The night was dark, the bar was closing, and I had nowhere to go. I had spotted a park on my walk there and I was praying that it held a bench for me to sleep on. I had scraped up just enough capital to fend off my rather large tab, but I did not have enough for a taxi or motel. Hell, even the clothes on my back were a donation courtesy of the U.S. Military. I found it funny that a war could take your soul, your dignity, and your life in exchange for fifty dollars a month. Or maybe back then I was still a fool.
As I reached into my pocket to take out my wallet, the bearded geezer next to me grumbled, “Were you infantry?”
Confused, I responded, “Yeah? What’s it to you?”
He looked like a man who had seen a lot.
“Let me pay your tab.”
His eyes were graying and his beard had grown shaggy.
Quickly, my attitude changed as I said, “I’m not one to reject a favor... but can I ask why?”
When I looked at him I saw as much sorrow as I did pride.
“I try to help out men of honor like yourself. You served our country, yet you have nothing to your name? It’s the least I could do.”
“Alright, well thank you. I greatly app-”
“You look like you need a haircut.”
Again baffled, I replied, “What?”
He was a rugged man, but it was evident that he had a heart... or at least he used to.
“Your hair, it really needs to be cut.” he said, motioning towards the Sahara-dry roots that hung from my head.
“Oh… yeah. I should cut it, but I don’t really got the money for it.”
“Where are you staying?”
Despite his image, he seemed to be more Franklin than Theodore, and more Crosby than Sinatra.
“Tonight? I planned to sleep in that park right down the road.” I gestured loosely.
“I have a spare room if you promise to not become a bother.”
“You wouldn’t even notice me. That’s ace! Where’s it at?”
“It’s just a little hunting cabin I have out in the sticks. I have room for you if you’ll help me out around the place.”
I was elated, but I had a bad habit of acting cool. I was a cinema that had Casablanca on the marquee and It’s a Wonderful Life inside.
“I will.” I reassured him.
“Good. We should get going. We have some log splitting to do tomorrow morning.”
He left the cash on the counter and bid adieu to the bartender.
We were approaching his crimson red, 1947 Chevrolet pickup, when I realized that I had never asked this man for his name.
I wrapped my hand around the chrome handle that coruscated a bright white hue in the moonlight to open the door, and proceeded to pull myself up into the vehicle. I decided to ask, “Hey uh… what do I call you?” “Oh right, my name is Otis. Who might you be?”
He extended his hand to display his generous offer once more.
“Robert. Friends call me Rob.”
As our hands joined to celebrate this most charitable union, there was a spark of nostalgia in his eyes as he said, “I once knew a man named Robert. I favored him... until he turned cowardly.”
“Oh, what a shame.”
“Yes. Indeed it is.” His eyes no longer fixated on me, but rather on the road ahead. He seemed both sentimental and entirely apathetic, both badly scarred and newly born. Even still, he was the thing I had now placed my life in the hands of, and I appreciated his temperament. He was a smooth stone found at the base of a river. With the most humble of appearances he fit in with the rest, yet still, he was able to bludgeon a man to death without question. His foot fell to the pedal and we were off.
Our midnight crusade from the bar to his property was filled with long, winding roads and an utter absence of communication. It’s not that I’m one for small talk, but the silence began to nag at me like flies over a horse.
After what felt like centuries, I was forced to build the bridge.
“How long you lived here?”
“I’d say about twenty years, give or take.”
“Yeah? Where’d you come from then?”
“Before moving here?”
I nodded.
He answered, “Oh, well, it’s quite a long story. I lived in Paris for a time. Some time in Spain. Been here and there I guess.”
“So did you serve at all?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see any combat?”
“Yeah. Why don’t we ju-”
“You don’t hafta talk about it. Just curious is all.”
“I don’t mind talking about it, I just don’t really.”
“I saw combat. Lots of it.”
“Where were you stationed?”
“All throughout Europe. Served from 42’ to 45’. Proud to have done it.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because war never changes. I know what you saw. I saw the same men die, they were just wearing different uniforms.”
“Isn’t that the nature of sacrifice? It’s the risk we’re taking to keep our freedom.”
He was steadily entering into a state of aggravation. “I know what you’re saying. It’s the same damn thing that they told us forty years ago.”
Subconsciously, he was forcing himself to exert a greater amount of pressure onto the gas pedal. The brighter his face became, the faster the automobile went. With every word forced like hearty steak through a grinder, he etched his thoughts into the mountaintops. “I know you’re too proud to admit it, but you’ve been stripped of everything but your life. They took your name and gave you a rank, they took your philosophies and gave you rules, they took your pencils and gave you bullets. I know what you’re feeling.”
