Chet the Hermit
In the summer when school was out, I would be sent to pick berries in the swamp near to an old hermit’s house. His name was Chet; he was a strange and quiet man who lived close by the farm in a house that he had built for himself of milled pine boards and tarpaper. Chet had mountains of books, newspapers, and old booze bottles in his tarpaper home. We spent many hours talking, for he was lonely and I was a good listener, which is how we became friends. He showed me how to play chess, and one time told me that when he was walking past Beaver Lake he could hear the catfish meowing.
I believed him and the next day I told my friend Sammy that catfish could meow.
But when I told this to my Aunt she said that Chet heard these kinds of things when he had too much whiskey to drink.
Once in a while when he needed money or a good meal he would stop at the farmhouse to do odd chores and my Aunt Lillian would find him something to do. He always wore dirty brown bib overalls, a bushy gray beard with tobacco stains, an old felt hat and high top laced boots, chewed tobacco, and he smelled moldy. He told me that he was hiding from his past and a wife who lived in Boston. When I asked him about God he told me I should not expect any help from God, as God was a myth.
It was during my last year living on the farm that a young girl was found dead, raped, strangled and discarded naked in a snow bank near Chet’s place. Of course everyone suspected Chet. I know Chet didn’t do it, and the murderer was never found. What I know for sure is that Chet never slapped, cursed or molested me or told me that I was God damned.
For many years of my life I have had nightmares about this murder.
I dream of children buried under stone walls that were the boundaries of Andrew’s barn. I’d dream that I am flying high in the air and can see Andrew hiding like a white tiger behind a stone wall; I can see a young girl walking on the pathway. She is carrying a shiny bucket with berries in it. I can that Andrew is nude, his white skin glows. Then he sees me hiding in the tree branches where I have perched, he looks up at me, smiles. I fly to the safety of the hay loft in the barn and awake in a puddle of my curse.
Spring is here my roses are in bloom, I am in good spirits and soon will be doing a two week solo art exhibit at a mall nearby.
![Smile[2]](/images/smilies/top smiles/smile[2].gif)
Here is another painting that I hope you will like. Springtime Waltz