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Old Phil’s time was up. The next day he would be leaving for the countryside. “I am already dreaming of home. It will be the new start to the life I have always wished to live. It will be a heaven every night. A man is for himself, but God is for us all.” Old Phil was once again seated on the log outside the hut.

“Yes. You are right.” Nihu was straddled next to him. He nodded. “God is for everyone.”

“Even me. Surviving the perils in this Lonely Forest means so much to me. I ought to give gratitude to the one that protects my soul. I do not do it ordinarily. I have to be tough.”

“I expect that of you. God is a tough mogul. We need to be worthy if we hope to find His favor.”

“But which god do you think I’m talking about, Nihu?”

“The god of our forefathers.”

“Does he really exist?” He brought his hands together, making recitations as if he was praying. Then he stopped and turned to Nihu. “Any result in that? Nothing. I will say my prayers facing heaven henceforth. My deliverance must have come from there.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know. I just want try new things since my past had not yielded any result other than troubles. However, I have prayed throughout my life. Good moral conduct must be trapped somewhere in my heart ever since I set my foot into this world of beauty and terror. Do you believe me, Nihu?” He looked deep into the boy’s eyes.

“I can’t find falsehood in that, at all. But I think it is too late to start finding perpetual faults in your life.”

“Oh, faults? They are gone. In the past, I had many. My life was no better than a rat’s, which is left to struggle for survival in the heart of the red sea. My weaknesses brought me a hard knock life. Macques would tell you my odds of survival if he were here with us. He tells my story more accurately and with a lot more feeling than I do. However, he had a talking impediment. Often, his tongue added more excitement to every word that walked out of him. One would think his words drop like wind-blown rain.”

“That’s a terrible burden to carry.” Nihu thought of something else Phil had said. “Do you derive much pleasure in mediations?”

“Yes, oh yes. My meditations have yielded results. The last time I was under the influence of morning mediation, I saw dwarf angel. It looked like a green mallard. It told me all would be well with me. I am sure it had come to give me hope of returning to glory after the truckload of the misfortunes I have experienced here. I will hold a holy service of songs when I return home. That is the first thing I will do when I get there.”

“But you have nothing now. The King now owns your house.”

“Of course. I expect to join my brother right away. He will be very happy to see me alive. The celebration will carry to the next level.”

“What does he do for a living?” Nihu shifted on the log.

“He is a farmer. And his well is deep enough to swallow ten of your stature.”

“Then you will be well. I thought you were just like every journeyman whose heaven is the street inn or corner. After every blessed day, he seeks comfort in a wonder of unholy women. When the police come to raid, you will only see his back.”

“This journeyman has served his time for offending others.” Old Phil removed his old hat that revealed rivers of sweat that were carefully gliding down his hollow cheeks. With the back of his hand, he rubbed them off his face and slapped the hat back on his head.

“I have a dream, a big one indeed. My survival means I was not guilty at all. There are people who believed in me because I have had a positive effect on their lives.” Old Phil straightened his shoulders, raising his chin.

“Things will be different for you now. Your travails are over.” Nihu sighed quietly, chin in hand.

“Surviving the Lonely Forest to tell the people of the devils here is news. No one in recent memory has returned from here alive. Do you realize that? I am the first. If you survive too, you can expect to increase your fortune ten-fold when you get back to the countryside. God will see to that.”

“That will be a grand accomplishment for an old soldier like you. I can not hope to follow you.” Nihu revealed a trail of discouragement on his face. “I will be well into my years by the time I am allowed to walk out of here. If I survive to that day.” He gazed desolately at the old man.

Old Phil looked straight into the eye of the disenfranchised youth, “Nihu, there is always hope. God has made sure of that. I believe you can survive just as I have survived all these years. Live bravely, your day will come.”

He rose to his feet, “Let’s go out together to hunt for the last time. The animal we bring in will be my parting gift for you.” He smiled at the boy. Nihu returned it weakly. Old Phil would soon be gone for good.

“I will be with you in a moment.” The old man said. “I want to bring my old Dane gun that has always hit its mark.” He entered the hut as Nihu lowered his head between his thighs scratching in the Earth with a stick.

In a few minutes, Phil emerged, fully dressed in his hunting attire. “Boy, you must get ready. The forest awaits our ambitions. So it would seem. But it is a beginning that brings us closer to the end.” Nihu got slowly to his feet, as if he was being forced to go against his principles. He went into the hut to get all he would need for the hunt. He took the spear that was in the doorway and returned to Old Phil’s side. “I am ready,” he said quietly.

“Look, Nihu, upon our return to the cabin, we shall have a long swim in the river, you hear me?”

“Okay.”

“And I remember you told me you have a flute and that you can play very well. You must play for me. I will dance like a man celebrating in triumph before leaving for the countryside.”

“I will play as well as I can. May the gods find favor.”

“You will engender favor by celebrating with me. It is well that a body casts doubt and fear aside so that he might honor another’s good fortune. So, Nihu, I want the best from you.” He coughed and his hat fell off his head. He went for it and added, “I will send prayers for you every day that your sojourn here will be as uneventful as possible.”

They walked down the path in silence for a while. Presently, Old Phil inquired if Nihu had his flute with him.

“No, I left it in my rucksack in the hut.”

“I was tempted to ask you to play now a dreamy song of the countryside.” Old Phil sighed. “Oh well, it will wait until we return.”

They trampled the dry leaves, heading for the interior of the forest, Old Phil leading Nihu who followed slowly behind. Phil was almost skipping in happy anticipation as if heading to a glorious alter. After some time, the forest swallowed them up, as if wanting them to become a part of the Lonely Forest forever. It is hard to say which of them would have bargained harder for his freedom.

