Blog #59; A CONTRITE SPIRIT Excerpt; A Mysterious Stranger
Hello, all:
A Mysterious Stranger
After their wedding, Bill and Sariah left on a year-long honeymoon across the West and the United States. Bill would do some barnstorming work and take people on joy rides to spread news of the wonders of aviation. They would live a nomadic life, and be free. The day they left the little airstrip in Provo and took off in the Jenny, Hyrum followed the plane with his eyes as it slipped upward into the clouds.
“There they go,” said Leigh.
“It’s going to be a lot lonelier without them. I had come to rely on Bill.”
“Well, there will be postcards and letters, and the odd phone call. It is amazing what technology can do now to keep people connected.” Leigh led him back to their new car, a 1918 Ford Model T, black, and still shiny. They drove back to their house in Provo, just off Center Street, and sat down in the living room. On the couch, they held hands.
“I was thinking something, and I want your thoughts on it…”
Leigh smiled. “Sure. I’d love to hear it.”
“I’m thinking of going back to school, to finish out my degree, in Biology. I have seen so much death in my life, I just want to focus the rest of it on studying the actual living. Plants, animals, people. It would be great. I want to teach eventually, but I don’t think the Army will let me do that, and even so, I don’t think I could commit to a job, the shape I’m in.”
“It doesn’t matter. You study what you want. You don’t have to be a paid teacher. You can volunteer, as an assistant or something. Your Army money is enough.”
A few days later, Hyrum took off on his own to go fishing in Provo Canyon. It was early autumn now and the leaves on the trees were beginning to color. Yellow, orange. Bright red. He found himself a comfortable spot beside the sparkling Provo River and cast out his line. He waited for a while, jerked his bait a bit around in the river, but he was not having much success with the fish that day. He was in a particularly bleak mood. It was getting close to the anniversary of the battle, and that always scared him. He worried one of these anniversaries he would flat-out lose his mind. He was surprised when another fisherman with a pole came down the trail leading to the river.
The man was thin, specter-like, gaunt and pale, with wire-rimmed glasses. He had a supernatural, almost funereal, air about him. Skeletal. But he smiled, and had a kind countenance. “Any fish biting today,” he said with a European accent.
“Nope. You’re welcome to try your luck though. And I could use the company.”
“Thanks to you,” he said. Hyrum could place the accent now, it was Germanic. “I’m Hyrum,” he said. “Hyrum Fratelli. And you are?”
“My namen ist Wilhelm von Geist. You can call me Willie.”
The two shook hands. They regarded each other. There was something vaguely familiar about this strange man. “You in the war, Willie?”
“Yes. And I got captured. That was what took me to Utah. I was in a prisoner of war camp not far from here. When the war ended, I had no friends or family left at home, so I figured I’d make a try in the New World.”
“Sorry about you getting captured and all. It must not have been pleasant.”
“It could have been a lot worse. I went through a bad battle in the Argonne Forest. I gave up and the Americans took me.”
Hyrum was amazed. “Wow! I fought in that battle. That hellhole…” He stopped himself. If he talked too much about it, it brought back a rush of memories that over-flooded him, and he was sure his new-found German friend didn’t want to be reminded either. “I think if we used fly bait we’ll do better.” Hyrum shared his flies with Willie.
They sat in silence for a long time. Hyrum felt a tranquil energy coming from the German, something calming and stable. He had not felt that for a long time.
Willie almost glowed in the autumn afternoon sunlight. More like shimmered. He was in a white shirt and tan pants. “What did you do before the war, Hyrum?”
“I went to school. At BYU. Did some ranch work for my pa. I want to go back to school, and study biology.”
“Why biology?”
“It’s the study of life. All life. Plants, animals, humans. I’ll probably never be employed as a teacher, I’m such a nervous wreck, but maybe I could volunteer.”
“I understand. After all that death, just to focus on the living. That makes a lot of sense. I cannot go back to school. Besides you, I haven’t talked to anybody out here for the last month. I live in a little cabin just south of here, on one of the streams that feeds the river. You’re welcome to visit sometime.” Oddly, Hyrum wasn’t alarmed. The thought of going to an isolated cabin out in the wilderness with an obvious German combat vet would have frightened most people in that time and place. The Germans didn’t frighten him anymore, except in his spells and nightmares. Besides, Willie seemed friendly, and innocuous enough.
Hyrum went to the canyon early the next day, with the friend from his ward who had been a vet, Jim Marx. Jim had brought along two rifles and his hunting rifle, and they climbed up close to the ridge line where Jim spotted a buck, a ten-point one. He raised the rifle. Then, he stopped. “Maybe you’d like to take this one, Lieutenant?” He handed Hyrum the rifle and Hyrum aimed, but struggled when it came time to squeeze the trigger. He put the rifle down in the grass, deflated. Sobbing. The deer was so innocent, so beautiful. He could not kill the deer. He could not even kill an ant. He didn’t have it in him to kill anything. He cried into his palms. Jim put his hand on Hyrum’s shoulder. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I really hadn’t seen any action in France. It was all over just as I arrived. You have seen your fair share. And then some. I am so sorry, Hyrum, to put you through this. I will never ask you hunting again.”
