A New Path
The ascension had taken Bruce three days, and he was an accomplished climber. The locals had offered help, but also advice. He had taken their advice and gone alone. Now here he stood, at the entrance of the cave at the top of the mountain.
As he had trained to, Bruce used all his senses. He listened. He sniffed. He felt.
Nothing.
“Welcome, stranger,” said a voice.
Bruce spun. The man had just appeared there. It had been years since anyone had been able to jump him like that. He wore simple clothes, very much like the locals had worn, and a bushy beard adorned his chin. Deep blue eyes gazed at Bruce.
“Thank you,” Bruce said.
“You must be tired. Please come in and rest,” the man said. “I have some bread and cheese. And I would offer you some tea, but I ran out of it.”
“I brought tea. The villagers gave it to me, for you,” Bruce said.
“Ah, splendid! Come in, please!”
Bruce had trained to expect the unexpected, but the fact that the cave looked just like a cave surprised him. The man had a fire he was busying himself with, a simple cot that was more like a bunch of branches thrown together and a few items of pottery. Nothing else.
“Can I have that tea, please?” the man asked.
“Oh, yes, certainly.” Bruce opened his backpack and handed him the package. “Here you are.”
“Ah, that’s great! I’ll have our tea in a few minutes.”
“Eh, thanks… My name is Bruce, by the way.”
“Pleased to meet you, Bruce.”
Silence.
Bruce felt silly. After all these years, after all he had gone through, here he was, before a man who was clearly Western and out of place, and he just felt uncomfortable because the man hadn’t introduced himself.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the man said. “You can call me Stranger, if you want to. That’s what the villagers call me. Though Foreigner is a close translation, as well. And Outsider. Or you could use any other name you feel like. I don’t mind. My name no longer means anything.”
“Ah. Stranger… I’m not sure I like that.”
“Well, you pick one. As I said, it’s all the same to me. I really don’t mind.”
Bruce thought. For a second.
“Al.”
“Al it is, then!” Al handed him a bowl full of liquid. “Here’s your tea. I’m sorry, I have no sugar, but I think I still must have some goat milk that hasn’t gone sour yet. But you don’t have any of those, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Good.”
Al sat and sipped his own tea. He sighed with satisfaction. Bruce drank as well. The teas was so good he immediately took a second gulp.
“I’m pretty sure we haven’t met before, Bruce,” Al said. He just let it hang there.
Bruce stared at him. Al stared back.
“I can see it in your eyes, Bruce. You are a violent man.”
Bruce didn’t flinch.
“I met a man like you before. I’d like to say I helped him, but that wouldn’t really be true.”
Bruce sipped some more tea.
“One can only help oneself.” Al pointed at himself. “Change must come from within. Violence is like a drug: it consumes you, and the more you have, the more you crave. That is, if you have a soul. In my time, I met a few men without soul, and they were terrifying. But that’s a different story.”
Bruce put his bowl down.
“You must want it. You must want to change. You must need to change. Do you, Bruce?”
It was Bruce’s time to sigh.
“I’m exhausted,” he said. “I’ve been fighting… all of my life. And it never ends. I’ve told myself for years that I was needed, that people couldn’t go on without me. And now I’m old. Not that old, but I’m not young any more, and obviously I won’t get any younger. I don’t think I can keep up anymore. And still… the need is inside me. Every night I would get out and hunt… and I could no longer discern whether it was to protect the people… or for me. I want it to stop, but I’m not sure I can stop by myself.”
“Good. That’s the first step,” Al said. He regarded Bruce. “Do you know who the man I met was, Bruce?”
Bruce looked back. There was something in Al’s eyes, a shine deep within.
“Yes,” Bruce said.
Al nodded. “Now finish your tea and rest.”
~~~~
This is my accompanying entry for the Weekly Writing Exercise: February 20–26, 2017 at the Writer’s Discussion Group on Google+. I am responsible for creating the prompts for the Exercise, so I don’t take part, but I still like to write a story each week.
I just came across the prompt image while randomly browsing Unsplash. To me the photograph said “abandon violence”, and I wrote my story accordingly. I decided to add a little homage as well.
