"Bio filled with hilarious humor, awesome history, heartrending tragedy, spirituality and love"

A Bio filled with Hilarious Humor, Awesome Adventure,
Heart-Rending Tragedy, Spirituality, and Love

A Unique and Rich Amalgam of Short Stories, Poems, Narratives and Anecdotes
That Will Touch Your Every Emotion from laughter to Tears!
A Diamond Mine Filled with Gems for Every Reader!

A New Book in 324 pages by Edward R. Rogaishio
Includes Photos back to the turn of the Century.

Copyright © Library of Congress 2009

Some comments received to date!

"Awesome", "Incredible", "Must Read", "Eloquent",
"Hilarious", "Devilish Humor", "Inspiring", "Poignant",

"Whimsical", "Witty", "Wise", "Powerful Prose",
"Art of the Storyteller" "Bravo!"

An Eclectic Collection of All Things Written.
Midnight to Infinity offers an eclectic collection of all things written. Readers may cry,
laugh, and experience every emotion between the two. Both fictional and not, this funny,
old artist's short stories and poems are both intellectually stimulating and wildly hilarious.
A good time is had by all who open the pages of this book and get lost in Rogaishio's mind.

'Scamp' Escapades.
The book runs a gamut from the escapades of an adventurous young ‘scamp’ to the final story of the roots of his family.

Napoleon's Murderous Invasion of Russia
1812 roots that barely survived Napoleon’s murderous invasion of Russia through Lithuania when the few shocked and bloodied serf survivors managed to flee into the forests to live on as little as tree bark.

Adventure in Russia
You will adventure with the author in the Lomonosov, St. Petersburg area of Russia.

Firefighting, Tragedies and Rescue
As you work with him through his thirty one years as a firefighter, you will experience the depths of tragedy in the loss of a comrade and the heart wrenching losses of young children. You will battle black darkness and icy cold in an attempt to rescue a child lost in deep woods.

Childish Innocence
And live in the innocence, fears and poignant heart of a young boy.

Total Nonsense and Hilarity
You will ride the waves of total nonsense and hilarity in a poem wherein the unfortunate hero
misadventures across the continents, even below them and up through the very stars.

Peace and Introspection
And you will find peace and deep introspection of your own life.

"Without a doubt - 'God created the Heavens and the Earth'... But after reading this
awesome book, 'Midnight to Infinity', I'm convinced that Edward Rogaishio was undoubtedly
the Lord's third creation!
From his first sentence, 'Who am I?' we are transported into Ed's amazing world of both despair
and triumph! An incredible story chronicling a journey that few ever travel - inviting us to experience his sorrows & joys;
delighting and inspiring us with his poignant poetry and prose and uncanny, devilish
sense of humor -
A must read for all!"

Rhonda Fleming, Movie & Television Star, 'Queen of Technicolor'
Star on Hollywood Walk of Fame

                "Delightful from beginning to end. Ed Rogaishio’s writing shows a kind heart, and a gentle and witty spirit. He quickly connects with the reader so that they sense his warmth and feel that they are lucky to know him. His humorous anecdotes and wildly clever poetry are presented in a Thurber-ish style that will strike a chord with like minds and kindred spirits. No one who has lived life and learned to laugh out loud will put this book down without being sad to have come to its end."
                    Marie Thomas, Science Writer/Photographer
                    Editor of Suburban Howls (c 2007) by Dr. Jonathan Way,
                    Eastern Coyote Research, Barnstable, MA

“Edward Rogaishio has written a warm-hearted, charming, funny book that rewards the reader beyond all expectation”

Janet Guthrie, NASCAR driver, First woman to race in Indy & Daytona 500’s,
International Women’s Sports Hall of Fame, International Motor Sports Hall of Fame

            “Midnight to Infinity is the life story of a New England boy, almost priest, told in a unique style of openly emotional and loving prose and poetry. Snippets throughout weave his life experiences of career, play, family and history together. He has observed the complications of his life experiences and their impact on his life and everyone and everything around him. He has and continues to enjoy life with all its idiosyncrasies.”

                Peter Gouveia, Scientist, worked at NASA helping to land a man on the moon, knew the astronauts personally, and with others,
                worked with world renowned German scientist Werner Von Braun, developer of the Saturn V Moon Rocket

“Ed Rogaishio has done what many of us wish we had done: looked back on his life and captured the memories, stories and moments that mattered. Ed blends anecdotes, poems, essays and short fiction with wit, wisdom and the art of a story teller. As he describes the life of the Russian people during a memorable visit, his harrowing life as a firefighter, and his mother’s courage in escaping Czarist Lithuania to travel across Europe to America as a young girl, Ed’s simple yet powerful prose grips the reader’s emotions and creates a shared experience.”

                   Linda J. Dixon, Secretary of the Corporation, Tufts University,
                   A Premier Leadership Training and World-class Research School.
                   Lieut. Colonel (Ret), Massachusetts Army National Guard.

“Here is a funny, down-to-earth memoir that’s loaded with photos, stories and poetry. Rogaishio takes the reader on a fascinating journey through different times, cultures and topics- from his ancestors caught in the horrors of the Napoleonic Wars, to the many facets, interests and adventures of his own life, to a hilarious, feel-good chapter called “Cow Stories”, the interaction with dear neighbors that was the inspiration for this book. Truly an eloquent and engaging testimony to the power of story telling.”

                   Elena Lapitsky, Russian Language and Literature Instructor,
                   Boston College. Ms Lapitsky, born in Latvia, came to the States,
                   is presently a translator and teaches at Boston College.

“I was enchanted by this book. Mr. Rogaishio’s writing is whimsical, witty and wise. He has seen life’s darker side; but it never overshadows his basic optimism, reflected in anecdotes, short stories, and poetry. His is a heart that hears the music of life and transcribes it for the rest of us.”

                     Barbara Suhrstedt, International Concert Pianist. While in Russia
                     she was a Panelist judging a competition of young musicians
                     from all over Russia.

** Copies of the book galleys for review and comments have been requested also, by:

Wilford Brimley, American Actor, spokesperson for the fight against Diabetes via Liberty Medical
Diabetes commercials;
Raymond Berry, Player Baltimore Colts; Head Coach NE Patriots 1984-5, Football Hall of Fame;
Robert Loggia, Leading man, Character Actor, Stage & Screen Star.

Because of printing restraints, the number of pictures, in grayscale, allowed to be placed
in the book was of necessity, restricted. Those most important to stories were included.
Above is one of them. However, since there is plenty of room in this web site,
These additional photos have been made available to all only here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Additional Pictures that could not be placed in the book.
Not necessarily in order.

Father, Dja Dja, Walter Kardis Helen, Eddie, age 5,
Peter Paul Rogaishio & Mamie

                        Mother at her brother                  The sad letter from home.
Stephen's grave.

