The Hermit

Western
winds blew through the valley, rustling leaves, bending trees, and forming
little ripples in the stream that snaked its way through middle of the valley.
Its sinuous form marked a great blue-gray gash in the brown and green
surroundings, giving the valley a jagged battle scar, a unique characteristic
that both defined and eroded it.

     Near the mouth of the
valley, on top of some small foothills stood a stone cabin of simple design:
four stone and mortar walls, a thatched roof, three windows, a door, and a
chimney; only enough to keep the owner sheltered and almost comfortable.
However, as the winds reached that small fateful cabin at the mouth of the
valley, they sent a terrible tremor throughout the entire structure; rattling
the windows, disturbing the meticulously laid thatching, and shifting the very
stone and mortar that held the eroding cabin erect.

     “What
the hell was that? Oh well, we’ve dealt with more than that. Isn’t
that right…well you know better than I. Just look at
yourself, have you even noticed what sort of shape you’re in? I guess it’s partly my fault, entirely my fault really,
that you’ve ended up the
way you have. But we’ll get there,
don’t you worry about that, we’ll get there. I’ll fix you up. Look better than the day we
met.”

     However, as the hermit
spoke, his head slowly sank to his chest in disbelief. Time hadn’t been kind to neither him nor his partner.
Both stood stalwart at the mouth of the valley, refusing to leave, but the task
seemed so much more difficult all of a sudden. His creased hands knew many days
of hard labor, and yet, they trembled without exertion. His rough face, coarse
enough to light a match off of, had felt the sting of many cold winds, and yet,
still hung limp from his face. He had become one with the valley, one with his
home. He knew every rock, tree, crevice, and spring, but recently, the valley
had started to blur. As time progressed, he became more and more alienated from
the place he had once known so well.

     “Jesus, what happened? When did we become so…old? It feels like yesterday when we moved
here, just the two of us. The valley was so strange then, well, almost as
strange as it is now.  You remember
that day I built those steps down to the stream? Hehehe, oh man that was a fun
day. Those steps must’ve taken all day
to build, but man was I happy when they were finished. Imagine it? How can you
live a hundred and fifty feet from a fresh mountain stream and have no access
to it? Well those steps were perfect and as soon as I finished, I collected my
tools, came in here, and had a drink with you to celebrate. You must’ve been as happy as I was? Were you? Well,
those steps are falling apart now and I keep meaning to go out there and fix ‘em, but I just can’t bring myself to do it all over again. Well
I guess it doesn’t matter, I can’t get down ‘em anymore anyway.”

     “No…I
can’t live like this. What happened? I should at
least be able to get down the steps that I built. What kind of man am I? Right? RIGHT!? I have to. I’ll go out there right now and prove to you
that I can, prove to myself that I can…”

     And with that, the old
hermit stood up slowly, his knees cracking with the unexpected movement, and
grabbed his coat, gloves, and hat. He put them on as swiftly as his old hands
allowed and moved towards the door.

     “Oh, this’ll
be great. I can’t wait to get
down by the old stream again. Maybe catch a few fish…where’s
my fishin’ pole? Ah well,
next time. Now that I’ll know I can
get down those damn steps I can start fishin’ again, maybe even rebuild those steps. Eh, I’m getting ahead of myself. First I need to
get down those stairs…I’ll be back in a minute and boy will we have a
time. Just think, once I get down those stairs, there’s no stopping us then. We can…”

     The door shut behind
him, cutting him off mid sentence.  Through the old, frosty windowpanes, the old hermit could be
seen making his way slowly to the first step. As he approached the first step,
he stopped and looked down, took a deep breath and took the first step. Relief
coursed through his body. He felt confident; he felt at home. But the second
and third steps proved more difficult, his knees just wouldn’t cooperate, but he refused to relent. He
kept moving, step-by-step, until he came to the last one, but his knees wouldn’t have it. The final step he took would be his
last. His knees gave out, and he fell the last couple of feet onto the cold,
rocky earth, smashing his head on the large boulder at the bottom. He lay there
in disbelief and shock as the blood slowly poured from his temple. He knew he had
only minutes left, as he looked up the incline at his cabin, his only friend.

     “Can you believe this old friend? Just when I
thought I’d made it all
the way, made it better, this happens. I’m
sorry I couldn’t make it down
and I’m sorry I never fixed these stairs for you.
But just remember one thing: all of this…it
doesn’t matter as long as you have someone to
appreciate it with and for that I thank you.”

     These last words caused
him a great deal of effort; they came out only as a weakened whisper. However,
as his eyes closed for the last time, he swore he saw a hand wave goodbye in
the twisting smoke that rose from the chimney.

 

by Chiansky (Viewed 731 times)

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