By sunset, the two had not yet found a single animal that Old Phil could have gotten with a clean shot. The evening was beginning to stare them down and there was no animal in sight. The day had finally surrendered to the coming of the evening powers. Both were tired and had little strength left. Old Phil’s shoulder has sagged and Nihu could barely lift his feet. Without speaking, they stopped to rest under a tree. Old Phil broke the long silence that had stood between them. “Nihu, what shall we do? We cannot remain here like stagnant waters on the street of the local district. I wanted to celebrate properly, not in such a weak manner. The fun must start right away.”

“What shall we do?”

“Just watch me. You may learn the way the army of the countryside celebrates their victories after a hard fought battle.” The old man got to his feet and sent bullets from his old Dane gun into the air. As excitement within him grew, he let more bullets into the air, chanting old spirited songs of victory that every soldier of the countryside sings when the mission has gone the right way. Old Phil let go more bullets until he had none left in his gun.

Satisfied he turned to Nihu, “Boy, let’s return to the hut. The bullets have served their purpose. I feel as good as if they had brought down a tasty beast. What is more exciting than forest life? A forest where even the trees now believe in my prowess and wits?” He caught Nihu’s eye. “I can see you are glum. Lively up, Nihu. No need to bury your head in discouragement. We can get one of the monkeys near the hut to fill our bellies. I will show you the stores of provisions I have made and of course, the hut is yours to live in. Tomorrow, I leave you to your life. A solitary life is not such a bad thing. I have new-found confidence after I have eaten and lived with the jungle devils that never cease to arrive at my doorstep.”

“At least, I was able to get to know you for a little while,” Nihu was resigned to his fate. “Living with you was not written into my banishment order. It was luck that I met you here and now circumstance is now setting us apart. Your time here is done. The providence that kept you alive all these years can also deliver me from painful claws of death.”

“It is good to hear you say such things. Nevertheless, be careful. Macquesemis had much faith in providence, but today his remains rest under the shade of an old oak tree. Let us go.” Old Phil put his hand on the boy’s shoulder as they set off in the direction of the hut.

The light was waning and they went along quietly. The dry leaves crackled under their boots. Nihu’s eyes spied a walnut tree; the ripe fruits among its leaves spoke to his stomach. Up the tree he went. With a hand on one of the tree’s fruits, he called out, “Phil, I will be along presently. No need to wait but a moment.” He went for another as Old Phil continued alone.

“I will wait for you by the river. Just be careful.” His voice carried back as Nihu faded into the tree.

“Who would find me up here?” Nihu wondered in a whisper. “I will pluck some walnuts and catch up to him before the river.”

Old Phil waved his left arm into the air by way of farewell as he went down the path, suffering the dry leaves and grasses under his worn boots. Just as he pursed his lips to whistle a tune for companionship, a lion leapt onto his path. Seeing the old man, it charged without hesitation. Old Phil had less than two seconds to face the animal with his Dane gun, ready with his finger on the trigger to dispatch the animal to its grave. In a twinkling, it dawned on him that the gun was empty and he had no other option but to flee. As he turned to run, the lion pounced.

Nihu heard the roar and knew Old Phil was in peril. An agonized cry from the old man and another roar from the beast set the forest ablaze in the quiet night. Nihu jumped from the tree, took hold of his spear that he had left leaning against it, and hurried to the scene where Old Phil was battling to stay alive underneath a wild lion. The lion had the attack advantage and had Phil pinned to the ground. Old Phil was trying his best to roll away from the lion’s claws and teeth, but he cried aloud and panted for air.

Nihu raised his spear above his head and raced into the melee to save Old Phil from becoming a meal for the wild beast. He struck the lion in the neck, a little below the mane. The spear stuck deep in the neck of the lion, but the handle came apart in his hand and Nihu could only hope that a second strike would not be necessary. He stood back, as the lion, knocked off his feet, struggled with fate. Old Phil, battling hard to overcome blackout, made a final effort to send his foe to the world beyond. He drew his jackknife from his boot, sat up and slit the lion’s belly. The lion lay still at last.

Old Phil sank back and began to gasp for his life in the pool of his blood. Nihu rushed to him in a horrible fright, to see if he could save the old man from dying at the brink of his release. He knelt by the old man’s bloody head, took it onto his lap and tried to encourage the old soldier back to life. “Phil, you are strong. Stronger than the willows in the brook. You must not die.” Tears flooded his eyes. “I will care for you in the hut for as long as it takes.”

Old Phil struggled valiantly against the incoming blackness. “No, Nihu, it is too late already for medicine. I have met my fate today. A soldier never travels through the woods with an empty gun. Had I remembered that, I would be worthy to see my home again. Former deeds cannot insure survival in hell. My life is tragedy and I hope you might learn something from it. I advise you to take your own life, my boy. Do not wait for the devil of beast or disease to ravage you. You must find a way out of here . . .” He gasped and choked as speech left him. His head rolled to one side as the last of life faded from his lips.

Nihu stroked Old Phil’s face and wept bitterly as he recognized that the old man’s ghost had gone. “No, no, Phil. No! You cannot leave like this. This is not how it’s supposed to be!” He fell on the dead man and wept, harder than ever before in his life. He wailed aloud in the dark until he could cry no more.

Somehow, he managed to drag the remains of the old man back to the hut where he found a shovel to dig a grave. After he finished the mound, he built a small fire and went in for his flute. Returning to the graveside, he began to pay Old Phil his last respects. The melody was a dirge, played for fallen heroes in the countryside. It was equally good enough to move one’s feet. However, Nihu remained seated on a log as he played out his despair.

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