Church of Our Saviour Gateway to the Peter Paul Fortress
on the Spilled Blood

The Monument to the Breaking of the Fountains at Peter the Great's Grand Palace
Siege, St. Petersburg, Russia

                       Vladimir Slepukhin and Tatiana Proshkina,
                              journalist, at his studio.

         Edward receiving the 16th century Illuminated
           Codex, the Tale of the Battle of the Kulikovo Field,
                                                                      at the Artists' Reception.

Farewell Reception for the FLAME Delegates
Marina Akhromova, Kalinka President
Left front in red

SPLASHES OF PAINT
One Lost, One Found
Ode to a Recalcitrant Computer
Well, Well, Well

AN INTERNATIONAL FLAME
Music Is Everywhere
A Russian Adventure
Reminiscences and Days After
Children

COW-A-BUNGA HAS NOTHING ON US—NOTHING BUT
COW STORIES
Milky Way
From the Red Barn
Chocolate Patties
Congratulations!
To The Rescue
Easter Cheer
Thank You
How Now Wonderful Cow
Thank You Once Again
A Christmas Jingle
To the Milkman
The News, Oh, The News
To Farmer Ed

THIRTY-ONE YEARS
Firefighter
Deadly Call
Where’s John?
Essence of a Nocturne

INNOCENCE
In the Blackness of Night
The Light Under the Door
Why Aren’t They Moving?

About the Author

The author, born July 15, 1931, in Framingham, Massachusetts, lived
several years as a child in Worcester and was schooled his first two years
in St. Anthony School. Then moving back to Framingham, he was
enrolled in St. Stephen School through the Ninth Grade when he
became Class President, and also, received the American Legion
School Award of Distinguished Achievement. Graduating he
received a scholarship to Sacred Heart High in Newton.

After high school his next four years were spent in Maryknoll,
the Catholic Foreign Mission Society of America where he received
his BA in Philosophy which colors all his works and thinking. Though he has a happy
and silly off-the-wall side, many of his pieces are metaphysical,
deeply introspective and carry into the afterlife.
Years later while working in the Framingham Fire Department,
he went to night school at Quinsigamond Community College in
Worcester where he received his Associate Degree in Fire Science
with Highest Honors.

Writing, especially descriptive, letters, and hard-hitting papers,
was something at which he excelled and these were challenges he
always enjoyed. While in the Fire Department where he eventually
rose to the rank of Deputy Fire Chief, he became heavily involved
with the Firefighters Union and originated and was the Editor of
the Union Post, the firefighters’ newsletter.

Being basically a shy person, in 1972 he joined Mensa, an organization
of persons with higher intelligence quotients and this gave
him the badly needed self-confidence to stand up to any person in
any situation. He held many positions through his career with the
department: Secretary of the Union, Chief Bargaining Agent for the
Union, Spokesman for the five Town employee groups, and the All
Unions Representative to the town Special Committee on Collective
Bargaining all of which demanded a great deal of writing of
information, contract and research papers.

His doggedness to learn everything possible so as to do the best
possible work and attain the best possible results, led him into being
elected a Town Meeting Member and an appointment as a
member of the Standing Committee on Personnel. His hard work
and knowledgeable efforts won him an appointment to the Town
Finance Committee, FinCom, the only working town employee
ever to hold this position. As a member of FinCom, he was
appointed Subcommittee Chairman of all the Town Social Service
groups and Departments.

Retiring from the Fire Department after thirty-one years of ser-
vice, he joined the Framingham Artists’ Guild, became an
accomplished artist, served as President for nine and one half years and
was Editor of the Guild’s newsletter for some twelve years. Also,
he became a vice-President of the Framingham, Massachusetts
Sister Cities group FLAME (Framingham Lomonosov Association
for Mutual Exchange) paired with Lomonosov, Russia. He is the
Resident Artist and Editor of FLAME’s biennial newsletter.

Through contact via FLAME, and as President of the Guild at the
time, he chaired an Art Cultural Exchange project between the
Guild and the Lomonosov, Russian artist group, Kolorit. As Trip
Master and artist, he with other artists, exhibited art works in the
Japanese Pavilion of Prince Menchikov’s Palace, a favorite of
Peter the Great, in Lomonosov, Russia in 1996.

Currently he is enjoying retirement, his family, grandchildren,
writing new stories and creating new art in several genres.

From behind a clump of shadowy trees, a hazy light, swinging, probing, made its way over to him. It was fastened to the end of a long sleeve that led to a ghostlike, glistening, wet yellow and black raincoat. When it stopped before Marcus, the raincoat revealed itself to be draped over a real humanoid being.

“Hi yourself,” greeted Marcus squinting at the view. “Find anything yet?”

“Not a thing, my friend. These bushes are so thick and it‘s getting so dark. With this fog, you can‘t see a hand in front of your face.”

“Yeah, it‘s pretty miserable out here all right. That poor little devil, I hope he found a hole or somethin‘ to crawl into. How long has he been missing now? I feel like I‘ve been walking all night. Boy, are my feet gettin‘ cold.”The voice from the raincoat came from a middle-aged, a bit pot-bellied man about Marcus‘s size and age. He was heavily swathed in sweaters, hats, and who knows what else, puffing clouds of breath like an old steam engine chugging with all its might.

Marcus grinned to himself as he thought that the man‘s shape even had a bit of a pufferbelly steam engine look to it. Okay. Enough. Be charitable. The guy’s got a lot of guts wandering around out here. I’m getting to be as bad as my kids. “Four hours or so, I guess. Maybe evening? Late afternoon?” Marcus shrugged his shoulders to bury his chin deeper into his jacket collar and shifted from one cold foot to the other. One pair of wool socks definitely was not enough. “The temp‘s still above freezing, but it‘s unbelievably raw. He‘s gonna be frozen solid if we don‘t find him pretty soon.”

Marcus wore a nylon-covered hat of wool and fake fur pulled down deeply over his ears, a more than damp blue and yellow jacket, sweater, and short black boots that crunched on frosty, dead ground and shushed over soggy snow. He wore jeans but no long johns and that had been a mistake.

A late winter thaw with its sunny, bright warming days lacking snow and hoary ice was a fine respite, but to be slogging through the woods in a moonless black night with half melted snow pouring cold up from below and thick damp fog burying him with its raw mist from above, and air that did not know whether to freeze or melt was quite another story.

Thoughts of his warm, comfortable home with its radiators sizzling danced in his head as he moved on in this wet yet frozen Hades. “Don‘t know about you, but I could use a good shot of something hot.”

“Yeah. Me too,” agreed the stranger while swinging his arms and making little hops.

They both looked up. Was it snowing? More misery. Maybe drizzling? “Say, you don‘t suppose that kid got out of here, and right now he‘s in a nice warm bed?” the stranger inquired.

“No, I don‘t think so,” said Marcus, his brow furrowing. “If he‘d been found, they would have shot off a flare to let us know.”

