Chapter 10 - Outside the Village

Damn blister! Tim thought to himself.

Weighed down by his backpack, he limped through the snow, dry, powdery and so deep it reached up to the tops of his ankle boots.

Breathing heavily from the effort, he stopped and tipped his Montana hat backwards. He wiped his hand across his forehead.
He was so hot, he unbuttoned his jacket. Narrowing his eyes, he scanned the ancient pine forest. Spears of light slashed through the downward hanging branches giving the otherwise dark green forest a festive and magical, radiant touch.

Looking around, Tim recalled the black ink drawings of Japan and China. But could any artist, however masterful, however however connected to the source of intuition and able to ride on the energies that flow between the worlds, ever create anything as beautiful as this pine forest?

Tim caught sight of Jude far up ahead. His red padded jacket flashed. Jude looked as sure footed as a mountain goat – and that in spite of carrying a backpack even heavier than his own. Jude kept moving his head, looking around him, obviously alert, scouting out the territory eagerly as if it was all a big adventure.

But then again, Jude didn’t have his troubles to bear, Tim thought to himself as he pulled his hat back down.

There was no way back, though. At the thought of how much everyone detested him, Tim felt like one of the wet and rotting twigs lying on the snow.

Muttering reproaches under his breath, he lifted up his right foot gingerly, and put it down on the snow as carefully as he could to reduce the anticipated pain. No luck! The stiff leather ridge rubbed against his heel and blister, and an electric shock frayed his every nerve down to the tips of his fingers.

No, he was definitely not dreaming, he thought to himself as he clenched his teeth and forced himself to take another step.

This forest was definitely not a work of art sketched by the Creator in a moment of exuberance. He was moving in an all too solid earth, in an all too cold wilderness, miles from any habitation.

He’d taken a few steps when he heard a noise. He stopped and pricked up his ears. It was a river! And close by!

Eager to feast his eyes on what he was sure from the intensity of the sound must be a truly spectacular body of water, Tim spontenaously turned off and headed through the pine trees to his left. He emerged out of forest onto a bank bathed in sunlight.

He blinked and saw a blue band flowing through the valley. Waves danced across the surface, flashing like liquid gold.

Spellbound, he looked across the swift currents. On the other side of the river, there was a mountain range. A chain of ubroken peaks covered in snow extended far into the distance. The white summits gleamed under a sky so pure, so blue it was unreal. And the forests! They extended for miles around broken up by white flat patches of meadows.

Tim tipped back his hat, amazed at the space and horizons. He observed the river pause to catch its breath in the pools by the rocks close to where he was standing, and then race on again full of verve. Watching the currents swirl past, glittering in the sunlight, he felt a surge of primeval joy.

Maybe the idea of coming up here and getting away from the world wasn't such a bad one, after all?

In the presence of the river and the mountains, he felt how his thoughts and feelings became cleaner, simpler, purer, and his spirit, too, became calmer. It was as if his whole being was starting to be attuned in some mysterious way to the vibes of the stern, majestic but beautiful scenery around him.

Listening to the river’s thunderous gurgle, Tim was sure the river was laughing out loud – laughing in sheer delight at its own power and vitality.

What momentum the water had as it rushed past, leaping over rocks, splashing up as spray! Yes, there was more energy in every cubic inch of that river than in his entire body, Tim thought to himself, tipping his hat forward to proect his eyes again against the glare.

Next, he heard a shout. Jude was standing on some rocks jutting out at a bend in the river, far up ahead, waving to him.

"I'm coming!" Tim shouted, putting his hand to his mouth to project his voice.

He walked on. Each step put pressure on his blister but he no longer felt the pain; he was too absorbed in looking at the big landscape around him to worry about such insignificant things as a blister.

Just beyond the river bend, the forest thinned out and he saw a clearing covered in sparkling snow. On the edge, stood a log cabin. Steps lead up to a porch and a door. The cabin had two small windows and a chimney on the roof. A a pile of logs was stacked against one side. A barrel to collect water stood at another corner. Behind the cabin, there was a big, pine forest and above that, floated a mountain top. Rays of light illuminated its pure white summit. Awesome!

Just as Tim reached the cabin steps, Jude came back out the front door. He had a pre-occupied air as he walked, punching his gloves, down the steps.

"No sign of Cormac," Jude muttered.

"Well, I sure hope he's around,” Tim said, tipping back his hat.

"Maybe someone warned him you were coming, Tim. He's fled knowing that his tranquil idyll is about to be destroyed," Jude said, laughing, flashing his white teeth.

“Ho, ho,” said Tim, scowling.

“The stove is warm anyway. That means, Cormac can't be far off."

