B01 – 3 Steeps
It felt like we'd been walking for hours, but since I was not wearing a watch, I could not tell.
This wasn't nice stroll in the countryside, on paths and across fields.
No, this was off-road.
Over rocks and dirt and through trees and bushes. Up and down the hill, streams of water to cross. And bloody leaves everywhere.
If this makes you think of a forest, you get the idea.
Trying to keep up with Arthur on this mostly uphill journey accelerated how quickly my legs and lungs started to show it's been a few years since I had made proper use of them.
I was old enough to start noticing some wear and tear but too young and ignorant to pay attention to any of it.
"Why are we here again?" I called out to no one in particular.
"Are you going to ask that every two minutes?
You know, for someone who thinks they're an intellectual you sure can be stupid sometimes." Arthur shut me down.
The tone of his voice sounding like he started to regret talking me into this hike. He should have regretted even having the idea of thinking about asking me in the first place, if you ask me.
Except, he didn't ask me if it was a good idea to ask me to come along. Instead, he said 'fancy a wee walk about?' which to me sounded harmless, so I agreed. Last time was not so bad, I seemed to remember.
In my defence, as someone who bore witness to my decay for most of his life, he was the stupid one for not having expected this to happen.
Besides, as I did not have a watch there really was no way of knowing how long it was since I last raised that all important question.
His continuous “you'll see” was of no use to me.
"Maybe if you try to focus on your eyes and nose instead of mouth, you could enjoy the smell of the fresh air, the beautiful scenery and just be quiet for more than two minutes."
He'd stopped walking and was now comfortably leaning against a tree, allowing me to catch up a bit.
"Either you shut up right now. Or we change directions...
Meaning, I will not be walking back to the station right away, just somewhere else. It'll take hours and hours.
I had hoped that you can try to pull yourself together.
But no! You just can't stop, can you?
This walk here is all about me scheming to torment you on every imaginable level. And maybe, if that was my plan, I could have succeeded.
I'll tell you what, though, that's what you'd do.
You'd literally make a day of having someone, no matter who, go through misery.
Just because you'd think it'd be fun.
And because screw everyone else!"
He might have exaggerated a bit. I couldn't think of anyone I know that would have a noticeably worse time here that I'd be willing to put myself through this.
The pay-off just would not be large enough, I don't think.
"So, you want to turn around?
Any general change of direction would be favourable to me.
Left, right or down. All of them do sound more appealing than up."
"No!" he was close to shouting at me.
"Let's go then!" I shouted in return.
I felt charged. I doubt it was the brief break which allowed me to get some breath back that gave me this renewed energy.
Maybe because I only then realised this trip actually meant something to him.
Or I wanted to prove to both myself and him that I had at the very least the will power and physical ability that my friend assumed me to possess.
Or I felt that I'd already invested so much in this endeavour that it'd be a complete write-off if we turned around now. Rather than spend more time trying to figure that out, I decided to channel my energy in a more meaningful way.
With Archie yet again several steps ahead of me I instead I mumbled my discontent to myself. Just loud enough for him to hear, but unlikely to understand.
"What was that?"
He was not having any of it.
"Oh. I was admiring the tree stump over here."
He looked unimpressed by what I was pointing at.
"You see how the cut of the chainsaw, with its precision and the angle relative to the slope, is a paradigmatic demonstration for both the depth and the meticulousness with which mankind, pardon my pun, cuts into nature.
It's tricky, though.
Because, on even ground you don't notice it.
There it's all more or less horizontal, and thus parallel. It creates the illusion of harmony and idyll.
Right here, though.
That's the naked reality.
It's extremely powerful imagery. I appreciate you showing me this fantastic place."
"You're most welcome. But I hope you're no too disappointed when I tell you this is not the place."
With that Arthur turned around.
We walked the remaining minutes in silence.
*
Finally reaching the hilltop, we stood at a railing put there to indicate which point you should not proceed beyond. There was even a little sign that said something along these lines, as well as a map printed on sheet metal detailing what could be seen from this viewpoint.
I don't know who thought that those who had a fundamental difficulty interpreting a barrier or a fence correctly, could be tricked into reading the small print.
"What do you see - looking at this?" Arthur said, using his finger to draw a large rectangle on the horizon.
Non-descript forests on hills is what I saw, with absolute clarity.
"Can you show me again?" I asked, moving up behind him, putting my head over his left shoulder so as to have the same field of vision as he. I might as well have looked for a schooner.
"I don't think it is very safe, don't you think?"
One of the ladies sitting on a wooden bench behind us exclaimed.
"You're absolutely right." The other one seconded. "Someone should do something!"
I took that as my queue and promptly abandoned my friend. Leaving him with his magic forest to themselves, I walked towards a group of children goofing about a stone's throw away. All but one of them on the opposite side of the railing.
They chose that spot because there were no bushes. Beyond the ledge a few steps ahead, only the sheer walls of rock. They looked several times the hight of the flagpole nearby when I saw them on our way up.
The little ones were daring each other to take one more step to see who's the bravest.
"Hey, kids!" I tried to grab their attention, "Listen up!"
A couple of them turned to towards me, so I continued:
"Now, personally I don't care if one or even all of you fall down this cliff. I honestly don't. Trust me.