“Yeah, you‘re right. But I‘ll bet some of these guys out here are lost themselves already and don‘t know it.”

“No sweat, we‘re not lost. None of us will disappear.” Marcus tried to reassure him. “With all the people in here all you have to do is keep walking. You‘ll bump into someone. You bumped into me, right?”

“Don‘t know. We‘re on the end of the search line, and there‘s no one else out to that side.” He pointed in the wrong direction. Marcus just smiled. The stranger kept on talking. “I‘ll still bet someone gets lost in here before the night‘s out.”

Little did he or Marcus realize just how prophetic those words would be. They continued searching, Marcus leading, poking his light this way and that while the stranger stayed close by adding the brightness of his light. Fog surrounded them in a shivery shroud—something they could do without. Fog has the unpleasant property of absorbing and scattering light through its billions of floating minute water particles thus preventing any great depth of vision through it. It forced the pair to continually stop to poke around in every overgrown bush and shrub before they could be sure they had seen all parts of it before continuing into the night. Without realizing it, they both had wandered away from the end of the search line.

“Did you know the kid?” asked Marcus as he probed gently through a large mound of leaves and snow.

“He lives a couple streets over, so I wouldn‘t know him if I saw him. I figure though, I should come out and help. Hate to see my own kid lost. Even though a kid‘s not your own, you can‘t treat them differently. I hear no one missed him till it got dark. By that time, he could have been gone for hours or even kidnapped! Anyone think of that?”

Poor guy’s getting pretty cold and nervous by the minute, thought Marcus. “He wasn‘t gone that long,” he said, “and they missed him for about fifteen minutes when he was not seen in the park. They looked for him themselves for maybe less than a half hour before they really got scared and called the police and fire departments. The call for volunteers went out right after that. You know how little kids are. One minute they‘re here, and the next one they‘re not. In just a blink of an eye, away they go! I‘ve got a couple kids myself. You think they‘re in the backyard when actually they‘re playing with the kids down the block.”

“Four or so, someone said, and a bit small for his age. You‘d be surprised how little space they take when they scrunch up into a ball. To find them is really, really hard. We could walk right by him and never know, even poking around like we‘re doing.” Marcus continued, “Light hair, blue eyes, wearing a dark brown jacket, blue shirt, jeans, and red boots with Mickey Mouse on them—tough colors to see at night. Oh, and a red hat. Wish he had been wearing something brighter. Today being so nice it brought him and his sister out to play on a swing. He probably started chasing chipmunks or squirrels then lost his way and he was gone before his sister missed him. She did a lot of looking. Then she finally panicked and went running to her folks. It wasn‘t long before the panic button was slammed by them too. Patrick Arthur Stewart had fun wandering around, but time and the sun fly and so does the day. No telling where he might go, and he probably got scared stiff when the dark set in. Being lost at night isn‘t the greatest thing for a little kid. I just hope he isn‘t hurt. Bad enough being cold and scared and trying to keep warm in all this slushy mess.”

The stranger started to speak when his foot caught on a low clump of juniper and he noisily plunged forward into thick brush sending a shower of tiny cold sparkling droplets over them both. Startled, Marcus gasped and jerked away as the frigid beads splashed his face and neck. “Holy jezebels!” he exclaimed. But of whatever else nearly said, he became mute. Any further possible words were lost in the sounds of thrashing branches and snapping twigs. Wiping water from his face with his free hand, he turned his light on the still stumbling form. “What happened? You okay?” Wet snow covered him like a friend of Jack Frost. Marcus tried to lend the other a helping hand, but the still whipping branches held him at bay.

“Oww, my. . .oww! These crazy-branched wild trees! Ah, my face. I think I broke my finger!” the stranger spoke with a strain of pain in his voice. Finally he regained his balance and disentangled himself from the clutching shrub fingers. “Oww. These little lights that they give you to hike with—you‘d think they would light up the whole woods so you wouldn‘t go around breaking your neck. Ah.” He tried to juggle his light and bring sore knuckles up to his mouth while he gingerly examined thin welts on his cheek with the other mittened hand.

Marcus spoke with concern. “Looks like you‘ll have a sore cheek for a while, but this cold air will help keep any swelling down. Why don‘t you pack a little snow on it? Good as an ice cube. If it hurts too much, go back and have someone take a look at it, and your eye too. Have a cup of hot java, and rest up in style. After you‘ve had a chance to relax and feel better, you can come back in and give it hell. See that glow on the horizon?” The stranger followed Marcus‘s finger craning his neck to see through darkness and brush. “That‘s your way,” Marcus guided him.

“You really think so?” he asked in a mournful tone, but a grin rapidly spreading across his face told another story.

With a firm grip on the man‘s shoulder, Marcus gently pushed him in the proper direction. “Just keep looking for the glow. Be careful, and you‘ll make it.”

The stranger needed no more convincing. With a half wave of his beam and mumbling something about “seeing you later,” he disappeared into the blackness.

Marcus sighed. Good thing he found me and good to have all the help we can, but those volunteering for the first time should be cautioned more strongly about drifting away from their team.

Back to the cold, wearing job at hand. Back to lonely wander-ings in pursuit of a seemingly futile and chimerical end. Marcus unfortunately, gave no thought to where the next man in the line was supposed to be and drifted further in the wrong direction. A half hour dragged by broken only by sharp lashes across cheeks and gloved hands. He was collecting his own set of battle scars. I’ve had it! Marcus suddenly turned and headed back. Got to get warm or they’ll find me crawled into a hole just waving my hand. Baby! Could I go for a cup of coffee laced with something strong enough to light up my hair! He fought back a persistent shiver and tried to think only of heat, a soft chair, a cup full of hot buttered rum with a tall cinnamon stick stirrer, the aroma tickling his nose, the warm liquid sliding over his tongue with all the wet and cold dampness erased. Ah. Home sweet home. His slippered feet warm, comfortable on a hassock, the boys long ago gone to bed, his beautiful wife hugging him, and smother-ing him with kisses and never again allowing him to roam.

Marcus, a firefighter veteran of twenty one years had finally gotten into the promotional books. Time to get a job easier for this forty-something-year-old body. He was off duty and in the books today, but when the call for volunteers came, he immediately dropped his studies and came out to help along with his peers.

He thought he was returning correctly through the misty cloak, but in his haste to flee this freezing prison, instead he had moved onto new ground crashing into new brush stingier to yield easy passage than ever. His light flashed past the base of a huge oak. Muttering unkind words against the wet thickness surrounding him, he circled and forced his way through the low but still dense brush.

Have to be a wild rabbit to make it through here. Where the heck is here? He puzzled before realizing he himself was now lost. Oh, beautiful. Smart aleck who knows everything now needs search parties out looking for him. His distant barely glowing beacon has disappeared. Which direction? Which direction? Well, one’s as good as another I suppose. He had played in these woods when he was much younger. He had forgotten how much younger, those years ago. So now, another adventure if I don’t freeze first. What an end for a pro.

