North Woods

North Woods By David Oppegaard The old man was sitting on his front porch, whittling a gnome out of basswood, when he heard the car approaching his cabin. It was spring in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and the long gravel road that led to the old man’s cabin was bogged down with mud; whoever visiting him probably wanted something pretty bad. The old man hoped it wasn’t any religious nuts. They came on occasion, even here, and tried to get him to come over to their side. He wasn’t having any of that, though. He had survived World War II by spitting in Death’s face and he no longer cared what anyone thought about him, not even God. The car was getting closer. Its headlights were on even though it was only midafternoon and there was a good three hours of daylight left. The car’s engine sounded small, definitely a four cylinder, and when the car itself popped into sight the old man chuckled. It was red and small, like a box, and the only time he had never seen anything

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like it was at the circus years and years ago. That car had been crammed with clowns, a dozen at least, and its horn had honked the entire Star Spangled Banner. The tiny car pulled up to the old man’s front porch, stopped, and turned off its engine and lights. A tall man in a navy blue suit got out of the car and stretched his arms behind his back, as if he had been cooped up for a long tine. As he made eye contact with the old man the businessman smiled. His brown hair was slicked back with something, maybe pomade, and his sleek face reminded the old man of a weasel. The old man didn’t rise from his chair as the visitor shouted hello, grinning as if he would gladly eat every piece of shit in the world. “Hello,” the businessman said, stopping at the foot of the front porch stairs. “My name is Lloyd Burks, sir. You must be Randolph Anderson.” Anderson nodded, still shaving off bits from the chunk of basswood in his hand. He pushed away the extra curls of wood with his thumbnail, which was as tough and yellowed as the rest of him. The wood wasn’t close to becoming anything resembling a gnome yet, but this didn’t worry the old man. He knew the gnome was there already, carefully biding its time as the layers of wood fell around it in dusty piles. Lloyd Burks cleared his throat. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Anderson squinted, looking past the businessman at the budding yellow and green trees. “The birds have been squawking since it was dark,” the old man said. “Three A.M., if you can believe that. It’s mating season and they’re not wasting anytime getting the job done.” Burks laughed and followed the old man’s gaze into the thick grove of trees. “You must get a lot of wildlife out here.”

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“Sure do,” Anderson said. “Saw a deer this morning. A young buck, in fact, nibbling on the same leaves you’re looking at now. I had half a mind to get the shotgun, but then I decided I wasn’t up for the effort of butchering today.” Burks looked back at the old man and squinted, as if trying to decide if Anderson was joking or not. The old man continued to whittle. “I don’t have any time for skinning and curing and all that, even though I do have a hankering for some venison. You see, I’ve got all this wood carving to do, and then I was going to chop a little wood for the heater.” “Don’t you have electricity?” Burks said, looking around the front yard. “I see some lines running to your cabin.” Anderson nodded. “Sure, but I don’t use it for heating. I prefer a woodstove. Won’t go out on you in a storm, for one thing.” Burks laughed again. Anderson decided he didn’t like the man’s laugh. It was too shrill, too high. He laughed like a woman who nervous about something. “Well, Mr. Anderson, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I have a little business to discuss with you—” “Business?” the old man said, setting his carving knife down. “If you want to talk business, you better come inside. I’ll put some coffee on and we can have a proper discussion.” The businessman smiled and tromped up the porch stairs. Anderson brushed the wood shavings off his pants and stood up, getting out of his chair with the help of a cane.

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He opened the cabin’s screen door for Lloyd and then closed it before the businessman could pass through. “What kind of car is that your driving, Lloyd?” Lloyd turned and looked at his car, which looked even tinier against the thick forest. He laughed. “That’s a Mini-Cooper, sir. They’re very popular these days.” Anderson spit on the floor. “Looks like a clown car. What do you do when its snows?” “Oh,” Lloyd said, patting the front of his suit. “I always carry a cell phone with me in case I have trouble on the road.” Anderson grunted and opened the screen door, snickering at the businessman’s back. The fool didn’t even know where he was. Michigan mainland might be one thing, but when you had road trouble in the U.P. a tow truck wasn’t always an hour away. You needed a serious vehicle around here, not some damned clown car. “Great place,” Lloyd said, scanning Anderson’s cabin as he wiped off his shoes on the welcome mat. “I love the decorations.” Anderson frowned, wondering what decorations the businessman was talking about. All he could see was his emergency oil lantern, his workbench, and the fireplace. Sure, there were a few of his wildlife carvings on the fireplace mantel, but Anderson would hardly call them “decorations”. Decorations were flowers and frilly curtains, doilies and lace. He didn’t have anything like that in his cabin. Lloyd walked over to the fireplace. The businessman picked up one of Anderson’s carvings and touched it up like a sticky fingered little kid.

