by Jann Burner
The Forest of Content was much more than a random grouping of bushes, shrubs, rocks and trees. It was a mini-continent with miles of gently blowing prairie grasses, wide open expanses of flat grassy tundra, tall stands of strong trees, dense verdant valleys, hot arid deserts, five oasis, three mountains and four major rivers. These rivers served as borders and helped shape and contain the constantly changing nature of the forest. They were called by name: Sirgit, Segnag, Setarhpue and Elin.
The path wound gradually upward into the trees. It was hard, climbing over logs, slipping on moss, getting caught on the thick brush and broken limbs. Harry stopped once to look back, but all he could see was a dense umbrella of tree tops below him. The path continued to steepen, spiraling up the mountain. Soon the dense valley vegetation began to thin, and there, interspersed with the trees, were large rock outcroppings where eagles perched eyeing him warily as he passed. Near the summit of the mountain he heard a strange sound and without hesitation, he strayed from his path.
Through the trees less than one hundred yards away he saw a short, stout man striking a large tree with much aggression. As Harry drew closer, he noted that the man was shirtless and that the entire upper portion of his body was covered with course black hair. In his hands, he held a wicked-looking axe. With this weapon, he was inflicting substantial damage upon a living tree. Being as unfamiliar with logging as he was with strangers, Harry approached, intending to voice his concern for the safety of the tree. Perhaps he could settle the dispute.
The woodchopper, watching Harry approach, ceased his activity and laid down his axe, for trees were easier to find in this territory than momentary companionship, and any interruption from work on such a warm day was welcome.
"How you doing, stranger?" sang out the wood chopper. "Hot enough for you?"
"I'm doing fine, my friend, but I am a little concerned about the tree."
The woodsman thought Harry's comment quite funny, and, as he laughed, he pulled a red handkerchief from his pants pocket, eagerly wiping the sweat from his face.
"How about a nice cold brew?" The man turned and walked over to his strange looking vehicle.
"What's that?" Harry asked, pointing towards the man's machine.
"What's this?" mimicked the man laughing. "Boy, you must be a stranger in these parts. This is my ATV, my horse, my transport, and my home away from home. She'll climb a sheer rock face, ford a river, or cross the swamp. She's the love of my life."
As the man pulled the two small cans from a small compartment on the side of his vehicle, Harry noticed a deep scar that ran down the left side of the man's face like a barren river bed.
"Bet you're wondering how I knew you were a stranger? Don't get many strangers anymore, except those who come to work on The Wall. I hardly think you're one of them kind. The last stranger I seen was back in '39 and he had come to fight in The War. But seeing as how there ain't no men allowed in the war no more, you must have another reason."
He eyed Harry suspiciously. "Say, why you wearing that silly looking name tag? 'HARRY,' that must be your name. So why do you have to wear the tag? Afraid you'll forget your name?" He laughed and swallowed his beer.
"Something like that." Harry liked the man in spite of his sarcastic tone. He tasted the canned drink. Beer. He liked it. It was surprisingly refreshing on such a hot day. They were standing near the top of the mountain, and through the spaces where the trees had been removed, Harry could see for miles and miles.
"Look over there," the wood chopper pointed, "on the other side."
Harry looked to where the trees gave way to rocks, the rocks to desert, and the desert finally to what looked like a swamp in the distance. Beyond the swamp was a thick veil of fog. In the middle distance was a large housing tract. It looked like hundreds of identical houses lined up one after the other, row after row.
"That's where I live," said the man with more than a hint of pride in his voice. "That's my home. We call it Happy Valley. If you're ever in town, stop by for a visit. It's an R-G-B development; you know, alternating rows of red, green and blue. No addresses, totally democratic. The red houses are the executives and managers, of course, the green are the technicians and the blue are the blue collar workers. I'm blue. Actually, I'm a technician, but my job classification is still blue collar. I'm a welder. I'm row nine. Just count twelve greens and the next blue is me." He stopped talking and picked up his axe. With a deft flip, it arced through the air once, twice--SNUCK!
"I'm into work. Woodchopper by day, welder by night." He stopped to recover two more cans of his strange brew. "Gotta keep busy. Work, work, work! Here, have another beer."
"Work," Harry mused aloud. "I don't work."
"Say, what kind of weirdo are you? You're a man, you work! Simple enough. That's what men do. To live is to work, to work is to live. We're after progress here, and in order to progress, we must change; and in order to change things we must work. Our elders tell us we must invent; we must alter; we must hurry! We must quickly create a totally man-made environment. Before nature takes over. That's one of the reasons I'm a woodchopper. We must sever our ties with nature. Get rid of all this stuff," he motioned around towards all the trees and bushes and flowers. "Damn things just harbor bugs and disease."
"And who is responsible for these...ideas? Who is your master architect?"
"The elders, of course. Listen, you sound like you didn't get properly educated! "
"But the Dreamer of All That Is has created a wondrous universe for you to play in...if he is satisfied, how is it that you're not?"
The woodchopper retrieved his axe from the tree and looked over at him disapprovingly.
Harry continued, "Maybe your elders are just dragging you along towards an unknown and unhealthy destination?"
The woodsman had seemed to tire of their discussion and hitched up one of the freshly severed trees behind his machine with a length of chain and prepared to start off down the mountain toward his home in Happy Valley.
"I agree with you on one thing, boy. Our elders are dragging us along the road as surely as I am about to drag this log, but I do not agree that they are dragging us towards an unknown destination. I am dragging this log down the mountain to my home where I am going to cut it up into small pieces and burn it in my stove and heat my house. I damn sure know where I am going and I am sure that our elders are pulling us toward a purposeful place they are sure of, too.
"Listen, kid, I don't know where you come from and I don't think I even want to know, but let me give you some advice. If you plan on staying around these parts, you'd better get a job! Get two jobs and look for a third on your free time. If you don't, somebody, could even be me, is going to report you to the powers that be. And if that happens..." He turned and pointed a hard bony finger menacingly toward the dense layer of ground fog that lay in the distance beyond the swamp, "they'll ship your ass off to work on The Wall!" With an emphatic snap of his wrist, he abruptly spun on his heel and stalked off to his machine.
Harry watched silently as the hairy man climbed aboard and started noisily off down the mountain in a cloud of dust, dragging his log behind him on a short length of chain.