Mark was a slow-moving, lumbering man. People often compared
him to a bear. He didn’t have a bear’s ferocity, nor speed when he ran. At
least, I assume not, because I only saw him moving at one speed: slowly. He had
a great smile, an insufferable accent, and loved to hear himself speak. Come
winter, he always walked around with a pair of skates over his shoulder.
Manolito was a newcomer to the country and my classmate. I had gotten new
skates last year. He was small so I had him try on my old ones. With an extra
pair of woolen socks, they fit perfectly. I had decided to teach him how to
skate and Mark joined us when he saw them hanging by their long laces on our
shoulders.
“Headed for the pond?” “Yes, have you been yet this year?”
“No, I thought I might have a look.” We walked together, after introductions,
Mark trailing with his shuffling gait, us boys scampering on ahead, a little
excitement pulling us all along. The trail was packed by other eager feet. We
heard the metallic sound of blades hitting the ice. There was not much sound
apart from the scraping, other than the occasional scream and thump from falls,
followed by murmurs when kids were pulling other kids up. We turned a bend and
saw the pond. It was well attended with Billy and Joe and Peter and others I
didn’t recognize at first glance. We dropped down onto the snow and took our
boots off. Mark arrived and looked around with a smile. He was tall. If he sat,
he might not be able to stand back up. He leaned against a tree and proceeded
to change into his skates.
Manolito and I were done fast. I helped Manolito lace the
skates tight and saw his surprise when I pulled him up. He was unnaturally tall
on the blades and ready to topple back in the snow. I guided him to the edge,
walking slowly. He had put both his hands on my shoulders to steady himself. I
descended upon the pond and turned around to face him. “Slowly,” I advised. He
put one wobbly foot on the hard surface, then another. From the corner of my
eye, I could see Mark detaching himself from the lamppost and see his labored
breath condensed in front of his mouth. It was probably everybody’s first time
of the season. The ice was pockmarked. Here and there tall grasses broke
through the surface and tripped the unsuspecting skaters. “This way, Manolito.”
Bravely, he started dragging his feet, trying to walk with those contraptions.
“Glide,” I said unhelpfully, as I strode away. The new
skates were amazing, sturdier and the right size. My feet were happy, I could
wiggle my toes. I soon forgot about Manolito as I saw Tom and his sister Kate ,
Anthony and Peter, and joined them to compare skates and stories. With a pang,
I realized I’d forgotten about Manolito. Mark was talking to him, with large
arm movements. He put his arm out and Manolito took hold of it. Mark started
dragging Manolito around. He was so graceful, even with this weight attached to
his arm. For his part, Manolito’s job was to stay upright and watch the
scenery. Mark was skating effortlessly, away from the rough edges to give poor
Manolito a chance to keep his balance. The speed helped and Mark was talking
non-stop.
Cautiously, Manolito tried to imitate him. He was scrawny
but emboldened by Mark’s steady arm. He kept losing his balance, the skates
giving out under his feet and pulling him forward as his head drew an arc back
towards the ice, but his grip was good and his tottering gave way to a more
stoic stance. They were a sight to see, Mark gliding away, followed by what
looked like his tree. As Manolito started to relax, he increased his speed, and
soon we were watching them circling us, like a circus act, thinking that at any
moment poor Manolito would come hurtling towards one of us like a bowling ball
and topple us down like pins. We could hear Mark talking and soon, still
holding Manolito, he turned and started skating backwards effortlessly, all the
while holding Manolito’s gaze on his own. Manolito started gliding too,
imitating Mark’s long strides. I don’t know who started clapping, but pretty
soon a rhythmic clapping accompanied them, muffled mitten sounds, then stomping
blades and chanting. We had retreated to the edges, leaving the nicer, smoother
part of the pond to the pair.
Mark said something and sent Manolito sailing in the air.
The chanting stopped as we saw his body suspended mid-air, Manolito’s
exhilarated face turned to the sky before pummeling back to the ice. But Mark
caught him effortlessly and deposited him on the pond, before pushing him off
in a straight line. He hadn’t yet learned to stop and so Tom came to the rescue
and grabbed his elbow before he barrelled into someone. He expertly turned him
around and started skating with him in the other direction. Kate took him off
his hands. She was the same size as Manolito and their strides were equal. One
by one, kids accompanied him back and forth, to the chanting and clapping of
the others. He was grinning so much we thought his face would forever stay that
way, frozen in perpetual glee. The light was falling and the cold was getting
fierce. Reluctantly, we brought Manolito back to the edge and sat him down in
the snow. His eyes were lighting up the small area where he sat. Kate helped
him out of his skates and into his boots. When he stood, he looked as unsteady
as when he first put on his skates and we ribbed him gently.
All the kids were now shod again and about to leave when we
looked back once more at the deserted pond. Mark’s silhouette could still be
seen gliding in furious circles, doing arabesques and jumps, no longer a lumbering
bear, oblivious to the dwindling light, happiness lighting the way.