98

Charades was never my favorite game. I found it embarrassing at best, preferring games that didn’t involve physical acting. Here, on the mountain, it would have to become the standard mode of communication. Dorothy was obviously confused as to what had happened. I thought deeply, and then began my charade.
I held out my arms to try and look like a plane. Then I flew one hand and crashed it into my palm. Dorothy nodded. At least she remembered the crash. I pointed to the cabin section, behind her, that we survived in. She hadn’t noticed it before, and I could see her eyes had grown large when she turned back to me. I pointed to the sun then I arched my finger dragging it across the sky. I turned to her and held up three fingers, indicating this was the third day since the crash.
Dorothy stared at me in disbelief. I pointed at her, then made a pillow with my hands and laid my head against it, briefly closing my eyes. I held up my three fingers again. I hope she understood that she had been unconscious since the crash. Her hand covered her mouth as she began to understand.
I reached down and grabbed the pot of melted snow. I took a small sip then indicated it running through my system with my hand wiggling down my chest. I then spread my hand out around my pelvis region, hoping it looked like the water ran through me and I peed myself. Dorothy’s head tilted. I thought I saw understanding. I pointed at her and then gave the pee gesture again. I shrugged my shoulders and lifted my hands palms up. The international I-didn’t-know-what-else-to-do symbol. I pantomimed removing my pants and washing my pelvic region, then raising my pants again. Dorothy watched, her fascination was replacing the anger I saw earlier. I pointed at her again, then hugged myself with a shiver trying to explain how cold she would have been if I let her stay wet. I shrugged my shoulder holding my palms up again. In a sense asking her what else could I have done? Dorothy smiled.
The smile was forced but held forgiveness. Or, at least, acceptance of the necessity. She nodded her head, and I smiled back. We looked at each other for a moment; then she spoke as she mimed. It was a question; that much I could tell. She cradled her arms and rocked them as if she were holding a child. I lost my smile and my eyes watered. I didn’t like the question, but I knew I had to answer.
I shook my head slowly and pointed to my eyes. “I haven’t seen him,” I said, then dropped my head, still shaking it. I didn’t think he would be found alive. I expected to see her fall to the ground in agony. I saw grief and a tear, but none of the pain a mother should feel. I tried not to let it change my opinion of her as she looked down and mumbled something I didn’t understand; maybe a prayer.
Dorothy moved slowly away from me, toward the partial cabin with its four seats. I followed a good ten steps behind. She needed some space, but I didn’t want to lose sight of her. She examined the wreck and reached out to brush the snow off her seat. She looked up, left and right, trying to build an idea of what had happened. She turned to me, pointing at the wreck, then at the missing parts. The question she voiced was unnecessary.
“I found the tail over there,” I said as I walked over to where the tail was and pointed to the west. “The rest, I haven’t found.” I shrugged my shoulders and pointed at where the other parts were. Dorothy nodded and seemed to understand. She pointed at herself and then at her seat, next she pointed at me then at my seat. I nodded my head yes.
Dorothy moved toward the front and pointed at the first seat. I wasn’t sure how to tell her without being rude. I didn’t want to draw my finger across my throat. It seemed too callous. I shook my head in a knowledgeable way. I believed she understood.
Dorothy nodded her head and covered her heart with her hand. She said something quietly that I assumed was close to ‘rest in peace.’ We walked back to the camp, and I sat down on a log and indicated that she should do the same. Surprisingly, she sat next to me on my log.
“Tamara,” Dorothy said, tapping her chest. I smiled, thinking I was a fool for not handling the introductions earlier.
“Jonathan,” I said tapping my chest. Tamara held out her hand, and I shook it.
“Jon.. a.. thun,” Tamara repeated. She butchered my name in the most beautiful way. I laughed and repeated her name. She thought it just as humorous. At least we could laugh together. That was a huge step up from the yelling and miles beyond the silence. I certainly liked Tamara better than Dorothy.
I handed the pot of melted snow to Tamara. She took a sip, set it down and made a motion with her hand, miming eating with a fork. I could feel my empty stomach as well. I stood signaling for her to wait on the log. I retrieved our food supplies and brought them back to her.