Instantly, the color faded from his face. The immediate expression I read on his face was regret.
He stammered, “O-or maybe you had a different experience. I don’t know.”
What had this man become? He was the Seabiscuit of his day. He was quite literally, the Man o’ War. He was the stallion too far broken, with his glory days left far behind.
“We don’t hafta talk about this. This is my fault. Let’s just move on.”
I felt a humid swirl of second-hand shame dribble down my back just listening to this hollow man, for he was everything I may become.
“I-I’m sorry. I don’t talk too much an-”
“Your cabin. What’s it like?” I desperately desired for this desperate discussion to divert direction.
“Right. It’s got two bedrooms, a single bathroom, kitchen and living room. It sits on a few dozen acres of woodland and forest.”
The anguish of past conversations still hung miserably in the air. Nothing was sweet enough to fix the bitter taste that laid within our mouths.
“Oh yeah? Do much hunting?”
“Sometimes. A little hunting, a little fishing.”
“You ever get anything?”
“Yeah. It’s not really about that though. There’s a beauty to it. Much in the same way bullfighting has a beauty to it? Have you ever watched a bull fight?”
“No. Only time I ever left the country was the war.”
“Well either way, hunting has an indescribable nature about it. If you do find something, you don’t necessarily even need to shoot it. Sometimes, seeing it is enough. We’ll go out tomorrow, and I’ll show you.”
“Alright.”
It was the last word to leave either of our mouths for the rest of the ride. I was entirely occupied by the star-speckled, dreamy night sky for the rest of our journey as I gazed out of my window. It was as if outside of the battlefield, and outside of the city, you could literally pick each hazy dandelion out of the swampy blackness it laid in. On that first night I felt the history of man gazing down upon us. We had worked through our first painful conversation of many. Whether I knew it or not at the time, we were on the mercenary’s road to redemption.
“Here we are.” he said, interrupting my train of thought.
Sarcastically I added, “Already?”
He appeared unamused as he ignored my comment and said, “You’ll enter the front door, walk a few paces, and make a left. That’s your room. I’m not sure what time it is now, but be up by six. You’ll get a few hours.”
I nodded, and headed off to sleep.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
I awoke to the arresting aroma of buttered bread and the warm crackling of fried bacon. Pleasantly surprised, I felt as if I had floated into the kitchen.
“Breakfast?”
He provided a look of pure confusion and responded, “Yes? We’re going to be walking pretty far today. Best to get something to eat first.” “It’s just been a bit since I’ve eaten anything that even resembled breakfast.”
I felt no embarrassment due to my lack of housing, however, I could tell that he was embarrassed that he had already forgotten. “Oh, obviously. Right. Well, then I guess it’s a good thing that I’m making some here.”
“I could have made something for myself ya’ know? I was pretty crafty with our supplies overseas.”
The mere mention of war brought a split-second of worry to his face. It resolved in a hurried fashion, as he replied, “Well, daylight is coming quite quickly so we should really be heading out.”
He distributed the food equally onto both of our plates and motioned for me to sit at the table. I took a seat and began to enjoy the food he had prepared.
“Where exactly are we headed this morning?” I asked.
“It’s a bit difficult to explain, but trust that I know my way. It’s my favorite spot in this area.”
“Do you bring a map or compass?”
“Neither. I’m telling you, I know my way around these woods.”
“Alright. Do you have a spare gun for me or something?”
“No. No guns. I use a bow to hunt. It’s a subtle change, but believe me… you’ll understand why I do it once you’ve used it yourself.”
“I don’t mean any offense by this but, how do you still use a bow? Is it not getting harder to draw it back each year?” “Oh most certainly it is. I’m confident that within the next few years, I will have to switch back to a rifle. But I guess that’s the blessing of teaching the next generation one’s boring old tricks isn’t it? If I teach you, and then you teach your kin, it will never truly die.”
It was a beautiful sentiment, but remained slightly awkward in the moment, seeing as though we had just met the night before. Kindred spirits though we remained; men of moxie subjugated to the horrors of reality.
After breakfast, we assembled our gear. He allowed me to use a rather large winter jacket and a hat that he had lying around. He warned me that once we left the cabin, we would not be back until the next day. We were bringing with us: a tent, heavy blankets, a supply of food and water, a hatchet, the bow and the arrows.
We exited the cozy home and were immediately swallowed by Mother Nature’s antarctic womb. The temperature rested just above the freezing point, but Otis warned it would drop far below by nightfall.
The tree-line was visible overtop the roof of his house, but he informed me that we would be entering the forest in a different area. We traveled several hundred feet to the East before finally approaching. He said this was to avoid a fallen tree that laid behind the property.
