Froelich's Ladder (2 page)

Hobbling toward the wall of the trees, he paused to correct himself. “
My
home,” he said. “My land. You go live someplace else.”

Harald passed a peaceful fortnight, during which time he constructed a series of shelters, each one an improvement upon the last. He never left the pasture, as Froelich had instructed him—assuming, correctly, that his brother would return, and that they’d be forced to share accommodations. When Froelich did storm back, it seemed that little time had passed for all the respite he’d afforded.

Froelich had made two important discoveries on his own. First, he had discovered the Very Big Tree. After their dispute in the meadow, he’d spent three days limping through the woods, making his displeasure known to every living thing. When he’d encountered the tree, it had been so massive that he’d mistaken it for a rampart. Its trunk, felled by some catastrophe, was thrice as wide as he was tall. Froelich had spent a full morning walking along its length, from top (where birds continued to occupy their nests) to bottom (where the roots continued to grow). As best he could tell, it extended for a full kilometer.

To Harald’s mind, the timber represented a commercial opportunity, but Froelich’s second discovery, made shortly after the first, would supersede any material gain. In fact, it was this second discovery that had compelled him to seek his brother’s help. Casting aside their differences, he hurried back to the pasture, where Harald was erecting yet another shelter.

“Love, Harald!” gushed Froelich, cheeks flushed and slightly out of breath. Harald saw that his limp had improved, perhaps due to a new pair of socks, expertly knit and dry as tinder.

“I’m in love!” he continued. “Here, at the bottom of the well, I’ve actually found it! What are the odds? Who would’ve thunk? Of course, you can’t know how it feels until you’ve felt it for yourself. But simply to behold her, you might get the gist. She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, with hair as dark as night and eyes that smolder.”

Harald wiped the sweat from his brow and put down his ax. In the time that his brother had been missing, Harald’s frustration had subsided. Now, subject to Froelich’s enthusiasm, he felt weary all over again.

“Did she give you those socks?”

“What?” Froelich said, frowning. “No, I got these in town. What are you talking about, socks? Haven’t you heard a word I’m saying?”

“I’m sorry.” Harald sighed, trying to muster some hint of enthusiasm. “What’s her name?”

Her name was Lotsee, and she was an outcast from the Siletz tribe. At nineteen, she had entertained a premonition about her people: misery and death awaited them, to be nurtured in the too-small confines of the Coast Reservation (which would only be sanctioned four years later). Disinclined to share their fate, she’d swallowed her words of warning, chewing them up like tidy morsels. She’d left the Siletz and relocated to the outskirts of Boxboro.

Once she was on her own, Lotsee’s visions hadn’t ceased. Soon, she’d been forced to accept that Death would claim her, too, with or without her people. Her only hope, she’d believed, was to seduce him. To her mind, Death would resemble a white man, pale and hulking. If he were ruled by his baser instincts, surely he’d be in thrall to her charms.

All of this, related by the proprietor of the general store, Froelich now related to Harald. He felt confident he could win Lotsee’s heart, but was embarrassed to approach her empty-handed. That, he explained, was where the Very Big Tree came in.

 “Just look at this monster!” Froelich exclaimed, having convinced his brother to visit the enormous timber. “It must be a sign!”

“A sign of what?”

“Don’t you see, Harald? It’ll make the perfect engagement gift!”

“Engagement gift? All I see is an impediment.”

“That’s because you lack imagination.”

“You want to chop it up for firewood?”

Froelich shook his head. “Yes, Harald—I want to give firewood to my bride-to-be. Before, when I said that you lacked imagination, I was mistaken.”

“What, then?”

“A seafaring canoe—one big enough for twenty men!”

“No more boats,” Harald groaned. “Anyway, what do you know about carving a canoe? Most likely it’ll sink, and everyone on board it will drown.”

“Then …” Standing back to better appraise the Very Big Tree, Froelich tapped a finger against the bridge of his nose. “I see … a ladder.”

“A ladder?”

“Yes, a ladder! It’ll be amazing, Harald, the tallest ladder you’ve ever seen! Not just the tallest in Oregon Country—possibly the tallest ladder in the entire world! A monument to human achievement! Can’t you picture it?”

“What I can picture,” Harald said, “is finishing our shelter, so we can spend the night in dry bedclothes. I can picture clearing the land and trading my services for a rooster and some hens. Would you like me to go on?”