He stomped on confident there was a landmark to be found that would point him toward home. And then, like a thunderbolt clearing everything out before it, every thought, word, and image fled his mind leaving it as clear and lucid as a crystal spring, and in its purified midst, an image completely unfettered by any distraction appeared! Red Boots! Two little red boots! An almost subliminal flash in the moving beam of his hurrying yellow-white light!

Where?! Ah, yes. Back there at that oak tree! The oak tree! That oak tree—where? Right behind me, yes? Yeah. Back that way. Marcus quickly started back. But it was not back where he thought as he crashed through the brush. No. Not this way. Over there. Where over there? He went a few more yards and stopped. There’s no tree here. The tree! Where is that tree?! Oh, Lord, don’t tell me I’ve found him only again to lose him?. No. That way. Stop! Come on dumdum, stop all this thrashing around. He’s right here somewhere. Don’t move another step. All right. It was just a few minutes, no more, since I saw him till I turned around. Lord, this has to be the blackest night since your creation. That tree is big. It didn’t just walk away. Okay. This is my base, my center point. What do I have to mark it? Yes, I’ll stand up that long,, dead branch—keep checking back on it and check some more. Good. Got anything to reflect light? My handkerchief. That’s white. He tied it to the branch end that would be the highest. Now let’s see if instead of running around in circles I can walk with some sense. No big trees here so that one has to be a bit further out.

Slowly in a complete circle, Marcus shone his light. He moved out twenty or thirty feet and circled around his base as the hub, searching and constantly checking back on his marker and almost panicked when sight of the marker was briefly lost. He rounded another wider circle. A particularly dark area appeared.

Something is really blotting out the light. Could it be the tree or just another huge shrub? Have to keep myself in a straight line, so I can backtrack if I’m wrong. No more dead branches but plenty of live ones. Break them off. Good trail markers. Easy to spot.

Slowly, he moved breaking branches on every shrub while shining his light into that deep blackness sweating a gnawing fear that he might be wrong. The darkness swallowed his beam like a sucking black hole when his beam was aimed low while the fog threw it back at him when he held the light high. This generated a growing frustration. Bad as being in a smoky fire when you can’t see two inches from the lens.

The tree was oak and looked big enough, but there was no hollow and no red boots. Marcus‘s heart sank. Please, it has to be the right one. He pushed his way to the base then slowly made his way around it. His light firmly fastened on the ground level of the trunk.

Two little red boots one higher than the other in a rough looking hollow! Wet blue jeans with one pant leg tucked into its boot and the other crumpled over its boot in a loop. Yes! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! The boots protruded from a large A-shaped crack wide at the bottom then quickly rising to a long narrow slit at the top anchored between the hollow‘s edge and gigantic root. It probably had been blasted open by a lightning strike some years ago and now its inside had turned punky from insect borings and weather. Little wonder the searchers had trouble finding him, especially if they went by the tree on the wrong side. Scarcely daring to believe his eyes, Marcus shone his light into the cavity‘s bottom. He feared that what he had found, like a ghostly illusion would shimmer and melt away.

New chilling questions arose in Marcus‘s head. Is he all right? Is he alive? Marcus had to kneel with his face close to the ground. He looked upward to see the whole of the child. The tiny lad was scrunched up with knees drawn together and one hand in a pocket. His hat was askew and was covering most of his face. He was leaning on one side of the hollow, his head cushioned on soft, crumbly wood. He looked almost comfortable. This was so wild! The tree was a woodland nest for the small and a refuge for the lost. Gently, worry crowding his eyes, a heavy frown humped on his forehead, Marcus put a hand on the boy‘s knee and gently shook it once, then twice. Brown dusty wood bits flaked off and drifted into his face. Silence. Had the precious child paid the cost?

“Patrick,” he called softly. “Patrick”, a bit louder combined with a shake. Quiet. Then a barely audible moan rewarded Marcus‘s waiting ears. The boy‘s head turned toward the disturbing sound and light. He’s okay! Somewhere a guardian angel sang as the child began to wake!

Marcus felt his heart leap, and a lump jumped into his throat to nearly strangle the happy sigh that gushed from his tension-relieved lungs. Weariness and cold disappeared. “You‘re all right.” Marcus‘s hands shook at the surge of feeling. And though his diagnosis may have been premature, all his strength would be devoted to the boy‘s rescue. Joy coursed through him for having found the lost treasure leaving no room for doubt that all would be all right. “Hey, little fellah. Wake up. Hey, come on. Shake those sleepy eyes open.” Marcus‘s joy nearly died, aborting when his ministrations roused barely more than involuntary motions in very small measure.

There was hardly enough room for Marcus to look into the hollow let alone do much, and he did not want to unnecessarily drag the boy out by his heels and add to his shock. “Hey, come on in there. It‘s time to go home. Wake up. Your mother‘s waiting for you and your dad and sister.” Marcus gently shook him again and found it hard to swallow. The words apparently reached a place that a child only in his innocence, love, and dependency could contain. A wail so piteous and mournful broke from Patrick‘s lips. “Mama,” he cried, “Ma. . .ah. . .ma.” The cry was weak, dry, and strained as though it had risen to life from death itself. It sounded so lonely.

The little body moved from its sleeping position, then, fell back igniting more fears. Tears welled in Marcus‘s eyes, and he had to kneel upright to clear his blurring vision. He did not feel the cold ground wetness soaking his knees. “Darn wood dust,” he mildly cursed refusing to admit the real reason for the tears.

Taking a moment to brush away the embarrassing moisture, he crouched down again and continued gently moving the boy and talking to him. “Hey, squirt. Don‘t give up on me now. Com‘on.” The little head inside the tree turned back to Marcus. The boy sighed as though waking from a deep sleeping of the entire day. Deep blue eyes glistened in the glaring lamp light then widened to gigantic saucers. His hand came out of his pocket and rubbed at sleepy eyes while the other came up to shield them from the light. So it would not blind the boy yet still light up the hollow, Marcus lowered the bright beam. His neck beginning to crick from the odd position, Marcus moved back and was about to speak when the boy slowly said, “You‘re not my mummy.” Marcus sat back on his heels and chuckled happily.

“No, pal. I‘m not your mummy.” It occurred to Marcus he must seem to be an apparition. He leaned back into the hollow lighting it up again.

“You‘re not my mummy,” the boy insisted. “Are you daddy? You‘re not my daddy!” Patrick was becoming afraid of this non-person who had invaded his shelter and kept blinding him again and again. He shrank from Marcus. “I‘m cold. I wanna go home.” A tremble grew in his voice. “Where‘s daddy?” A long hesitation, then, “Are you gonna take me home?” he asked pleading, hesitant, afraid of this non-dad while looking like a tiny, worried woodland gnome. Tears puddled his eyes and spilled over his cheek. He shivered, curled up more tightly into the hollow and dabbed with both hands at the silvery drops wetting his face.