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“You do woodwork?” “Some,” Anderson said. The old man shuffled over to the kitchen counter and started monkeying with the coffee pot. “These are great,” Lloyd said. “You should try selling these at a crafts shop. I bet you could make a bundle.” “Just some whittling I do,” Anderson said. “It isn’t anything special.” Anderson got two coffee cups out the cupboard and blew the dust out of them. The businessman sat down at Anderson’s kitchen table (the table a square, four-legged chunk of pine Anderson had made himself during a howling four-day snowstorm). Anderson ignored the businessman and examined his table for the first time in many years. The table’s craftsmanship was rough, definitely an apprentice piece. How long ago had he made it? Thirty years? Forty? The coffee was ready and Anderson could feel the businessman’s eyes on him, watching him pour the coffee. He thought about spitting in it, anyway, and cackled softly to himself. “I hope you like your coffee black, Lloyd. I’m out of milk and sugar. The grocery boy hasn’t been here for a while.” Lloyd smiled as Anderson brought the coffee over and set a cup in front of him. “Sounds good to me, Mr. Anderson. It’ll keep me awake on the drive home.” Anderson sat down across from his guest. The table had only two chairs, and this was the first time anyone had used the other one for over ten years. If Anderson wanted to talk to people he drove into town about fifteen miles away. “Mr. Anderson,” Lloyd said, taking a deep breath. “I drove here all the way from Chicago to discuss a business proposition with you.”

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Anderson blew on his coffee. He had wondered how patient the businessman would be. The younger generations had no sense of proprietary, couldn’t even wait to say hello and drink a simple cup of coffee before they started yammering about who the hell cared. There was a way to do business and there was a way not to do business, goddamn it. “I’ve come because my company is developing a piece of land that edges your own, Mr. Anderson. We’ve already started construction, actually, only to discover we’re a bit short on space. We’re making a hotel and golf course, you see, just outside of Munising. Right now we’ve got enough area for nine holes, but we’d like to make it eighteen holes. That’s where you come in, sir. We know you own about fifty acres of land, most of it forested, and we’d like to a buy a slice of it from you.” Anderson took a drink of coffee. He wasn’t surprised by this proposition; he had been waiting for something like this for fifty years. The world couldn’t tolerate a man who owned a sizeable piece of land. Everything had to be divvied up in little sections now, little unfulfilling chunks of land you couldn’t even properly hike in. The whole world was becoming one big suburb, with little patches of grass for people to mow and little artificial gardens for people to tend. Now here was Lloyd, drinking coffee at his kitchen table all hunched up on his elbows like they were two conspirators hatching the greatest plan in the world. “Lloyd,” Anderson said, smiling a little. “I was in Word War Two. I served in the Pacific on an aircraft carrier named the U.S.S. Franklin. I don’t know how well you know your history, Lloyd, but on March 19th, 1945, the Japanese attacked the Franklin. I was down below, on the third deck, when I heard the explosion. I thought some idiot had

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set off a fuse on one of the bombs were hauling, but I was wrong. There was too much smoke. I grabbed my helmet and gas mask and followed a bunch of fellas up to the second deck, but from there we couldn’t go anywhere. The fire had spread from the top deck to the hanger and it was setting off all the rockets, hundred pound bombs, and regular ammunition we had on board. We all stayed below the top deck, keeping the hatch above us closed and waiting out the explosions. The guys who didn’t have a gas mask died of smoke inhalation, and two hours later the explosions finally stopped. We opened the hatch and went out on the top deck. “I don’t know if you’ve ever seen footage of the Franklin, Lloyd, but there is so much black smoke billowing from its top that it looks like it should sink immediately. We thought it was going sink, too, and a couple of us went to the edge of the ship and talked about jumping. The problem was I couldn’t swim. I was a Marine, no Navy SEAL. So I told the fellas I wasn’t going to jump, and we didn’t. We sat on the edge of the carrier instead, trying not to look at the charred bodies around us and looking out at the sea instead. I decided then as I looked out at all that water that when I got home I was going to buy as much land as I could and hold on to it until I died. So when the war ended I took the chunk of money I’d inherited from my father and bought the fifty acres you’re talking about.” Anderson stopped speaking and looked at his hands. They were wrinkled now, but still strong enough to hold onto things. Lloyd took a drink of coffee and cleared his throat. “Wow, Mr. Anderson. That’s some story.” Here it came. Anderson took a deep breath.

