The Storyteller (Part Two)

Ben looked to be around 75 years old. His mustache and goatee were almost completely gray. The wrinkles around his eyes added to the character of his weathered face. He wore a sun bleached denim shirt with snaps, and a plaid jacket hung on the back of his chair. As he smiled I noticed a few teeth missing.

I didn't pause as I reached the table, leaning over to set his new drink down in front of him and mine on the table in front of the chair to his right before sitting down.

"Thank you." Ben said looking up at me. Then he added, "You look like a John."

I didn't bother telling him my name was Bob. John would be good enough for this encounter. "You're welcome Ben." I replied as I sat down.

"Ah. . . " Ben said, "From your accent you must be from the south. What part?"

"Texas and Oklahoma." I told him.

He frowned and said "I've never known anybody to claim to be from two places."

"I was born in Texas and spent most of my childhood there before my parents moved to southeastern Oklahoma. where I finished school before moving on to start my own life." I wondered why I even told him that. I wasn't sitting there to tell my own story.

"Southeastern Oklahoma huh?" he said with a smile. "The foothills of the Ozark Mountain range."

"That's right." I said, the memory of the small mountain that was my back yard where I lived as a teen came to mind.

"I had a dream about that area once." he said, and his attention seemed to drift away in a memory and he fell silent.

I took a sip of my drink and waited for him to come back to the present. His bottom lip trembled almost as if he were talking to himself for a second or two then, with his gaze fixed somewhere in the past, he started.


"I was standing at the foot of a small mountain in the fall of the year. The colors of the autumn leaves on the trees reminded me of a patchwork quilt my grandma made for us when I was a child. The red, orange, and yellow leaves spotted with an occasional green pine was truly a beautiful sight." he paused to take a sip of his drink before continuing.

The mental picture he was painting was as if he'd reached into my past and pulled it from my own memory. The small mountain that was my back yard was a part of the Kiamichi Mountain Range located in the southeaster region of Oklahoma. I held many memories such as the one he was describing.

"I was wearing an old gray coat and ball cap which left my ears to burn fro the cold wind." he said as he started again. "Under my arm I was carrying a single barrel shotgun."

He looked up at me with a stern expression on his face, "I wasn't going hunting!" he stated. "I just felt safe having it with me."

I understood from my own experiences and memories of the wolves and wildcats that roamed that mountain. Not to mention the black bears.

"I felt like I knew that mountain like the back of my hand." he continued. "And I picked my spot near the stock pond to enter into the woods so I could travel up the ridge in front of me until I reached the first tier."

I was taken a little by surprise when he said that, remembering the path I used to take from my back door which led by a stock pond and up a ridge to the first tier that ran almost the full length of the mountain. 'This is just a dream of an old man.' I thought to myself and waited for him to continue.

"I had barely entered into the woods when a gust of wind blew through the trees and caused a shower of multi-colored leaves to fall swirling to the ground." he smiled at the memory, and so did I. "I waited until almost all of them had settled to their resting place on the ground before beginning to climb the steady grade up the ridge."

"When I reached the first tier I turned to look out over the valley below." His voice grew softer. "I could barely see they old house and barn through the tree tops down at the foot of the mountain. About a mile away was a river and on the other side was a small settlement with meadows to one side and rolling hills beyond that seemed to move on to the horizon."

"The Potato Hills." I said aloud, mesmerized by the similarity of his description and my own memories of standing there on that mountain at home. He either didn't hear me or thought nothing of my comment.

"When I turned back I moved across the plat of the tier then angled off to the left as I began to climb on up to the second tier." He took another sip before going on. "Just as I reached the second one a strong gust of wind knocked another shower of leaves from the trees. The falling leaves all but blocked out the distant view and I couldn't help but stand in awe of the beauty that fell before me."

He reached over and touched the back of my hand, "And then there it was!" he stated. "I couldn't believe my own eyes." he finished wide eyed before taking his hand away.

I wanted to ask what it was but the look on his face kept me waiting quietly.

"It was a small tree or bush, whatever you want to call it." his tone was excited. "Amongst all these autumn leaves this thing stood full and green as if it were the middle of the summer. And it was loaded with berries. The biggest, reddest berries I'd ever laid eyes on."

"Have you ever seen such a thing?" he asked me before taking a gulp of his drink.

"Can't say as I have." I replied. But I was sure I knew that spot he was describing. A huckleberry bush grew there that always had the biggest berries of any I'd found on the mountain. I used to make special trips up there just so I could feast on them before the deer could strip the bush clean.

"I walked up to that tree and was totally amazed at the number of berries that hung from it's limbs." he started again. "They were almost as big as a golf ball, and red as your momma's lipstick." he chuckled.

"I reached out and plucked one of those luscious berries from the tree and started to take a bite when this little voice in the back of my mind told me 'This isn't right Ben.' and I held it there, studying it for a moment.

"An image of the guide that took a bunch of us through jungle survival training in the Navy popped into my head. I remember him telling us that when we found something in the jungle that looked edible we should always be cautious and test it first. 'There are many things in the jungle that are extremely poisonous.' he had told us."

"So remembering his instructions I pulled my pocket knife out and cut the berry in half. It was like a cherry with a pit the size of my thumbnail." he held his thumb up to demonstrate. "Then I squeezed a drop of juice from one of the halves and rubbed it on my lower lip before sticking the tip of my tongue to it."

Ben rolled his eyes and licked his lips, "I can almost taste it now." he started to a sip of his drink, then changed his mind and sat the glass back on the table.

"So, I take it the berries were good to eat?" I asked after a moment of watching him lick his lips repeatedly.

"They sure seemed to be." he replied, snapping our of his reverie. The look on his face gave the impression he was a little annoyed at my interruption.

"Seemed to be?" I asked, not paying attention to his annoyance.