An infinite taking-away--I would think of falling. The terminal velocities of various animals: mouse, cat, human, killed pheasant. The glacier always moving. It recedes. My father. Water is the only substance; its properties, its qualities, their combination. Ice melts. The focus. He's below, calling, Franz, but I don't hear. He calls again. I'm standing still or moving. Against nothing there's nothing. Franz!, your edges! A representation of infinity, that plummeting, the feeling of not knowing equal to knowing. The glacier advances. The mouse might have a better chance, but the cat can turn around. The sensation of falling, as described by someone else--a useless commentary. Bleakness. He calls again: Franz!, listen! My mother was too afraid to watch me ski; she couldn't bear it. She was nervous before every race. The velocity is dependent on the height, the weight of the animal, wind and weather conditions, reflex, instinct, state of mental alertness. The bleak glacier; isolation. Franz!, forward! At the bottom--get out of my sight!, you're disgusting!, a waste of time! The ice was more difficult. My mother said God will keep you safe. Your father is killing himself for you!, but she killed herself. She didn't mean to. I'm using the wrong wax for the ice; too much friction--it's ruining my judgment. Hanging yourself is never an accident, but falling can be. The entire run at Kitzbühel, I was forward, rhythmic. She'd say things like Franz always skis well in Austria. She had a fond feeling for Austria, her family once had a memorable vacation there. The glacier moves without my noticing. You're not paying attention; we didn't need to come here today for this! Franz! You have to keep thinking!, you can't go away. A cat survives a fall from a 47-story building- this was no special cat, just a stray. I'm running slaloms, 70 gates times five; I want at least six more runs. He turns away. Futility!, I don't know what we're here for. I promise the return of my focus. He says the Finns are all jumpers because they've got no capacity for sustained concentration. None! They can be brutes--endure slogs through the country for kilometer after kilometer, or they can slide off a slope and maybe land, but they've got no talent for the alpine events. The real talent of skiing is unknown to the Finnish mind. Matti and I practiced for hours, jumping off the roof. The next run is better, a straight line. He screams, again!, you've got to prove it each time! They skied across Norway holding the young prince in their arms, saving him. The tradition of sport covers centuries, replacing necessary competition for survival with necessary achievement. The snow melting beneath causes the movement; the glacier is inevitable. Jumpers are all finished at eighteen. I would imagine falling, with the speed of the imagination. My mother's family continues to talk about that time in Austria, even though she's dead. She loved it so, she had such fond memories. She killed herself and I finished fifth, a full tenth behind. Hundredths of a second!, not tenths! He must've expected it. He put his arm around her and she shivered. She said Matti and I were the future champions of Finland. Matti laughed and I wanted to spit. We put our fists up to each other's faces: the young Franz and Matti, before anything happened. We had our trophies. Every idea of fear is a reaction. The sensation of fear is different. You can't take chances like that, you've got the whole season ahead of you. I ski straight down the fall line. He calls: too dangerous! Each time I hit a gate, I'm ahead, my anticipation terrific. I think about this anticipation at night. We couldn't work here last year because there wasn't enough snow, too many crevasses. No one else here. A horrible isolation. Skiing has to be lived up to. The house with her objects. She said the bare scandinavian aesthetic was not essentially happy. I had to discover judgment, because I didn't know. I began by thinking everything was the same. My father's room: a plain bed, a plain cabinet, a wood chair, no rug. It starts snowing. With greater masses, gravity and momentum accumulate to fatal velocities. I'm head-on with the next gate but miss it. I don't know why we're here!, what are you thinking of? I can't ignore him. The snow might not stop me. This glacier is moving forward at a rate of approximately ½ meter per year. Water expands when it freezes. The snow's making vision difficult. Time is neither finite nor infinite. My thoughts finish me. From the air, I can see myself. I have an inescapable sympathy with the line. The line is without color. They said Matti would last as long as he didn't fall--because he didn't know fear. The first fall contains the loss. A disintegration. The pheasant is another matter because it's dead and doesn't resist. Treating this instance differently. We jumped from the roof, laughing, not knowing. I thought the snow was beautiful, before I knew good or bad. He