First Night

I've been eagerly awaiting your arrival for the last 26 years Raymond.

26 years is quite a long time to be eager, I replied, determined to match the wise man's languid disposition.

It had been a long day to say the least and my calves felt a little like ripping out of themselves and swallowing a bottle of illegal Mexican pain-killers with the intention of overdosing just to put themselves out of their misery.

This feeling was the aftermath of a strenuous three week hike, slightly impressive when observed objectively, though not as impressive as a grueling month-long hike would have been, which is easier to brag about to your drinking pals when you finally return home, if that happens at all.

At this point it made no difference that my name wasn't Raymond. It was better than my own name anyway. I didn't even think twice about who Raymond might actually be, which must have been a mistake on my part but at the time how was I to know better. That was the whole point of my visit in the first place--to know better. So I wasn't going to until I did. Looking back on it everything makes perfect sense. Mission accomplished.

He--the wise man that is--asked me what I expected now and I responded rather hastily that I half-expected him to stroke his long greying beard and serve me a tiny cup of steaming exotic tea and discuss philosophy long into the night until the stars twinkled brightly on the bare mountainside, and that he would laugh with me and trade stories, and I would soak up every ounce of information poured into my empty ear.

Upon hearing this the wise man scratched his chin thoughtfully, lulling me into a vacant gaze as I watched his hand cover each crag of his withered face.

I wonder where the tea is brewing? I thought, and just then

the wise man removed his hand from his face and abruptly smacked me across my own.

I have no beard, he said in his calm voice, and trudged off to bed. And that was my lesson the first night.