LETTERS 

One night it started to storm. And storms, my friend, are different in the mountains. Storms mean something. Storms take themselves seriously. So a fellow gets me and we go around and cover the tools before the rains come. In the Quonset hut we found old mildewed tarps and carried as many as we could out to the various implements too large to stash in the barn. There was the plow and the small tractor; the grinding wheel and the wood-- all of which were covered as best we could. By this time rain began to fall steadily.

I understood the problem with rain and how it interfered with the work but I felt good it fell and let it soak my head before going into the main house. Many of the people were lounging near a fire in the fireplace. Rasputin sat in his chair smoking a pipe and talking to one of the women. When he saw me he took the pipe out of his mouth .

"All the things covered that needs it?"

"Yes, that's taken care of."

Rasputin nodded his head. "Good, good. Tonight we will have a good storm! Isn't that right Patricia?"

She nodded without saying anything and then went out of the room.

"Well, just don't stand there man! Come on in and join us. Sit yourself somewhere. One good thing about bad weather is that it brings everyone together.

I sat on the floor a next to a man who appeared to be drunk or sleeping. He sat in a cross-legged position and turned his head toward the fire burning brightly and lively behind him. Rasputin had put his pipe back into his mouth and was smoking it very leisurely. For the next few minutes there was nothing but the crackling of the fire. And then Rasputin said abruptly, "Let's tell stories."

There didn't seem to be much enthusiasm for the idea but he persisted.

"Let's tell stories of the wildest experience we've ever had- in our other lives."

There were some pretty hairy tales told and I listened to them all. It was hard to tell whether the adventures could be measured by light years or by the centimeters that described the frontal lobe of their brains. Some claimed that they had walked on other planets and, even, stars without use of any equipment. Some claimed that they had fallen to the center of the earth and described vast realms of life unsuspected by those living on the surface. Rasputin sat quietly but would, occasionally smile knowingly and make a wide gesture of agreement. He, in fact, told of his adventures with a band of strange people through the continent of Europe. They would ingest vast amounts of chemical substances and go listen to loud rock music in order to watch themselves leave their bodies and become spirits of some kind. "Was I scared?" He asked rhetorically. "I was excited by the prospect of creating a new being in myself!" The others applauded this and Rasputin, even, struggled to get to his feet to acknowledge their approbation.

They were, of course, people of strange experience and I reflected on what horrendous forces must have pulled from the center of their minds to produce the stories they told me. When, later, the storm broke in sudden, fracturing lightening storms I made nature a kind of entity that was always ready to say, "don't forget me, I am here always, do not take me for granted!"

© 2000 David Eide. All rights reserved.

David Eide
March 18, 2000
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