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“That’s a great story, sir,” Lloyd said, “but I don’t think it would hurt anything to at least consider our proposition. We don’t want all of your land; just fifteen acres of it. You’ll still have plenty of land left over.” Anderson gripped the coffee cup in his hands, squeezing it as hard as he could. “Having some left over isn’t really the point, Lloyd. I’ve put my stake down, fair and square, and I’m not going to let your company tear up some of the prettiest forest in America. You’re just going to have to go on back to Chicago and tell your boss to rethink things.” “But you haven’t heard our offer yet,” Lloyd said, rubbing his hands together like he was washing them. “We’re prepared to compensate you very handsomely. We know you’re having some money difficulties with the state, a little trouble paying your property taxes. We’re prepared to pay you enough that you’ll never have to worry about those taxes again. Doesn’t that sound at least, well, interesting?” Anderson leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his narrow chest. He considered Lloyd and his well-tailored, navy blue suit. The man’s tie was probably Chinese silk, and his hair hadn’t moved a millimeter since his arrival. “Okay, Lloyd, I’ll think about your offer. Why don’t we go on a little hike, and let me show you the forest while I do some thinking?” Lloyd’s grin blossomed into a smile and he leaned forward, his soft, pink hands reaching forward and briefly brushing against Anderson’s hands. “I’d like that, Mr. Anderson. I’d like that very much.” “Good,” Anderson said, and finished his coffee. *

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Anderson’s cane doubled as a walking stick. He liked the feel of it in his hand, the heft of it. It was made of ash and its head was a carved wolf with its teeth bared, a small artistic flourish Anderson had added to the cane one summer night when it was too hot to sleep. The cane was good for poking into the soft spring ground, supporting Anderson as he stepped over fallen branches and moss slick stones. He was leading Lloyd on a twisting, difficult path through the forest, one that deer had created to get to the salt lick behind his cabin. The birds were still singing with horny gusto and a yellow rumped warbler chirped at them as they passed below its nest of twigs and leaves. Anderson smiled at the pretty bird and kept on, burrowing deeper into the woods as Lloyd tried to keep up, panting like a dog in Anderson’s ear. The businessman was rumbling through everything like a bull, snapping branches that didn’t need to be snapped in the first place. “This is great,” Lloyd huffed. “I haven’t been hiking like this since my boy scout days.” “You were a boy scout, Lloyd?” “For a while, anyway. I dropped out of my troop before I earn many badges. I had really bad allergies as a kid.” “Hmmmm,” Anderson said. The air smelled like pine and balsam fir. There were a few bugs but they were minimal and so Anderson didn’t even bother swatting at them. The descending sun peaked through the forest canopy in small patches, but for the most part Anderson and Lloyd stayed in the shadows, surrounded by trees on all sides. Squirrels shook the branches over their heads, leaping from branch to branch like streaking gray acrobats. Lloyd chuckled.

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“I’ve never seen so much green in one place. And it’s quiet, too. Just birds and the wind blowing in the trees. No wonder we’re opening a resort up here. This is absolutely gorgeous. Very relaxing.” Anderson grunted and stepped over a rotted log. The log was riddled with termite holes and entering the final stages of decay, soft wooden chunks falling off it in bunches as mushrooms sprouted in its cracks. He gave the log a whack with his cane and more of the log crumbled off, exposing a fat millipede battling a swarm of fire ants. Anderson sighed and continued walking, zigzagging through the trees. “What kind of animals do you get around here?” Anderson stopped and looked back at Lloyd. What kind of question was that? “Wolves, moose, deer,” the old man said. “The usual critters.” Lloyd mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. Why the businessman was still wearing his suit, dress shoes and all, Anderson could not understand. The ground was soggy with spring rain and the businessman’s shoes were already soiled, as well as the cuffs of his pants. “I guess I should have worn a hiking outfit, huh?” Lloyd said, noticing Anderson’s glance. “My wife’s not going to like this much.” “No,” Anderson said. “She probably won’t.” “She always tells me to pay more attention to my personal appearance. She says I’d run around all day in jogging pants if I could.” Lloyd ran a hand through his slick hair. “Heck, I probably would. This monkey suit isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, I can tell you that.”

