The Hermitage

After supper, he always did the same thing. He rinsed out his bowl and cup and placed them to dry on a ragged towel that lay flat on a shelf. Its striped pattern faded long ago. The stripes must have once been vivid blues and reds. He did not remember. More accurately, he gave it no thought. If he did, he might recall the colors were, indeed, bright. Much like his eyes had been.

He put the dishes away, then shuffled to the corner of the room. He lit a small, beeswax candle. He made the sign of the cross over himself and faced the icons of Christ, the Blessed Virgin, St. Nicholas, and the Forerunner, John. The flame sent shadows dancing across the wall where the images hung.

The man began to recite his evening prayers. Somewhere in the room was an old, weathered book containing these prayers and many others, but he did not need it. They had been written on the tablet of his heart years ago.

He chanted aloud, though soft and raspy. Had anyone else been there, they would have had a hard time hearing him, but he was not concerned about such vanities. Even when his voice had been clear and firm, he had no ambitions of being a great orator. “Glory to Thee, O God, glory to Thee. O Heavenly King, the Comforter, the Spirit of Truth…”

On he went, until he came to the end of his evening prayer rule. He crossed himself again, then bowed before the icons. He bent over as far as he could. His back stooped with age. He was not as limber as in earlier times. He could no longer make his prostrations when he prayed. It was too difficult to get up and down. Instead, he leaned forward as best as he could. In the silence following the prayers, the wizened old man shuffled over to the one chair at his one, small table. He pulled his lamp toward himself. He selected a dusty book from one of the stacks on the floor.

Every night it was the same. For two hours, he read, no more, no less. He needed no clock to mark the time. That was just as well because he did not have one. Sometimes he thumbed through Dostoevsky. Other times he pored over the Psalter, or the ascetic homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian. There were days he enjoyed a bit of Dickens. That night he chose St. Theophan the Recluse. There were many others he could have chosen. He read them all, not once, not twice, but more than he could recall, and he would do so again if God willed he should live so long.

***

When Jesse was small, he liked the game "quiet as a mouse, still as a statue". The kids in his kindergarten class sometimes did, too, but they didn’t like for him to play. He always won. Jesse’s mom played that game with him, too. Being a smart boy, he knew she was only trying to get him to be still. He wasn’t bothered in the least. He loved it. Oh, if they could only see him now.

Prone on his belly, Jesse peered through the metal grating. He was careful not to get any closer than necessary to see the sidewalk. From his vantage point, he could not see much above ankle height, at least up close. He tried to keep his breathing calm and controlled, but it was hard with his belly pressed against the cold concrete.

The crawlspace was dark, littered with muck and grime. Cobwebs and bugs crowded in from every side. Jesse did his best to ignore them. The thought kept popping into his head; there were probably rats lurking in the shadows. He tried to clear his mind. If a rat got on him, oh boy. Better not to think about it. Breathe in the stale air and wait. There was nothing else to be done.

When he got a little older, hide-and-seek was Jesse’s favorite game. He found the best hiding places. Some things never change, he thought. The other kids always gave up. It took too long to find Jesse. He was the reigning champion of hide-and-seek until they got old enough to lose interest in such things.

Jesse hoped he still had some of the old magic left in him. The soldiers out there would give up, like Matt and Larry and the other boys did, back in the day.

Heavy trucks rumbled down the street, as the sunlight began to fade. He stayed crammed into his hiding place for hours. It was unlikely anyone was still looking for him, but there was too much activity to come crawling out into the open. Combat boots, in groups and pairs, marched past the grated vent every few minutes. Occasionally, he heard gunshots. They were getting more sporadic and distant.

Debra would be worried sick by now. Maybe she had begun to assume the worst, but Jesse hoped with all his being she hadn’t decided to head out on her own. He didn’t know how long it might take him to get back to her, but that was his only focus. He wasn’t willing to consider the alternatives.

Please don’t give up, Deb. Wait for me. He tried to project his thoughts across the city to his wife.

Why were there so many of them still out there? Jesse was parched. He would give anything for a drink of water. Almost anything. He had no plans to give up his life. Not now, not yet. At this stage, those were the only viable options. Stay put, or kick the grating back out and crawl his way to a sure death.

