Although it was muddy and messy everywhere, no one was complaining. Large patches of snow still dotted the fields, but each day a revitalized and rejuvenated sun squeezed a little more cold rushing water out of them and dumped it into the low places. And when the low places filled up, new streams were born leading to gullies and ditches, whence the turbid waters raced on into swelling creeks and streams. Doughty flowerlets fragile to behold were breaking through the snow crust and heralding days of profuse color ahead. The grip of frozen death was relaxing and the whole world was warming to life again.
Away out in a field more than a mile from College Hill, a strange figure was sloshing through the sloppy snow, every now and then breaking through thin spots and sinking deep into the mud. He looked ridiculous in his tattered work jacket, his faded pair of Levi’s, and his floppy galoshes.
From the moment he had stepped out of the dorm that morning, Steve had known what he was going to do with the day. Giving a shudder at the mere thought of Dr. Brockhaus’ 10:20 physics class, he went back inside, slung his .22 over his shoulder, and headed into the nearby woods for a day of squirrel hunting under the streaming sun. How could anybody with real blood in his veins resist the invitation of such a glorious day? So now there he was, trampling over the fields towards the large wooded tract of land on the Anderson farm where they had told him he was always welcome.
And what a day for hunting it was! The trees, still barren of their leaves, offered little cover for the acorn-fattened squirrels. Arriving at the edge of the woods, Steve stopped to look it over. The untouched contour of the forest floor, the untamed tangle of trees, stalks, bushes and vines, and the startling depth of the blue sky all drew his heart free from its usual shroud and set it on edge.
That morning he took many trick shots and left many easy ones, giving the squirrels what he considered more than a fair chance. Often he just sat down on a high spot free of snow or on a fallen log and took in his surroundings. This total change of environment exhilarated him and the freedom he felt here cheered him up. The cloud of gloom that had hung over his soul for so long gradually began to dissipate. Immersed in the goodness of his immediate surroundings, he forgot about all the things that had kept him depressed. He felt so much a part of this special world that for a little while it actually seemed to him that he could possess it forever. At noon he skinned a squirrel, sprinkled salt on it, and roasted it over a crackling fire. It was mouth-watering.
As evening approached, he gathered up the fourteen choice squirrels he had shot and carried them down to the Anderson farmhouse. He knew that they were very fond of squirrel and that ever since their children had grown up and left home, their many chores left them little time for hunting. With a measure of pride and satisfaction, he presented his collection to them. Old Anna beamed from ear to ear.
“Ya, and I vass yust commencin’ to get very hongry for dem!”
They wouldn’t let Steve leave the farmhouse until he had eaten all the roast squirrel and other fixings he could hold.
He took off down the road back to the college at that time of dusk when the world seems to recede in all directions, leaving the observer alone with his thoughts. The whirr of the wind and the noise of the day’s activities cease, and a man must make his own music. It was still early enough in spring for the sun’s mellow influence to vanish the moment it dipped below the horizon and for winter to return for the night. But just now the air was still tangy and crisp, the earth warm and soft. Contentment and indefinable peace reigned in Steve’s soul, quickened by the aftertaste of a successful adventure.
Then behind him, in the distance, he heard the soft erratic hammering of an engine. It grew gradually louder as it bore down on him. Looking over his shoulder, he could make out in the twilight one of those motorcycle contraptions American soldiers had discovered in Europe during the Great War. It was wallowing and splashing grotesquely through the slosh and mud. Steve had to laugh out loud. The only other motorcycles he had ever seen were sleek black darts racing along well-graded roadways, leaving a trail of dust in their wake, a far cry from the sight before his eyes now. Mud and water were flying in all directions. The machine was clawing hungrily at what was supposed to be the roadbed. The rear wheel was sliding around in the ruts formed during the heat of the day by the traffic that had passed over it, and the front wheel was responding to the driver’s skillful efforts to hold the thing on the road and keep it from bogging down.
It didn’t take long for the cycle to overtake Steve. He stepped a respectable distance off to the side, but the cyclist had caught sight of him and pulled to a halt. “Hi there!” he shouted. “Don’t you live on the east end of the dorm?”
“Yeah!”
“Well, come on! Climb aboard if a little mud doesn’t bother you. It’ll soon be dark. I’m heading up there right now.”
Nothing could have struck Steve’s fancy better. The perfect end to a perfect day!
“You bet! What’s a little mud?” His heart swelled up within him as he swung onto the rear extension of the seat. Cramming his .22 between himself and the driver, he grabbed onto the rings on the back of the seat and planted his feet on the footrests.
“Better hang on to me around the guts. It gets a little tricky with all these ruts. By the way, I’m Craig Olafson, from St. Paul.”
“Steve Pearson. North Dakota.”
“Good to meet you, Steve.”
Craig shifted into gear. The engine roared. Steve plastered himself to Craig’s back and they were off in a spray of muddy water. On up the road snorted the laboring cycle, careening from side to side. For one of the two riders straddling its back, these wild moments were to epitomize for months to come what life should be all about, an unforgettable dream, a symbol of true freedom, a heady blend of inner peace and life on the edge.
It was all totally beautiful for Steve—the smooth embracing flow of cool air around his head and ears, the reassuring swell and ebb of the engine, the thrill of surmounting all the challenges that came along, the flying mud, the splashing, the sliding around, even the noise. As they roared up the hill and swung through the stone gate into the upper campus, Steve’s heart swelled with pride. This was life!
Craig pulled the cycle up behind the dorm. Not a few curtains drew back as they sputtered to a stop. He gunned the engine a couple of times to clear her out and then shut her off. A deafening quiet encased the two of them. Through the ringing in his ears, Steve overheard the affectionate comment, “Well, baby. It’s a shame I’ve got to sell you. A fellow’s got to pay his way somehow.”
Craig turned to Steve who had hopped off the cycle. “Hope you don’t mind a little mud there. At least you’re home before dark.”
“Not at all. I’ve been wallowing in it all day.”
Now for the first time the two young men were looking at each other face to face. There was a moment of muffled silence and surprise. Then they burst out laughing, and they laughed themselves sick and silly.
“Naw, a little mud never hurt anyone!” Craig proclaimed.
“Maybe you should open a beauty parlor that offers mud packs.”
“Do you think they’d approve of my way of applying them?”
They stared at each other for another minute or two. They couldn’t stop laughing and smarting off.
At last Craig announced with a touch of urgency in his voice, “Hey! I’ve got to clean up for my date tonight!”
“Sounds like a legitimate excuse to shed this stuff. Thanks for the ride.”
“You bet. Any time. See you later.”
They parted company, Steve heading to the east end and Craig to the west end of the dormitory. Steve flew up the stairs to his room on a cloud, trailing clods of mud behind him. That night he joked with Ted, his roommate, in a way Ted had never seen before. But he was genuinely weary now, limp from head to toe. So for the first time in months, after he had taken a hot bath, he fell into bed before ten o’clock and slept like a baby until the alarm went off in the morning.