. It was very quiet. I shuffled

ahead, the only thought on my mind was the relief that was waiting for me inside the outhouse. My steps got shorter. I was holding it in. Occasionally I had to stop. The outhouse was only fifty feet away. I thought I could make it. I was wrong.

I lost control. Diarrhea, hot diarrhea blasted from me completely soaking the fabric of my long-johns, enveloping me momentarily in comforting warmth – and then – one second later –everything froze solid.

So now I’m sick, it’s 40 below, I just shit in my pants and I’m immobilized with my legs encased in frozen excrement encrusted long-johns. I couldn’t move. I was the tin man. I quietly started to sob. And then I fell, face first, stiff as a board into the snow. I’m laughing as I write this. I wasn’t laughing then.

I crawled into the empty community center building. I remember it took me a long time to somehow open the door. I crawled behind a cold stove. I got into the fetal position. I fell asleep. I remember hearing kids find me in the morning. I remember them calling their moms.

The next thing I remember is being poked. I’m waking up. It’s dark. I’m in my bed. I’m naked. I’m clean. Something is hurting me. There’s laughing. I open my eyes to see three Eskimo women poking me with willow brush branches. They’re actually prodding me with branches and laughing at me. I was delirious. I remember trying to sweep them away with my arm. “Get the fuck away from me!” They kept laughing and poking. It was like a nightmare, laughing witch-like women torturing me all illuminated by the flickering fire. Mercifully everything finally went black.

The next day I was better. The fever had broken. I was very tired and weak. I remembered the outhouse, and the tin man and the women and the branches. They all seemed very far away. What seemed like one night to me then may have been more. I think those women saved my life.

We never talked about that night.

SLEETMUTE, A True Story of Alaska is available on Amazon, Apple iBooks and other fine booksellers.