calls: aren't you here to work? One more run, then the weather finishes you. He calls again. I wipe the snow from my goggles. The snow presents the paradox of complete whiteness seeming dark. Twenty hours of daylight in Helsinki, as bleak as this. After she killed herself, I realized her life had an absolute shape. At Kitzbühel, I discovered that shape. My concentration's rotten. Matti laughs; he's invented winning. He's taken mere activities and sanctified them with achievements. The poles snap against my shoulders. I'm headed straight down the fall line. It never seems fast enough. What this valley must have looked like before the glacier. Skiing is your father's religion, she said. I became a disciple. I would worship; I would find out everything. Except for a picture, nothing of her is left. I can't do this for you. I know, I say. It's bad enough being your father and your coach, I can't ski for you too. I don't want you to. He grunts. Useless. The world has an overwhelming sense of futility to it, of tasks that can never be repeated enough, of the continuation of nothing. I began by thinking everything was good. I cannot now deny that good meant neutral. The slalom has the most movement and the most subtlety. When we get here, it's still dark. In Austria, the light is generally no-good. A bleakness is inherent in the glacier, the mountains, the no-good light. My father stands at the bottom of the run. My mother ran out of the house when Matti rolled over--are you hurt? I was on the roof, watching. We both laughed: Matti hurt? There was nothing more impossible. Franz, your mother is crazy!, Matti said. He kicked at the snow. I pounded on the roof--maybe it'd collapse. You're reckless! I tell him I didn't come here for six lousy runs, I don't care if the snow is cement, I can see even if he can't. We can't just think about now. We have the entire season. The pheasant is unable to resist or open its wings--desire is gone. A pheasant dinner proves that anyway life had no meaning for the pheasant. Matti can be so jovial, laughing with genuine amusement. His postcard says: America is unbelievably clean this year. My father said Matti would never be serious enough. One neighbor said she didn't look like someone who'd take her own life. She was surrounded by people who said similar things about her. Alive, she was someone who appeared incapable of killing herself. Her talents expand with her surprising gesture. I was on the roof, jumping, and Matti couldn't stop laughing. She said we had to be more careful. Nothing had happened. Any mouse is a mouse without personality, as it falls. The snow is fantastically thick, obscuring the noise from my father, who I believe is calling. Franz!--if you want to be a skier, you must ski in your sleep. The continuous taking-away is responsible for the glacier's movements. Two processes are involved: accumulation and ablation. Temperature is significant. The grand tradition of sport--that you are the connection between those who've gone and those who will be. This alone is supposed to mean something. When I think that my skiing will have its place in history, everything I'm doing is already over, the present nonexistent. It may be. I wipe my goggles. The snow's quite thick. If he calls another thousand times, I won't be able to hear him. I'd look at the window to see if she was there. Matti, scaring her with flips. His manner disturbed our first coach, who called us both impossible. My father confronted him: don't turn Franz into another Finnish jumper. He said I had to demonstrate my devotion. He repeats this. He has the hands of an old farmer. I read at night without a light. Sleep, an essential part of training. I must dream skiing and concentrate on my edges. A hypnotic effect is produced by certain downhill courses with interminable flat stretches. The weaker skiers become stronger. To push this mountain away from me. The bad choice of wax is better since it's snowing. I prefer the ice. When I thought that everything was good, I didn't know what I was thinking. Skiing is his religion. I'd feel I was falling--I was unable to brace myself against a known conclusion. I was falling asleep, where I'd have to ski again. My mother loved playing bingo and spent all her prize money before she got home. In this way, her pride or happiness or good fortune were completely exhausted in one finite episode. To an ordinary cat, everything is new, so the fall is no surprise. The cat knows to twist without thinking about twisting. I went into her bedroom and watched her unroll the spools of lace. A finite episode is one that begins and ends in expected ways. These ways are expected because they're in the past. In this analysis, finite is a method of referring to what's already completed. The lace was made by her ancestors, each lace another pattern. With this, we were part of poetry. One of the neighbors said she'd known my mother very well and it was just not possible. I