“But, Harald, we must!”

“No, Froelich,” Harald sighed, “we mustn’t. I’m sure she’s very pretty, and I can appreciate your desire to talk to her. But why not do that? Why not
talk
to her, instead?”

With a noticeable sag to his shoulders, Froelich answered him. “Because anyone can talk to her. I must woo her.”

“Woo, talk—what’s the difference? All you do is introduce yourself.”

“That’s easy for you to say. Please, Harald. Help me do this, and I promise to leave you alone. No more favors. No more adventures.”

And so Harald was duly persuaded. After all, how could he deny his brother, who was in thrall to the noblest of all emotio
ns? Starting from the same place on the Very Big Tree and each working in opposite directions, they marked the first rung as the “middle” of the ladder—though whether their efforts would ultimately be equal, who could say? E
ach rung was three decimeters from the next, to be measured by the length of Froelich’s forearm (Harald’s arms being too burly for comparison), and slightly longer from stile to stile.

Early on, it was easy to exchange verses of song, or to speak. But as the days turned into weeks, and the brothers couldn’t see or hear each other, the forest grew up between them. While they maintained separate campsites, they also developed a vocabulary called
TAP
. The language borrowed from Morse code, to which they’d been exposed on their transatlantic voyage, and used thumps and vibrations to form combinations of words. The time that elapsed between knocks determined the meaning of the word, or words, to be conveyed. For instance, one knock immediately followed by a second knock meant
Yes
. One knock gradually followed by a second knock meant
No
. Two knocks in a row meant
Good afternoon
. Three knocks in a row meant
Rain
. Two knocks followed by a pause followed by a single knock meant
Perhaps, but it depends on the weather
. Three knocks, followed by a pause, followed by six knocks, followed by a pause, followed by four knocks, meant
Just because it rained today doesn’t mean it will rain tomorrow—and should it rain tomorrow, you can’t claim to have predicted it, simply on the basis of having said, “It feels like rain tomorrow.”
And so on, and so forth. Even while they were apart, they were never truly alone.

For Froelich, progress guided him in the direction of Boxboro, which, at the time, consisted of a gristmill and a general store. At first, he only visited to acquire supplies, but soon he was inventing reasons to stay. On a humid night, he might linger by the general store and drink from the proprietor’s flask. When homesteaders passed through, he’d portray himself as the mayor and stand upon whatever stump was tallest. Or if a different mood possessed him, he’d scale the nearest tree, brandish his hairless a—, and moan like a woebegone ghost.

At the same time, Harald was striving the opposite direction, driving himself deeper and deeper into the woods. The Very Big Tree hewed a path to Lotsee’s meadow, wherein one day she was hanging her laundry out to dry. When he stumbled through a clutch of boysenberries she spun around, startled by the sound of his glottal invective.

Harald had yet to see Lotsee for himself, having relied on Froelich’s description. At first glance, she was lovely. More than lovely—Lotsee was stunning. Harald was old enough to have known the caress of a woman; indeed, had he remained in Germany, he might’ve taken a wife already. But despite his impressive stature and his experience with the fairer sex, Harald was a shy individual at heart.

Cowed by Lotsee’s beauty and mindful of his brother’s claim, he took a good, long look then retreated to the woods. Soon thereafter, he regretted his decision to flee. He couldn’t casually return to the meadow, which meant he’d lost a day’s work. Worse yet, he’d failed to introduce himself! He hadn’t even said hello! Instead, he’d hollered obscenities. Of course, Lotsee didn’t know he was Froelich’s brother; Froelich hadn’t introduced himself yet. But whenever they
did
meet, she’d assume that Harald was crude and uncouth, if not a little touched in the head—a first impression that galled him to the bone.

Out of embarrassment, he neglected to tell Froelich. Some days had passed since their last correspondence via
TAP
; what Froelich didn’t know, Harald decided, wouldn’t hurt him. Additionally, he resolved never to utter another word to Lotsee—not the next time he saw her, nor ever. With any luck, she’d mistake him for a deaf mute.

The next day, when he returned to the meadow, the Very Big Tree was awaiting him … and so was Lotsee. She’d been attired in sensible clothing the day before, while conducting her chores, but now she wore a skirt and a blouse, and her hair (modestly threaded with silver) was arranged in a fastidious plait. Harald studiously avoided eye contact, busying himself with the rung at hand.

