The snow was piled now around it, and he pushed with his body, moving it forward, not wanting the exhilarating ride to end.
Finally the obstruction of the piled snow was too much for the thin runners of the sled, and he came to a stop.
He sat there for a moment, panting, holding the rope in his cold hands.
Tentatively he opened his eyes—not his snow–hill–sled eyes, for they had been open throughout the strange ride.
He opened his ordinary eyes, and saw that he was still on the bed, that he had not moved at all.
The old man, still beside the bed, was watching him. “How do you feel?” he asked.
Jonas sat up and tried to answer honestly. “Surprised,” he said, after a moment.
The old man wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Whew,” he said. “It was exhausting.
But you know, even transmitting that tiny memory to you—I think it lightened me just a little.”
“Do you mean—you did say I could ask questions?” The man nodded, encouraging his question.
“Do you mean that now you don’t have the memory of it—of that ride on the sled—anymore?”
“That’s right. A little weight off this old body.”
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