He wasn’t desperate enough to take any chances yet. He had barely escaped the first time. A sharp eye and good fortune allowed him to kick out the grating and crawl into his hole before the soldiers rounded the corner. He had just pushed the metal screen back into place when they came running past.

Those soldiers eventually backtracked to find him but didn't peer into this little opening. What grown man could squeeze into such a spot?

Jesse couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was easy to imagine. Come out, come out, wherever you are, or something close to it. It’s another game of hide and seek, he kept telling himself. Keep still and breathe. There’s nothing to it. They’ll give up. They always do.

***

The man woke up to the sun streaming through the single window of his little cabin. He sat up, stretching his old bones and muscles into life. Glancing toward his prayer corner, he signed himself with the cross.

He got a fire going in his wood stove and put a pan of water on to boil. While he waited for the stove to do its work, he relocated to the corner and chanted his morning prayers.

A warm cup of tea and some bread with a little jam was his breakfast. He ate less and less as the years went by. He slept less, too. The time he once spent eating or sleeping, he now spent in prayer. Along with all of the praying, he kept up the chores around his home. He stuck to his reading schedule. The mind, body, and spirit must all stay active.

Had there been anyone to ask him how long he had lived alone in the woods, in his one-room cabin, he wouldn’t have given a precise answer. He kept up with the liturgical cycles of the year, but he had somehow lost track of the years themselves. He did not care about marking time any other way.

When necessary, he walked to the nearest town for what he could not provide for himself. He always made a point on such outings not to pay attention to what other people were up to, or to engage in idle conversation.

The government had long since shuttered the church. He knew there had been further troubles, after the first troubles, and had no doubt there were more troubles ahead. Trials and tribulations were the ways of the world. It was only likely to get worse. There was little point in getting caught up in the details. That was not the path to obtaining peace.

Collecting firewood was a better path to peace. It was a necessary task and did not require much thinking. A person could collect firewood and pray at the same time. No problem. After breakfast, that's what he did. He went into the forest and collected wood.

***

Jesse peeked through the blinds for the hundredth time. He could hear Debra rummaging around in the bedroom. Every few minutes, she came into the room and paced about. Remaining in their one-bedroom flat put her on edge. He tried to be patient, but his nerves were frazzled.

“Jess,” Debra said. “Seriously, we need to leave now. Waiting’s only going to make it worse.”

“Soon, babe. Soon.”

Another peek out the window. Jesse didn’t see anything. He knew Debra was right, but he needed a game plan. Every contingency plan they had ever discussed had been swept away by reality. He didn’t want to say it out loud, but the truth was, he never thought this day would come, or that it could.

“Come on. You know we can’t stay here, Jesse. Please.”

“I know, I know. Deb, give me a few more minutes. We don’t want to be out too long in the daylight.”

“I’m turning the radio back on,” Debra said.

“Okay, yeah. See what they’re saying. I promise we’ll go soon. We’re going to be alright.”

Debra went into the bedroom, and Jesse peered outside again. It wasn’t like him to be paralyzed with indecision. If it were only him, that was one thing, but he had to think about Debra.

If he’d known what the future held, he might not have married her. What a horrible thought. He shook it off. It didn’t matter. They were together, and she was counting on him. He must get them through this ordeal.

Jesse could hear the voice on the radio, but couldn’t make out what it was saying. It was the same, monotone as before. Some brainwashed automaton, reading from his script. It could be someone who was simply doing what they had to do to survive. It was all the same at this point. The radio voice went away, and Debra came out of the bedroom.

“I’ve got the backpacks ready.”

They had to go, plan, or no plan. Soon, there would be no amnesty for anyone. It could already be too late. It was time to go.

He checked out the window one last time. Still clear, but soldiers would come through soon. That was a sure bet. Jesse was lucky to have evaded capture before. He had hidden out most of the night before he was able to crawl out of his hole and make his way back to Debra.

The relief he felt when he got home and found she was still there was indescribable. She hadn’t given up on him. She was frantic but hadn't bailed.

