A Gentle Knock
Chapter 6
The following post is chapter 6 in the A Gentle Knock series. If you have recently subscribed—thank you—please see previous chapters before reading this section. May the words bless your day.
Also, attached below are the posts from this week, just in case you missed them:
The morning was cold with a sharp wind ripping away at Jacob’s skin. The ground was completely frozen, ice blanketing it in its entirety, producing what resembled a sheet of glass. There were no hills, no plants, and no rivers: nothing to be seen. The assaulter left long ago, in the middle of night, hoping to find his way out of this decrepit land—if only he knew. Next to the bodies of Jacob and the man laid a tobacco pipe; poking their way out through the ice, the rocks that had caused them so much trouble could be seen as well.
A body might have assumed that such blows would have took the life out of our two gentlemen—a proper assumption—yet somehow, both were still alive, though unconscious. They would not remain unconscious for long, as Jacob soon began to scrabble along the ground. He would be the first to wake up; sporting frostbit hands and feet, along with an extremely windburned face. Shortly thereafter, the man would awaken as well.
It was another day in this hellish, perilous world. Jacob, though full of physical pain, was more bothered by the mental and emotional pain that this world had bestowed upon him. He missed home. He missed annoying Meredith; he missed sleeping in a little too late to the chagrin of his mother; he missed it all. The feelings rendering inside him would have been enough to make a grown man bawl, but young Jacob knew that crying in this moment would only make the pain worse—it was far too cold to have tears running down his face. He soon noticed the man moving about to his left side.
“Sir, you’re alive!” Jacob exclaimed, rubbing his hands together hoping to obtain some friction induced heat.
The man, discombobulated, was just starting to see the world around him. He may have been alive, but he was only alive to live another day in a different world. To say he was over such trifles would be an understatement. The cold took hold of his body like a mother to a newborn child; and, he too would soon be rubbing his hands together to clamor for some heat.
“Indeed, young lad. I am alive,” replied the man, hesitantly. He didn’t feel alive at all.
“It’s a little cold out here if you ask me. Looked around for some shelter: nothing. There is absolutely nothing around us. The horizon shows no more than another horizon.”
“It is so, I am afraid,” the man replied, surveying the area with his stiff neck.
Knowing that the two men would have little chance of survival without heat, the man fumbled through his pockets, soon realizing that he had been robbed.
“Oh say it isn’t so! That scoundrel robbed me while I was in the big sleep,” he shouted, slamming a fist into his palm. He continued, “There is nothing left, nothing!”
“Sir, isn’t that your tobacco pipe?” Jacob asked, leaning ever so gently to his left to point out the pipe’s location next to the man’s frozen legs.
Excited by the discovery, the man shouted, “Why, it is!” Even though he still had his tobacco pipe, the reality of the situation soon dawned on him: he had nothing to light it with. If there was ever a time for brainstorming, the time was now. With life itself on the brink of existence, a breakthrough was the only option. Unfortunately, the man had little knowledge on such basic survival skills—as did Jacob—due to his upbringing in a wealthy and genial upper-class family. Starting fires was never on his to-do list when he was at home. Instead, he was more likely to read a book, or play polo with some of his neighboring friends.
Like most days in the cold, the sky was gray and dreary; there was little a place to find a glimmer of good light, let alone a glimmer of hope. Adding insult to injury, the fact of being all alone besides their assaulter weighed heavily on the minds of our two sojourners. They didn’t know what to think, or what to believe.
Without an inkling of an idea as to how he was supposed to light the tiny bit of tobacco inside of the pipe, the man had laid it down on his lap just as quickly as he had raised it off of the cold icy ground. Defeated mentally and physically, he closed his eyes.
Jacob noticed the man’s spirit sinking lower and lower into the abyss and tried his best to encourage him.
“It’s going to be alright,” Jacob assured. Though he himself didn’t feel alright at all. One of his many gifts in life was being uplifting to others, even when he couldn’t uplift himself.
The man said nothing.
With the man asleep—at least with his eyes closed—Jacob felt a certain amount of comfort. He didn’t know if today would be his last day of living, but to be honest, he didn’t know if he was still living or not in the first place. If this were to be his bitter end—bitter indeed—then it would be a fitting one, he thought. How many young men got to experience another world with a stranger? Considering they had only seen one other body in their travels, Jacob guessed very few. The thought of death is never a pleasant one, yet somehow Jacob was eased by the fact that this could be the end. It was in this moment of twisted bliss that he remembered putting a few sticks in his pocket the day before. Perhaps this wasn’t the end after all.
Without any source of fire, the men would surely die within a few hours. The sticks that remained in Jacob’s pocket were sufficient to kindle a fire—maybe—but they were certainly not sufficient enough to keep an existing fire alive for long. His thoughts returned to the man’s pipe: that would be their saving grace.
The pipe was no ordinary tobacco pipe. It was longer than normal, and was made of dense oak—the finest in Scotland, where it had been crafted. Hesitantly, Jacob reached over, retrieved the pipe, and immediately broke it in two. There was no going back now.
He had never made a fire before, but he figured that if he got enough friction between his sticks and the tobacco pipe, he would be in good shape—he was not aware of the perils that lay ahead. So there he worked; rubbing every angle of his sticks against the pipe as hard, and as fast as he could, hoping to get at least a spark.
Minute eclipsed minute; hour eclipsed hour. Jacob’s arms had grown tired, and he had nothing to show for his work except worn out pieces of wood. By now his pace had slowed down, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up. Painfully, he pushed forward, screaming expletives he had learned from Meredith in her own times of frustration, as loud as he could. Each stroke presented a new challenge, and also a new hope. With his muscles now failing him, the deed was all but done. All of a sudden, a fractious spark shot out from under the two pieces of wood, signifying not only the presence of heat, but the presence of a dream. Emboldened by the sight of one spark, Jacob pushed onward as hard as he could. Eventually, he would be rewarded with heat.
The fire would last the men a few hours, with Jacob having to find a way to keep the hot coals alive through the night. He knew that the world wouldn’t change until he too fell into a deep slumber. An odd thing, this world was. He was afraid to sleep, yet sleeping and allowing the world to present itself anew was the his best chance at survival now. Like the man a few hours earlier, Jacob laid down on the other side of the hot coals—both men encircling them—and ceremoniously closed his eyes. Waves of heat battled against the cold tide of the world, bumping into their bodies as they slept.