"Oh dear! Yeah, I bet I'll be the one fleeing from him. I mean, what kind of person is going to live up here all on their own for years on end? He must hate people!”

“You’ll soon find out...”

Tim swallowed hard.

Jude screwed up his eyes and peered up at the sun.

"Geez! It’s getting late. I'd better be heading back before the light goes,” he said, dropping his backpack down on the steps. "The main thing is you've got some emergency rations in here, Tim!"

"Thanks so much, Jude! I really appreciate your help. This sure has been an epic journey. I feel like Moses crossing the desert,” Tim said, picking up the backpack by one of the straps.

"Let’s hope you find the Promised Land! Take care, Tim. I'll be back in six months,” said Jude, taking out a compass from his pocket and checking his bearings.

"I'll have a halo and be writing musicals when you see me next!" Tim hollered after him.

"Sure, sure!" cried Jude, looking over his shoulder as he walked off at a brisk step.

Tim watched Jude disappear down the trail. His red jacket melted into the forest.

All alone now, Tim felt a rising panic. The silent forest seemed to hold some awful secret. Wolves? Bears? Tim wondered, frowning.

Summoning his willpower to suppress his fear, he lifted up Jude’s backpack and limped up the cabin steps to his new home for the next six months. His castle! His prison, too!

He pushed open the door. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness. The brass base of a petroleum lamp flashed in a ray of sunlight; cooking utensils gleamed above a hobo stove. There was just a table, a couple of chairs, a chest and a bed.

Tim took a few steps forward, and dropped the two backpacks down on the table. Next, he unbuttoned his gortex jacket. Scanning the cabin, he caught a glimpse of a shiny surface.

Curious, he took a couple more steps forward. He saw, to his surprise, an icon propped leaning against the wall. He saw an image of Jesus Christ, his head surrounded by a golden halo. What a mild expression! What calm, sweet eyes! And what a fantastic robe he was wearing! Red, gold and covered with the crosses, Christ’s robe dropped down to his bare feet. Close by, there was a book. Tim leaned over, pulling off his gloves.

It was a Bible. A well-thumbed one, at that. There were pencil marks all over the pages, notes written beside passages. Bored, Tim limped back across the room, and sat down on a chair, anxious to deal with that blister.

He rubbed his hands together to get the circulation, then untied the speed laces of his boots. He slipped his right foot out and peeled off his sock. He examined the blister.

Cursing, Tim rummaged around inside his backpack among the compass, flashlight, binoculars, sunglasses for the First Aid pouch.

He took out a tube of antiseptic, cotton wool and a box of plasters. After he'd applied some ointment to his heel with a cotton pad, he stuck a plaster over his wound. His teeth started to chatter as he rolled his sock back down over his foot and slipped it back into his boot.

His thoughts turned to a hot, steaming drink to warm him up.

But could he get a fire going?

He limped over to a hobo stove. A container hung from a forked stick over some bits of wood. Tim saw a basket with dry pine needles close by. He picked up a handful and sprinkled them over the twigs. Then he took out a box matches and lit the tinder. Delighted, he watched the tinder kindle and the twigs start to glow.

As soon as the blaze grew, the cabin took on a cosy look.

Tim’s thoughts turned to his supper and the field rations he’d brought. To cook those up, mind you, he needed some water – and there was none in the container hanging over the stove.

Sure he’d find plenty of water in the barrel outside, he hobbled over and picked up a bucket.

He walked through the door, stopped, and stood uneasily on the top step, and scanned the landscape. The sun had sunk behind the mountains, leaving just a red glow in the west.

Next, a shriek rent the air. Startled, he looked up and saw a bird break from the forest. A black shadow flitted into the sky and vanished. Feeling lonely and vulnerable, Tim started to hum a pop song to cheer himself up.

“Sugar Pie Honey, I’m weak for you/ Can’t help myslf…” he hummed, walking down the icy, slippery steps.

His boots crunched on the snow as he walked along the side of the cabin, still singing. He looked inside the barrel and was delighted to see the barrel was full right up to the rim.

Tim plunged the bucket into the water, scooped some out, so awkwardly that water spilled onto his trousers and his boots.

Cursing, he hauled the bucket back inside. He poured water into the containers hanging on a forked stick.

Tired, he took off his boots and trousers. He spread his wet jeans on the back of a chair to dry. Next, he rummaged around his backpack and took out a fresh pair of jeans and socks and put them on.

In the meantime, the water had started to boil. When Tim saw the wisps of steam puff up in the chilly air, he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He was feeling hungry, very hungry. He rummaged around among his provisions, found a packet of pre-cooked beef stew and threw it into the boiling water.

After ten minutes, he fished out the packet with a spoon, opened it greedily with a pen knife and poured the steaming contents into a mess tin. He spooned down the hot food in mouthfuls. Delicious! He ate up every morsel and even licked his lips.

