Free Visitations by Jonas Saul Page A

win. The cold steel is a gun, held by a man gone insane. A man who lives out here. A man who hears the trees talk, night and day, night and day. They drove him crazy. It’s not his fault.
     
    With speed I didn’t know I possessed, I jolt forward, away from the tip of the gun and spin to the left. I aim the bear spray and depress the trigger. The liquid shoots out and covers the face of a man.
     
    The long barreled weapon falls to the ground as the man wails inhuman cries. He drops to his knees, his face already turning a patchy red. His eyes lock shut. He bellows a symphony of agony.
     
    I don’t know what to do. I’ve never hurt anyone before. I’m shy, reserved. I don’t like violence. I resist confrontation. I hate yelling. Yet here is a man, kneeling before me, screaming a tune I have authored.
     
    I knew I had to help him. Even though he pulled a gun on me, I have to help him. He was a victim of the trees. It wasn’t his fault. After helping him, I will get out of here. I have to get home and press my new-found leaves.
     
    Besides, how many people actually get shot for trespassing nowadays anyway? He was probably just protecting his land, his house, his family.
     
    I holster the bear spray and pick up the long gun.
     
    “Which way?” I ask. It has been a long time since I’d talked. But this isn’t a time to be passing notes. The man’s eyes are locked shut. He won’t be able to read anyway.
     
    “Whaaaatttt!” he bellows.
     
    “Home! Which way?” I have to shout to be heard over his screams. It gives me chills. I almost run at the sound of my own voice.
     
    He’s still on his knees. He’s using his hands to claw at his eyes in a wasted effort to remove the pain. One of his arms comes undone and he points down the path.
     
    I get him to his feet. It is maddening how we stumble through the foliage, the elbows of roots sticking up here and there. I thought the man would be tough to guide, but the gun is the real nuisance. With every step it seems to gain weight, getting heavier and heavier with time.
     
    After about twenty minutes, my stranger stops screaming. He moans a lot, though. His eyes run with tears. Another clearing is coming up and I can see a house. We cover the distance fast because my stranger can walk better now and there aren’t all those trees purposely sticking things in our way, trying to trip us up.
     
    The house is small for a farmhouse. I wouldn’t live in it. There aren’t any trees close to it.
     
    In a window on the second floor I can see movement. Something flashes by so quick I can’t grasp what it was. We are almost at the back porch and my stranger’s still whining. I look at the window again and this time it gives me goosebumps. A woman is peeking out. She’s wearing glasses. She has a telephone at her ear. I can tell she’s quite animated by the way she’s waving her arm and gesturing with her head. Whoever she’s talking to is getting an earful.
     
    This woman scares me more than the trees do.
     
    The stranger mumbles something about a bathroom and I understand him. He wants the bathroom sink to wash his eyes out. The bear spray is still giving off a slight stench from his face. I wish he hadn’t pointed the gun at me. I don’t like hurting people. Why can’t they understand? When the trees are stalking me I need to be left alone. I do bad things when I’m in the woods with people.
     
    It’s not my fault.
     
    Jimmy shouldn’t have touched me like he did.
     
    It wasn’t my fault he died all those years ago when we were ten.
     
    We reach the back door and he opens it. Entering the house is tricky because I can’t stand beside him supporting his arm anymore. He takes the lead by feel.
     
    I wonder why I don’t feel remorse for what I did. Maybe because I’m harmless. He shouldn’t have put a gun in my neck when all I wanted were leaves. Maybe this is a lesson he needs to learn.
     
    I follow him out of a room where shoes and coats go,