Neither of them had gotten any sleep, so they decided to risk getting some shut-eye before they made their escape. Once they left the apartment, exhaustion could be detrimental. Waking up later than intended, Jesse was surprised the army wasn’t already in the neighborhood. He was so sure they must be nearby that he was afraid to take Debra out there.

Staying any longer, though, was more dangerous than leaving. It was time to suck it up. Moving quickly, they could escape the city by nightfall. He could worry about next moves once they got out. One step at a time. Any plan he made likely wouldn’t mean much for long.

Jesse lifted his shirt and pulled a Glock 9mm from his waist. He dropped the clip out and checked it. Ten rounds. He put the clip back in and used the palm of his hand to snap it into place, then pulled the slide back to load a round in the chamber.

“I’m sorry, Deb. I never dreamed it would come to this. We should have gotten out a long time ago.”

“That’s not your fault. It doesn’t matter now,” she said. “Get us out of here. Now, Jess.”

Jesse took a deep breath. He kissed Debra on the lips. They slung their packs onto their backs, then slowly cracked the exterior door. After checking both directions, Jesse nodded to his wife. Debra darted out close behind him. She didn’t bother to shut the door. They weren’t coming back.

***

If the old man kept up with such things, he would know he had turned 91 years old a few weeks ago. He knew it was his birthday, but since he quit paying attention to the years, he was no longer sure how old he was. Nonetheless, he had a general idea of his age and knew he likely did not have many years left in this world. He looked forward to moving on to the next but was in no hurry. Those sorts of decisions were above his pay grade. Each day was another chance for repentance. For that, he was thankful.

Although he learned to keep his mind off worldly matters most of the time, the old man did sometimes wonder about his children. They might very well be dead by now. After all, they were getting up in age themselves. He loved his children and prayed for them daily. In that sense, it was of little consequence if they were in this world, or the next, because he continued praying for them either way. It would have been nice to see them again, though. By the time he went off to live in the forest, it was no surprise to them. He ceased being part of the world well before he got around to physically leaving it.

He often thought of his wife, also. As he stacked firewood outside of his cabin, he let his mind drift to Katherine. She had been a wonderful wife and mother. Such a godly woman. He was sure he had not deserved such a woman. He prayed for her every day, as he did for their children. Sometimes he talked to her. It had been many years since she passed, but his love remained undiminished.

They intended to pursue a monastic life once their children were grown and settled. Katherine had always said that if she had not married by the time she was thirty, she would have taken her vows as a nun.

For him, the desire came much later. He had never been as devout as Katherine, but she had a way of steering him in the right direction. Of course, it was irrelevant in the end. The authorities closed the monasteries along with the churches. Soon after, her doctor found a tumor in Katherine’s brain.

The twists and turns of life were strange, indeed. Katherine led a clean and healthy life. There was no predicting this. When the cancer came, it ravaged her without mercy. By the time she passed into eternity, she welcomed it with open arms.

Spring was giving way to summer, and the days were getting hot. The old man sat on a tree stump and wiped his brow. Closing his eyes, he remembered his wedding day. What a glorious day.

Yes, how wonderful to join her again when the time comes. He wasn’t foolish enough to make assumptions, though. He was confident that she had gained paradise. He was less presumptuous about where he would end up. Time revealed all things. His job was to live and repent. The rest was for God.

***

It had been three days since Jesse and Debra left the city. They stayed off the roads, as much as possible, but followed them as well as they could. The plan was to go west. It was more of a direction than a plan. There was a vague hope the resistance might be holding out further west, but it was a flimsy idea, less than wishful thinking. They felt they should keep moving, and west was as good a direction as any.

On the third day, the couple had been walking in the trees near the highway. They kept close enough to the edge to keep sight of the road through the trees, but about midday, they stopped to rest and dig some food from their packs. While taking their break, a military convoy came down the road. They ducked, losing themselves in the high grass until it passed. That took quite some time.

As they were putting their backpacks on to resume their hike, another convoy started rolling by. This one included a lot more hardware. Like the previous one, it was heading west. They slumped back down into the weeds.