Next, he boiled up some herbal tea. After throwing a few more twigs onto the fire, he sat down.

Holding the mug of tea in his hands he took sips now and then. The solitude around him was so monumental and frightening that he felt uneasy. Beads of cold sweat appeared on his forehead: his heart started to palpitate.

Why not study the Bible? He thought. That would be a good way of diverting himself. After all, that was why he had been sent up into the mountains in the first place.

He took out a brand new copy of the Bible from his backpack. Thumbing through it, he decided to work his way systematically through the Bible from A to Z. He would start at Genesis, Book One, Verse One.

He lit the petroleum lamp. He opened the Bible and read.

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth…”

Tim’s thoughts began to drift. He looked up from the page and all kinds of memories and images stormed upon him. He was sinking again in the sea of chaos, doubt and complexity that terrified him. He held on to the thought of Rob Owen like a sailor holding onto a piece of wreckage. Desires started to make him boil and steam. Frustrated, he closed his Bible.

He looked at his watch; it was only half past six.

Early though it was, he decided he might as well bed down for the night. What else was there to do, after all? There was no TV, no mp3 player, no internet in the isolated mountain cabin. The place was so far from anywhere even Sarah Palin would have found it hard to stick it out.

He rolled out his heavy duty sleeping bag onto the floor, positioning close to the stove to benefit from the little warmth it gave off. He climbed inside, still fully clothed.

He lay on his back, staring up into the shadows; all he could hear was the wind howling outside and the twigs crackling in the hobo stove.

How miserable the gloomy, knuckle-freezing cabin was! How could he stick it out here for six days, let alone six months?

Next, he heard a noise, a scrape. His heart started richocheting. He sat up, frightened. Holding his breath, he peered into the shadows. Green eyes flashed; something was moving around close to the table.

O, good grief! Some wild animal was prowling around, fangs drawn, ready for the kill! Tim’s heart thundered crazily.
A monstrous shape emerged out of the shadows. He looked and saw...A cat. Holy Guacomole! It was just a little pussy cat! Tim laughed out loud from relief when he saw what had filled him with such wild terror.

The cat took a few steps towards him, a curious glint in her eyes. What a beautiful cat it was! What a sweet expression! In fact, she looked like an oversized picture postcard kitten with a fluffy grey coat and bushy tail.

"Come here, pussy, pussy," Tim said, extending out his hand.
The cat stopped a few feet away, looked up at him, her eyes flashing in the reflection of the fire. Tim smiled, and muttered endearments, trying to coax the cat over to tickle her. But the cat strolled past him, lay down on a mat close to the stove and rolled over on her back while Tim watched, amazed.

O cat, of cats! A queen among cats! Her queenly dignity was evident in every move she made. She didn't require a fur coat or diamonds. Hers was a regal presence. Observing her ease, Tim put out his hand to stroke her. The cat hissed. Her green eyes flashed, affronted. A paw lashed out. Tim drew his hand back just in time. Of course, such a royal cat would not tolerate being pawed by a stranger.

Disappointed, he climbed back into his sleeping bag, and pulled the zip up to his chin. Swamped by fears without a name, he began to pray with a desperation he had never felt before.

"O Lord, help me!" he said. "Give me strength, please give me strength to endure these six months."

Silence. Nothing. No echo.

"It's pointless," he thought, bitterly, closing his eyes again. "There is no God! It’s a fairy tale!”

That moment, he realised he had never really believed in God. He'd been a church goer all his life; he had attended Sunday services and Bible sessions; said his prayers, taken part in all the rituals and ceremonies; he had even written books about the Christian faith. In reality, though, he'd believed in money, power and Rob Owen – not in God! Rob Owen was his god, his hero idol, his calf of gold! Rob Owen was the only person he thought about obsessively all day long. Rob Owen and his bank balance! He'd put his faith in his salary, house with six bathrooms and his top-of-the-range Chevy and not in the Almighty Spirit!

Striped now of these external supports, all that was left was a black hole, a moody depression and a tormenting consciousness of what he had lost.

"Maybe I should just go back home to Cindy as soon as morning comes, hike back down the mountain. I just don't see how I'm going to be able to stick it out here for six days let alone six months. I’ll go crazy. It’s a stupid, stupid idea! That Hargreaves is an idiot!”

But then Tim pictured how disappointed Cindy, Jude and Arlen would be to see him again, and he bit his lip. The truth was no one wanted to see him back home anytime soon. He had acted selfishly, made others miserable. And now he had to pay the price. Exile… The void inside him seemed endless. Blackness and more blackness. Eternal night inside him. And no way out.