“Sure, pal. Sure. I‘ll get you home. Don‘t you worry one single bit. No, I‘m not daddy, but I am your friend.” Marcus spoke gently, comfortingly, seeking his confidence. “I‘m going to take care of you and take you home. Okay, my friend? How long have you been in here?”

“No. No. No way. I‘m not mad at you and neither is anyone else. We‘re all a bit worried though, and we love you. Your mummy and daddy love you and want you to come home. They want to give you great big kisses and a giant hug—“

“We‘ll figure that one out later. In the meantime, I‘m going to take you home where it‘s nice and warm, and you will be as snug as a bug in a rug. You‘ll have dry clothes and be all toasty and cheery and have all kinds of delicious things to eat. I‘ll bet by this time you‘re so hungry you could eat a horse.”

“Okay. No horse.”Marcus grinned broadly. “Whatever you say. You‘re the boss.” The wet and cold attacked him again, and Marcus felt weary. “Would you like a sandwich with some cookies and milk really warm?”

“Fudgie cookies it is and we‘re heading for home right now. First, let‘s get you out of this hole, and then we can go.”

Marcus lifted and pulled at the boy. Patrick‘s little body yielded to him and slid backwards from the cleft without harm. Out of a hollow tree, like Alice in Wonderland, he thought. The boy was not hurt but definitely cramped and cold. Marcus held him on his lap for a moment, straightened his cap, brushed off clinging wood dust, and stared for a moment into those unbelievably innocent, trusting eyes. Well, so far so good. Round one of the battle has been won. He just wanted to hug the child entirely into himself. In fact, he almost did till protesting sounds made him stop.

Marcus still kneeling, stood the boy next to the tree. “Can you stand up? Hang on here for a minute?” Marcus leaned him against the edge of the life-saving gap where Patrick grasped the rough bark by himself. His knees started to buckle, but Marcus held him in place. Then he quickly unzipped his own jacket and the sweater underneath. “Well, my brave little fellah, we‘re going to make you warm as toast. Before you know it, you‘ll be as good as new. By the way, what‘s your name?” he asked although he knew as he brushed more punk from the boy‘s clothes and hair to erase his dustiness.

Good training, thought Marcus. “Well, Patrick, I‘m Mike. It‘s really Marcus, but my friends call me Mike. You can call me Mike too, if you like.”

“And what do your friends call you when you meet?” Marcus was literally stuffing the boy into his own clothes. It wasn‘t easy getting the zippers to close over the double bodies, but persistence, under-the-breath mutterings, and a lot of tugging finally made a neat package of them. “Feels like I put a popsicle inside my clothes. You need all the heat you can get.” Marcus wished there was more he could do. “Can‘t complain about a little heat myself. Should be good for the both of us.”

The boy grunted, “Pat,” as he moved his thin arms inside the sweater. Marcus lifted his new burden into a more comfortable position. Holding Pat tightly with one arm under his bottom, Marcus stood up. Pat‘s head was tucked close to Marcus‘s face and chin, and his cold nose pressed into Marcus‘s neck. Marcus turned Pat‘s cap around backwards so bumping into the bill against him would not knock the cap off. He felt lopsidedly pregnant, but never did a mother more happily carry her growing child.

“I guess so,” came Pat‘s muffled reply. He wasn‘t sure what kind of twin that was. Maybe it was a brother?

Marcus felt wriggly little fingers on his chest and then two hands stretching around him in a hug. The feeling was one no words in this world could ever describe. He looked around for a way out. Though night had robbed trees and hills of their identities, he knew they would get out. What he didn‘t know was when. Only a bit less darkness showed from between stiff-fingered uppermost tree branches as they scratched against overcast black skies. That is, when fog allowed him to see that far. Trees, trails, shrubs, and hills, all had blended. The only reality was himself and his young passenger clinging tightly to him inside his jacket with growing warmth inside between them.

“Over to the left. Is that a dim glow? Lights from a satellite command post! Super! Great! Good timing for them to show. We‘ll get through this like a walk in the park”. Marcus set his headings for it. We’ll beat this black devil of a forest yet! In spite of his lamp, the darkness was a stabbing, grasping, jabbing network of brush and trees blocking their way. Marcus tried to shield Pat from whipping twigs with his lantern, but even though the boy was heavily covered, more than one heavy branch made it through to cause an occasional “Oww,” and a reply,

“Say, Pat,” Marcus figured some small talk would help keep both his and Pat‘s mind off their unhappy trek. “You know, our names, Pat and Mike?”

“I once had a couple puppies a long time ago, and their names were Pat and Mike just like ours. Isn‘t that neat?”

“Yup. They were great buddies, and I had them till they grew very old. A pair of the most beautiful Irish Setters you ever saw.”

“That‘s a kind of hunting dog that originally came from Ireland. They‘re a beautiful reddish color with long hair and they stand almost as tall as you are.”

He shivered in the cold. “They must be giants!” Pat said in disbelief. Marcus chuckled. Pat continued. “What‘s I. . .rah. . .land, and how do puppies do huntin‘? They can‘t do that.”

Marcus chuckled again. “Ireland is a country on the other side of the ocean near England and Europe. Do you know where Europe is?”

In their chatter Marcus felt relief. “No. Really. There are places all over the world, and Ireland is a big island with lots and lots of people and they are called Irish.”

“I wanted a puppy, but daddy said no, maybe when I grow some more. Really would like to have one. I‘d call him Popeye! Then we could run and play together all day!”

Marcus was happy to see his young charge coming out of his lethargy. “You must be warming up. Good.”

“I like rabbits, too. They‘re nice and they have these funny noses that are always goin‘ up an‘ down and white tails and brown eyes. I saw one today, an‘ he ran into the woods, an‘ I tried to catch him, but he kept runnin‘ away. I couldn‘t find him, and I don‘t know where he went.”

“Well, that explains how you got lost.” Take one bunny and one kid, and you‘ve got one merry chase all over the land. It‘s great fun till they go too far into the woods and can‘t find their way back. Wish he hadn’t seen that rabbit till mid-summer. It would have been much easier on the old bod. Someone should pass a law that people can get lost only in warm weather in any of these woods.

“Yes, bunny rabbits are very nice and it‘s not. . .” A root snaked out and waylaid Marcus‘s foot. He stumbled, bumped heavily into a tree trunk, caught his balance, and nearly tumbled in the opposite direction as Pat‘s weight acted as a pendulum on the loose. Pat‘s grip on him tightened like a vise before he caught his balance.

“Boy, what a grip!” Marcus gently loosened Pat‘s clutching embrace. Not easy to do as they were jammed face to face and those big blue eyes were big as saucers again. Nothing like flying around to get the adrenalin flowing! Straightening himself and adjusting Pat in his arms, Marcus started off again in his plodding pace.

