As her head dropped below the water line, her mind replayed the events of the days before in disjointed fragmented clips that seemed to make no sense. ILLUSTRATION | JOHN NYAGA
Ethel awoke to a sunrise that shocked her senses. Vivid watercolour’s splashed across a rapidly lightening sky, peaches, purples, reds and yellows that morphed into gold as the sun came bursting over the horizon, framed majestically by the mountain peaks.
But the mountain was not done showing off. Their hike that day was scene after scene of blue tinged peaks, strange gnarled trees twisted and bent by the wind, flowers in neon hues, streams of glass water so clear you could see the smooth round rocks lining their depths.
Ethel kicked as hard as she could, flailing her arms wildly, struggling as her sodden clothes weighed her down like an anchor, dragging her under the crystal clear freezing waters of a mountain lake. As her head dropped below the water line, her mind replayed the events of the days before in disjointed fragmented clips that seemed to make no sense.
It had taken lots of coaxing and cajoling from Damon, her husband, to go on this trip to Mount Kenya. He’d said it would be good for them to get away, and she had to agree with him. They’d been fighting incessantly, over issues ranging from the absurd to the serious, causing rifts that were threatening to pull them apart. So despite her unwillingness to spend days in a cold tent, she’d agreed; after 10 years of marriage, she had to try, didn’t she?
“See? I knew you’d like it,” Damon said on their first night, as they sat next to a roaring fire surrounded by a darkness that cocooned them cozily in its embrace. They cooked over the open fire, laughed, joked and teased one another so that later, dozing by the embers and full from their hearty meal, Ethel actually found herself enjoying Damon’s company.
“Yeah, it’s not that bad,” she teased, winking at him through choking smoke as they stamped out the fire before crawling into their tent.
Ethel awoke to a sunrise that shocked her senses. Vivid watercolour’s splashed across a rapidly lightening sky, peaches, purples, reds and yellows that morphed into gold as the sun came bursting over the horizon, framed majestically by the mountain peaks.
But the mountain was not done showing off. Their hike that day was scene after scene of blue tinged peaks, strange gnarled trees twisted and bent by the wind, flowers in neon hues, streams of glass water so clear you could see the smooth round rocks lining their depths.
“I have a surprise for you,” Damon’s voice cut into her reverie and she looked over her shoulder at him, shooting him a small smile, then spinning around to look as he pointed up ahead to a sharp bend in the trail, “Just over there.”
It was a mountain lake, Lake Michaelson, shining like a jewel in the late afternoon sun, a diamond nestled perfectly in a deep valley. Ethel stood mesmerized as Damon explained that they’d be camping by its shores, and when he suggested a canoeing trip after they’d descended the steep slopes to stand by the grey blue waters, she didn’t hesitate. It was magical, a silence broken only by the swish of the single oar cutting through the tranquil waters and two large eagles who danced in erratic patterns in the darkening sky above them, painted a rosy red by the setting sun.
“I’m sorry we’ve been fighting,” Damon said softly from behind her where he sat rowing their little inflatable canoe, “Especially about the insurance thing…I’m just thinking of our future, you know?”
Ethel had been lulled into a dreamlike state by the sultry evening, the long hike had tired her out physically but her mind was high off adrenaline, altitude and the surreal beauty of the mountain. It was as if the months of vicious fights and the nagging feeling that she wasn’t safe, simply disappeared as she stared up into the sky that was now showing the first stars.
“I signed it, I just wasn’t sure I wanted to at first,” the words spilled from her lips.
“You did?” the inflection in Damon’s voice should’ve set her on edge but Ethel was too distracted, “Why didn’t you tell me? Where are the papers?”
“My desk, at work,” Ethel found herself saying as if she’d been dosed with Ether, then hesitated as she noticed suddenly that the hairs on the back of her neck were standing, and not from the cold. As she begun to swing her head round to look at him, she felt his strong arms wrap around her. She didn’t have the time nor the presence of mind to react, and so the little canoe hardly rocked in the gently bobbing waters as Damon swung her tiny frame overboard.
It was icy and black. How come she could no longer see the sky or hear the wind? Cold and dark was as far as her senses could sense, as the biting cold drew all the breath from her lungs and numbed her mind so that she couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Slipping under the dark waters, Ethel watched transfixed as silver orbs floated before her eyes, the air escaping her lungs, bubbling from her slightly open lips.
‘You’re drowning Ethel.’
A lucid thought broke through her hypnotized state as her lungs filled with fire, screaming for oxygen. Ethel begun to kick, thrashing her arms, and after a few painful moments her head broke through the surface and she gasped, gulping in mouthfuls of air greedily; feeling the weight of her soaked clothes, several layers of jackets, thermal pants and heavy mountain shoes, anchors pulling her down into the lakes depths. She couldn’t tread any longer as her muscles gave up in the frigid water and she felt herself sink, the ice rushing to cover her face, the lake ensconcing her in a tomb of impenetrable darkness and silence.
