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As we climbed to the starting place, our boots made deep tracks. When we reached the top, we stopped to put our skis on.
“You ready?” I asked.
She pursed her lips as she looked out over the horizon. “You know what I read in the paper?”
“What’s that?”
“There are people jumping at carnivals. As entertainment, not sport. There are women too. Sometimes they jump holding hands with a man.”
“Are you suggesting we do that?” I laughed.
“It’s embarrassing to all women.”
I chuckled under my breath. “Some might think of it as romantic.”
“It implies we can’t jump by ourselves.”
“No one thinks that of you,” I said. “Go on. Show me how it’s done.”
I watched her as she glided gracefully onto the snow. “I won’t get much speed in this powder,” she called back to me.
“Is that an excuse?”
“Ha! Never.” She sent me a sassy look before tearing down the hill. From where I stood on the platform, I had a good view of the jump itself and could watch her fly through the air like a bird with her skis in parallel and her body upright. A few seconds later, she landed smoothly on the snow below.
I’d never actually gone off the jump before, and standing here I was fairly certain I didn’t want to. “Maybe I won’t come down?” I called out to her.
She put a hand over her eyes and peered up at me. “Are you afraid?”
“Yes.”
She laughed and gestured for me to come toward her. “It’s fun. You’ll like it.”
I had a feeling I wouldn’t, but I slid from the platform on the ski run and started down. Seconds later, I too, was flying. For a terrifying few moments, I was sure I would die. My landing was not as elegant as the lady’s. I crashed into the snow and on my back like a bug.
“Viktor, you can do better than that.” Cymbeline stood over me, laughing.
“I need to work on my landings.” One of my skis had come off, and my hat was missing. Righting myself, I stood and managed to gather my ski. “But I don’t think I will. I’ll prefer watching, thank you very much.”
Cymbeline squealed with glee. “At last, I’ve found something I can do that you can’t.”
“You do other things better than me.” I grunted as I struggled to remain standing on my shaking legs. My heart continued to race, and sweat rolled down my back. Ski jumping was the worst sport ever invented.
She placed her hands on both hips. “Think of one thing. You were better at school. Skating, obviously. You’re faster on the slopes.”
“Actually, I’m not faster. And you’re much, much prettier than me.”
Expecting her to toss a snowball my direction, I braced myself for an onslaught. Instead, a dazzling smile lit up her face. “I couldn’t agree more. I am much prettier than you.”
“If I could get to you, I’d give you a big kiss to punish you for being so much better than me.”
“Who says it would be a punishment?” She tilted her head flirtatiously.
“I see. I’ve now nothing to hold over you then?”
I unfastened the other ski and then trudged through the snow to the steps. By the time I arrived, Cymbeline had found my hat. She skied over to me and tugged it over my head. A gloved finger teased my earlobe. “Your ears are pink from the cold. You must keep your hat on at all times. And why is it that I can’t kiss you?”
I swallowed as I rose to my full height. “No one said you couldn’t. No one here, anyway.”
“Good.” She leaned over and kissed me soundly on the mouth. “Your lips are cold, too. We better head back up before I have to take you back to the lodge and give you hot chocolate like we do the little ones.”
“Very funny.” I brushed the snow from my sweater and knickers. Leaning against my skis, I peered at her, overcome by her beauty and energy. She belonged here. A creature made of sky and mountain air. And lo and behold, I was here with her. I was the man she wanted to kiss.
“What is it?” Her nose scrunched up as if she smelled something bad.
“Nothing. Just you.”
“You too,” Cymbeline said.
We smiled like a couple of children for a moment before she got back to the business at hand.
“What do you think? How did I do?” Cymbeline asked.
“Not bad, but you can do better.”
“I know.” Her brow wrinkled as a thought seemed to occur to her. “What if I bent over toward the skis slightly? Make myself more like a bird?”
I pondered that idea for a moment. It would make her more birdlike. Standing straight worked against the natural momentum. Almost like a bird fighting against the wind.
“If you’re able to, it might help,” I said.
“I’m going back up.”
I watched her as she took the stairs up with her skis slung over one shoulder. Whatever anyone wanted to say about her decision to race as a man, no one could fault her work ethic.
While I waited for her to reach the top, I brushed snow from each step, working my way up one stair at a time. Not wanting to miss her next jump, however, I stopped midway and returned to my coaching seat.
During the subsequent jump, I could see her thinking about bending over, which might have distracted her from keeping her skis straight. She was shy of her first run because of it. Although I was hopeless at doing so myself, I could see that style was important to get the distance she wanted. I’d been right to have her training. She’d need strength to arrange her body and skis in the right ways.
We chatted about this for a moment before she trudged back up the stairs and tried again. For the rest of the morning, jump after jump, she worked to better her distance and technique. Her scores improved with each one. Finally, just before noon, she told me she was too tired and hungry to climb the stairs one more time and wanted to return home.
“You did well,” I said.
“Not well enough, but I will.”