Marcus glanced at the red boots dangling from below his jacket imagining them as fuzzy red dice hanging from a windshield mirror. Now, if they were only in a real car or better yet in a nice, hefty brush-crunching Hummer. He took a few steps. Where the heck did that glow go? So busy yakking I lost it. He got a firmer grip on his precious packet. Slowly he turned in a circle. Not again. You’re lost again. I don’t believe it. This cold has your brain in cold storage.

This kid is too sharp. Four years old or not, he’s got more brains than I do. Marcus tried to reassure him. “Just looking for the shortest way out and not go back where we‘ve been.”

Marcus kept looking for the lost glow, their beacon to home. His stumble had thrown him off, and he had no clue as to where they were nor which was the way to go. “Don‘t worry, everything‘s gonna be fine.”

Famous last words, he thought. The instant you say don‘t worry, that‘s the signal to panic and to foam at the mouth. He moved in what he thought as his original direction and came up against a huge outcropping of rotting granite ledge. Where had that come from? First I’m walking the woods, and now I’m climbing Mount Everest! He could see maybe twenty feet up the vertical wall, but the top was out of sight. Isn’t this grand?

The ground sloping down from its base was covered with chunks of old stone. The heavy brush broke into a narrow opening crowded with huge clumps of spreading junipers and an ancient pine stood sentinel over it all. Under the thin snow, soft moss covered the place.

Easy walking is what this was. He kicked a dead pine branch in his way. It jumped into one of the bigger junipers. The ghostly shrub exploded into a frenzy of shivering, shaking fury! A huge buck, feet kicking, head tossing many tined antlers, snorting loudly through steamy dilated nostrils, savagely ripped up through covering branches from where he had lay. It sprang from its hidden, warm juniper bed and leaped toward the rock wall! Marcus jumped backwards at the sudden rage exploding into his face! His heart thumped wildly—his breath a hissing gasp of dread. He fell hard on his bottom, and hit an elbow. Soft snow geysered off in all directions. Patrick tore downward through the jacket. He yelped at the sudden jolt, disappeared into sweater and jacket and nearly popped out below. While driving hooves sent broken chunks of rock clattering loudly along the stone wall, the buck rushed the ledge but missed its invisible trail. The racket drummed Marcus‘s ears. He pushed himself up and tried backing away. As much as he tried to move quickly, he still felt like a snail.

The now thoroughly confused buck again rushed the wall. Then it turned, leaped, and charged straight back towards Pat and Marcus who, half crawling and half running, scrambled for the nearby pine. The buck picked up the motion, and decided this was the source of its torment and went for the stumbling, running body trying to hide behind something wide and tall. Breathing heavily, fiercely swinging its rack in a wild arc, it reared up then leaped, attacking the fleeing form. Marcus, lumbering under his bulging load, practically dove for the pine, grabbed at it, and managed to swing in behind. This was a vicious arena—no gentle woods or sunny park.

Loose bark spun off the tree and gouged his swiftly sliding gloved hand as a forest of bony daggers that could easily separate his ribs ferociously swished by. Skidding and snorting, the buck stopped, its breath as heavy smoke from a fire. Marcus, feet nearly skidding out from under him, jogged this way and that to keep the pine between the buck and themselves. The buck charged again. As the beast neared, Marcus with his precious cargo, broke for a thick, dark clump of trees down the hill. Even fighting fires had never seemed so grim. Swinging in a wide circle, the buck again clattered across rocky terrain. Marcus had dropped his light while trying not to lose his cargo. Now it sat sending its white beam into the sky at a wild angle. Head lowered, the buck charged it, dug its tines into the ground, tossed it high into the air, and then trotted off satisfied it had well protected itself and its domain.

To Marcus it seemed the light sailing over him was chasing him too as he crashed through the night. Low branches whipped his hands and face while he tried to hang onto and protect the boy as best he could. A stand of slim swamp maples barely let him through. This was one time he wished instead of broad, he were slim. Marcus slipped and stumbled again. He finally stopped and dropped to his knees, his breath coming in sobbing gasps. Pat was standing, still inside his jacket, his head still out of sight. Slowly he appeared like a turtle peeking out of its shell. Marcus, in spite of his heaving lungs smiled at the apparition of total bewilderment with eyes that could amazingly expand.

Pat looked at Marcus then slowly looked around. As awe was filling his voice, Pat asked, “Was that a monster?”

“Sure acted like one, didn‘t it,” Marcus gasped but less painfully than before. “That was a deer, and it sure was a big one. Never seen such a rack.”

“No. Just a deer. We must have scared the heck out of it invading its ground. It didn‘t like us, not one single bit. We were lucky it didn‘t hit us. Those antlers could separate your ribs with one hard strike. They normally run off when a person gets near, but I guess he never heard us and we scared the bejeebers out of it.” Marcus‘s breathing was now down to heavy pants. “Oh, wow. That kind of exercise I don‘t need. How‘re you doing?” Marcus felt he had just avoided being hit by a bus.

Pat‘s breathing was heavy but with awe and excitement not fear or pain. “I‘m okay. Is the deer-monster comin‘ back?” His awe and amazement had obliterated any sense of danger.

Marcus heard more rattling stone then clomping hooves like an old cow slowly going further away. The buck was no longer interested in continuing his warring campaign. “Glad he‘s gone. One meeting like that is all I can take for one night. You‘re one for the books, kid, lost half the night, sleeping in a hollow tree, and you take an attack like that like it was a great adventure. To you I tip my hat.” Pat looked at him with a smile from the confines of his wool and nylon pouch. He was quite all right. “Got to take a break. Mind standing here a minute while I get some rest?”

It was a strange sight, Marcus kneeling and Pat standing inside the jacket, cheek to cheek. “Thanks. Boy, it‘s dark.” Then it dawned on him that his light was missing. “You didn‘t happen to see where our light went, did you?” He asked knowing traveling without it they would be very hard pressed.

“No. Didn‘t see anythin‘ after that deer-monster chased us and I fell inside your jacket.”

“I guess you did,” said Marcus with a wry grin. “Well, it‘s got to be around here somewhere. I remember it flying over my head. Hope it‘s not broken.” He resisted voicing a cuss. “You don‘t happen to see its light anywhere?” Pat twisted as much as he could and looked around. Marcus looked around too. Black greeted both of them. Nothing. More looking. More blackness. Hopelessness was creeping into Marcus‘s chest.

“Over there! Over there! See?! There!” A very short, very thin white line, nearly parallel to the ground shone in the darkness. “Pat, you are the greatest. I never would have seen that by myself. You‘ve got great eyes. Super going, pal.”

“You not only did good, you did great! If anyone asks you, you tell them I said that we couldn‘t have found our way out if it hadn‘t been for your help.” Into his already tight and definitely strained cloth-bound compartment Pat snuggled more tightly than a rope-bound tie.