But I’m afraid, if that were to happen the two old gals over there might go on mission and in no time at all we'd have safety measures that prevent any more of you little runts falling off.
Obviously, you would not care because you'd all be dead. But the likes of us do appreciate looking at the scenery, you know, nature and stuff, every once in a while, and would not want to have our views obstructed by metal bars or a fence.
That would be like a prison on a hill. No one would want to come here anymore."
By now all kids had climbed back to the safe side of the metal rail. One of them ran past us, towards one of the ladies, who had gotten up and headed our way.
"Young man! You have no right to talk to my son! What business of yours is it to talk to other people's children. What are you? A pervert?"
The way she screeched it made it seem like she already answered that question in her head beforehand.
For a moment I thought about very, very calmly telling her she could not be more wrong. That I was in fact a serial killer focused single mothers; and that it was good of her to come over because I wanted to enquire if she was seeing anybody.
I was concerned she might not appreciate that as much as I.
Instead, I said in my normal voice.
"Ma'am. I assure you I am not a pervert.
I'm what you could call a concerned citizen.
Someone who assumes the responsibility of caring for the safety and well-being of any child.
These poor little buggers seem to be a bit unaware of the dangers of gravity?
Who are you expecting to teach them about stuff like that?
Teachers? Public safety officials? The police?"
It occurred to me later that maybe she was actually a single mother, and that the bastard that gave her the child was a physics professor at large.
"You are no police man. You don't look like one" the mother of the sobbing boy respond. "I want to go home, mummy," he whimpered, clinging to the sides of her woollen jumper.
"You're right, ma'am. I am not an officer of the law. But I could pass for a teacher wouldn't you say?"
"Are you a teacher then?" she wanted to know still bemused.
"Afraid not. As you had just witnessed, I can't talk to a bunch of kids for more than a minute without a parent shouting at me. How'd you imagine I'd fare with, say, twenty of the little buggers and about thirty of your kind?"
"I think I see your point, mister." She was very serious about that.
"I appreciate that, ma'am." Dead serious myself.
"Now, if you'll excuse us. My friend and I have some important lumberjack business to attend to.
And from what I can see you have some laundry to do."
I pointed the string of snot that hung across her front, and returned to Archie who meanwhile moved on to framing the horizon with his index fingers and thumbs.
"Now? Can you see anything? Does anything here look familiar?"
"It's trees. And rocks.
Beyond that? Nope. I get nothing…
What should I be seeing?" I started to get impatient.
"You know the building opposite the train station? You know, where the big clock is?"
"Not really. Not to the point that I could describe it to you.
Why?
Are you suggesting it looks like that hill over there?"
"Not exactly. I read an article a while back about the architect responsible, or rather about his lover who was brutally murdered many years ago.
But there was something about the story tickled my fancy and I started to dig deeper:
Allegedly he drew a lot of inspiration from the local landscapes, and to be honest I can't see anything over there either.
For some reason I thought you might."
He got me there. But to me none of the hills looked like a house. Nor could I recall seeing a building that looked like a hill or a forest when I got off the train.
"We didn't come up here for you to tell me about a newspaper and look around aimlessly, did we?" There had better a point to all this.
"Well, no.
The architect, Natanael Paol was his name, had supposedly found his muse living hereabouts. But before said building was finished the poor young woman was brutally murdered by her jealous husband.
Even though the homicidal widower was quickly caught and put away, poor Nate was so distraught he moved away shortly thereafter. To him the building represented nothing more than an oversized tombstone commemorating the death of his love."
"That's the most heart-breaking story about small town architecture I have ever heard.
You got all that from the article?"
"I spent a lot of time looking for old newspapers and talking to old folks in the area.
You can't imagine how much help Julie was with that."
Actually, I could, very well. With her knack for listening and her working in an old people’s home she probably knew exactly who Arthur needed to talk to.
"Why are you telling me all this?"
"I figured of all the people I know you'd be the most interested."
He was trying to suppress his laughter.
"Then why we did we have to come all the way up here for you to tell me? We could just as well have had the conversation at the station or at your place"
"You're right. We could have. But I figured it's a more suitable setting up here. More dramatic."
"I can't argue with that."
"Call it my welcome home present to you."
He threw his arms around me.
"It's good to have you back in town.
And what’s better, you made a new friend here today."
"And I didn't even get her number."
It felt good to be back in town.
"We could have taken the bus up here at least."
"Where's the fun in that?
But now that you mention, if we want to take the bus back to the station we should leave right about now."
"Best idea you had in a while!"
Walking to the bus stop again I asked him: "What made you follow-up on this story?"
"I haven't found out yet. Something about it resonated with me."
"Professional courtesy?"
"Maybe...
Maybe it's just that."
In his own words he's employed in a field that includes virtually every aspect of humanity.
He told me that once. I was no closer to understanding what an anthropologist does.
Back at the bus stop we meet our new acquaintances again.
I took out my notebook, wrote something in it, tore out the page, folded it and handed it to the friend of my friend.
"What does it say?" the mother wanted to know.
"It says 'please do not show to this to her'."
She turned back to me and whispered, "can we go for an ice-cream instead?"
Comments