Orginally written by Remo Camopiano
Re-written by Beatrice Lee
Remo looked down at his legs, past his shorts, and shuddered, thinking ‘why didn’t I wear long pants.’ The three slashes painting his legs were unmistakable evidence of foolishness. He was painfully aware of his own fatigue and started thinking of all the terrible things that could happen; broken bones, physical exhaustion, and serious blood loss.
Now understand, these two men on this exploration were both in their sixties; Craig, recovering from hip surgery and yes, Remo was recovering from gall-bladder surgery. After three hours of one bad decision after another they decided to go off the paths.
Remo, who was leading the foray into the brush, somewhat breathily remarked, “We are quite the pair of misfits, two old men trailblazing in heavy brush.”
Craig, already showing some signs of wear, holding his side, just nodded.
The trudging and the pushing and getting pulled at and stung by who knows what, it got scary. Thirty minutes into this ordeal Remo started to worry about Craig’s ability to continue. Craig’s voice sounded exhausted and Remo noticed a raspy quality creeping into his own breath. Craig looked at Remo and Remo looked at Craig. They nodded at each other as they each saw in the other the clear drop in spirit.
Maybe it was Remo’s survival instinct kicking in or maybe he had just had enough. Fear was replacing his dogged determination to ‘not fail’ with a new goal, ‘not to hurt myself any further.’
Remo reached for his cell phone.
“We have to find my car,” Craig said, agreeing, understanding.
Reluctantly but gratefully bowing to the high-tech gods, using Remo’s phone’s GPS, they made their way out of the thick underbrush to open Western Massachusetts woods. With two simultaneous sighs of relief, they both saw it. The path was a sight so pedestrian, but oh so comforting, to two old men lost in the woods. And this path was not just any path. This path led directly to Craig’s car.
Remo and Craig were exhausted, but safe. They had everything they needed; water, enough food, sleeping bags and hammocks. The cabin they had set out looking for, but never found, was just a luxury in case they ran into a bear. An unlikely occurrence Craig had assured Remo. Craig’s car was parked nose pointing to the road, tail to the campsite. The sun was down but daylight still guided their efforts as they set up the hammocks, preparing for a peaceful sleep under the stars. Hanging between three trees, one tree common to both hammocks, they settled in for the night. They were ok now, or so they thought.
Good friends in their formative years, Craig and Remo hadn’t spent much time together for a while, but they had both been aching for an outdoors excursion and maybe a little adventure. True to his nature as an organized responsible person, a city planner in a previous incarnation, Craig had brought a compass and several maps. Remo had his smart phone.
Remo mused to himself as he relaxed, ‘Every decision we made, we made together; and yet every decision we made had been wrong. Getting lost is bewildering.’ Remo chuckled quietly, ‘maybe even personally humbling.’
They were wrapped in their sleeping bags suspended; air warm and scented with the dense wonderful musty decay of September woods. The starless sky was peeking through the canopy of their trees; holding the men in their comforting embrace. This was their reward for finding their way. This was why the two men were there.
Remo took a deep slow breath, let it out and fell silent. His mind gave way to sensation; the diminishing light, the long-missed sound of rustling leaves, an occasional crackle of a branch. Also, and yes, that lack of human sounds; no cars, no planes; just the faint sounds of the men’s breathing. Being there suspended under the trees was both comforting and exhilarating. As his thoughts wandered, wondering what kind of animals might be out there, he was not at all afraid.
Craig was first to break the silence asking for a ghost story. Since Remo loves telling stories, he welcomed the interruption. Searching his inventory of experience, he landed on reminiscences of Regina, his oldest and dearest friend. Craig also knew Regina and the whole family, so it was the perfect story. Not exactly a ghost story, but it was sure to produce a chill or two.
Talking in a full voice Remo began, oblivious to the other life forms that also inhabited the darkness of those woods.
“You remember Regina, Craig? This is my favorite Regina story”.
Craig grunted affirmatively, his outline blurred in the late dusk light.
“We had a date to go to a play on a tugboat docked on the shore of the Providence River. As I entered her house, I was abruptly ushered into the living room by her mom, who seemed unusually agitated.
In the living room Regina sat at the piano and I sat there stunned listening to my new girlfriend as she played Bartok flawlessly and with deep feeling. I didn’t understand, she had never taken piano lessons. There was something else as well, something very different about the way she was sitting there. Her posture was erect; her head held high in a kind of confidence I had never seen before. My dismay soon faded into utter immersion as I drifted into the music. I love classical music…”
Remo’s words were interrupted by a distant but unmistakable roar of a large cat, a mountain lion to be precise.
Turning towards Craig, Remo said, “That was a cat. I mean a dangerous cat…right?”
“Yes, Remo.”
Remo settled back to telling his story.
“Regina was finishing the Bartok piece. I was dumbfounded, my jaw half-way down my chest; I had no idea she was so talented and at such a young age. As you know, Craig, Regina was movie-star Greta-Garbo beautiful. And as we both were at nineteen, I was a hormone engorged skinny kid. I remember feeling amazed that it was me that was on a date with this beautiful creature, now a piano virtuoso, and, that she was my girlfriend.
When she stood up from the piano, I stammered out something like, ‘I didn’t know you played. How long have you been playing the piano?’
Her response was unsettling and confusing, ‘Oh yes, I have been playing all my life, over sixty years now.’
Her mother asked me to help her and we went into the kitchen to get some refreshments.
In the kitchen she turned to me, all five feet of her tense with worry, ‘Regina has been diagnosed with Multiple Personality Disorder. The pianist calls himself Mizwa.’
I looked at Regina’s mother not knowing how to react. ‘Will she be Regina again?’ I asked.