“We should stay farther from the road,” Debra whispered.

“Yeah, that was my thought, too. West may not be such a great idea, either.”

“We can’t go back. We know what’s back there.”

“Let’s cut south through these woods,” said Jesse. “We’ve got enough food and water to last a while, so this is our best chance to cut cross country.”

Debra nodded her agreement. When the last army trucks disappeared, the couple moved deeper into the woods. They pushed southward for the next two days. They hoped to find another road or signs of a town. There was no such luck. There was only more wilderness. Although they’d been able to refill their canteens with water when crossing a couple of streams, the food was beginning to run out.

Jesse considered trying to shoot a squirrel to eat. He had never been hunting before, but he was a skilled marksman. They were desperate, but not reckless. After some deliberation, they decided it was not worth the risk of drawing attention to themselves. Unwanted attention was the only kind in large supply these days.

***

Five days had now passed since the couple chose to strike south; eight days since they’d left the city. The food had already run out. Now they were almost out of water. They kept expecting another creek, but there were none. Both of them were low on energy and optimism, but they weren’t ready yet to speak of it. There was reason for concern, but panic would not help. Unless something changed, though, panic wasn’t far off.

Progress was slower than ever. Rest stops were more frequent, and when they were moving, they weren’t setting an adequate pace. As the afternoon wore on, their thoughts turned to making camp for the night, but they chose to press on. As much as they wanted to stop, they couldn’t deal with the notion of settling in for the night with nothing to eat. They determined to keep moving until they couldn’t, or until dusk, whichever came first.

It had been more than an hour since Debra, or Jesse, had said a word. Instead of looking ahead, they trudged along with their eyes fixed on the ground. They had plenty of time before dusk but knew they were going to hit the wall soon. Not only did they have no food left, but the next stop probably meant the last of their water. Both of them were so absorbed in keeping one foot in front of the other; that they didn’t notice the small clearing ahead.

Jesse was in the lead and almost stepped out into the open before he realized what was happening. He stopped abruptly, almost causing Debra to run right into him. When she looked up, quizzing Jesse with her eyes, he put his finger to his lips and motioned for her to move back. They retreated a few yards and crouched down behind some underbrush.

“What was it?” whispered Debra.

“I think there’s someone up there, but I didn’t get a good look.”

“Did they see us?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Jesse. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what I saw. You stay here. I’m going to take a look.”

Debra’s eyes broadcast her concern, but she didn’t argue. Jesse kissed her on the forehead and touched the side of her face, before shrugging off his backpack and moving carefully back toward the clearing. When he got near the edge of the tree line, he got flat on the ground and belly-crawled up behind a dogwood tree to obscure his position.

He was right. There was a small clearing, and it appeared to be manmade. Jesse could see several tree stumps. Someone cut the trees down, but not recently. It was a clearing alright, but not much of one. There was still a fair amount of brush and ground cover growing around it. Through the thick foliage, it took Jesse a couple of minutes to distinguish the shape of a structure on the far side. When they had almost stumbled into the open, Jesse thought he saw a person, but there was no one visible now. That was some kind of shelter, though. Jesse eased his handgun from his waistband. Just because he couldn’t see anyone didn’t mean they weren’t there. Why else would there be a shack, or whatever it was, way out here?

Jesse crept back to the spot where he had left Debra. He whispered to her what he had seen. He was considering the dangers of encountering a stranger out there, but Debra thought if there was some kind of structure there, they might find food inside. They couldn’t afford to skirt around the clearing without scoping it out a little more. If there were some food up there, they needed it. If it turned out there was a person, or two, up there, Jesse had his gun. They didn’t want to hurt anyone, but one way or another, they had to get some food.

The couple made their way to the clearing and found a vantage point where they could see without being seen. They sat watching, maybe for an hour or more. As the minutes ticked by, they felt more and more compelled to check inside the little wooden structure. They saw no one and heard no sounds. Jesse was becoming convinced he had imagined seeing someone, but there was some kind of building. He and Debra weighed their options before deciding to further investigate. Jesse would investigate first and, if it were safe, signal Debra to join him.

