Chapter 3: American Primitive

I promised to introduce you to this character.

Long before there was an artist’s colony here, and long before a religious cult moved into the area, a hermit arrived. He bought cheap land, built a cabin, and believed he had dropped out of the mass of lemmings he detests. The land remained cheap, and he didn’t buy much of it, so others did. Now he has neighbors. Neighbors he detests. His real name is unimportant. He likely refers to himself as I or me. Unimportant. His neighbors call him the “Squirrel”. They don’t use the name “Squirrel” affectionately or in a flattering way. Squirrel is not popular.

Squirrel is one of those traumatized Vietnam war veterans, who never adjusted to civilian life, or peace time military life for that matter. He’s maladjusted, period.

He wears a funky necklace of shriveled brown something around his neck. People claim it’s war trophies. Ears of enemy Vietnamese he killed. People shun him in disgust and fear. I believe that’s what he intends.

I’ve noticed the “ears” change color. Sometimes the color is more yellow and other times darker brown. My conclusion is, they’re dried apricots. Yellower when freshly strung, becoming dark brown shortly before he replaces them. Why do I believe that?

Once when I was younger, still a kid, Squirrel caught me staring at him. In an attempt to terrorize me, he took a bite of a yellow hued ear, licked his lips and waggled his tongue at me, like threatening to eat me next, given a chance. I recognized it as drama, not real, not a real threat, and unlikely to be a real human ear. Dried apricots were what they resembled, and I concluded are.