text: "Grow up; that's what I want him to do," Vic growled as he stormed out of the cabin and off the porch, the squall of anger stinging his head and warming his ears. He blinked at the bang of the screen door he slammed for exclamation. "Damn her," he mumbled as he stomped along a path leading into the woods. The morning dew felt cool on his sandaled feet and turned the kicked-up dirt into mud on his toes. How could she bring this up now? This was supposed to be their 5th-anniversary trip. Spend a long weekend at the cabin they first made love in, rekindle the old flame, and remember why they got married in the first place. But she goes and brings up her brother Brad. How he lost his job AGAIN, needs a "small" loan, and might be moving in with them for a while. Brad's a bum; her parents and everyone else have coddled him his whole life. He will never learn to stand on his own two feet unless everyone stops bailing him out. Vic was far into the woods when he stopped to catch his breath, the first one he was conscious of since he rushed out of the cabin. He put his hands on his knees then stood up with his hands behind his head, a trick he learned in peewee football. He was quite winded for only having walked a short distance. The cool air dried his mouth, and he licked his lips with all the moisture he could muster. He looked up at the azure sky through the bare branches of the trees above him. A tree stump sat in the middle of a glade like the main stage of a theater-in-the-round formed by the surrounding foliage. He sat down on the stump, rested his elbows on his sore knees, and let out a final hard sigh that returned his breathing to normal. He rubbed his fingertips over his eyes, still feeling the itch of early morning. The sweat on his face cooled as a breeze whispered through the leafless trees. His mind couldn't focus on any thought other than how this trip wasn't turning out the way he had imagined. He heard footsteps rustling through the woods toward him and felt somewhat vindicated, thinking Wanda had followed him to apologize, not noticing that the steps were coming from a different direction than the cabin. Conjuring up his best look of defiance, he waited for Wanda to appear out of the trees and come running to him filled with remorse and compunction. But instead, an old man appeared. He reminded Vic of the old pictures of the miners who flooded San Francisco during the gold rush of the 1840s. A dirty gray beard covered most of his face, allowing only his nose, eyes, and preternaturally red cheeks to peek through. A brown, frazzled hat sat on top of his head, covering a gray, ochlocratic mass of hair that was peculiarly long for a man his age. Vic's eyes locked with the intruder's and stayed there as the man calmly, almost surreptitiously approached. "You look like your mamma done reached out and stung you with a switch young feller," he said in a gravelly voice that seemed to whistle from the breath that carried it. "No...no," Vic stammered, bewildered by the surreal character standing in front of him. "I'm just out getting a little fresh air...um, do you live around here, I thought this area was pretty darned secluded." "I live around everywhere, son," the old man said with seeming familiarity, "don't like to call no place home, cause when you do, they can take it away from ya. But if you ain't got no perticular home then there ain't nothing to be taken away. Don't get me wrong, I've had plenty of homes, just none that grew on me enough to make me stay there too long. But, I'll tell you son, I know a troubled young man when I see one, hell I was one myself once" "Nah...it's just...nothing..I mean my wife and I...no, I'm just getting a little fresh air. Where did you come from?" Vic asked, hoping he had changed the subject. "Bloomington, Oklahoma, down abouts Greer County. You probably never heard of it have ya. I never even seen it on a map and I been around and seen quite a few maps. They taught us to read maps in the navy, though they was nautical maps, but what's the difference, its just about findin' where you are and findin' where you want to go and figurin' the best way to get there. There's times when we could use a map of life, so we could see where we are and figure out the best way to get where we wanna go. "You look like you could use a map just of that sort about now. By the way, what's your name....mine's Nicholas. You think with this beard and all that comes from my lookin' like St. Nicholas, but it doesn't. Nah, my mamma named me after the last Russian Czar, you know the one they murdered, him and his whole family. The killers were the ones who brung in communism to Russia, my mamma used to call them the Bullshits or somethin' like that. She and my daddy left Russia and came here to America right after that group took over. She told me she named me after that Czar because he was the last good leader Russia ever had. I never used to tell people that story, knowin' that most aren't too fond of Russians. Did you know czar is actually a short form of Caesar?" "No, I..uh..didn't...uh...know that," Vic stammered, "but what I meant was where did you come from just now. There is only one road and that ends at the cabin, and there's nothing but woods for miles in every other direction." Vic wondered if he should have mentioned the cabin, still too unnerved by his new companion to relinquish suspicion. "Well, I's tryin to get through these woods, to go from Route 8 about nine miles back that a way and head over to the next town, maybe find me some work and make some money to live on." Vic wondered what kind of work a man this old could find. "That's quite a long walk old-timer, you must have been on the road for some time now." "Since I was nineteen," Nicholas answered obtusely. "It's a tale I'm none too proud of, but since you're askin', I reckon I can tell you about it." "No I mean..." Vic attempted. "Ya see, my older brother, there was just the two of us, was in Vietnam, you know the war. Well, him and some others were on a mission one night when they got ambushed by a group of Charlies. Most of the Americans with my brother was killed, but my brother was only wounded in the leg. Them Charlies took him prisoner and didn't really give a shake about his wound. Well, by the time they brung a doctor to see him, the leg got the gangrene and they had to cut it off, right above his knee. When the war was over, he came back and we saw he had no leg and we was horrified. You see, he was a ballplayer, probably coulda played in the big leagues. But there weren't much call for a one-legged ballplayer. He went to coaching, but you could see he never forgot that he'd lost his chance to be a ballplayer. He said he really felt good about helping those