Whose land is it anyway?......#2

This post is a continuation from July7, 2009…….

Strange as it all appears, he liked the old man, or at least had a curious respect for him. During their many conversations as they walked the land, the old man began to share his story. It was a story full of conspiracy wrapped in a deep paranoia. After wrestling with the steel company to get his settlement, he became convinced that “they” were after him. He put money down on this remote, but pristine land, buying it from a band of outlaw monks, who used it briefly as a monastery. The old man never made another payment, and soon he really had people after him. He would query the old man, “Well whose land is it anyway?” “Let’s concern us with other matters, shall we Mr……” But in the end he would refuse to go, without a fight.

Their talks often surrounded politics and the abuse of the establishment on the common man. They would sit together on warm afternoons in the dark shade of the once formal dining room. The old man would get so riled up in discussing things that he would take the old black dial phone and call his congressman and really rip into whoever was on the other end. He was actually very intelligent, but it was also delusion run wild.

Once while in the large barn on the property, the old man asked him to climb down to the cellar below to fetch some item. After he lifted the heavy steel door built into the floorboards of the barn, he stepped down the first few wood steps and then looked back at the old man holding the door over his head. The old man harshly said “Mr……don’t ever trust another man with your life this way,” referring to the steel door he grasped, “because he may have had a bad morning with his wife and mistake you for her.”

One very cold and heavily snowing winter evening there was a banging on the side door. Opening it he found the old man visibly upset with his face pressed against the cedar entry. “Mr. ……I request your help immediately, please dress warm.” Once they walked back to the main house and into the dark hallway he saw that the old man’s Great Dane had died and the dog was laid out on a wooded palate, normally where a dining room table would be placed. “Mr…..I need you to haul our friend here to the top of the hill and bury him immediately.” “Tonight?” “Now Mr……”

Hooking a rope to the palate he pulled the dog out and down the concrete steps, across the gravel drive and up the hill through deep and continually piling snow. It was tough going but he was young then, and stronger. The old man wore all black trench coat and wide brimmed black hat, revealing streaming tears whenever the flashlight shone up toward his hard reddened face.

At the top he was left alone to do what he was asked to do, what the old man couldn’t do, bury the dog.

As he rested momentarily on the shovel handle, staring out into the falling snow, he sensed the oddity of his time here on the land, but at the same time recognized that this was exactly where he needed to be, even though as events progressed he would not wish them on anyone.

To be continued……..