Jesse checked his 9mm to make sure it was ready to fire. As he was standing up, Debra grabbed the back of his shirt.

“Get down,” she said.

Jesse dropped to the ground and squinted through the underbrush. The door to the wooden shelter was standing open. They couldn't see clearly, but there was movement up ahead. Someone was there, no question about it. The door didn’t open itself. Their adrenaline was pumping, but they tried to keep their breathing calm. Jesse’s grip tightened on his pistol.

“Do you see them?” he asked.

“They’re coming this way.”

“I’m going out there. Better we do the surprising, instead of the other way around.”

Jesse didn’t wait for Debra to respond. He sprang upright in one quick motion, raising his handgun into the firing position. Before his eyes adjusted, he was in the middle of the clearing with Debra close on his heels.

“We don’t want any trouble,” she called over Jesse’s shoulder.

“Perfect,” said the little old man. “I don’t have any here. I thought you might come in for some supper, though, but I got tired of waiting.”

The husband and wife were dumbfounded. Shuffling toward them was a bent-over little man with an unruly shock of thick, white hair flowing over his shoulders. A scraggly white beard went halfway to his waist, and a gentle smile went from one corner of his mouth to the other. Debra thought he resembled Rumpelstiltskin. Jesse, still standing with his gun aimed toward the man, thought he looked like a history book illustration sprung to life.

“Jesse, you are going to have to put that weapon away,” said the man. “Now, the two of you hurry. You’ve laid out there in the weeds so long, you’ve missed supper. I won’t have you missing evening prayers. After, you can have a little food. Not too much, though. You don’t need too much at once.”

“But, how,” Debra started.

Jesse lowered the pistol and turned toward his wife with his mouth agape. She shook her head and shrugged, then they both turned back toward the old man. He was already walking back to the simple little cabin.

“I told you, it’s time for prayers,” he called over his shoulder. “If you’re going to stay here, you are going to have to stick to the schedule.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jesse. He started to tuck his gun back into his pants but shoved it into his backpack instead.

“You can call me Seraphim.”

The old man didn’t look back at the confused couple, but stopped in the doorway and waited for them to catch up. Debra took Jesse by the hand and pulled him toward the cabin.

“Don’t worry, Debra,” Seraphim said. “He’ll get the hang of things. Sometimes it just takes us men a little while.”

The incredulous couple trailed behind Seraphim until they stood inside the roughhewn cabin. There was one simple table, one chair, a bed that was more like a bench, and books. Lots of books. Looking at the far corner, Debra noticed the icons on the wall and the candle on the shelf.

“That’s,” Debra said. “That’s…my grandmother had pictures like those. Back before, you know, before everything changed.”

“Nothing has changed,” said Seraphim. He laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, no, my dear. Everything is the same as it’s ever been, but you must have eyes to see. Now, enough of all this chatter. It’s time to pray.”

“But,” Jesse said. “How did you know our names?”

“Well.” Seraphim paused for a moment. “I don’t quite know. You didn’t know you were coming here today, but I knew, and here you are. That’s what matters. All is as it should be, the same as always. Now, the sooner we pray, the sooner you can eat.”

The man, Seraphim, turned his back on the pair. Facing his prayer corner, he made the sign of the cross and began reciting from memory.

“In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.”

Debra, instinctively, crossed herself, also. In the recesses of her mind, she remembered doing this when she was a little girl. The memories were blurry and obscure, but there was a familiarity in Seraphim's continued prayers.

Jesse looked at Debra with surprise. None of this meant anything to him, and he was surprised it somehow registered with Debra. She had never spoken much about her family, and he couldn’t recall her ever mentioning anything about religion. Of course, these days, that was to be expected. Even if it was of some interest, it wasn’t safe to speak about such things. As Seraphim went on chanting the evening prayers, Jesse leaned over to whisper to his wife.

“Shh,” Debra said. She nodded for him to turn around and focus.

It occurred to Jesse he hadn’t seen his wife smile in days, but she was smiling now. He was too. The old man came to the end of his prayers.

“Amen.”

“Amen,” said Jesse and Debra.