It didn‘t take more than a few minutes to retrieve the, thankfully, still functioning hand light. Marcus tried to get his bearings, but both the dim guiding light and the ledge had disappeared. The ledge he had never seen before so that did not matter, but it was most important to locate his distant guiding glow. Disoriented by the deer attack and his downhill run, he faced the stand of thin swamp maples. The narrow opening appeared to continue downhill. I suppose that’s as good a way as any right now, he thought. Marcus with Pat readjusted within his sweater and jacket moved out. The slender trunks bumped his shoulders. He seemed to miss not a single one.

As the trunks thinned out, Oh, no! he ran into a ground water swamp on the side of the hill. His feet were challenged by stiff hummocks, ice-crusted squishy ground, and tangled, broken skeins of long-dead cattails. His left foot caught and held. His momentum was still forward. He could not stop nor could he catch his balance. He fell headlong to the ground his leg twisting as he tried to avoid falling on Patrick. He hit with a jarring crash. He tried to catch himself with his left hand, but it broke through the thin ice-covered thatch. His arm went into the muck below and sank into a boggy bottom unused to carrying such a strain. The lamp he carried crashed through the ice too—its light shining other worldly in the dark, gushing water. Water seeped into his boots further soaking his already wet legs with water that stank. He struggled, then slowly, like a bulging walrus, pushed himself up and onto a nearby hummock, sat down, and wearily flipped the goopy water from his gloved hands. He held them straight up so the water could drain out then looked at the deerskin gloves he wore musing about the deer that had attacked them with such fury.

“You all right, Pat? Boy, all I‘ve been doing lately is asking you that. This sure isn‘t our night. If we get any wetter, we‘ll be swimming home. Got to get to dry ground before we freeze up”.
Marcus tried to stand, but a sharp pain bit his left knee. He gasped and bit his lip while his head filled with screams. Just what I need, one more thing going wrong. Cold water trickled down his neck sending a shiver to join with one coming up from his soaked legs. An aching bruise to his hip added to his misery. He was wet, hurt, the temperature was still falling, and the light from his lamp was dimming.

Meanwhile, Patrick, with a friction burn on his cheek from his odd location in Marcus‘s jacket, had collected minor bumps from his unusual ride and was shivering himself from water on his face. Ironically he was in much better condition than Marcus. Their positions had reversed with now the strong being the weak.

Limping and struggling against the knifing pain in his knee, Marcus managed to make his way clear of the swampy area. He found a rock and ungracefully dropped his bottom on it. He shifted Patrick to a standing position, took his gloves off and shook them to get muck and water out. He tried to get to his boots, but around Patrick‘s bulk it was not to be. Instead he twisted each foot as best he could onto the opposite leg and let run out whatever water could. This aggravated the knee. He groaned out loud.

“Yeah, I‘m okay. Just a few bangs here and there.” The leg no longer felt human but more like cracked wood. One arm around the little bottom bulging beneath his jacket, he stood stiffly erect and moaned to himself.
“You can put me down if you want, Mike. I can walk by my-self.”

The knee throbbed and then some. “Ah, no, no,” Marcus took a grimacing step. “What do you mean you can walk? Think I can‘t walk for the two of us? You just watch this.” Marcus took a few steps and sucked in deeply. “Leg‘s a little stiff, that‘s all.” Pat remained silent. “This soft ground doesn‘t help much now. Uses up my pep.”

He limped a few more steps but had only increasing pain. Wonder if the tendons went. Think I need crutches. A floating chair would be great. He limped a little further then grabbed at a sapling and succeeded in showering them both with an icy droplet rain. Pat ducked his face into Marcus‘s neck and chin. Great. More water. Why doesn’t the sky just open and let us drown? Better not make stupid remarks. Might get what I ask for.

The soft voice piped up, “You can lean on me if you want. I mean, we can walk, and I can help. I‘m strong, and my daddy says I‘m gettin‘ to be a really big boy.”

Marcus smiled. This has to be the best kid in town. “Thanks, Pat, you really are a big boy and have been a great help tonight, but I couldn‘t ask you to do that.” Marcus let go of the tree and tweaked Pat‘s cheek. No mean feat considering his knee and that his hand held the light. “I‘m kind of big and heavy, and I wouldn‘t want to squash you.”

Marcus grabbed the tree again; misery mired his knee. “Besides, we‘re keeping each other pretty warm tied together like this. I‘m so wet if it weren‘t for you, I‘d be frozen stiff.” He wished his frigid legs were as warm as his middle and he groaned at carrying the extra weight. “I love you kid, but I‘m getting awfully tired.” More and more he was letting his sweater and jacket carry the weight. Zippers, please don’t let go.

Pat, his legs not as warm as his middle also, pressed his case about being big and strong. “I‘m not so small. I can pick up my baby sister Annie and Ginger, too. She‘s really heavy, but I can pick her up straight.”

“She‘s my friend‘s dog. My daddy says she‘s a special mongrel cause she‘s got so many perigees.”

“Those too. She‘s big and furry and looks like a giant ginger snap cookie.”

“She‘s a cookie made out of ginger?” Marcus asked with feigned incredulity glad to be getting his mind briefly off the knives in his knee.

“Not a cookie, silly,” said Pat smiling. “That‘s what color she is, and she‘s got the biggest wet tongue with purple on it. She licks my face all the time and it tickles.”

“Danny? You‘ve got a sister named Danny? I thought Danny was a boy‘s name.”

“I know,” he said mischievously, “I call her Danny, and she gets mad. Her name is Danielle an‘ she chases me and yells, but I‘m faster an‘ can get away and she can‘t catch me.”

“I like Danny, ‘cept when she baby sits me and tries to stick a bell on me an‘ I run and hide under the table an‘ stick my tongue out at her.”

“She yelled at me for chasing that rabbit, but when she wasn‘t looking, I ran into the woods an‘ almost caught it too, but I got lost and couldn‘t find my way back.”

“I kept looking,” Pat continued, “but it started gettin‘ dark an‘ it was cold an‘,” he said the next words softly, “I kinda got scared. I tried to go home, really,
he said louder, “but I couldn‘t find the path, an‘ then I found that giant tree with the hole in it an‘ thought the rabbit was in there, but he wasn‘t. I was cold an‘ tired, so I climbed inside to take a nap an‘ I guess I fell asleep. I dreamed about snowmen that were all blue and startin‘ to chase me. Glad you found me ‘cause my legs were shiv‘rin‘. Can I be your friend?”

“Pat, you are my friend for life and when we get out of here, I‘ll come and visit with you. How‘s that?”

Tears warmed Marcus‘s face as they gave each other a special hug. His heart jumped! He stared and couldn‘t believe his eyes! There in the distance, where the fog had opened a bit, was a moving light. It was faint but definitely there. The fog closed and it disappeared.

