LETTERS 

There was one man who had a distinguishing look to him that set him apart from the other men of this mountain. He was tall with a full beard that was, already, showing some bits of whiteness. He came out of the group and came up to me. I'll never forget the fierce expression in his eyes; eyes that were hard and penetrating without a hint of craziness that I saw later on among people of the mountain. The man they called Bear seemed almost apologetic as he explained how he'd found me wondering around. He called me, 'the wayward brother,' and his voice got defensive and the tall man put his hand up.

It was silent. I felt the people were not completely suspicious of me but concerned about how my presence was going to disrupt everything. And, at that point, had they told me to leave I wouldn't have thought twice about it. I would have turned and rambled down the road and not looked back.

'He says he's escaping the war,' the Bear told the tall man. "Says he has no better idea than to lose himself in the woods where no one will think about looking for him.'

The tall man looked at me. 'Is that true? Are you running from the war?'

I made a gesture of little consequence, an acquiescent shrug.

"You are welcome to our community, then. Glad to have you here." And he put out his hand which I took and he pumped the hand defiantly as though I'd been part of the community from the beginning of time.

And I suddenly spurted out, "I'll do anything asked of me!"

"Can you do anything useful?"

"I can always fetch water from the stream."

And when I said that the people broke out in laughter and made me feel like I was part of them.

David Eide
February 3, 2000
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