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“Uh huh,” Anderson said, and started walking again. It was getting on towards dusk. Anderson had started to wonder if he had his directions wrong when they came to the clearing. Lloyd whistled. “Holy smokes, what a view!” The clearing dropped off about ten feet away from them into a deep ravine lined with shrubs, ferns, and wildflowers. At the bottom of the ravine a stream trickled, burbling over rounded boulders and fallen logs. This was one of Anderson’s favorite spots in the forest. Sometimes the old man fished for trout in the stream, or sat a stump and looked over the ravine, smoking a thin Cheshire Sweets cigar. It was peaceful here. A man could breathe, and think about nothing much. “It smells like iron ore minerals,” Lloyd said, turning his back to Anderson as he walked up to the ravine’s edge. “I bet you could sit here and animals would come out and drink at the stream. Have you ever done that?” “Sure.” “Wonderful,” Lloyd said, that glad-to-eat-shit grin on his face again. “All this, within in walking distance of your cabin. You could sell nature tours, Mr. Anderson. People would pay to see a place like this.” Anderson slid his hand down to the base of his cane and swung it up behind his shoulder. Lloyd was still looking down into the ravine and yammering about tourism when the cane’s wolf head struck him in the back of his thick skull, dropping him to the grass. Anderson poked the businessman with the tip of his cane to make sure he was unconscious.

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“There’s my answer, Mr. Chicago. Now lets see how you like spending some time alone in the woods.” Anderson bent over and examined the businessman’s chest. The big man was still breathing, which was good enough for government work. Anderson reached into the businessman’s jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He found a panel in the back of the phone and pushed it open with his thumbnail. He popped the phone’s battery out, put the battery in his pocket, and slipped the phone back into the businessman’s jacket pocket. Anderson then set his cane down in the grass and wedged his hands beneath the businessman’s body, grunting with the effort as he rolled the big man over the ravine’s steep edge. The businessman tumbled all the way to the ravine’s bottom without snagging on one shrub. Anderson wiped his sweating palms on his trousers and picked his cane back up. Each direction would look the same to good old Lloyd when he woke up in the bottom of ravine; he’d be as lost as the day he was born. The twilight walk back to the cabin was nice and calm. The crickets were out now and Anderson whistled along with their creeking. He began to smell burning wood and soon he was back at the cabin, gathering tinder from the woodshed as the bats began to emerge. It was spring now, but the nights could still be pretty chilly. Nothing he’d want to sleep out in. * Over the next two days Randolph Anderson lived much the same as he always had. He split logs for the fireplace, weeded the big garden at the side of his cabin, and whittled on his front porch as he listened to his police scanner. There were no reports of a

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lost man being found on the edge of Anderson’s land, or of any search attempts for missing persons. The old man stashed the businessman’s clown car in the rear of his dusty and cluttered shed, throwing an oil-stained tarp over it, and it was easy to imagine the whole event had never happened at all. But it had happened, of course, and by the third morning after their walk in the woods Anderson decided Lloyd had probably learned his lesson by now. He ate a big breakfast of eggs and ham, drank a large cup of coffee, and dressed for another hike. It was misting today so Anderson put on his camouflaged raincoat over his overalls and a pair of rubber galoshes over his boots. Then Anderson set out, cane in hand, to bring the poor S.O.B. of a businessman back to civilization. * The mist had calmed the birds down and only infrequently did Anderson hear them singing to each other. He slogged his way through the trees and undergrowth, wishing the whole time he had stayed back at the cabin beside his warm fireplace, and eventually Anderson pushed his way into the clearing. “Lloyd?” There was no sign of the businessman. The old man cursed and made his way down into the ravine, grabbing at every shrub available to keep himself from slipping on the slick grass. His greatest fear in the world was falling and breaking something, which would mean serious trouble at his age. In an isolated place like the U.P. you needed all the mobility you could get, and without his legs under him he’d be easy prey for all sorts of troubles.

