The Aged Faun

    Night was coming on fast by the time I reached the mountain crest. The gentle winds carried the scent of decay and the swaying vegetation, what little there was, was stunted and dry. The old faun was near the mouth of a cave, resting in the growing shadows. I tipped my hat. "Nice place."

    "It's seen better days."

    "Lived here long?"

    "From birth till now."

    "Dear me! You must have seen a lot in your time."

    He shrugged. "Everyone has his own story, and if not, it's not all that hard to make one up. But yeah, I guess I've seen enough to weave a tale or two. Now, whether they're interesting or not would be a matter of some controversy. What about you?"

    "Oh, a story or two, perhaps, but nothing uncommon, nothing that would hold anyone's interest, not even mine."

    "Hmm. So how long you been climbing this mountain?"

    "From birth till now."

    He gave me a weak half-smile, the kind where you can never tell if the person is slightly amused or simply annoyed. 

    "But where are my manners?" he said. "Would you care for some lichen?"

   "No. No, thanks. I lost my appetite somewhere down there, maybe halfway up. You know: where things are so foggy."

    "Ah, yes! I recall the place well. I used to haunt it when I was young, you know. You could always hear thunder in the distance, or sometimes close by; but with all that fog you could never be sure where the lightning was."

    And with that, the conversation died. Having nothing better to do, I studied him in earnest. He was very old, there was no doubting that. The years had overwhelmed him and left his body battered, warped and frail. Not wanting to, I couldn't help but think it was a wonder that such a time-ravaged body could still be alive.

    "If you don't mind my asking," I said, trying to sound respectful, "just how old are you?"

    "Old enough to know better," he yawned. "And you?"

    "Old as the hills and twice as dumb."

    "Obviously. But back to my question, when did you start climbing this mountain?"

    "This morning, early this morning, before the sun was out."

    "And what made you want to climb it?" He gave me a sideways glance that I could not decipher.

   "Oh, I guess I always wanted to climb it, off and on, to varying degrees, depending on mood and circumstance. Everybody does occasionally, I reckon. It's just human nature. Besides, I always suspected the view from up here would be breathtaking."

    "But why today? Why now? What happened this morning?"

    I sat down beside him in the cave and watched the setting sun. "Well, it all started like a typical day. I got up this morning to go to work. Got myself all ready, you know, the mindless quotidian routine of a typical workday. I went out to get the newspaper, too drowsy and in too much of a hurry to look at the stars or this mountain's vast silhouette in the near-distance. Then I fixed a quick breakfast and, I suppose like most people my age, opened the paper right away to the obituaries."

    "Why do you pause? What happened then?"

   "And then I saw it. It couldn't help but catch my eye. Somebody with the same name as me had died."

    "Yes, that would certainly draw one's interest."

    "Yeah. And then I read he was my age. And his biography, it was mine, exactly like mine. And his survivors; they were my family. Every single word in the obituary described me."

    "So what did you do?'

   "What could I do? I chuckled and then breathed a sigh of relief. No going to work today! I then glanced in, for the last time, at my sleeping wife and the children. And I then made my way to this mountain. It is a lovely view from up here, isn't it?"

    "I like it. But I have to admit, it's nice, occasionally, to share it with someone. You sure you wouldn't care for a bite of lichen?"

    "Oh, sure. Why not?"

    And so we sat, serenely nibbling away, watching the sun dipping below the horizon until we were swallowed up by the shadows of the night.