The Cave Painter & The Woodcutter by Don Hannah

Author:Don Hannah [Hannah, Don]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Solo, Don Hannah, family, memories, printmaker, art, loss, relastionships, forgiveness
ISBN: 9781770911314
Publisher: Playwrights Canada Press
Published: 2013-11-28T16:00:00+00:00

Dusk. A small opening in the woods with conifers—pine, spruce, fir, larch—thick all around and above it. Brief snatches of sky through branches. On the ground, brown evergreen needles, sticks, small rocks, forest debris. The end of a grey day late in October. Crows cawing, sounding both angry and annoying.

TED lurches, staggers, into the opening, nearly falling. He’s a short man, scrawny—a bantam—unshaven, scruffy and dirty. He’s wearing a worn coat, a bit too big, and holding a sturdy branch as a walking stick. He’s exhausted.

TED

Jesus Murphy asshole trees!

He trips on a stick, nearly falling flat on his face. He catches himself—

Frig!

—turns and starts to beat at the stick that tripped him with the stick he’s holding—

Stupid woods! Stupid ugly woods—

—when he loses his balance and falls on his butt.

Stupid stick!

A crow calls, “Caw caw caw,” as if mocking him. He kicks out at the stick that tripped him.

Goddamn stupid asshole stick!

For a moment he’s a five-year-old having a temper tantrum.

Ugly stupid woods fulla asshole sticks! What good are ya! Stupid sticks, stupid woods! I hate ya! Hate ev’ry frickin’ asshole stick in the whole frickin’ woods!

He starts to get up but he doesn’t have the energy. He sits, defeated. The crow mocks him again.

Y’re lost. Got yerself good’n lost. Not a hope of findin’ ya!

And they’re lookin’ right now. Didn’t know where ta start, but they’re out there lookin’ right now somewhere.

Nobody knows where y’are, not a clue, nothin’.

Needle in a frickin’ haystack you are.

And you!

He’s crawled over to the stick that he tripped over. He grabs it and starts slamming it against the ground over and over.

Asshole. Asshole stick!

He stops and holds what’s left of the stick in his hand.

What’d I ever do ta you?

What’d I ever…

What’d I…

He’s moved to the verge of tears, but then he sighs, sits up straight and starts looking all around him, checking out the clearing. The crow calls are in the distance, flying away.

Well now. Dandy.

Like Gram useta say. “Ain’t this just dandy!”

’Cause it weren’t. Weren’t dandy at all.

Middle a goddamn nowhere.

Just frickin’ dandy.

Let this be it then.

Let this be it in the middle a goddamn nowhere.

He’s starting to get up when he hears a coyote in the distance. He listens.

Oh, that’s a comfort, that is.

He listens. Coyote wails again.

A real comfort that, with the night comin’ on.

Those fellas steer clear if they hear ya comin’?

Bears do. S’why ya wear the bells.

He’s still holding the stick, looking at it.

Ya think a snake’d hear them bells?

They even got ears, snakes?

Or they just lie around deaf. Just lie around.

Like sticks. Just lie around like asshole sticks waitin’ to get ya.

He drops it.

No goddamn wonder ya always hated the woods.

Sighs.

Useta tell the kids about’m. Animal stories and that.

“Tell me a story. Tell me a story. Tell me a…”

He angrily whacks the ground with his walking stick. Then he sighs.

That father left his kids out in a woods like this. Took’m out there and just walked away. Deserted’m.

Ya tell’m that and they just go, “Then what happened? What happens next?” Don’t question it at all.

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