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Yet the old man made it to the bottom of without so much as stumbling, and soon picked up Lloyd’s trail. The idiot had broken plenty of branches, leaving a trail even a blind person might have followed. For the next four hours Anderson followed Lloyd’s path, which eventually left the stream and began to circle back numerous times, and just as Anderson was wishing he had brought a lunch along he found Lloyd huddled against a tree, crying. Anderson thought Mr. Lloyd Burks looked like a changed man. His spiffy blue suit was now covered in mud and leaves and torn in several spots. He had taken his suit coat off and was holding it over his head in an effort to keep the falling mist off his head. When he finally noticed Anderson, Lloyd didn’t even bother to wipe his snotty nose. He merely sniffled and stopped crying, his dark eyes gleaming. “Mr. Anderson, is that you?” The old man nodded. “You left me out here on purpose, didn’t you?” The old man nodded again. “I should kill you,” Lloyd sniffled. “I should rip your head off and stuff it up your ass.” Anderson smiled. “You could do that. But then you’d still be lost, son.” Lloyd wiped his nose with the muddy sleeve of his dress shirt and took a deep breath. His brown hair was sticking out in every direction, as if he had recently been struck by lightning. The old man squinted, wondering if that was really a dead worm hanging in the businessman’s bangs. “So you came back to get me?” Lloyd said. “Is that why you’ve come back?”

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“Pretty much,” Anderson said. “Are you ready to come back, or would you like to spend another night huddled against that tree and crying like a sissy?” Lloyd’s eyes widened and he sprang forward, his hands like claws as he stretched for the old man’s face. Anderson stepped aside and stuck out his cane, tripping the clumsy bull. Lloyd fell beyond Anderson into a thistle patch. “Goddamn, Lloyd,” Anderson said, his thin blood warming with the possibility of a fight. “I didn’t think you had that in you, a nice respectable man of business such as yourself. You missed me, of course, but I’m still here if you want to sort things out that way.” Lloyd stood back up and brushed off burrs from his pants. He was totally covered in mud now and the gesture seemed futile. “No,” the businessman said, staring at his feet. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want to go home.” “Okay,” Anderson said, tapping the ground with his cane. “Let’s go home then.” The mist had let up some but the grass was still slick with dew. Anderson’s galoshes made squelching sounds as he led the way back through the woods, retracing the broken, pathetic trail Lloyd had made on his way out here. He didn’t recognize the area of the forest they were in currently, but that didn’t surprise him; he couldn’t remember every acre of his land. Especially not these days, when little things like remembering to order more salt from the grocery delivery boy slipped away from his thoughts more often than not. Lloyd coughed. “You took my batteries out of my cell phone, didn’t you?”

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Anderson looked over his shoulder. “I did, sure. Did you have someone you wanted to call? What I mean to say is, as far as anyone knows you spent a couple of days hiking around these beautiful woods. Right, Lloyd?” Lloyd sniffled. “Right. I won’t tell anyone.” Anderson bit his lip and grinned. “Don’t suppose it would do you much good, anyhow. Who’s going to believe a big fella like you was beaten up by an eighty year old? That would sound pretty ridiculous, wouldn’t it?” Lloyd brushed his bangs out of his eyes and yes, a dead worm did fall out. “I guess it would sound a little crazy,” Lloyd admitted. The old man tapped the ground with his cane and turned back around, amazed at how easy these businessmen were to handle once you left them out in the cold for a couple of days. Did city living really make a person so soft they lost all their spunk after forty-eight hours of living among the trees? They walked for about an hour without talking. The air was clearing up and the sun was peaking through in spots, though Anderson could still hear the businessman’s teeth chatter from the cold. The terrain grew rougher, filled with slippery rocks, and the old man finally stumbled, tripping for the first time all day. Anderson shot his arms too late and grabbed nothing, landing with the full weight of his body on the rocks. His hip snapped with a dry chicken bone crunch. He swore so loudly the birds took flight all around them, filling the sky with their feathery wings. *

