There was still a number for him, in the codes in the files in the workers’ compensation building, files from before it was workmen’s compensation, from when it was still the Industrial Accidents Board. Code 871: Ice Harvester. There were figures, under Code 871, determined by actuaries, to represent the inherent danger of the work. Harvesters were lost every year, when there were harvesters. The ice harvester who appeared when there was no need for him didn’t know he had a number, but it would not have surprised him.

He stood at the edge of the lake and looked out at the ice. It had frozen over in a cold snap, and then a day of warm sunshine melted the surface, before the temperature dropped again, leaving the ice smooth as a mirror. The sky was overcast now, so the ice was white. He stood with his tools—a wheelbarrow, an ice saw, tongs, gloves—and considered the best place to start. The lake was curved like an organ of the body; in one of the indentations was a spring. The ice harvester picked up his wheelbarrow and started across the ice toward the spring. It was best to start where the water helped, where the ice was new and clean and wanted to be broken up. But springs were unpredictable; that was why harvesters were lost.

He walked on the ice in the flat-footed way of one who knows not to hurry, or glide, or carry his weight too far forward and let his feet slip out from under him. He made the most of friction. His boots were warm, as they had to be, with heavy leather soles, but he felt the cold making its way through the leather and the wool lining. It wasn’t cold enough to cause discomfort, but it made him feel the ice was real. When he neared the spring, he was careful, keeping track of the delicate white cracks that shot down through the ice: still a good fifteen inches before the dark water flowed below. He saw a fish, silver and motionless, trapped in the ice, midswim. He listened for sounds of breakup, and slowed his walk.

There were rushes and cattails near the bank, and most were frozen in place, except where the spring came up; at the spring, the cattails emerged from black water, and the water cut into the frozen mass. The harvester stood near the place where the water began, and took his saw from the wheelbarrow.