don't notice if any snowflakes are alike. Matti, saying he'd seen at least three extraordinarily similar flakes, all on his glove. They melted before I saw them. Matti swore this was true: they were identical. Paavo wanted me to start a career in philosophy. She called us in: it's too cold. It never got dark. She was dusting one of her objects. Franz and Matti, who would escape everything, skiing across all of Scandinavia, becoming the famousest of Finnish skiers. He calls again. His call is tremendous, familiar. His call wrapped through snow sheets. Before, he worked in a factory. At night I skied through steaming metal and the unending grinding of industrial activity. The constant taking-away is the essence of this glacier. The sense of the glacier is above my understanding of it. I take snow off my shoulders. I breathe, looking straight out. My terrific sense of anticipation is ended in falling snow. He could yell anything he likes. She'd just killed herself when there were tenths of a second that should've been hundredths. She said she'd enjoyed Austria so much, she always felt she belonged there. Her fond feeling for Austria was never disturbed. She said I'd always do well there. Once the sensation of speed finishes, the mountain taken away. That particular animal was very ordinary, an alley cat, probably American. 47 floors was nothing, or enough time to be instinctive, to relax, to turn, to be the cat it had to be. He's next to my skis. I thought everything was easy; I thought I didn't have any questions. Curiosity was something else. Matti said I would practice myself into oblivion. He's started doing expressionist paintings. I question what they express. He laughs; he says I'm a technical thinker. He's always enjoying something. I jumped energetically on the roof while he kicked at the snow. The two of you are beautiful!, she said. We thought she might've said something else. Matti'd frightened her, yet she said we were beautiful. Each patterned lace was made by a separate hand; sometimes she'd remember whose work she held. Worshippers can get so entranced they don't actually hear the spoken words. Like urges, with no origin. I readjust the bindings. A falling mouse may or may not deserve to survive. In order to deserve survival, certain conditions must be met. The snow is indecisive. The wind. Nothing stays clear. His tremendous call is obscured. This will not be another useless practice session. Directly after the sensation of falling is its end in relief. I've always loved the Streif course at Kitzbühel. The terror of plummeting down is probably unknown to the cat or mouse; the pheasant doesn't care. I can't see in front of me. I take off my goggles. He grabs my arm. Didn't you hear me? You spend too much time inside your head. The skis are here. The nauseating lack of concentration among Finns. More uselessness. It was obvious from the beginning that I possessed a terrific anticipation. Jumping was for daredevils like Matti. He can laugh at anything. He has a genuine feeling for being happy. In his presence, my mother would say we were beautiful. By the process of taking away, the glacier advances. The accumulation can be simultaneous with the ablation. So many vertical meters; I forget the exact measure. From their earliest memories I was in control of my skis, even while Matti was still holding his in a childish wedge. Because the human body is essentially the same throughout history, sport can be thought of as the limit of quantifiable human expression. The body forces itself through practice, using known rituals. Twisting, the cat falls, paws facing down. I was calling, didn't you hear me? The snow damped away the sound of your voice. I was deciding about the next run. I kept cleaning my goggles. You've always been much too reckless. Sometimes I can't stand being with you like this, every day. The glacier is bleak; the snow distorting. I feel the inevitable isolation. I expected her to be sitting there, and she was. She wouldn't disappoint me in the ordinary. She said he was putting his hopes in me. The god of skiing made us cold. The repetition of this feeling, the beginning of coldness. Birch wrapped around their legs, they held the prince in their arms; his weight, gravity. Knowing that I always did well in Austria, she killed herself before that race. Her memorable holiday there had been with her family, not with my father. His work at the factory couldn't support a trip to the Austria of her parents. During our war with Russia, Finnish troops moved on skis; now nobody remembers which side they were on. The factory boiled in my sleep. I was unable to ski in the extreme temperature. I began to understand that the glacier melts from below. At my first big race, I forgot to breathe the entire course and nearly fainted at the bottom. I didn't finish well. Immediately, he told me how I would have to work if I wanted to be anything. I began by not knowing what to think; the idea of