Part Three:  Suspicious Behavior of Swiss Yodelers (from Switzerland)

We left Mr. Gordon dazed and sitting in a mound of snow outside the cabin.  You may recall that Frankie  rushed from the house and pulled the door solidly closed behind him, which action was followed instantaneously by a loud rumbling from above, much like the sound made by one of those avalanches that cause an entire ski party to scatter and seek cover.  Frankie, being for the moment a party of one, could not have scattered  unless he were suddenly endowed with the knowledge of the  Eastern mystics, who, according to the brilliant P.G. Wodehouse, are said to have possessed the ability to cause their physical bodies to disassemble in one place and to reassemble at will in another place.  Being neither Eastern, nor mystic, Frankie was compelled to remain in status quo with regards to his physical body, and that may have been a good thing, because, being under the eaves of the roof, he was in a place of shelter.   Mr. Gordon, however, was not so fortunate in his choice of real estate, for he had landed directly below the very edge of the roof, and so, in the direct path of the coming  onslaught.  Had an Eastern mystic been near at hand, Mr. Gordon could perhaps have implored the kind fellow to use his ability tout suite  for his, Mr. Gordon’s, benefit.  Nothing spectacular, like transporting him to Calcutta or Bombay, or even to Capistrano with the swallows, just a minor disappearance and re-manifestation,  of only ten feet or so in almost any direction would have done the trick.  Eastern mystics, always a rare breed, are especially scarce in the American north woods, particularly  in mid-winter and so it is that one was not nearby in this case,  I suppose a cowboy, skillful with the lasso could have helped Mr.Gordon out of this predicament, as could have a tumbling gymnast or an agile sumo wrestler, but the landscape was conspicuously devoid of such  individuals at this moment, and so Mr. Gordon was left to endure the coming ordeal with none to offer him physical aid, and only Phil and Frankie to suffer with him in spirit.

The ordeal itself lasted only a moment, and indeed the whole thing was over in much less time than it has taken you to read this far, but I have lingered here, at the outset, in an attempt to set the stage and create the right sense of pathos for dear Mr. Gordon and his unhappy predicament.

Let us resume the narrative of events with Frankie, just as he has pulled the door of the cabin closed.  He heard the sound above his head as he turned from the door to resume his rush to Mr. Gordon.   Their eyes met for an instant, then Frankie saw Mr. Gordon look up, perhaps snapped out of his dizziness by the magnitude of the rumblings so near above his head;  and as he looked he seemed to shrink back into his pile of snow, like a groundhog which has seen its shadow.  As Frankie stepped forward  he was stopped in his tracks by a sudden solid curtain of  snow that descended from above, and for a moment made everything go white before his eyes.  Frankie reeled backward from the avalanche, so sudden and violent was it’s appearance, then, when it was over, he found himself gazing at the same pile of snow from which Mr. Gordon had been looking at him, and upon which there was an even larger pile of snow, but of Mr. Gordon there was not a trace.

“Mr. Gordon?  Mr. Gordon?!”

There was a muffled response of several unintelligible syllables, and the pile of snow appeared to heave slightly.

“Mr. Gordon, are you there?  Is that you under there?

Phil had by this time arrived, running from the side of the house.  “Of course it’s him under there Frankie, who did you think it would be? Come on, give me a hand digging him out before he suffocates.”

“Do you hear that Mr. Gordon?  We’ll have you out in a jiffy.  Just sight tight and don’t worry about a thing.  Frankie and Curly are here, and you’re going to be all right.  Just leave everything to us.”

“There he is Frankie.  There, wipe that snow off his nose, I’ll clear a space around his mouth.  There, at least he can breathe now.”

“Yeah, that’s got his head clear.  How do you feel Mr. Gordon?”

“What?  How do I feel?”  Mr. Gordon looked at Frankie for several seconds before seeming to recognize him.  “Mr. Elliott, is that you?”

“I’m right here, Mr.Gordon.  You’re going to be all right.”

“I seem to remember you playing on the sagbutt.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Then I turned and you were there blowing a note and something hit me on the chin.”

“I’m awful sorry about that, Mr. Gordon.  You’re all right now. There was just this little avalanche off the roof right there, it sort of fell right on top of you when I,  that is, well, when I pulled the door closed.”

“You caused the avalanche too?”

“Yeah, I guess I pulled the door a little too hard.”

“Where is Mr. Wellbright?”

“Here I am, Mr. Gordon.”

“Mr. Wellbright, I’d like to move my right arm, can you dig it out please?”

“You’re right arm?  Sure Mr. Gordon, we’ll have your arm out in no time.  Come on Frankie, give me a hand.  There, there it is Mr.Gordon, can you move it all right.”

“Yes, yes I can move it.  Now, could you dig out my left arm please?”

“Your left arm Mr. Gordon?  Of course, here, we’ll have that out in another minute or two. . .  There, there it is.  How does that feel?”

“That’s fine.  I can move both of my hands and arms, and all of my fingers.  I don’t think I can stand up yet.  Mr.  Elliott, would you lean a little closer to me please?”

