That day in the mountains...
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It all started at daybreak. Following prayer, and with keen anticipation, they adjusted their packs and began their trek. Nearing the first hour, it became obvious that this trail was far more difficult than they’d figured. Narrow and perilous, it dropped off hundreds of feet, in various places, and because of challenging angles and loose gravel, it required constant vigilance to keep from falling or twisting an ankle. Together and determined though, they trekked upwards for several hours more, over rills and runnels, around a waterfall, across a swinging footbridge spanning a gorge, and through an old graveyard of silver-mining equipment where the droppings of Elk were clumped-up like pyramids. When the high ridge had at last been crested, both of them stopped and stared awestruck at the magnificent panorama before them.
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“Oh my goodness,” the woman cried, “it’s so heavenly. Can you believe the beauty we can see up here. Who in the world would have known….”
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Across the valley, Fleabane, Sky Pilots, Sierra Gentian, and Butterweed, were pushing up through the last of the snow in hues of purple and yellow. They could also see Sego Lilies, Balsamroot, Paintbrush, Nootka Rose, and Rabbit-brush, all dappled together in posies of delicate beauty. Off in the distance, further west, there was a cluster of lakes glistening like brooding dark jewels. And throughout the lower ridges the Pinyon Pines looked like primeval warriors all standing in formation. In amongst the rocks on all the hillsides, near and far, new growth was bursting up through the last of wintery white in lush cornucopias. As they stood gazing out, a sudden wind swept over the high plateau, and for a while the trees and bushes swayed restlessly.
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“Wow…. Honey, look at that,” the man blurted. An old wooden structure had become visible through the trees for several moments. “I never imagined finding a cabin today. This is awesome! Come on…. let’s go check it out.”
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After finding a way through the tangled growth, and on alert for any dangers, especially grizzled old men with rifles, they walked around the perimeter of the clearing to get a feel for the property. The first things they noticed were an antenna on the tool shed, an outhouse tucked between two large boulders, a cistern for water storage, a makeshift shower, and just inside the tree line, the remains of an old garden. Suddenly, the woman cried out. “Honey…. Look!” She was pointing at another fenced off area. At one end, there was an old grave marker with the name ‘Tinny’ carved into it. “It’s a cute name….”
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“Yes, it is. Never heard it before. I wonder why the plot’s so big.”
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“I don’t know,” the woman shrugged uneasily. “It seems way bigger than it needs to be, especially for a pet. Do you suppose….”
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“That it’s big enough for a person? As a matter of fact, I do.”
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“Oh my goodness….” the woman shuddered. “That’s disturbing. You don’t think someone’s buried here, do you?”
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“Well…. we’re certainly not going to find out. Honey, let’s check out the cabin.” With a look of relief, the woman nodded back.
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All the windows in the structure were broken and scattered in shards on the ground. The sheeting between the rafters was badly warped, and the entire rooftop had been blanketed in a fleece of dry emerald moss. But despite its ramshackle appearance, from decades of inclement weather, the old cabin was still clinging tenaciously to the granite. For a time, both stood staring silently.
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“It’s an awful mess,” the man at last blurted.
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“It sure is,” the woman agreed.
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“Maybe it was someone’s home,” the man pondered aloud. “But why would they live so remotely? It’s thirteen miles to the general store.”
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After mulling a moment, the woman suggested: “Maybe whoever ran the silver mine were the tenants, or maybe they owned it.”
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The man nodded back. “Could be. Makes sense. How about we look inside. My curiosities getting the best of me.”
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As they were making their way towards the entrance, a brisk wind picked up once again, this time more intensely. Several things happened then. The door began banging against the jamb in an eerie cadence. Dozens of pinecones hit the ground around them with dull thuds. An unruly Raven flew directly over their heads. A rafter of wild turkeys dashed past. Nearer the silver mine, gravel and rocks slid down in a noisy dust cloud from a ledge above them. With some apprehension, because so much had happened simultaneously, both stood silently staring at the other undecided. Was something telling them to stay away?
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“This place is disturbing,” the woman finally murmured. “Anything could be living in there. The doors ready to fall off. The windows are all broken. It looks like it’s about to fall down. I don’t know. Honey…. maybe we should go back down.”
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“Bullshit….” the man blurted heatedly. “We made it this far. We’re here for a reason. We are not backing down, nor are we giving up. We’ve got something to do, so let’s do it!”
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With a sudden surge of courage, the woman nodded back. “You’re right. We’re here for a reason. Let’s do it…. You first.”
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Given their steadfast natures, both shrugged off what their imaginations were conjuring. At the door, the man moved aside and bowed. “Ladies first….” Both laughed. Then, the man stepped gingerly over the threshold with his wife in tow.
