3.The Mountain Man

Roy 2nd Encounter continued

I don’t know if Roy is the freest man I’ve ever known.  But I believe he believes.  And that is as much resolution I can get for that topic for today.

“Did you get to write anything since I saw you the other day?’’ I asked.

He tugged three handwritten pages from his notebook and passed them to me.

“Do you have a phone?”  he asked and, when I nodded, “do you mind if I call my daughter in Montana?”

He recited a number and I tapped it into my Droid for him.

A voice came on line on the third ring, delight bubbled from the phone when said I was here with Roy.  Then handed him the phone and, while he talked, I looked at the pages.

It began: “The horse is a proud beast, born to run.”

I scanned the story, which told of the Arabian and Spanish horses that first came to this country, then an anecdote about a horse freeing a wagon that had become stuck.

In the story I noticed midway through the sixth line there was a tiny “50”, six lines later, a “100.”

When Roy was off the phone, he volunteered, “It went a little over 500 words,” he said.  I looked at the back page.  There was a “500” written seven words before the final period.

“I like what I see in a quick look.  I’m pretty sure the people who read my blog would like it.  Can I use your name when I publish it?”

“Yes, I can use my name.  I always tried to stay legal.  Only been in jail a couple of times.  But that was nothing.”

“What would that be for?”  I asked.

“One time I camped for more than fourteen days in one spot.  I don’t even know how they knew.  Sometimes they don’t mind.  That time they did.”

He had agreed to let me take the story with me so I tucked the pages away for a later, more critical read.

“Do you stay in touch with your family?”  I asked.

“Yes, we talk every couple of weeks.  It only costs two quarters to talk for four minutes.  My daughter is married and has a kid.  She is 26 or so.  I think she kind of admires me.  She is in business with her mother.  I have a son, too, he is about 35.  I think he understands me well.  I think they are a little disappointed in me.“

I waited, hoping he’d unravel that thread a bit further.  When he didn’t, I asked.

“Anyone else you talk to?”

“My parents are in Florida.  They are too old to travel.  I don’t think anyone sees them.  Maybe my sister.  She lives over there somewhere, North Carolina or Georgia.”

“What’s her name?”

“What do you want to know for?”

“Truthfully, I might like to talk with her if you wouldn’t mind.”

“She doesn’t know me.  You won’t learn anything about me from her.”

I let that go.

“What does she do? “

“Some kind of craft.”

“Does she get by doing that?”

“I think she does.  She developed a strong character.  A real nice girl”

“She must be a pretty good craftsman. It is hard to make a living at that.”

“I think she is.”

“What about your parents?”

“My dad was career military.  He flew in the Second World War.  I think they are disappointed in me.  Thought I should have been more responsible.  I will tell you this.  I never heard a cross word between them.  And there was never a cross word to me or my sister when we were kids.”

Hours had gone by.  We had talked about more than I would be able to remember.

“Roy, I am going to call it a day.  I am going to have to head home for a few weeks.  I will leave in a day or two.  But I will stop by again before I do.”