The Sledding Hill

“Wait, please.”

The boy waited and held the rope in his hand. Down the road, at the base of a hill, a plow had heaped up the snow into a bank. It shone in the light.

They started to walk. He dragged the sled on the ice on the road. The old man coughed and looked down.

“Thank you.”

“How is it today?”

“Not bad.”

They reached the hill.

“Here?”

“Here is fine.”

The boy dragged the sled to the top of the hill. His boots left small tracks in the snow.

“Ready?”

The old man nodded. He stood at the base of the hill and took off his hat. He folded it in front of his mouth. The boy shouted and jumped on the sled. With the rope he aimed the runners at the snow bank. They scraped against the ice under the snow.

The wind blew. The old man put the hat back on his head. “That was not a bad run,” he said, and coughed. The boy laughed and looked back up the hill.

“Can I?”

“Just one more.”

“Is it bad now?”

“Just the one. Then we’ll go.”

“All right.”

The old man watched as the boy dragged the sled up the hill. He stepped again in the small tracks.

At the top, the boy said, “Are you sure?”

“It’s all right,” the old man said. “Come down now.”

The boy shouted and went down. The old man put his hand over his mouth. Behind his hand the corners of his mouth creased upwards.