It was evident that as the bitter winter pushed forward, it ripped all complexion from the forest in great, big strides, leaving only the strongest fronds, needles, and leaves to survive.
The biting air was a cruel mistress, and she forced one to keep their mouth shut, or face the bitter defeat of commiseration. In a way though, it felt a bit refreshing.
Otis informed me that communicating while hunting was not a crime, however, it may frighten potential prey. Apparently, he was not afraid to scare away these creatures, as he often would excitedly turn around to inform me of some great woodland wisdom he had accrued over the years.
The first thing he informed me of were the different types of woodpeckers that lived within this forest.
“If it’s got the red face and the black body, but it’s a little meatier… it’s what they call a Sapsucker. If it’s got the red face, black body, but it’s longer instead of fatter… it’s the Pileated Woodpecker. That’s the biggest one in the country. Then there’s a few that are much more rare. I’ll show them to you if we see them.”
I wasn’t sure if the frostbite, exhaustion, or boredom were going to kill me first. We walked over fallen logs, we walked through shallow creeks. We saw eroded rocks that jutted out of hills like broken bones, and trees that frayed like rope. Every dead stump we passed was far older than the last.
It wasn’t that I disliked nature, just that I hadn’t become accustomed to it yet.
After a few hours of continuous hiking, Otis decided that we should take a rest, and eat something. We found a fallen log and sat upon it, placing our things on the ground beside it.
This seemed like a time for conversation and so I broke the silence this time.
“What’s the most dangerous animal within these woods?”
“Grizzly bear.”
“Grizzly bear? In these woods? And we’ve brought a bow?”
“Relax. I’ve never actually seen a grizzly bear in this forest before. They live further North. I was just referring to the state as a whole.”
“Alright, so then how ‘bout from what you’ve actually seen?”
“I was almost run over by a caribou once if that counts for anything. He didn’t mean it… just didn’t see me is all.”
“Like a reindeer?”
“Yes… like a reindeer.”
“That’s bizarre.”
“Yes. Yes it is.”
“You ever see a wolf?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen a few. Gray wolves.”
“Scary?”
“Not really. You just have to keep your distance and make a lot of noise.”
“Good to know.”
“Where are you from anyways?”
“I’m from Delaware.” “That’s a long ways away son. How’d you end up here?” “I flew here on a plane.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I moved out here after my mom died.”
“Oh. That’s unfortunate.”
“Yeah.”
“What about your dad then?”
“Not sure where he went. Been gone about twenty-something years.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“No worries. I came out here because I had heard there might be work. Appears to have been a lie.”
“There’s plenty of work out here. Next week we’ll go into town and find you a job. I know few people who will find you some work somehow.”
This news made me very glad. He didn’t let the joy exist for long though as the next thing he said was, “Well. We don’t have all day I guess. Let’s get moving again.”
And once more, we were off.
Facts about honeybees, toads, bats, and ducks were all dispersed through the air like the germs out of a gentleman's nostril after a sneeze. He informed me of mating habits, sleep cycles, histories and futures. He made sure I knew what meat they ate, and what meat they produced. Who to be afraid of, and who to be afraid for. It was almost impressive how monotonous these facts became after awhile.
I’d trade anything to relive that day now. The air that had felt so bitter then, lives so snuggly in my head today. The white noise of the creek seemed so irksome then, but remains so soothing to me. Even the soft crackle of leaves beneath my feet pestered a more foolish version of myself.
As time went on, I felt as if I would never reach the hill that this man spoke of; and that even if I did, it would never be able to live up to my expectations.
But as time went by, the sky passed its clouds around from one part of the world to the next, the sun submerged slowly into the vast horizon, and we covered almost as much land in a day as we did back in Europe.
“Looks like we might have to stop for the night.”
I nodded in agreement.
“You did good today kid. It-it was nice to have someone out here with me.” he said, unsure whether it would come out as sincere or pitiful.
“Yeah? Well, honestly, I’m glad you brought me here. I think this could be the beginning of something… really good.”
Directly following this statement, we heard a high, clear, series of piping calls that lasted several seconds.
“Pileated Woodpecker.” he said without missing a beat.
I let out a soft chuckle. The soft fade into evening had felt like a mother placing her child into bed. I looked at the sky that surrounded us and felt in awe. It wasn’t completely visible, but there were enough openings to see the amber shades forcing their way into the forest. It was almost as if these openings had been divinely assembled. Made for the purpose of glancing through them in the very spot I had stood in.
Otis was setting up the tent, but I felt the need to show him what I had seen.
“Would you look at that?”
He stood up, and I knew he had seen exactly what I had seen.
“Isn’t it pretty?”
“Yes,” I said. “I think so.”
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