THE CABIN

A whimsical tale which is very seasonal!

My idea of heaven is a place where I can sit or better still lounge on the veranda of a log cabin, which overlooks the still waters of a mirror-like lake and the sheer mountains all around and above all not a soul to be seen. Unfortunately this image is somewhat spoilt by the thought that there are no second-hand bookshops. Well you can’t have everything. Nevertheless for me these are necessities. I cannot do without them. So I can tolerate being in my paradise for so long before I get highly frustrated and leave with my tail between my legs as it were, having failed on my quest to be the archetypal backwoodsman with no penchant for modern conveniences. I’m afraid I don’t fit the mould, if there was ever one.

Well, one day I was up in my den just below the roof of my suburban house in a boring street with identical houses on both sides, and I suddenly decided I had had enough of urban living. How long that feeling would last, I couldn’t say. I’d just take things as they come and go with the flow. To do that, I would have to get my faithful pickup from the carport. It had never let me down so far, barring a few punctures. I know I did embarrassingly run out of petrol once, and I had a passenger at the time who was not at all pleased at the thought of missing an appointment, to which I had foolishly out of the goodness of my heart promised to take her, the old bisom.

No more of that nonsense I had told myself, and so with no ties or commitments I started out that day to go up into the mountains as far away from what I considered civilization as possible. Having started the engine and heard it purring nicely, I put the car into gear and moved off down the drive into the road. I was determined to leave at an hour of the day when I knew no-one in their right minds would be out and about, except an old codger like myself.  

So as the sun gradually rose from the horizon of an undulating distant mountain range and burned up the swirling mist in the river-valley below, I drove down the familiar neighbourhood and out into the countryside. I was on my way. I turned on the radio to a Country and Western station, my favourite for relaxing and having a good time. (I hasten to add that the author detests such music and despises anyone who is an aficionado of it!) As I rode my pickup along the highway, I’d bang the beat out on the steering wheel and holler like a crazy wolf to the tunes.

I didn’t care, because no-one was listening. I was in my element. Almost from the day I was born I was fed a daily dose of C & W. I was a natural, with my cowboy hat on the seat beside me and my shotgun in the back. Somewhere there was my guitar, although I wasn’t as good at playing it as I was at shooting. Dead-eyed Dick they called me. I was good, but I leave the boasting to others who have seen me at my best. But I’m really a loner. So I don’t hear too many compliments from folks, and if I do, I take no notice of them.

My dear reader, I won’t bore you with a description of the route from my suburban dwelling to the cabin, except to say that once I had left the so-called civilized bits, where there were traffic-lights and sidewalks, and started to climb up a steep incline I could almost begin to breathe the fresh air and feel my lungs burst with the excitement and anticipation. Gradually the vegetation began to change and become more like scrubland and here and there were dirty patches of the winter’s snow, still remaining on the ground.

I switched off the radio. I would not allow any extraneous noise now to penetrate this moment of re-discovery of my roots within nature. I stopped the wagon beside the road, got out and then stood quite still, listening. For some people silence is threatening. They can’t abide it and feel what for them is the oppressive emptiness. I was spellbound. I could hear the faint cry of some predatory bird high up in the pine forest. It was an eerie sound. And then I felt the breeze whistling past my ear in sudden short gusts.

It was a while before I got back into the pickup and then drove off down the track which led deeper into the landscape. After about thirty minutes I saw the cabin, standing by itself on a promontory overlooking a magical vista. I soon parked the truck and got my things out of the back, including the guitar and walked towards the front door.

I suddenly stopped in my tracks. I was not alone. All I could think of was the fact that my plan had been spoiled by some jerk of an interfering busybody, who had decided to invade my privacy, namely my own home from home. I stormed through and was confronted by a wizened old man with a white beard, sitting in my armchair and smoking a large elongated pipe. The place stank. Before challenging him, I put my things down on the floor and rushed to open all the windows and keep the front door and back likewise open to the elements.

I then stood over him and demanded to know who he was and what business he had in breaking into my home. He just smiled at me, totally unconcerned, and carried on smoking, as though he hadn’t heard what I had said. I realized that I was up against a tricky customer here, so I decided to take a different tack and become quite charming. Perhaps I’d be able to wheedle the information I needed out of him that way and then deal with the situation appropriately.

Without offering him anything that would cause him to think he was welcome to stay overnight, I nevertheless smiled back at him and commented on the beautiful surroundings in which we both had found ourselves. He nodded in agreement, but said nothing. I even went on to tell him how I had often come up here to find peace and quiet away from people. I hope he might have got that message, but he seemed completely oblivious to my meaning, and just kept on smiling.

I then asked him point blank who he was. He didn’t refuse to answer me, but just told me how it was so kind of me to lend him my cabin where he could rest his weary limbs for a while before embarking on another of his epic journeys. It was strange how he used that word - epic. He did however seem to remind me of someone, who I couldn’t place. No doubt as we continued with this exchange which had been enforced upon me I would suddenly remember.

He told me about his trips to all the continents of the world. He could actually fly at a speed faster than light. I found that quite preposterous and told him I didn’t believe him. He was not at all perturbed by my unwillingness to accept the truth of what he was saying. He told me he had been given a huge list of deliveries to make within a really short space of time, and every year it got harder and harder, and it was so difficult to get the right kind of staff you could trust for such complex operations.

It was all complete nonsense, and I told him so. Again he didn’t bat an eyelid. He seemed to expect me to be skeptical. I realized that there was no way I was going to get rid of him that easily, so I offered him a bed for one night only. My own. I would sleep on the couch in the sitting-room. I emphasized that I expected him gone in the morning. He smiled and thanked me for my generosity but did not give me his assurance that he would leave at any particular time. That was left open. Too open for my liking.

I was very tired and asked him whether we could call it a day. He agreed and we went to our respective places to spend the night - hopefully asleep. In fact I overslept. It was mid-morning by the time I stirred.

As soon as I adjusted to my surroundings, I sensed there had been a change overnight. Indeed I was correct in my impression. I called out. I couldn’t say his name because he hadn’t given it. There was no answer. I tapped gently on my bedroom door, and then waited. I heard nothing. I then tentatively lifted the latch and slowly opened the door. No-one was in the room, and the bed had not been slept in.

At first I thought I had been hallucinating yesterday until I saw the note on the bedside table. It read: “Thanks for the use of your cabin and bed. Much appreciated. By the way you will get in your stocking a copy of “Christmas Carol”. I will make sure the author signs and dates it for you, if he is not too busy on his lecture tour. Love FC or if you prefer SC.”