Man-Stalk

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The wind, coming down from the high places, had the smell of ice in it, but the sun was hot enough in the dooryard to make me unbutton my flannel shirt right down to the belt before I had half finished the repair work on the canoe. Belle had the kitchen door open and I hummed along with her as she sang in that true, husky voice.

I thought of the big wall chart I’d pinned up by the chunk stove. The letters were coming in and my schedule was filling up. It looked like another good year. When the snow finally goes for good it gives a man a wonderful feeling. I had to get all the equipment in shape to take the customers out after bear, trout, deer and moose — all in season, all scheduled.

A man can feel so good he gets a little superstitious about it. I stopped working and straightened up and for a moment the ice in the breeze struck through me, down to the small tightly-coiled knot of memory. I smiled it away. After a time you learn how to look a man in the eye again, how to walk down the village street the way an honest man walks. In time, you become an honest man, because that is what you wanted to be all the time. And you are accepted as such. It was that simple.

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