Page 46, “The Persuasion”
Not long after we’d said goodbye to Bill Burt, unloaded our gear, and I’d had a chance to marvel at the surroundings, Tonin was ready to go again. “Hop in the Jeep. Hurry up. I want to show you my Pale Brook.”
We headed down the other side of the mountain, deeper into the park, jostling up and down on the bumpy path. Suddenly, Tonin turned sharply into a stand of birch with just enough room between the trees for the Jeep. He hitched the emergency brake, clicked off the ignition, and jumped out of the car all in one movement. He put his finger to his lips as if we were approaching a holy place and waved for me to follow.
I picked my way through a tangle of branches that he held aside (“M’lady,” he whispered with a bow); I stepped over fallen trunks camouflaged with colonies of mushrooms, avoided tripping over viney roots until we came to a low stone wall. In front of us, a clearing in the middle of many peaks. A spectacular sunny field on which was built an odd assortment of constructions. Sheds, lean-tos, cabins, and something I’d never seen up close before.
“T’ville. Built that when I was seven for Beatnik.” Tonin pointed to a shingled doghouse, big enough for his long-dead and much talked about Beagle—as well as a few of Tonin’s friends, should they have chosen to bunk there.
Comments