“No. No, not the deer. A light—I saw it. I know I saw it. Right over there before the fog closed in again. Pat, a light. There‘s someone out there looking for us. They‘re not that far. Come on, let‘s yell, so they hear us and find us!”

“What‘ll I yell?” Pat‘s thoughts of the deer-monster disap-peared, and excitement filled him.

“Anything,” he replied. “Hello! We‘re over here! Help!,” he shouted. “Com‘on. Let‘s do it together. YO! Over here! YO! Help!” Marcus‘s deep voice boomed through the quiet woods. “Hello! We‘re over here! We‘re standing right here!” The fog drifted apart again and there was the light. This time Pat saw it too, and practically jumped out of Marcus‘s jacket.

“Over here! Over here! We‘re over here!” Patrick‘s voice though smaller was no less insistent. He shouted as loud as he could and with all of his might. The first light was joined by a second and then by a third.

Relief flooded through Marcus in a cascade. The tension to which he had never admitted slid away and momentarily all his aches and pains evaporated. He even let go of the sapling like a hesitant young bird. He started to move forward, but his knee screamed and turned him back. He retreated grabbing the slim trunk once more. “Over here! We‘re over here. Yo. This way.” He let go of the sapling long enough to turn his dimming light in the direction of the voices and wave it back and forth in hopes of defeating the strangling fog. Though the wet mist again drifted in, the thin lights penetrated and grew brighter.

“Yo. We hear you. Keep shining your light at us. Yes. We see you. Be there in a minute. Who are you? One of the people on the line?”

“I guess you did. Nobody supposed to be over on this side. Good thing the night‘s so quiet. Somebody heard a lot of noise coming from this direction, so we decided to check it out. Looks like it was a good thing we did. Someone even thought it might be the kid. Sure hope he hasn‘t had it.” The disembodied spoke again, less loudly than before. “You okay? How many are you?”

A lot of noise? Bless you mister deer, and I hope you live a long and happy life! “Two. And yes, we‘re fine.” Bright lights, figures, and faces came to the fore.

The lead man walked up to them and started! “What the devil?!” The one body with two heads stopped him cold. He thought he had walked into some kind of extraterrestrial creature. “What in the name of all that‘s. . .” He thought his mind had departed.

Marcus cut him off, his face now aglow, “Hi. I‘m Marcus Gratowski, and,” nodding sideways, “this is my friend.” He turned his light onto his precious package. “Meet Patrick Arthur Stewart of 252 Downey Street, Jamesbury lately lost because of chasing rabbits but now among the found and happy to be so.”

“Well, I‘ll be drizzled.” All lights were now on Patrick who ducked his face to get all the blazes out of his eyes. Also, he became very timid in front of the sudden large crowd. “The kid who was lost, you say. No kidding! My good lord, I thought the search had completely fizzled.”

“I sure hope he‘s the one because if he isn‘t, I‘ve been carrying the wrong person around for an awfully long time.” Then to Pa-trick, “Say hi, to the man, Pat. He and his friends are going to get us out of here.”

The men crowded closer but could not see much beyond a backwards turned cap. “Where did you find him? We‘ve already looked over all this area and couldn‘t find him. And whatever made you come back this way? I thought everyone had moved one sector and were making the search up toward Brandt‘s Hill. Did someone make a different call?”

“To tell you the truth, I was on that line, but I was on the end of it and somehow got turned around in the fog. I had had it and was going out for a while, but I must have turned the wrong way. Couldn‘t find the trail.”

“Like an elf in a hollow tree almost unconscious but still fine.” Marcus started to explain all the details, but when the new men saw him wincing in pain every time he shifted his weight, they found an old fallen tree trunk and helped him over to it where one of the men put his jacket on it so Marcus could sit down on dry cloth and take the strain off his knee.

“You look like you been through a war zone. Where have you been?” They tried to take Patrick away from Marcus, but he would have none of it. A baby kangaroo never held tighter to its mother in her pouch than did Patrick to Marcus.

The lead man had a walkie-talkie, and the news was out in a minute. A brilliant flare lit the damp skies, a siren sounded, then a symphony of celebrating car horns transmitted the rescue. A thrill ran down Marcus‘s spine. The night‘s work was done. Pairs of men taking turns formed a seat with their locked arms and slowly, carefully carried Marcus and his happy burden through twists and turns, clinging woods, into a broad field, and then to a roadway running alongside. The search and gauntlet had been successfully run.

The area was lit by an ambulance and headlights alike. Men ran to help the bearers and EMTs came running to check Marcus and Patrick. It was only at the ambulance‘s rear doors that Pat, with a promise that Marcus would stay with him on the hospital ride, consented to being separated from his Mike. The instant Pat was free of his confinement, Pat‘s mom and dad smothered him with hugs and kisses till he squirmed with childish embarrassment. They were covered with warm blankets, carefully helped to climb into the ambulance, and all headed for the hospital where the siren-blaring vehicle delivered its weary but happy human consignment.

Both Pat and Mike, after a thorough exam, spent the night under observation. But while Patrick went home the next day, everyone amazed at his tip top condition in spite of his ordeal, Marcus needed work on his knee and was held several days for tests. Pat visited with him before going home, and his parents could not thank him enough for the extraordinary rescue that saved Pat‘s life. He was made to promise to visit them as soon as his knee healed and he was allowed to walk and take up his normal routine. A very special dinner would be waiting for him.

It seemed like forever for Pat but the day the phone rang and it was Mike, he nearly jumped into the receiver. Mike told him that he could do some traveling now and that whenever it was okay with Pat he would come by for a visit. The loud bang that hit Mike‘s ear told him that Pat in his rush to tell his mother had missed putting the receiver down next to the phone but had dropped it on the floor. While Mike was shaking the echo out of his ear, another excited voice, female, started talking to him. Pat‘s mother and he chatted for some time and a date was set for that special dinner and Pat got the last word in telling Mike to really, really be sure to come.

This was the evening of the invitation. Marcus walked alongside his wife while their two boys constantly teasing each other, walked ahead. His knee was in good shape, and therapy was making it stronger each day. With his doctor‘s permission, he had gone back to light duty today, and he had no problems with the trucks and equipment he daily employed.

There was the house, lit up like a Christmas tree! For a mile it could have been seen even if it had been as foggy as that hazardous night. One son rang the bell while the other tickled him and got an elbow for his troubles. The door opened. Patrick burst into Marcus‘s arms. None in the world could have been happier than they to see each other. They smiled broadly at one another.

Mike hugged Pat tightly and carried him inside as he had once carried him so carefully through that dangerous, torturous night.

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MIDNIGHT TO INFINITY
The Humor and History of a Mischievous Artist

Copyright © Edward R. Rogaishio, 2009. All rights reserved. No part of this book may
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ISBN-13: 978-1-58982-504-8
ISBN-10: 1-58982-504-7

Rogaishio, Edward R., Midnight To Infinity: The Humor and History of a Mischievous
Artist

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