“Sure Mr. Gordon, anything you say.”

“Thank you, that’s it.  I just want to get both my hands around your neck and squeeze as hard as I can before you get another chance to kill me!”

“Mr. Gordon!  Mr. Gordon, let go of Frankie.  That’s it, let go.  Now, take a deep breath, stay calm, don’t exert yourself, just take it easy.  We’ll have you out of there in not time.  You need to lie down and rest inside.  Let us finish digging you out of this snow.  Just relax.”

“Yes, thank you Mr. Wellbright.  I’m sorry Mr. Elliott I don’t know what came over me just then.  I suppose it was just some primitive impulse for self -preservation.”

“That’s okay Mr.Gordon.  Like Curly said, you just need to lie down and relax.  You’ve been through a trying experience.  Strangling me won’t make it any better.”

“Won’t it?  I mean, of course it won’t.  I am sorry Mr. Elliott.  I feel quite ashamed of myself.  I hope you will forgive me.”

“Sure Mr. Gordon I forgive you.  Besides, you had every right to lose your temper.  Now just take a deep breath and let Curly and I get you out of that snow and into your cabin.”

Unnoticed by our trio, a pair of men on skis had approached.

“Helmut?”  One of them called, ” Helmut, is that you?”

“Helmet? ”  Phil replied as he turned to face the newcomers.  “I don’t have a helmet.  Mr. Gordon, do you have a helmet?”

“No, but I could have used one a few minutes ago.”

“Sorry bud, no helmets here.”

“Sorry,”  The man  said, “I was mistaken.  I thought you were our friend, our friend Helmut.  He is staying in a cabin near this place.  We came  here to meet him.”

“Your friend Helmut isn’t here.  My name’s Phil Wellbright, my pal here is Frankie Elliott, and our host  is Mr. Gordon.   We had a little accident and we’re just getting Mr. Gordon inside.   Would you two mind giving us a hand?”

The two strangers exchanged glances, then the one who had done all the talking said  “Ya, we will help.  But then we must be going.  We must find Helmut.”

The two men stepped out of their bindings and stuck theirs skis into the snow,   “Your friend here was caught in the avalanche?”

“Yes, from the roof.  It wasn’t that bad really, but he had just suffered a fall before that.”

“You should be more careful.  Always you Americans are a careless people.  You will find yourself getting hurt that way.”

“I suppose we should be more careful.  Thanks for the warning.  I take it you and your friend  are not Americans.  Mind telling us  your business here?”

“Our business?  We are . . . entertainers, hired below, at the lodge.”

“At the lodge? ”  Frankie said, “Me too, I’m a musician.  Are you guys in the orchestra too?”

“Ni- no, we are not in the orchestra.  We are yodelers.”

“Yodelers?”

“Ya, Swiss yodelers.  From Switzerland.”

“From Switzerland.”

“That is right.  Allow me to introduce myself.  To my friends I am known simply as Conrad.  Hans  and I have come here to find our friend Helmut to rehearse together.  Helmut, he is also a yodeler.”

“A Swiss yodeler.”  Hans added.

“Yes, Hans is right.  Helmut is also from Switzerland, like us.”

“You two seem awful keen to make sure we know you are from Switzerland.  What’s up with that?”

Conrad  answered. “Oh, well, it is just that we grow tired of the way you Americans confuse our country with Sweden.  So many times when we say we are Swiss, and our kind American hosts say “Ah, Sweden, ”  and we have to correct them and say “No, not Sweden, Switzerland. ”

Hans added. “Sweden is on the Baltic Sea, and borders Norway and Finland.  Switzerland has no coast, but is situated among the Alps, and is surrounded by  many  neighbors:  France, Italy, Austria and of course, Germany.”

“That’s a rough neighborhood to be in these days.   What do you guys think about what  Hitler has done to Poland?”

“How the Fuhrer choses to deal with the Slavic peoples to the east is not a concern for Switzerland.”  Conrad responded.

“Nor for the British or French.  Or the Americans.”  Hans said.

“Hans!”

“Well, thanks for the geography lesson, and thanks for helping us get Mr. Gordon inside.  We won’t detain you from your rehearsal any longer.”

“I hope your friend recovers from his accident.  Please be more careful, all of you, to avoid danger.   Good day.”

Phil closed the door behind Conrad and Hans, and watched through the window as they put on their skis and glided away.

“There’s something suspicious about those guys Curly.”

“You noticed it too?”

“Yeah.   They sure went out of their way to convince us that they were Swiss yodelers, and not Swedish yodelers.  Well I’ve got news for Conrad and Hans, and Helmut too, wherever he is:  we might  look like just a couple of dumb Americans, but I guess we look too dumb for their good, because even a couple of guys like us know there’s no such thing as a Swedish yodeler.”

 

To be continued . . .

Click here to read Ski bums and sagbutts: A madcap frolic in the snow. (Part 1fb).

Click here to read Ski bums and Sagbutts: A Madcap Frolic in the Snow (Part 2fb).

Copyright 2017 r.k.morris