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When their eyes had adjusted to the gloom, they separated, and began to move about freely. The atmosphere inside was a musty mixture of decaying wood and dead moss. There was also a hint of rodent feces and urine. All the walls were smudged and stained, and in the main room, skewed on warped paneling, an assortment of daguerreotypes stared out blankly in two-dimensional silence. Dozens of empty whiskey bottles were strewn about, and in a far corner, a rusted bedstead was leaning against the wall. In another corner, a pot-belly stove was overflowing with ashes, and on the rear wall, a shoddy bookcase was listing under the weight of several dozen volumes. In the center of the room, beneath a broken skylight, there was a table and two chairs, and an old Underwood typewriter. The man noticed a leather bag under the table, with several reams of weathered papers stuffed inside. With measured curiosity, he removed them as carefully as he could, and after reading silently for a while, he turned to his wife and said: “It’s a collection of poems and stories, and most of the words are still legible. Listen to this.” For some time the man read one page after another. It was starkly dark text about a relationship that had gone bad.
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“Oh my goodness, that is so depressing,” the woman cried out. “The poor thing was desperately wounded by that jerks betrayal''s. What a piece of crap he was. Good grief! I can’t imagine what that poor woman went through.”
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“I can’t either…. Check it out, there’s more….”
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The woman looked horror-stricken. “There’s more? You mean, in the same vein?”
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“Seems so. There’s another stack, and from what I’ve scanned, it’s even more purgative than what I’ve just read. Hey…. something just came to me.”
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The woman’s eyes opened wide. “What?”
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“It’s apparent to me now that the man wrote both sides of the story. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I’m convinced he came up here to escape from what was happening wherever they resided. Perhaps he’d become anathema in the town, perhaps even a target for her family. Clearly, he knew he’d made a mess of everything, and he felt compelled to write both sides of the story to try and work through his indiscretions to find peace with what he’d done.”
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The woman shrugged with a kind of curious indifference. “Ok…. Whatever. It’s creeping me out, but I’m willing to listen some more if you’re willing to read.”
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“Alright…. I will. These next pages are from the man’s perspective.”
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For the next hour, he read aloud as the woman explored the nooks and crannies throughout the ramshackle cabin. At times she would stop him, and they would both discuss what certain passages might mean, and how thankful they were that the kind of prideful stupidity that had overtaken him was not something that they struggled with themselves.
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There were dozens more poems, short stories, and what turned out being a brilliantly conceived essay that the man read emotionally to his wife. Evidently, because of his decision to cloister himself away on a mountaintop, he’d begun to understand, in remarkable clarity, the arrant stupidity of someone given over to their baser nature. It was also apparent that the person who had found refuge here was gifted and articulate. As he read, the man sensed no lies or coercions in the writing, just honest soul-searching, that at times was brutally self-condemnatory because of what he’d done. The writer of these words had caused irreparable harm to another, and also to her family, and the harvest he’d reaped from his foolish decisions had forever altered the course of his life. Two souls had suffered deeply, and despite what he’d done to try and negate his guilt, it had still slowly devoured him from the inside. Seems the man who had once dwelt in this cabin never again found personal peace, or his place in society. Loneliness, guilt, and alcoholism ate away at his sanity and health, and over time, an irrepressible madness destroyed him, and all of it had been set into motion because of his foolish betrayal of the only woman who would ever love him.
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Suddenly the woman cried out. “STOP! PLEASE STOP! NO MORE!” Fidgeting nervously, she had now reached her limit of listening. She’d had enough. “My love, we must depart this place at once. I cannot tell you how dirty I feel. There is madness lingering in this cabin, especially now that the words have been spoken aloud. We cannot be partakers of it another second. My heart is breaking. Please…. Let’s go.”
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Loving his wife far more than his curiosity, the man put the writings back where he’d found them, and then, without a word, they made their way back to the trailhead to begin their descent. Stopping a moment, and with deep compassion, the man took his wife’s hands, and urgent petitions were offered up to heaven for relief and understanding. When tears had ceased, they trekked on in silence until a commotion in the eastern skies caught their ears. Dozens of Ravens were suddenly circling noisily above them. Eight landed a few yards from where they stood and began cavorting like rambunctious children. Was this God’s response to their prayer? Soon the woman was laughing tearfully. And then the man was laughing along with her. The spectacle was refreshing, and the animated cawing brought them both a surge of unexpected joy and warmth. After a time, now clear-headed and happy, the woman pressed on. The man however remained for several moments to contemplate what they’d experienced there. Having long relinquished its newness to desiccating winds; time had long taken a toll on the old cabin. And though it slept now in a certain measure of disorder, and had been stripped of all warmth and welcome, it still bore a lingering impression of the willpower it had once taken to build; and forever now, a reminder to both of them of how one man’s deplorable choices had totally destroyed two lives.
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Turning, the man cried out loudly: “Honey…. I’m on my way.”
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© Richard Lloyd Cederberg
2022 – Rewritten 3/2023
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Sandie
Thank you for the trip in the mountains):