chapter eighteen

Andrew woke up on the side of a gently sloping hill. Below him was a wide grassy plain, dotted with clumps of small trees, and split by a meandering dried‑up river‑bed. Far away, on the horizon, a hazy wall of brown rock rose up out of the plain. The sky was milky blue, high stacks of white, fluffy clouds moved swiftly towards the distant cliff, their shadows chasing each other across the grassland below. To one side of him a narrow track had been worn into the tough springy grass, it was pitted with countless hoof marks and littered with dried droppings. Behind him, birds and insects twittered and buzzed in the dense wood, which covered the top of the hill.

He took a deep breath and smelt the rich, sweet aroma of the baked earth. Or was it, he wondered, the dried animal droppings?

Nature was spread before him, unspoilt beauty as far as the eye could see. He felt an uncanny sense of belonging. The cities where he had always lived, were now alien places, full of violence, noise, and grime - almost evil in contrast. This was a land where a man could find a true harmony. His heart gave a little flutter of joy as he imagined a life in this tranquil world.

His heart gave a much harder flutter, when he heard a rustle of leaves behind him, it positively leapt when he saw an enormous black bear push its way through the bushes. The bear, walking on all‑fours, cleared the wood and focused its grisly attention on Andrew.

Panic stricken, Andrew tried to remember some useful tip on how to deal with this kind of situation. He vaguely recalled that running was a bad idea, but since he was already sprinting across the grass it seemed a little late to worry about that.

His foot slammed into an unseen rabbit‑hole and he fell, cruelly twisting his ankle. Glancing back, as his pushed himself back to his feet, he saw the bear loping down the hill in hot pursuit.

But Andrew held his ground, he bent over with his head between his legs, and stared at the bear. As the bear got closer and closer, without slackening its pace, Andrew remembered that this particular tactic was reserved solely for use against dogs, and, he recalled, there was a fair amount of controversy about whether it even worked with them.

He racked his brain for any physical limitation suffered by bears. 'Was there something that he could do that bears couldn't?' he thought as he scrambled up a tree. Too late he remembered that tree climbing was their forte. He was about twelve feet up when the bear grasped the base of the trunk with the confidence of a professional. Frantically Andrew used every hand and foot hold he could find to haul himself even higher up the tree. He had just plunged his hand into a particularly useful hole when he was shocked by a tremendous stab of pain in that very same hand.

As he fell, he noticed five large bees launch themselves from his throbbing hand and fly back up to their nest. His fall was broken by a large bush which was growing at the foot of the tree. The branches of the bush tore first at his clothing and then at his skin as he plunged through them. He finally landed in a howling ball, and rolled a few yards down the hill before coming to rest.

The bear, now half way up the tree, gazed wistfully down at Andrew; the appeal of ripping this erratic creature apart was fading fast, especially as most of the work had already been done by the creature itself. 'Still,' thought the bear, 'a job worth doing ...' He began to make his way down the trunk when he caught a faint but unmistakable fragrance drifting down from the bee's nest. So, unable to resist the temptation of several pounds of fresh honey, he climbed eagerly back up the tree.

Andrew lay on his back in the grass, dazed and confused. He was dazed because he had just fallen out of a tree. He was confused because he couldn't decide which part of him hurt the most, and for some reason, probably because he was so dazed, this seemed of vital importance. His hand was still throbbing painfully and was now red and swollen. His ankle, by comparison, was now merely an intense ache. But by far the worst was the burning sting of his back where he had been lashed by the vicious branches. Content that he now knew which part of him needed the most sympathy Andrew turned his attention to avoiding any further injuries.

"I'm not beaten yet!" he thought as he rose shakily to his feet. This uncharacteristic fortitude can be attributed directly to the almost fatal quantity of adrenalin being pumped into his blood stream.

Half running, half hopping, he stumbled diagonally up the hill, he felt sure that he should be looking for a stream or river to run through - but it seemed that there was none available. Unable to put any water between himself and the now uninterested bear; he decided to make do with a hill. When he finally reached a point far enough from the bear and bee-laden tree to feel reasonably safe, he collapsed to the ground, exhausted.

How had he been so gullible? He was a city boy. The idyllic landscape had enchanted him, tricked him into thinking he belonged, whereas, in fact he was utterly unsuited to life out here in the wilds. How could he possibly survive?

With a piece of string he could make a bow and hunt rabbits - get his own back on those little buggers for digging holes all over the place. Using a match, or even a magnifying glass, he could start a fire to scare off the bears and cook the rabbits. Some leaves, placed in a plastic bag and left in the sun, would give out water to drink. It was funny how all these methods of survival relied upon objects which could always be found tucked away in a kitchen drawer, but never in one's pocket when stranded in the middle of nowhere.

It looked as if he was reduced to nuts, berries, and opening his mouth for long periods of time when it was raining. He could remember reading something about testing berries, you were supposed to eat a little and then wait two days to see if anything happened. Of course that meant you could only try one type every two days, chances are you'd be so sick with hunger by the time you'd found a good one, you wouldn't be able to tell if it was okay or not. On the other hand that bear would probably tear him to shreds long before he'd had the opportunity to feel hungry.

For the second time that day he was startled by the sound of rustling bushes. On this occasion, however, the jolt of adrenalin did not send him racing down the hill, he was so tired all he could manage was a sharp gasp and the raising of one eyebrow.