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When the old man opened his eyes Lloyd was looking down on him, his muddy face crinkled with worry lines. “Did you break something, Mr. Anderson?” The old man took a deep breath, pushing away the tears that wanted to force themselves out of his eyes. His side felt as if he had fallen into the glowing embers of a bonfire. “My hip,” Anderson moaned. “Your hip?” “My hip’s broken.” It was Lloyd’s turn to grin. “Well, isn’t that something. What a funny turn of events this is. Does your hip hurt much?” Anderson nodded. “Good,” Lloyd said, spitting on the ground. “Serves you right, you crazy old fucker. Leaving a man out in the woods like that, without food or water. What kind of bullshit is that? There’s drug dealers in Chicago who wouldn’t do that to a man. I mean, Jesus Christ.” Anderson closed his eyes. He didn’t want the businessman to see the tears leaking out of his eyes. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Go,” the old man said. “Leave me out here. At least it’ll be quiet for once.” Lloyd laughed. “Hell no, I’m not going to leave you out here. What kind of human being would do that to another human being? No, sir. You’re coming with me. Besides, you’re the only one who knows how to get us out of these godforsaken woods.”

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The old man gritted his teeth as Lloyd lifted him off the ground. The pain was beyond anything he had ever felt in his life, even worse than passing a gallstone, but he wasn’t going to scream like some damn old woman. He had been raised tougher than that. His own father had lost an arm in W.W.I to the treads of an A7V tank and had still managed to drop a grenade into the damn thing, blowing five Germans to kingdom come before walking three miles back to his camp, trailing blood the whole way. What was a broken hip in the face of that? “Ups-a-daisy,” Lloyd said, lifting the thin old man as if carrying a new bride over some imaginary threshold. “Now, which way should we go, old timer? That way?” “My cane.” “What?” “My cane. Don’t forget my cane.” “You’re pretty fussy for a guy with limited options,” Lloyd said, but dipped down so Anderson could pick up the cane anyway. Then Lloyd started forward, every jarring step a fresh and red-hot agony for the old man, whose eyes were now watering so badly he could not see where the businessman was taking him. “You know,” Lloyd said, stepping over another dangerous, mossy stone. “I thought you were going to leave me out here. Forever, I mean. I thought I might even die out here, sooner or later. I sat at the bottom of that ravine for two whole days, drinking stream water and trying to catch fish with my bare hands. It really made me think about things.” Anderson held his silence, but Lloyd didn’t seem to mind. “You know, I didn’t really want to live in Chicago when I moved there. It was my wife’s idea. She had a job offer there, and since we were still newly married and I was

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still dumb and naïve and I had no idea that she really meant this move would be our major one, that she was itching to put down roots for the next twenty, thirty years. At the time I figure I’d find a temporary job, we’d play around in Chicago for a while, and then move on to someplace smaller, someplace greener. But then we had kids, and then they were in school and didn’t want to leave their friends behind for some small town somewhere. Everybody wanted to stay, so I didn’t say anything. Time passed so quick after the kids came, and I was working so much, that I didn’t even realize that I was becoming an urbanite.” Lloyd shifted Anderson in his arms, and the old man swore loudly. “Oops. Sorry about. Anyhow, I did grow up in a small town, Mr. Anderson. I grew up in a small town and you know what? It was all right. You could cross the street without being worried about being run over, and you knew everyone you saw at the grocery store. There was no steady stream of traffic belching outside your windows all day, and at night you could walk anywhere you want without being afraid. If you wanted to be alone you just had to start walking down a road and five minutes later there wasn’t anything but corn fields and trees and tall wild grass that went up to your chest and sort of tickled when you walked through it. I always wanted to live in a place like that when I got older, I guess, but I was part of a family after all and when you have a family you learn to compromise. Do you think most men who live in the city really want to live there forever, Mr. Anderson? Do you think we want to grow fat and forget what it feels like to work outside all day, forget what it feels like to go to sleep without worrying about quarterly reports and meeting prospective clients? Some days I push all the papers off my desk, kick my feet up, and just look out my office window, wondering what it would

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be like to be hiking in a forest like this one here with birds chirping and the smell of pine needles everywhere like free perfume. I want to be Henry David Thoreau as much as the next guy, but even he lived on land donated to him by Ralph Waldo Emerson. Did you know that, Mr. Anderson? That Walden Pond wasn’t really his in the first place? And really, who’s going to give the rest of us a place like that?” The old man mumbled something. “What was that?” “Put me down, I said.” Lloyd chuckled, readjusting the old man’s body in his arms. The businessman was apparently a lot stronger than he looked; they must have gone a mile already. “Sorry, Mr. Anderson, but daylight’s wasting. I want to get as far as possible before it gets dark again. Maybe we can stop for a drink from the stream pretty soon. Would you like that?” “Go to hell.” “Ha ha, I see you’ve still got a little spunk in you. That’s good. That hip of yours must hurt like a son of a bitch. We’ll have to get a doctor to look at that when we get back.” * Anderson must have passed out somewhere along the line, because when he woke up he was lying on the ground and covered in damp leaves. There was an old, extremely large oak tree above him. He stared through the twisting maze of its branches and tried to ignore the warm, throbbing in his hip, tried to block out all thoughts of what had happened to him earlier.