I laid out the four Ramon packets and two juice boxes. “That’s all we have,” I said, circling the items with my hand. Tamara stared at them for a moment. I could see her thinking, analyzing our resources and her hunger. She grabbed one of the Ramon packets and pretended to break it in half and pointed me, then back at herself. We would split it.
Tamara pointed at the next packet, then duplicated my sun arch as she spoke. She repeated with the next packet. Split one a day. As good a plan as any. I nodded my head, and she smiled. I smiled back. We had the smile thing down. At least we would be friends.
Tamara took the cooking pot and loaded it with snow and placed it on some coals. I guess she was going to cook. She sat back down next to me and watched the pot.
“A watched pot never boils,” I said aimlessly. Tamara looked at me with a questioning look. I chuckled and waved off the statement, “Just a stupid joke.” She looked at me and smiled again. It was almost as if she understood from my expression. Not the joke itself, but that it was humor. She had a nice smile. It brought so much life to her face.
Tamara reached next to the fire and pulled out a small rock. More of an overgrown pebble. She spoke as she placed in closer to the fire. She pointed at it and then moved her hand across the sky, but only part way. A few hours, I guessed. She picked up the rock, pretending it was hot and carried it toward the hovel and mimed putting it in.
I found her thinking process genius. I smiled and shaped my hands as if I was surrounding a larger fist-sized rock. Tamara nodded enthusiastically, sharing her smile once again. She had proposed a heat source for the night. I tapped both of my index fingers on my temples, then pointed at her and gave her a thumbs up. “You are one smart woman.”
Tamara folded her arm across her chest and cupped her other elbow, then pouted her lips and tucked her free fist under her chin. I laughed at her Thinking Man pose. She bowed at my recognition and joined my laughter. It was a soft, flowing laugh that seemed to float in the air. I was so happy she was awake.
I pointed to the pot and mimed eating, then showed my imaginary rock again. “We can try to find some rocks after we eat.” Tamara agreed and sat next to me again. She mimed a set of binoculars with her fists, then made a flying gesture with her hand followed by pointing at the cabin section. I shook my head then I tapped my ear once, created the number one with my finger, and then pushed my hand away toward the sky a couple of times, “I’ve heard one plane, and it was far away.” I pointed to my eyes and shook my head no, “never saw it.”
I stood and went under the tree and shook the snow off of one of green-needled branches. I broke off one small section and brought it to the fire and threw it in. A small line of thick smoke emitted briefly. I pointed back to the green wood stack and mimed bringing over an arm full and dropping it on the fire. I fluttered my fingers over the fire and raised them to the sky. “Smoke signal for the search planes.”
Tamara smiled, tapped her temple and pointed at me. She understood. I really liked trading smiles with her. They were an incredibly honest form of communication. Most of the time they signified happiness. For us, it meant understanding and agreement as well. When I sat down, Tamara tapped my head, and then her own, followed by hooking her two index fingers together. “Yes,” I nodded, “we do think alike.” More shared smiles as she reached down to set the pot closer to the fire to speed the boil.
I felt incredibly comfortable with Tamara next to me. There was no need for stupid small talk, not that we could anyway. For a woman who woke up with a stranger between her legs, she was incredibly calm. She was already analyzing the situation and coming up with suggestions for making things better. Our cooperation was necessary, and she knew it instinctively. I found her intriguing and attractive, mentally as well as physically. I tried to put the attraction away. She was traveling alone, but a child usually meant a husband. No woman like her could possibly be single.
Sharing the Ramon was a team effort. No silverware, or anything that could be used as such, required us to share the pot and drink the broth and noodles. There was a small temptation to take a huge mouthful and fill my growling stomach. I ignored the urge and pretended to take more than I really did. I figured Tamara needed it more than me. Her body was probably still repairing itself. She had no qualms about sharing the cup and placing her lips where mine had just been. The women I was used too, would have balked at the thought, at least at first. There was a strength in Tamara that accepted necessity for what it was; necessary.