The Glacier (Part Two)
The Glacier (Part Two)
A story of a dying world, collective guilt, and a better future — in three parts.
Welcome to part two of The Glacier!
The following short story, divided into three parts, follows the story of Lucija as she observes, over decades, the slow death of the fictional Mount Treglav glacier.
In part one, Lucija, merely a child, visits the lake at the foot of the glacier with her grandfather. In part two, she returns with her husband, and in part three, she visits, for the last time in her life, with her son and his children.
This is a story about a changing earth, the terrible loss we all carry, and, in the end, hope for a better future.
She knew what she would find, and yet the sight makes her feel as if a cold, empty void is climbing up her legs, enveloping her heart, and pressing upon her lungs. She shudders, her voice trembling. “It's gone. It's all gone.”
Footsteps behind her, a hand on her shoulder, but no words. He knows what she feels, and how she is, and dares not offer empty platitudes. There's nothing to say. Instead, he stays there, unmoving, until she finds her way back.
“I thought... I don't know what I thought…” She wipes at her eyes, but cannot conceal the tears running down her face.
Nikola remains silent and pulls her into a hug, a kiss on the nape of her neck. They stay like this for minutes until a heavy gust almost knocks them over. Then they separate and sit down on a boulder, away from the trail, eating granola bars and nuts for lunch.
It's autumn, and they're alone at Lake Bohan. Its surface — not quite frozen yet, but holding icy shoals that bob and dance on the mirror-like façade — ripples in the chilly wind, and there's an eerie, suffocating silence hanging upon the valley. They're surrounded by mountains, on a stage, giants watching their meager performance. A cauldron, made of eternity, and a glistening eye at its center.
Lucija turns her back on Mount Treglav, and it falls to Nikola to stare at the black vista of pebbles and boulders that delineate where once a majestic river of ice flowed. There's nothing left but a shattering feeling of loss.
“Bears, wolves, foxes, deer, and other wildlife used to roam this area, free and unrestrained. Can you imagine?”
Her voice is a dry whisper. “I honestly can't.”
“A couple of years ago, they killed the last brown bear in the region. There was a paper about it. She killed some sheep, and they could not have that.”
She scoffs. “I can imagine that.”
“There used to be tens of thousands, possibly more, and now there are none. Except for livestock and pets, we're the only large mammal left.” There's a sad smile on his face, the wind ruffling his sweaty hair. “Soon, we'll be the last animal altogether, Lucija, and then we'll be gone too.”
“The earth will heal then,” she says and turns to look at the glacier's remains. The dry moraines and fjords that bear witness to its existence, the long blanket of debris and pebbles that molds into the lake. “Nothing is forever. Least of all us.”
The ascent is harder than she imagined. Her muscles ache with every step, joints straining, heart pounding as she struggles to keep a steady rhythm. Nikola leads the way, his steps easy and sure, yet she recognizes the tension in his body, the worry etched on his face. They're climbing up the glacier's remains, witness to sapiens’ destructive potential, the annihilation of history. It feels like defiling a grave.
The wind whips at their faces, the air thin and cold. Nikola had warned her about the altitude, but she'd brushed it off, like so many other things in her life. It seems that only death and grief can shake her from apathy and ignorance, and what a fitting stage she finds here: a landscape, barren and unforgiving, rocks jutting up like broken teeth, cutting like glass. The trail is narrow and slippery, rubble shifting under their feet, fingernails digging into loose dirt until everything feels numb. Nikola is always ahead — oh, how he reminds her of grandfather — a reassuring presence in the swirling mist, and the rain that turns into hail.
She wonders why anyone would come up here, why they would push past the pain and the fear and keep going. What drives them? What are they escaping from that they must suffer to feel?
Nikola pauses, turning to look at her with a gentle smile. “We're almost there,” he says, sensing her doubts. “Just a little further.”
She nods, but her legs feel like lead, her mind screaming at her to turn back — turn back right now! — but she can't, she won't, not for anything. It's the least she can do, for she wasn't there for him, in the end, when he suffered, and she never got to wave to him from the summit. There's always time, it seems, until, without notice, the ground becomes a cliff, and regret a deep hole without light.
Summit, at last. Mount Treglav and its siblings made subject, defeated and conquered, owned and named.
She collapses to her knees, gasping for air. The view is breathtaking, but her vision is blurred with tears. Nikola holds her, his body warm and comforting, and she feels his heart's heavy beating, a rhythm that echoes the song of the mountains. Incredibly, they see a falcon soaring, its wings spread wide and free. She envies the creature, wondering what it must be like to fly, fly away, and find solace in the endless sky. Wherever he is, she hopes he can see her now.
“Thank you for bringing me here.”
Nikola smiles, thinking the words his, his eyes scanning the horizon. “It's worth it, isn't it?” he says. “It's a different world up here.”
With shaking hands, she opens her pack and removes the delicate urn from its protective layers. Nikola watches, his expression turning to one of solemn understanding.
Together, they approach the edge of the summit. The wind buffets them as they stand on the precipice, where life and death deal in delicate balance. Without hesitation, she opens the urn, holds it up to the sky, and lets the ashes scatter and blend with the world. The wind carries them away, melting them into the mountains and the clouds until they are nothing but a memory in the relentless march of change.
“He's here now,” she says. “And here he will remain.”
She waves.
Thanks for reading. Part three is available here:
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If you want to check out more of my dystopian fiction, read Cuba 2099, a vision of Cuban life in the far future; after warming and beyond industrial civilization:
Or, The Silence of the World, the disturbing diary of the last man on earth:
This was beautiful! What a beautiful tribute to her grandfather. Can’t wait to read part 3, although I hardly think it will be a happy ending.
This is now available to listen to in my weekly podcast. The same one from last week. Crann na beatha Stories and Poetry. Let me know what you think.