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The grinning face of Lloyd Burks drifted into view, smeared with something red. “There you are,” Lloyd said. “Guess what? I found a raspberry patch! It’s still pretty scrawny, and some of the berries are sour, but we’re not in a position to be picky, are we?” Anderson closed his eyes. Please God, he prayed, if you exist, please strike me dead immediately. The old man waited. No bolt of lightning. Nothing. He opened his eyes again. “So,” Lloyd said, pushing a handful of berries towards the old man’s face. “Do you want some?” Anderson turned his head away and clamped his mouth shut. “Okay,” Lloyd said, “There’s no need to be grumpy. I thought you might be hungry. I know I am. This is the first non-bark thing I’ve chewed on for three days. It’s like I’ve been sent to a really messed-up fat camp.” Lloyd continued to eat, making disgusting smacking sounds, and Anderson prayed once again to die. “It’s getting dark,” Lloyd said. “I guess we’ll have to stay here for the night. Hopefully, it’ll be the last one I ever spend around here.” Night fell and Anderson felt the coldness creep into him, through the leaves Lloyd had piled onto him as a makeshift blanket. The old man faded in and out of conscious, waking occasionally to find Lloyd sleeping beside him, also covered by a mound of last

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season’s leaves. Once a wolf started to howl in the distance, but Anderson fell back asleep before it even finished. He dreamt of gnomes, three-foot high woodland gnomes with red hats and long white beards. They came out of the forest and surrounded Anderson as he lay on the ground, unable to move. They pointed at him, giggled, and started to kick him in his ribs, knees, and, most of all, his hip. Their boots were made of wood and hurt like Hell’s whip itself. In the morning Lloyd ate more berries and this time Anderson ate a few himself. The old man had urinated on himself in the night and had trouble looking Lloyd in the eye as the businessman lifted him up off the ground. They continued without a complaint from Lloyd, breaking more branches than necessary and spooking every deer, moose, or bird in the tri-county area. Anderson no longer recognized the area of forest they were now bumbling through, but he kept his counsel to himself. Whenever Lloyd asked him which way to go now Anderson replied with an arbitrarily pointed finger, no longer caring if they ever got out or not. His hip was throbbing like a bastard and who cared anyway. He was just some useless old man now, some sack to be carried as a burden and set down as soon as possible. The morning passed, and they stopped for a drink of water at another small stream. Lloyd scooped the water with his hands and dumped it into the old man’s mouth, as if he were feeding a baby, but the whole time the business man didn’t even crack a smile. Anderson decided to give in and talk a little. “Thanks, Lloyd.” “Don’t mention it.” Anderson licked his lips.

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“You know, Lloyd, I was supposed to be on the top deck when the Franklin was attacked.” “You don’t say?” “Yes, sir. I was supposed to be on the top deck with the rest of my platoon when the attack started, but I was down below, drinking coffee. All my friends died up there, and when it was over I got the job of sifting through their remains for dog tags. I used a G.I. can to scoop the ashes up and dump them over the edge of the ship and into the sea. I cried the whole goddamned time.” Lloyd scoop up more water, dribbling it into his mouth. “That must have been horrible.” Anderson nodded. “It was.” “But it happened a long time ago, didn’t it? I mean, how long has it been?” “Sixty years or so.” Lloyd whistled and washed his hands in the stream. “That’s a long time ago, don’t you think?” Anderson turned his head and looked off it into the forest. He hadn’t seen a gnome all day, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he did. His dream had been so real; maybe he had bruises from it. “I suppose it is.” “Maybe it’s time to let it go then, huh? You know, stop worry about it. Relax a little. Smile.” “But they were my friends, Lloyd. My buddies.”