‘Yes, usually these episodes only last an hour or so. Her psychiatrist is working with her to quiet these driftings and has scheduled an integration event, a ceremony. He hopes this ceremony will rid her of these visitations altogether.’”
They heard a low growling howl and the moment held still.
Not sure if he should have acted with greater alarm the last time the Lion made noise, but not wanting to overreact, Remo said, “Craig? We better pay attention to this, don’t you think?”
Hesitating, for what was an unusually long time, he said “Yes.”
“Try to remember how far away that sound was.” Remo lay in his cocoon for a stunned moment.
“Okay?” Remo added.
Craig answered, pointing off into the darkness, “Okay. Well, it was maybe a couple hundred yards. I’m thinking maybe near the top of that ridge but further down to the right.”
Remo tried to focus but there was nothing, not the ridge, not even an individual tree, just the ink-black canopy against the less-black sky. Fear is from the deepest regions of our psyche and not something one can fully control. Remo could feel the call to action as he contemplated why he was still motionless.
“About a football field away, you think?” Remo said nervously, wanting confirmation.
Then, really taking Remo by surprise, Craig attempted to imitate the sound of the cat.
“Yes, maybe a little more.” He said before trying another imitation.
His second try nailed it; eerie as hell.
“Are you sure that is a good idea?” Remo said, thinking Craig might be giving that lion a mating call or something.
Craig stopped yowling, and then let out a nervous chuckle that helped lighten the moment and their stress level. Remo was grateful that it gave him the much-needed opportunity to breathe again.
“Do you think I should continue the story?” Remo asked.
“Sure. That cat, Remo, is not interested in us,” Craig said, trying to reassure Remo. “And it’s a great story. It’s just a story, right? It didn’t really happen, did it?”
“Oh, it happened alright, and I admit that there were moments where I had to question my own credulity.”
“It’s okay,” Craig said almost apologetically, “I’m not questioning, just asking. Regina always seemed so, well, so likable.”
“I remember hanging with a group of philosophers and poets back in my university days,” Remo said, pausing for what must have been a long time, as he contemplated what it was like back then to have his whole life ahead of him.
“Among them was a dear friend, George Wilkie. Boy, would I love to run into him again.” Trying to shake off his meandering, Remo continued, “George would say, ‘If you don’t know it first hand, you don’t know it at all.’ I adopted that myself for many years, not sure if it served me well or hampered me. But, the fact is, this WAS first hand. I actually lived this.”
“Now, where were we,” Remo said, wincing a little at the thought of the lion.
“We didn’t have that date that night, but Regina and I remained close. The integration ceremony occurred about a month later, in September, and Regina no longer had recurrences of the other personalities.
About a year later Regina called me asking for a ride to Brooklyn. She had discovered that the pianist that she had become sometimes, was real and ran a small musicology museum. She asked if I’d take her there.
This wasn’t a little favor. Neither of us had ever been to New York City; I was twenty and she was fifteen. Most of my courage came from the fact that I wanted to impress her. The rest of my courage came from my brand new MGB bought with my life savings to that point. I felt invincible driving that reddish orange dream machine.
When we arrived, Regina said I should stay in the MGB. She made clear that staying in the car was not a choice; this is how it had to be. I didn’t like this. She didn’t know what to expect, and we were in Brooklyn. Was this a dangerous area? We didn’t know. We had nothing to compare it to. But with Regina there was a sense of destiny; like we were acting out a predetermined set of events that must be held to. Deviation would be unthinkable. At least that is how it felt.
About two hours later Regina emerged from the dingy brownstone. It was twilight. I remember because I promised myself to go in after her if it got dark, and I was readying myself to do so.
She got in the passenger seat of the car looking very pale. She said nothing for miles. It wasn’t until we were safely on I-95 heading back north that she began to speak.
‘Mizwa is dead.’
I had a feeling of foreboding; empty pit of the stomach kind of feeling.
‘He died on September 21,’ she continued sounding shaky.
I definitely felt queasy. I knew that date. I wasn’t allowed to see her for weeks afterwards, while she was recovering.
‘Yes, the same day I had my ceremony, the integration ceremony,’ Regina had said softly as though afraid someone might hear.”
On cue, as if commenting on Remo’s story, the cat let out a series of screeches, loud, leaving no doubt that she was close; less than fifty feet away. Craig countered with his own scream, sending shocks up Remo’s spine. Craig looked paralyzed. They had to do something.
Remo got very calm, going numb. In a low voice he started giving orders.
“Craig, get in the car immediately, now! Leave everything.”
They both ran for the car, Craig going for the driver’s side. They slammed the doors.
“Now turn on the engine; now the lights. Listen Craig, we cannot afford to make a mistake by getting stuck here. Turn the car around VERY carefully.”
Remo was really surprised at the clarity of his thinking. He did not want any panic. Panic would have made it worse. Craig, who seemed to be on automatic pilot, did everything Remo said.
“Now point the car at the hammocks getting as close as you can.”
“I will go out there and take the site down. I’ll pass the stuff to you through your window. You toss everything in the back seat, fast, don’t worry about it. I don’t want to be out there long. Watch for the cat, and ONLY if you see her, hit the horn. I mean it, only if you see her. Got it?”
Together, perfectly, as if they were executing a diamond heist, a well-practiced team, they pulled off the plan. Remo was scared, but he was also flooded with adrenaline. They did it all very fast and without a misstep. Remo made it back into the car, safe, in what he thought was under three minutes.
Then Craig says, “You forgot the insect repellent.”
Remo looked at him, shook his head and they both laughed. They switched seats and Remo drove out, heading home.