Me and the Monks — Old Man of the Mountains
He was shorter than one imagines the mythical figure, and missing the long white beard one would have expected to see flowing from his chin, but every bit as aged and as weathered and tough — as of course he must be, to make his living hunting wild animals in the Alaskan outback.
I met him on a city bus, Stateside.
He’d come to resuscitate a daughter. Disabled by an automobile accident and subsequently deserted by her partner, he told me, she’d sunk to a feeling of utter worthlessness.
