A Walk in the Woods
I grew up cherishing the dreams typical of a young American woman of my time and socio-economic position and then followed the path taken by millions of others before me. I was like a motorist on a busy interstate, riding along life's highway at sixty-five miles an hour, passing unfamiliar exits that might have led to strange and wonderful places. Mine was a normal, acceptable way of life. I did what was expected of me: I went to school and got an education. After graduation, I found a job, married, bought a house and had children. Furthermore, I played the game according to the established rules. My life was set on autopilot, and for many years I lived under the delusion that I was happy or at least content. The many and diverse disappointments I suffered during those years were buried under the façade of domestic happiness. Then, as my youth drew to an end, silent specters began to surface.
When I was a young girl, somewhere around ten or eleven years old, I asked my mother if she believed that everything written in the Bible had actually happened. After I confessed to her that I did not, she cried because she thought her daughter would be damned to hell. I quickly assured her that although I doubted the accepted stories concerning Adam and Eve, Noah's Ark, the parting of the Red Sea and the raising of Lazarus, I did believe in the existence of God.
As I passed the forty-year milestone of my life, however, I realized that my belief in a divine being had disappeared along with faith in my fellow man and the belief in the importance of my own existence. My life felt as though it was traveling in a downward spiral. Suddenly, I seemed to be drowning in doubt, weighed down with questions to which no priest, minister, rabbi or guru had the answer.
In my unhappiness, I began to shun people. It seemed to me that they were all smarter, better looking, wealthier or happier than I was. Their homes were grander, their clothes were more stylish, their children were better behaved and their lives were more fulfilling. What was bothering me most was that I felt a hunger and longing in my soul, but for what I had no idea.
That's when I began taking walks. At first, I traveled short distances in my own neighborhood, mainly as a form of exercise. However, as my feelings of depression and discontent grew, I felt more and more uncomfortable walking past well-maintained houses with neatly landscaped lawns. Instead, I preferred to get in the car, drive to the more sparsely populated areas of the county and seek out Robert Frost's roads less traveled.
Parking my Subaru on the shoulder of the road, I would follow the wooded paths of the state wildlife preserve. Though far from quiet, it was peaceful there among the majestic trees. Given the abundance of insect, bird and animal life in the forest, it was at times quite noisy. Still, it was a natural sound, a relaxing one like that of falling rain or ocean waves crashing on the beach.
Never were the woodlands more beautiful than in the autumn months. The brightly colored leaves of the maples, oaks, birches and elms contrasted exquisitely with the dark green and blue-green needles of the pines, spruces and firs.
On one rather warm afternoon, in the middle of October, I strolled slowly through the woods, feeling a deep reverence for the beauty of nature. Suddenly, a sharp cracking sound came from my right. I turned, expecting to see a deer or perhaps even a bear. It was, however, a man.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
"I'm not frightened, just startled. I've walked through these woods many times, and you're the first person I've ever encountered."
"I come here quite often myself," he said. "My name is Robin."
The stranger offered me his hand to shake, but I was slow in responding, for I was mesmerized by his unusual appearance. It was hard to guess his age, although I estimated it to be roughly fifty years. His deeply tanned skin was lined with fine wrinkles. Silver strands were mixed in the dark auburn of his hair. What I found most unusual about him, though, were his incredible green eyes.
They must be contacts, I assumed. No one has eyes that color.
"Is everything all right?" he inquired with apparent concern.
"Y-yes," I stammered and shook his hand. "Forgive me for staring."
"Mind if I join you on your little hike?" he asked with a disarming smile.
"Not at all," I said.
For some unknown reason, my aversion to the company of my fellow man did not extend to him.
As we walked together along the woodland paths, I felt a strange sense of familiarity come over me. It was as though I had known this man all my life. We walked for close to an hour, and then Robin took my hand and we left the path. Deeper and deeper into the woods we went. Finally, we reached a clearing in the forest. Robin sat on the ground beside a shallow brook and beckoned for me to do the same.
I felt no fear nor even the slightest surprise when he leaned forward and kissed me. Our expression of love seemed the most natural thing in the world. As I lay back on the mossy grass and pine needles, I felt as though I had crossed an unseen portal into a world of enchantment. I was no longer a mere mortal but had become a sprite, a wood nymph. Overcome by these strange emotions, I responded to his caresses with a passion I had never exhibited before, not even when I first fell in love with my husband.
The afternoon passed quickly.
"It's getting late," Robin announced, rising to his feet and pulling me up to him. "It will be dark soon. We had better head back."
