Exhausted, weak from hunger, I entered another run down farm. That farm was under the Southern hill, opposite to the abandoned house I had just moved, in the North. I went to the house and rang. After a while, an old man came out, with a thick, white beard. He barely spoke my language. “What do you want?”. He asked, harshly, at first, his inquisitive, blue eyes perched into mine. I looked into his eyes and, very simply, I answered what I really thought.

“I am hungry. I will till the land in exchange for food and water”.

For a second, he seemed impressed that I could speak his minority, obscure language. But he didn’t allow his surprise to get into the surface for more than half a second. He continued, with his petrified face.

“Why do you come here? There is nothing for young men like you, here”.

“I am here because I feel like being here” – I answered – “I want to live a honest life”

“A honest life doesn’t bring food to your table, anymore”

“I prefer to starve than living a dishonest life”

The old man’s eyes got narrower, but some of its harshness was gone. Now, something was shining from them. Curiosity? Suspicion? From somewhere behind the house, I could hear the sound of a raven.

“You come from the city”.

It was not a question. He just knew.

“Yes. I come from the city”.

“What is your job there?”

“I used to write novels, but not anymore. I quit my job”.

The old man’s eyebrows raised a little bit.

“A novelist. Uhm. I see. Are you looking for inspiration, out of the city?”

“Not really. I don’t even know what I am looking for”.

That answer seemed to satisfy that man.
He nodded, silently.

Then, he, looked past me, into a great distance. And said:

“Since my wife died, I can’t cook very well. You won’t like the food”.

“I am not picky. I can’t cook very well, either.”

The man looked back at me, once again.

“You don’t have any money with you?”

“No. I left everything behind”.

I burned all the boats.

“I see. You are one of those city hippies that leave everything behind and, as soon things get harsh, they go back home with their tail under their ass”.

“Perhaps” – I shrugged – “I won’t know until I try”

The old man sighed. I think I caught a glimpse of a smile in his face, but perhaps I imagined it. Finally, he put a hand in his pocket and took out a wrinkled bill.

“Take this and go have something to eat into the village”

“Sir. I can’t accept money. I am not a beggar. I want to work”.

“You will work. Come here tomorrow, early in the morning. You will start tilling this godforsaken land” – he looked around, as if he was angry with the weed, bushes and thickets that now invaded what used to be a farm – “Consider this as early payment for your work”.

“Payment?”

“Yes, payment. Where do you live, now?”

“I live at the bottom of the Northern Hill. It’s…an abandoned house. It’s temporary, of course. It might be illegal after all”

“The abandoned house in the northern hill…” – then, he whispered something that I couldn’t hear. His face was covered in a sort of shadow. I thought he wanted to say something, but he finally seemed to stop before saying it, and said, instead – “You will need money to rebuild that mess. That’s why I’ll pay you with money. If you are serious about it.”

“I am serious about it”

“We will see about that” – he looked towards the north, toward the wooded hill where my house was – “We will see about that, lad”.