"Hello friend," said a man stepping out from behind a bush. He was tall and slim, with black hair. He wore a denim shirt and trousers, both were worn and faded. On his head was a similarly old leather stetson. But the thing which caught, and held Andrew's attention was a rifle which the man cradled in his folded arms.

Andrew felt that the greeting was totally inappropriate; the man had said 'Hello friend' but his body language said 'If you so much as raise your other eyebrow I'll blow it off.' Andrew gingerly lowered his raised eyebrow to show that his only ambition in life was to be harmless. "Oh Hi," said Andrew trying to sound casual. "Nice day."

"What are you doing here, friend?" again the man managed to make the word 'friend' take on a completely different meaning.

"Ah ... yes ... well, I thought you might ask me that," said Andrew, desperately searching for a plausible story. "It's a very good question."

"Then you'd better have a very good answer, friend," said the man unfolding his arms and holding the rifle loosely in one hand.

Andrew was still unsure of the man's use of the word 'friend' the man seemed to be of the opinion that its real definition was: [fRend] noun, person for whom one feels the utmost contempt and whom one is likely to kill in the very near future. Or perhaps Andrew was reading too much into it, and it was merely that the man's conception of a friend had somehow become transposed with that of an asshole.

"Well I don't," said Andrew bravely, and then continued hastily, "you see I was attacked by a bear, I fell down a rabbit hole, stuck my hand in a bee's nest, and then fell out of a tree into a bush, and hit my head on a rock. Since then I can't remember a thing."

"You must think I'm some kind of half wit hill‑billy if you think I'm going to believe that," said the man angrily.

Andrew found the absence of the word 'friend' more ominous than whatever its intended meaning might have been.

"No wait, please, let me explain," he retold the story filling in more details and pointing to each injury in sequence as corroborative evidence.

"Maybe I was wrong," said the man. "It seems you're the half wit hill‑billy."

"Oh ... er ... yes, whatever you say," said Andrew, cooperatively.

"Reckon I'd better take you back to the house, you won't live long out here in that state," said the man in a more kindly way.

"I'll be okay, thanks anyway," said Andrew more fearful of the man than he was of the bear.

"Come on," ordered the man, already walking away.

"Oh okay then," said Andrew rising painfully to his feet. "Know anything about berries?" continued Andrew conversationally. But the man didn't reply.

The tall man led the way with Andrew limping along behind, every ten or fifteen minutes the man would pause and wait for Andrew to catch up. At one point the man stopped and picked up a long, straight stick. He spent some moments examining it closely and turning it over in his hands. He looked at Andrew speculatively, then placing the stick across his knee he broke it. So as not to cause Andrew any further alarm he laid the makeshift walking stick across both hands and, without a word, gently offered it to Andrew.

Andrew had observed the man's slow and deliberate actions, with some apprehension, but relaxed as soon as he worked out what the man was doing. Andrew took the stick, looked solemnly into the man's eyes, broke the stick over his knee, and to complete the ritual, offered one piece back to the man.

The man shook his head in exasperation, carelessly tossed the stick over his shoulder and continued walking.

The sun was sinking fast, it paused near the horizon for a few minutes to set up a fabulous display of yellow rays shafting through the clouds, and then dropped out of sight, without bothering with a formal sunset.

By the time they reached the house it was very dark. The clouds had closed ranks to form a huge blanket which obscured any useful light from the moon or stars, the insect noise had been turned up to full volume and was punctuated only by the occasional screech or howl of some creature far away in the darkness.

Andrew was having considerable trouble in walking, mainly because he couldn't see what he was walking on, and whatever it was usually turned out to be much higher or lower than the previous bit. He was greatly relieved when he saw the flickering lights of a building in the distance.

Andrew was led into the house, where he stood blinking in the comparatively bright light of the interior. He was in a large room, the walls were made of vertical logs and decorated with a few old and distinctly amateur landscape paintings, a rack of rifles and shotguns, and a few tatty Mexican style hats. The floor was also made of timber there were no carpets or rugs. At one end of the room was a kitchen area, it had a large black wood‑burning stove with shelves and cupboards on either side. On top of the stove were four large, steaming saucepans being tended by a group of three women. In the middle of the room was a wooden trestle table which was set for dinner. On each side of the table were two long benches on which were seated another two women and four men. All the people in the room were staring at Andrew with various expressions of trepidation, surprise, interest and in one case, recognition.

The look of recognition, which soon changed to one of great happiness, belonged to a short bony man with a hawk‑like nose and small squinting eyes. This man leapt from his seat and rushed over to throw his arms around Andrew, as he held Andrew in a close embrace he whispered, "don't say anything, let me do the talking."

It was at this point that Andrew's self‑preservation instinct decided that it had done enough, it had forced a complaining and suffering body to walk for two hours across rugged terrain, while simultaneously cajoling a mind that was crying out for the release of unconsciousness, it had brought the mind and body to a place where there was food, warmth, adequate protection from wild animals, and even a friendly, if somewhat ugly, face. No one could ask more of any preservation instinct, so it was with a self‑satisfied flourish that it relinquished its control. Andrew's mind, suddenly in full command again, immediately passed the buck to the automatic reflexes, and raced off in pursuit of the preservation instinct.

The only outward sign of all this internal activity was that Andrew collapsed into the arms of the short, beak‑nosed man.

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