Devil's Apple by Simon Snow

Author:Simon Snow [Simon Snow]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781775532453
Publisher: Penguin Random House New Zealand
Published: 2015-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

23

By mid-morning of the next day Todman and Rupert were far above the Gorge. The Hermit was still barefoot and carried a greasy and tattered Mountain Mule pack. Todman struggled and sweated to keep up with him but refused to ask for mercy. The Hermit travelled easily and very swiftly; his long stride remained the same whether they walked over river stones or on cushions of moss. Occasionally they climbed over bluffs that dropped sheer into the river, and again Rupert moved effortlessly up the near vertical faces, wrapping his long hands around saplings and tree-boles to heave himself up in a series of giant, rhythmic steps.

He talked a great deal also, again without slackening pace. Todman replied in breathy, tortured monosyllables. It seemed he had become a friend, and hence the recipient of a long-stored torrent of philosophy, dogma and prophesy. Rupert was a number theorist: his earnest calculations, based on famous names, dates and obscure biblical tracts, poured over Todman in a mind-numbing torrent. He exposed the evil lurking in the American government, the Catholic church and many others, by assigning them number values based on the letters of their names. The mystical 666 brooded over his discourse like a circling condor. Todman trudged on relentlessly.

They stopped at last beside a deep, slow pool, far above a second gorge. Rupert ate peanuts and raisins and drank from the river. Todman smoked and watched three trout feeding at the head of the pool. Finally he stretched over two rocks and drank also, relishing the clean no-taste of the water. When he turned back, wiping the thick cold drops from his chin, the Hermit was watching him; his wide green eyes were looking straight into Todman’s.

‘May I ask you,’ he said in his mild pedant’s voice, ‘why you live the life that you do? You know my reasons for rejecting the world. Will you forgive me for being curious enough to ask yours?’

Todman could have resented the question. He wondered if it could be the prelude to a sermon or an attempt at conversion, but the directness and the gentle, courteous tone were disarming. The Hermit’s eyes were still on his and he was smiling. Todman considered his reply carefully.

‘I suppose I felt, that the world rejected me — or rather, it defeated me. This place was beautiful and lonely, and that suited the mood I was in when I found it.’

‘And are you still of that mood?’

Again Todman considered and rejected anger. He was surprised to find himself able to describe his life to Rupert as he had not hitherto been willing to do for himself. The astonishing oddness of the Hermit’s own lifestyle seemed to make embarrassment or reticence superfluous. ‘I’m not sure,’ Todman said. ‘You don’t live as I have been, to be happy. You use the place like a drug — an escape from things you want to forget. But after a while the loneliness defeats your purpose: there’s nothing to do but think, and remember, and turn over old failures and omissions.

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