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walked together in silence. The first blanket of snow was
like a gigantic white dropcloth that covered every visible
spot in sight. It also insulated sounds so that even our footsteps
were baffled, muted. The light from the haloed street lamps
cast an eerie aura upon all the surroundings.
I would come to understand in the future, that future that now seems so far in the past, why, what was the reason for these father and son sojourns into the freezing, bitter nights, always after a major snowfall.
The route we took was predictable, varying only slightly, depending on “should we visit my Uncle and Aunt several blocks away; go to Silver Rods for cigars and black jack gum?”
Our frozen breath made steamy traces that flowed fitfully, frostily froth then disappeared just as suddenly as we labored through drifts sometimes ten or twelve inches deep. The streets and avenues almost devoid of traffic, not yet plowed, seemed barren, frightening, even foreboding and bleak.
My father strode as though reborn, with a look of determination and satisfaction on his face. The route was mostly circuitous so that approximately forty minutes later, sometimes even an hour, we were back home, going up the back stairs, stomping our feet to dislodge the snow. Boots and galoshes off, we shed our jackets and gloves and walked over to the radiator to warm our hands. Hot chocolate and tea always awaited us on the kitchen table.
My mother always appeared relieved when we returned. I think her worst fears overtook her when we disappeared into the night on one of those walks. Now no mention of recent events, but later, that same evening as I crawled into a warm bed, no sounds in the house except steam hissing from the radiators, sleep came almost instantly.
Just a walk with my father. On those nights we rarely came upon any living sole outside. The weather kept most at home, but my father, I think, was back in his boyhood in a small town in the Ukraine, in his native Russia, re-experiencing a place he obviously missed so dearly, so that some forty years later, he shared his feelings with me on those lonely, lovely, long walks in the snow.
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