RUDIMENTS, pt. 1234
(the emperor of nothing, pt. SIX)
Where does Mr. Wizard live ? That
was a bit of what I sought to learn
right then. I knew this was called
Cortese Road, and this was the
very last house on a long, dirt-road
that ended with a few ominous-looking
signs tacked on to large tree trunk
'Private Property, Go No Furhter'
(yes, mis-spelled as it was, it sort
of reminded me of the word 'Fuhrer').
Another sign said, 'Not a thru; Not a
Turnaround.' That sign too seemed
perplexing : it one got' there, it
seemed only a courtesy to allow
the mistake of arrival to make a
turnaround. This Jack Stove guy sure
was a quandary. Once in, trapped
forever? No turnaround? No way
out?
-
When I first saw him, he was on a
small, quad vehicle, lazily running
down the hill, with a buzz noise, a
woodsy sound, and a dog was sitting
with him, riding. I always see quads
around these parts - they run anywhere,
unlicensed and without plates or any
of the usual motor vehicle stuff. No
helmets either; everything's kind of
loose around here. I thought little of
it, until he got to me and began his
talking. I quickly realized HE was the
guy with the property and the signs,
and that 'last house on the long dirt
road' was his. A hundred yards, maybe,
off to my left, was a cliff of sorts that
dropped down precipitously to the
Delaware River. If one got to that cliff,
there was a nice view, downward and
distant - rocks, cliffs, woods, and
water. How anyone could live along
Cortese Road was sort of a mystery.
As far as I could see, with the snows
and Winters around here, and the
deep road-cuts for the drives and
houses, plus the wind wailing off the
river, a person would be snowbound,
or weather-bound in any case, for
probably three months of the year.
Tractors? Plows? The usual 4-wheel
drive stuff didn't seem adequate.
-
Anyway, there they were - along the
odd dirt road, maybe twenty-five homes,
all apart from each other and tucked
well in. It didn't seem the sort of place
that would have a 'community board'
or a residents' organization, but who
knew? They must have to help each
other in the extremes of weather and
all the rest. Even a bunch of anti-socials
get in trouble sometimes, and need to
turn suddenly 'social.' I figured, with
Jack Stove along, any of that must
have turned into a real riot, and
quickly. The encroachment of 'others'
with their civilization or not, must turn
him into a real hoot to be around.
-
As I got to the end of the dirt road, I
was amazed to realize that, somehow,
he'd had a bead on me, entering his
realm. How quickly did he mount up
and grab the dog or the quick ride
down, and what were his motivations
towards me? A warning, or a challenge?
It turned out as neither. Simply, I was
now his 'Community.' Fair game. I
guess, fortunately, he hadn't entered
his gun cabinet; but wo knew?
-
I traded an old car once, for some guns.
Pistols, nothing much special. I had a
'thirty-aught-six' for a long time too. I
never really used it, though once or twice
with the local Columbia Crossroads
November-season hunters, I walked
along. I was fairly intent, though, that
I'd shoot at nothing. It was just to get
along and seem normal to all these
farmer guys. Like getting a haircut.
(They used to, well Warren did anyway,
take me to some local farmhouse about
10 miles away where, on the enclosed
front porch, the guy had an evening
barber-shop set-up, as well as a
Notary Office, a local Tax Office,
and a license plates ('tags') and
vehicle registration office - the guy
was so multi-talented that he even
sold Amway products, big then. I
didn't really know anyone at first, and
these guys were good at poking fun and
'ribbing' me (as they called it). They
also seemed to like talking about
each others' wives, and other females,
sometimes in surprisingly terms.
'She's not much of a wrestler, but
you should see her box.' Har-har.
I guess it was all in good nature, and
meant to be fun. No one ever got ticked
off. I worked on the farm then, with
Warren - it was his farm - and he let
me use his truck, and car, and we got
food and milk from him too. So, I didn't
much balk, though I hated those close
haircuts. Anyway, guns were always a
big subject of interest. So, I didn't
much balk, although I hated those close
haircuts. Anyway, guns were always a
big subject of interest. So I wondered
too about Jack Stove here. But, he
didn't shoot at me! Just talked a lot.
-
It was totally engrossing to me, witnessing
all of this. Like a forest madman out of
the gloom, in one second this guy came
from nowhere and had me. I watched
all that he did, and listened carefully to
his talk, and diction. If all he said was
true, it was over 4o years he'd been in
that place. Alone? And that was a long
enough stretch to have made it his, all
his - in fact the entire world his, and
everything around it and within it.
There was no room for turning back.
-
At his age, I wondered, how and
where would he die? One day, just
like that, untended in a chair, dogs
howling and lights on, maybe? Kids
and neighbors in the woods all around
him, cavorting and having sex, without
knowing the dead guy in the house was
no longer even watching? Pretty
weird stuff.
-
I wasn't much concerned with the dying
though. I wanted to see more about
how he lived - the things he did, the
places he lived in. Was he a 'pliable'
guy, easy to be pushed about to agree
to this or that? That was my trait, but
he sure didn't seem like that. (It's all
that New Age and deep Horoscope and
stars stuff that kept me - Libra, balance,
blah, blah. He seemed more like a Cancer
sign, or maybe a Leo. Fixed, steady,
stern, determined. Joviality didn't
seem present either. For the time being,
I stayed right there; now too entranced
to just leave. (Shakespeare would say,
'For the nonce,' but I still 'For the
time being' better).
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