quality hadn't formed. I was premature in my acceptance of the world. She had her hands in front of her and the snow fell onto her hair. Matti had not yet discovered his ability to express artistically. What is called artwork. Skiing needs no such amplification. He grabs my arm. Not just today but the entire season. Franz, if you can't listen, we'll stop right now. You're the only reason I've continued with this. How far. Matti swore those three snowflakes were uncannily alike--they were the same. There was no evidence; they'd vanished. Fifth is an agonizing position; so is fourth. I'd always had a great feeling for the courses at Kitzbühel. When the commentators found out she'd killed herself, they formulated their tragedy. They're unnaturally stimulated by the exaggeration of any likely anguish--this propels them; they become enlightened. They're ecstatic to discover human interest. The existence of fortune and misfortune. Austrian light has a persistent no-good quality. I woke up, not remembering. If you don't ski all the time. Possibly, I'd had an experience of symbolic obscurity. An ordinary stray cat cannot anticipate the effects of its twisting. At the forty-third story it may be smelling a plate of mackerel. The bleakness created by hours of unremitting daylight is unspeakable. She had an affinity for morals and ethics. She knew right from wrong. This is an incredible ability, I think. She warned me to be discerning. She gave me a book loaded with ethical questions and moral dilemmas. The stories were mostly about deceitful children. The reader must answer six study questions. The phenomenon of the midnight sun is very depressing. You can't will it to be dark: that's a difficult absolute. The snow's not so bad. He goes back to watch. Observation precedes criticism. He calls again: something unintelligible. She was completely indestructible; her suicide confirmed this. She took her own life. The use of the verb in that sentence is unclear. Supercooled water droplets striking a cold solid object, freezing. Usually other skiers have arrived by now, but today the weather keeps them away. I don't think the snow's that bad. He calls for the start. I prefer the ice. My goggles are down. Matti held out his glove. His face was serious. They'd melted; I hadn't seen. I told Paavo I was concentrating all my efforts on skiing. I had to practice. I was reminded that this religion had many false prophets and that I must not be one of them. A great belief was insufficient. As I'd expected, she was recreating another finite scene: I perceived her attitude. She was definite but exposed. The actual sensation of falling is not the same as its unwarranted anticipation. During the descent, the mouse retains its fundamental existence. It falls at so much per so much. These measurements are exact in their context, and can only be described in that manner. This is the beginning of what I sense are great mistakes. If I remove myself from a system, I can no longer describe it adequately. From a higher view, skiing appears simple or meaningless. As I turn past another gate, the appearance is missing--only the activity remains. It's been said I have an unbelievable anticipation. This terrific anticipation lures me directly downward. This is my natural faith- unquestioned knowledge which is neither known nor describable. She said he was completely devoted to skiing. She said her parents had been against him from the beginning, but she knew she was right. He was talking about skiing before I appeared. The steam from his one-time factory suffocates me, deforms everything. He calls that my shoulders moved, but my shoulders are always steady. I smash straight into the gates, the slightest necessary turning. The snow's thick again and I can't see well, but my anticipation is terrifically forward. Franz!, no stupid risks! I hear him at any time. At each gate I'm not fast enough--I'm before them. The process of taking away. She looked at me while she was rearranging her objects. She touched each one in her particular definite manner. I lifted myself off the chair. He was still at the factory. The pipes there were unbelievably hot. His face, flushed. The idea of the race places everything, including the race, in the past. The achievement is the recording of that achievement--its actuality is completely ephemeral. Sport is unmistakable reality. The isolation, the bleakness. The light here is generally not good. Austria is complete good luck for you, she'd say. He and I looked at her body and it was like her; it was an instance of her. I can't remember her expression. Several people said they were certain it was an accident. Now that Aki's seen the coins lying on the ledge, what should he do? What consideration should he give to their probable owner? Was Aki right when he thought, if I take them, no one will know? My ethical position was to tell only the most necessary lies. The glacier is continuously adding and taking away.