people against the Charlies and that they were real appreciative of the American soldiers who were over there. They was mostly farmers and couldn't fight Charlie themselves. “I admired what my brother done, so I joined the navy. Learned real good how to be a sailor, and I was lookin' forward to being a hero like my brother. And then they told me I was going to Vietnam too." "That was probably pretty scary," interrupted Vic. "I guess I better be getting back now, I think I've had enough fresh air." Nicholas didn't react to Vic's voice. As Vic got up to go the old man sat down on the stump, fixing his stare straight ahead, not looking at anything particular, just looking with a wide-eyed intensity. "Anything you need sir, a few bucks or something until you can find that job you're looking for?" Nicholas continued to stare. "Nah, I'm alright," he answered softly, folding his brown hands tipped by cracked, yellow fingernails. Then the old man looked at Vic and forced an ersatz smile, a replacement for the one he had lost long ago. What the hell, thought Vic, I can go back to the cabin and argue with Wanda, or stay here and listen to this man's war stories. Probably is a bunch of crap, but he looks like he might be entertaining, so I guess I'll humor him. "I imagine you were quite a war hero, huh," Vic patronized. "Nah," Nicholas responded, his voice regaining volume. "When I was to get on my ship to Vietnam, I kept thinkin' about my brother and how he had lost his leg and I got real scared that I could lose mine or worse, get killed. I told my brother I was thinkin' about not goin' and he told me there were people over there who needed help, how the Charlies were killin' em all. I heard what he was sayin' but couldn't take my mind off where his leg used to be. That night I snuck away, and never went to Vietnam. I been gaddin' about ever since, sometimes livin' in one place for a year or so, when I can find work, but I always been afraid the government would come lookin' for me because of what I done. The old man's hands squeezed together into a two handed fist. "I never went home 'cause I knew my brother would be ashamed of me for runnin' instead of fightin'. But enough about me, I'm just a silly old man, what about you young feller, it was more than fresh air you come lookin' for out here ain't it." Vic looked at Nicholas and his feelings changed from amusement to pity for the old guy. "I'm sure the government quit searching for you. Me, well I just had a little spat with the missus, you know how it is." "No, I don't son. Never been married myself. Movin' around like I do it's hard to find a woman. I had a girl though, but when I took off, I didn't even call her. I always wished I'd a written her a note or somethin' explaining everything. She was very beautiful and sweet. Many a times I wondered what happened to her, whether she was married and if she had kids and all. We had talked about getting' married when I got out of the navy, but like I said, when I took off..." Nicholas' head slowly bowed down as he spoke and he was talking to the ground now, oblivious to whether Vic was still listening or not. Vic pawed at the dried leaves with his foot, both to fight how uncomfortable he felt and to determine if Nicholas still knew he was there. "I’m sure she is doing fine,” Vic mumbled, swallowing dryly, wishing again to change the subject. “My wife is beautiful and sweet too, heck sometimes she’s too sweet and let’s others take advantage of her. Take her brother, for example, he is a no-good bum, but every time he needs help she gives it to him. I tell her that she has to say no to him sometime or he will always take advantage of her,” Vic wondered if he should have used the word bum. “That’s what I’m doing out here in the woods, I had a fight with my wife over her agreeing to let her shiftless brother come stay with us until he can find a new job; I’m sure he was fired from the one he had. And it’s not just her family, she is always donating money to some cause or another. I tell her most of them are rip-off artists and that they are just after money to get rich on, but...” Vic felt his voice rise and his ears get warm. He saw the old man looking at him with a pathetic look on his face. Great, Vic thought, I’ve gained the sympathy of some homeless tramp, I must sound pitiful.” “You ever seen movies of the Hindenburg goin’ down?” Nicholas asked suddenly. “Well, sure I have, they always show that old news reel of it crashing in a ball of flames,” Vic responded glad the conversation was moving on. “I really must be going now, nice to meet you Nicholas, good luck.” “That crash killed 36 folks, but I mean have you actually looked at the movies?” A confused grimace and a shrug were all Vic could muster, now feeling discomfited as well as confused. “Most people look at the big dirigible and the fire and all that. But if you look at the folks on the ground, you see they was doing different things. Some of them was running from the Hindenburg, while others were running toward it. That’s all there is to it. Those are the only two kinds of people in the world, those who run to the Hindenburg and those who run from it.” A single tear ran from the old man’s eye and disappeared into his beard before reappearing as it leaped from his chin and landed on the dried leaves below. “Well, take care,” Vic said as he patted Nicholas on the shoulder and started to walk away. He turned once to look back and saw that Nicholas was still sitting on the stump, head down, eyes fixed on the ground. Vic picked his pace up and headed back to the cabin, noticing that the sun’s heat was gaining intensity as it continued to burn off the morning haze. He was almost jogging, listening to his feet crackle against the terrain. When he spotted the cabin, something caused him to stop and look back, but he was too far away, and the woods were too thick for him to see Nicholas in the clearing. He continued to look for a few minutes, trying to figure the whole thing out, then started briskly toward the cabin, hopped up the steps, and went inside, gently closing the screen door behind him. He entered the bedroom where Wanda was folding clothes and putting them into a suitcase that lay open on the bed. “We could clear out my den, and Brad could stay in there until he gets back on his feet,” Vic said in a low voice so as to not startle Wanda. She dropped the shirt she was holding onto the bed, walked over to Vic and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face on his shoulder. Vic embraced her and felt the tingle that always accompanied her touch. He caressed the back of her head with his hand. A tear escaped from his eye, ran down his cheek, leaped from his chin, and landed on the dry, wooden floor below.