Hyrum recomposed himself, snorted, then gave a rough laugh. “Just don’t tell anyone.” He thought immediately of Leigh, how her brows would furrow with worry and grief. He considered not telling her, then quickly discounted the idea. As hard as it sometimes was, false pride had no place in their marriage. It was a luxury they could not afford.
Jim pulled a bandana out of his pocket, and Hyrum used it. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, Jim. A nice guy named Willie I met down by the river yesterday. I hope he shows up today.”
The two Americans fished all day on the Provo River, but Willie never did show. Hyrum understood the German was shy of strangers, especially a vet of the Great War. Hyrum mentioned nothing more about the man, and Jim Marx fished silently. Hyrum lost himself in the diamond sparkle playing on the surface of the river water, the rush of breeze and the scent of lush vegetation in the air. And a bit of nip. It would be cooler soon as autumn came on full strength. Jim started home to his supper, red faced and apologizing. “I’m sorry about today. Truly I am. I just assumed…”
Hyrum had a puzzled look on his face.
“I just assumed you were like everyone else, playing up your time in action, to make yourself look good. I see now I was wrong. What little I saw was from a distance. What you saw, I shudder…”
“Please,” said Hyrum. “Just go. Your apology is good enough.”
“And I promise I won’t tell no one about today. I talk a big game, but you’re the real hero.”
“I am many things, but I am no hero.” He shook Jim’s hand. “Happy trails.”
Hyrum continued fishing until the sky started to dampen its light and the moon rose high above the clouds. Out of the wispy clouds of mist on the ground emerged the pale, gaunt figure of Willie. The German sat down on the riverbank without a word, and cast out his own line. They sat there, without speaking, in the peaceful gloom. Soon, it was near dark. “How are you, Willie?”
“I’m fine. Would you like to visit my cabin? Maybe we could eat some dinner?”
“Yes. That would be great.”
Hyrum followed Willie in the darkening wooded foothills of the canyon, following a mountain trail that soon led to a secluded log cabin on a small bubbling brook. Many years hence, this area would be known for its skiing, and a film festival founded by a famous movie star, but at the moment it was just a deserted patch of wilderness with a modest cabin near a stone-strewn creek. Hyrum washed his face in the cool fresh water, drew in a mouthful and swallowed it. Willie did the same, and when they entered the cabin it was quite spacious. Willie fried up some bass, and they had a delicious meal. Afterwards, Willie simply said, “It is wonderful, the simple pleasures of life.”
“Yes,” said Hyrum. “Though most of the time my mind is darkened, by the war, you know.”
“Yes.”
The chill and dark atmosphere tightened around them. Hyrum pulled his jacket close. “I must admit, I have been responsible for the deaths of many of your countrymen.”
Willie shrugged. “I killed many Americans in the war. And British. And French. I pray for the souls of those I killed. It helps me. Not much, but it helps. And I talk to God a lot. The peace of Jesus sustains me.”
“But how? I try but have not found the path of forgiveness. It’s not enough to pray, I must also dedicate myself to God’s work, and study life. Only that way I can try to find some peace.”
“I live a simple life. It comforts me.”
“But is it enough?”
“For me, yes, it is.”
“Do you think men will ever stop having wars?”
A deep gloom settled in on them, black and oppressive like a storm cloud.
They went down to the larger Provo River and fished for a little while longer, in silence, until the dark deepened. Hyrum said good-bye to Willie, and shook his hand; then he took his horse back to his house, and sat down to dinner with Leigh.
“I think I found myself a friend, honey. He calls himself Willie and he’s German! But he seems like he feels like me, sick of war and death. He was a good companion while we were fishing.”
“This Willie sounds kind of mysterious. What do we know about him?”
“He was in the same battle I was, on the other side of course. He got captured and was sent to a prison camp here. When the war ended, I guess he just lives in Provo Canyon now.”
“Yes, but Hyrum, isn’t he dangerous? A combat veteran?”
“I am a combat veteran. Does that make me dangerous? He strikes me as a very calm, peaceful man. A man of God who loves nature.”
She touched his hand. “Just be careful who you make friends with,” she said. “Sometimes I think you trust people too much.”
He wanted to respond but stopped himself. He knew how to handle himself. And his instincts about people had served him well in the war. “Well, I’d like to invite him to dinner sometime. He looks like he could use a good meal. Skinny as a stick, that man is.”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
As the season passed into late winter, Hyrum spent more and more time with Willie, fishing, hiking, rock climbing. Rare times they talked about life, and even rarer times about the war, but most of the time was spent enjoying each others’ company. Meanwhile, Leigh was torn. She was happy her husband had found a new friend, but worried about how much time they were spending together. Many times she felt lonely, and was determined to talk to Hyrum about it, but every time she tried, Hyrum had one adventure or another for him and his friend to go on. Finally, there came a breaking point. After dinner one night, she called Hyrum into the living room.
“Hy, have you invited Willie to dinner? I want to meet him.”
“He keeps declining. He is very shy.”
“Well, I don’t want you spending so much time with him anymore. I need your attention as a husband. And there’s something else.” She had a mischievous look in her eye. “I have not had a monthly in almost two cycles. I am pretty sure I am with child.”
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