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“Sure they were,” Lloyd said, nodding. “But they’re resting now, don’t you think. Afterlife or not, they’re not worried anymore. So you shouldn’t be, either. Life’s too short to hold onto things for long. Look at me. I like living in Chicago now, even if it isn’t my first choice for making a life.” The old man looked up into the green trees, letting his eyes wander over each leaf as he searched for gnomes, or any other sort of haunts. * They came to a new clearing that looked more familiar to Anderson. It wasn’t the ravine clearing, but he had been here before, on some other hike. There were more trees on the other side of clearing, but it still seemed close to something anyway. “Oh my,” Lloyd said, before they were ten feet into the clearing. “Would you look at that.” Anderson blinked to clear his eyes and followed the businessman’s gaze. A pack of gray wolves were walking steadily towards them, their snout pointing above the kneehigh grass. They were approaching on all sides, circling them like sharks that smelled fresh blood. “Put me down,” Anderson said, keeping his voice low. “No, sir,” Lloyd said. “They’ll eat you up like a pizza.” “I know that,” Anderson spat. “Now put me down and run like hell. Maybe you can make it out of here.” “No, sir,” Lloyd said. “You’re a prospective client for my company. I’m going to do no such thing.”

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Lloyd continued to wade into the grass, as if he didn’t see the wolves at all. Anderson wondered what it would like to be eaten alive, if wolves went for your throat or if they played around with you first, swiping at you with their paws like a baby patting a balloon. He gripped his hiking cane tightly in his hands and said a silent prayer to its carved wolf head, praying for the first time in sixty years. Maybe he could poke a few eyes out before he went, put up a good fight. Getting eaten by wolves was one thing, but lying down like a pansy to die was quite another. “Why aren’t they attacking?” Lloyd whispered. “Maybe it’s because we smell so damn bad.” “Yeah,” Lloyd huffed. “I didn’t want to tell you this, Mr. Anderson, but you kind of smell like urine.” “A man has his needs, son. I’m sure you didn’t want the honors of helping me piss anymore than I wanted you seeing my privates.” “Good point.” Lloyd kept walking and the wolves kept their distance, though they were growling deep in their throats and baring their teeth. Anderson felt lightheaded again but didn’t want to pass out now, when he might not wake up again. He forced himself to stay conscious by imagining a pair of fangs sinking into his neck, tearing through his skin like it was made of butter. Lloyd kept walking, wolves or not, and they managed to crossed the clearing in one piece. Lloyd turned back to check if they were being followed, but all Anderson could see were five gray shapes hunkered down in the grass, as if the wolves were tired now and wanted to go to sleep. Anderson kissed the top of his cane as they passed into

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the new grove of trees, which looked scragglier than the woods they had just left. Lloyd was asking himself something about what type of trees they were when a beeping sound reached them. “What’s that?” Lloyd said. Anderson cocked his head. “It sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Lloyd started walking faster and Anderson didn’t mind, even if it did jar his hip something awful. The trees zoomed by and then they were in a new clearing, beyond all the trees. There were big mounds of dirt ahead and men in neon yellow and orange running skid loaders. Tiny wire flags poked out the ground here and there, marking something or other. It looked like a construction site; Anderson wondered what they were building. “I can’t believe it,” Lloyd said, laughing. “I just can’t believe it.” “We’re saved,” Anderson said. “Not just saved,” Lloyd said, “But this is the resort and golf course our company’s putting up. The one I told you about.” The old man took in the sight again. It didn’t look so bad, what they were doing. The resort building looked like a giant log cabin but with a green, v-shaped roof. There was an artificial pond in front of the building, with a burbling geyser that was already soaring into the air, making a misty rainbow out over the pond. This wasn’t as bad as some shopping mall, or an oil refinery. Hell, maybe he’d play golf here sometime himself. It did get dull sometimes, all cooped up in the cabin. Anderson looked up at Lloyd and cleared his throat. “Thank you, Lloyd. You got us out of those woods still breathing.”

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“Don’t mention it, Mr. Anderson. Have you had any second thoughts about selling us that land we talked about?” “No chance in hell, Lloyd.” The businessman laughed, his entire chest shaking with the sound. The old man felt the vibration throughout his body, jostling his brittle bones even more than usual (bad hip and all). His eyes watered from the pain, but after Anderson wiped his tears away he began to laugh right along with the businessman.