As we retraced our steps through the woods, my companion gathered vines, autumn leaves and wild berries, which he wove into a wreath that he placed on my head.
"I crown you my queen."
His laughter was warm and deep.
Had I been by myself, I would have been hopelessly lost, but Robin easily found his way back to the path.
As we neared the road, I said, "That's my car over there. Where are you parked?"
"I didn't drive here; I walked."
"Come on, then, I'll give you a lift."
He declined my offer.
"Thank you, but I prefer to walk."
I could not help asking, "Will I ever see you again?"
"Yes."
He did not say where or when, but it did not matter. I already knew where: right here in the forest. When? When the time was right.
* * *
October came to an end, and the chilly days of November arrived, followed soon after by the shorter, colder days of December. I still walked in the woods but had limited my excursions to one or two a week. As the Christmas holidays neared, I learned with great surprise that I was pregnant. I had not visited the doctor to confirm the fact yet, but it hardly mattered. I knew with certainty that it was so. What I did not know was the identity of the child's father since both my husband and the enigmatic Robin could claim that honor.
In the two months since I met him in the game lands, I had yet to encounter Robin again. Yet as I walked through those woods, I could almost sense his presence. I imagined I saw his face in the bark of the trees, his hair in the fallen leaves under a light dusting of snow and his eyes in the green moss that grew on the rocks and trees. The wind rustling through the now barren branches seemed to mimic his laughter.
One afternoon while I was hiking along the trail where we met, snow began to fall. As soon as I saw the flakes sticking to the ground, I decided to head back toward my car since I had serious doubts about my ability to find my way back along the snow-covered ground.
"I told you we'd meet again."
It was a voice I had heard only once before, but one which I would never forget. My heart raced as I turned around to face Robin.
The shock of his appearance made me catch my breath. He had changed so much that I don't think I would have recognized him had I seen him anywhere else but in those woods. There was no more auburn in his hair; it had turned completely white. No longer did he stand tall and straight, but rather he was stooped and bent over like a very old man. Even his once-strong hands now appeared to be gnarled with age. The only things that had not changed were his smile—and those dazzling green eyes. They were as captivating as ever.
"You're disappointed in what you see, aren't you?"
"No, not at all. I just—are you ill, Robin?"
"I'm dying," he said without a trace of sadness or self-pity.
"Oh, no," I cried and embraced him.
"Don't worry. Death isn't the end, you know."
He said this with a conviction that I envied.
"You don't believe that do you?" he asked.
"Once I did, but now I honestly don't know what to believe."
"Well, I do. I'll be reborn in the child you're carrying."
"How did you know I ...?"
"I am not a mortal man."
I laughed because I had naturally assumed he was joking.
"I am Robin Goodfellow," he continued, "son of Oberon, king of the fairies."
Did he actually believe he was some kind of fairy or elf? Did he imagine himself as Puck from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream?
Whatever is ailing him surely must have affected his mind, I concluded sadly.
"My mother, on the other hand," he continued, "was a mortal woman. Hence, I am only half-fairy. For that reason, I must die; but I am always reborn. Like the deciduous trees of the forests in which I live, I go through a continuous cycle of birth, death and rebirth."
I looked at him with such pity on my face that tears sprang to his eyes.
"You think I'm insane. Don't deny it; I'm not offended. It's hard for mortals to believe in beings like fairies, leprechauns and pixies. Many of you don't even believe in anything."
I hung my head in guilt, for I was one of the nonbelievers.
"Despite your lack of belief, my dear, you are a good woman. You have compassion, charity, forgiveness and an enormous capacity for love. That's why I chose you."
"Chose me for what?"
There was no answer, for in that brief moment, Robin Goodfellow vanished. In his place stood an old, withered tree, one that was barely alive. I looked closely through the falling snow and saw what appeared to be two green eyes staring back at me from the trunk of the tree. Then, they, too, were gone.
As I headed back to my car, I was keenly aware that an unseen presence accompanied me, watching over me as I walked along the slippery path.
* * *
The following spring, I gave birth to a healthy baby boy. I decided to call my son Robin after his father. Or perhaps it was simply a case of giving him in this life the same name he had had in the previous one and in hundreds of others before that. I knew that when my child grew up, he would have locks of auburn hair, deeply tanned skin and startlingly green eyes, for I knew now that Robin Goodfellow, the legendary Green Man, had chosen me not only for his lover but also as his mother.
Ever since Salem returned from England, he believes he's the legendary Green Cat.