“Do not pretend you cannot see me, when you are standing in my shadow.”

Harald froze, his shoulders tensed.

“Fine, then.” She shrugged. “Pretend.”

Lotsee crossed the short distance that separated them. When she sashayed her hips, the motion was like wading into deep waters.

“I know who you are,” Lotsee said. “You are Death. You look as I expected, but it didn’t stop me from being afraid. Had you beckoned to me yesterday, I would have gone with you willingly. I would have greeted my ancestors in the afterlife and endured their chiding. ‘What, child,’ I can hear them saying, ‘did you really expect him to take a bride? When the sun shines down from the sky, is that for you, too?’”

Glancing at her sideways, Harald made no indication that he was able to understand her, nor that he’d even heard her. When she drifted closer, he could smell the lilac water on her skin. He was terrified he’d miss the chisel with his hammer and smash one of his fingers.

“When you left,” Lotsee continued, “I was relieved. I was so happy to be alive! But soon I became irritated. Why did you not beckon to me? Was I not good enough for you? Then I looked down at my clothes—pants, like a man. My face, hands, and feet covered in dirt. That night, I talked to my ancestors again. I told them, ‘Death thinks he can ignore me, just because he walks between the raindrops? You tell Death I would rather kiss a toad!’
And here you are. So I ask you, Death—do I look better?”

Rather than acknowledge her, Harald coaxed a shape from the wood, a mound of sawdust growing at his feet. But Lotsee would not be ignored. Leaning forward and cupping his chin with her palm, she turned his face to her own. Thus compelled, he looked at her—truly looked at her. Immediately, his mouth filled with praise, everything from German poetry to American slang. He could imagine sharing a future together, one that didn’t include Froelich: native daughters with matching plaits, and a raised ceiling for Lotsee’s lean-to. Determined that he not voice these ideas, Harald pressed his lips together and shut his eyes.

Grunting at his intransigence, Lotsee walked behind his back and addressed his profile, the long expanse of the Very Big Tree laid out before them. “You are making a ladder?” she said. “Where will you take it, when you are finished?”

Her questions (and his inability to answer them) made him feel stupid. Opening one eye and then the other, he continued to work, chiseling twice as hard and twice as fast. Shavings floated on the breeze, coating his chest and shoulders. Though he was facing straight ahead, all he could see were Lotsee’s eyes—not brown, as he might’ve expected, but gray like goosedown.

“It’s a wedding present,” he abruptly informed her. He didn’t mean to ruin Froelich’s surprise, but there it was.

Lotsee’s response was curious. At first she stiffened, but then she made a resigned sound, as if this were something she had already expected. Lightly, she placed her hands over his. Harald didn’t know how to receive her touch. He looked everywhere but directly at her. Sawdust clung where it had alighted on his beard, making his neck itch. When she urged him to his feet and pulled him, step by step, in the direction of her lean-to, he was unable to resist. She was radiant and indefatigable. She was intended for his brother, but she had chosen him.

After their
tryst had begun, Harald made a modest effort to contact Froelich. Over the next few days, he sent polite inquiries via
TAP
and even walked a short distance along the Very Big Tree, but he never pursued his brother as far as Boxboro, unwilling to stray from Lotsee’s company. She and Harald spent nearly all their time together, caressing each other’s bodies when they were within reach and gazing at each other when they were not.

Finally, once Harald had resigned himself to the inevitable consequences, he freed the finished portion of the ladder from the Very Big Tree. He left a considerable portion of the timber unmolested—nearly four hundred meters, by his estimate. If Froelich had intended the ladder as an engagement gift, Harald’s thinking went, he might abandon his proposal upon discovering it missing; then the lovers could reveal themselves in the fullness of time. Employing a system of ropes and pulleys, Harald dragged it to the edge of the clearing, whereupon he’d constructed an enormous fulcrum—also carved from the Very Big Tree, and nearly his own height. To Harald, it looked like a giant doorstop. Using this device as a wedge, he was able to erect the ladder, such that it could stand against the fulcrum without any assistance. At Harald’s best estimate the stiles were seventy meters tall, gently wobbling like a newborn fawn.