Marc sees the light or does he?

Jay was continuing to prepare for his re-entry into society. It was going to be grand and deadly.

Meanwhile. Alana was freaking. She still hasn’t heard from Marc. She didn’t tell anyone he was missing. She didn’t even know if he was. Just because he didn’t respond doesn’t mean he’s missing. But she was concerned.

Marc just finished a long hike from the bagel store to the Sullivan Catskills region. He rode the bus for part of it. Marc hates buses. And now with the virus, he’s more worrisome. So he rode on top of the bus. No one noticed. The ride took him to Tusten. He jumped off the bus. And hiked. And hiked.

He wound up in his holy place. His summer camp. He walked up to a picturesque area. It was too grown in. He Sat down on the dry ground and said a prayer. But not one based on his religion. But rather what they said at induction ceremonies while camping.

His phone was still fully powered and overwhelmed with messages from Alana. He was missing her. But he was in no mood to be around anyone. He had to mediate. Nowhere was better than the venue he was now at. He only wished this part was still operational. Sadly the people that run the place are illiterates.
Friday night fell. Marc had nothing for Shabbos. He cared and he didn’t. He built a small fire and sat by it. The hours grew later. The birds were singing. He saw some other animals wander around his makeshift campsite.

He shut his eyes. But didn’t sleep. He heard the birds singing louder. Then he heard the sounds of a herd of buffalo. He was aghast. He knew the Woodsman was lurking. He hadn’t seen him since he, Alana and Anat were in a different section of the camp plotting their takeout of Jay.

Marc braced himself. It was very unheard of to see him more than once a decade. He was very mysterious. He was also very busy. He had to watch over the facility, which was in dire need of dozens of repairs. He had been working on them for decades. But had to tend to his garden.

Marc stood up. The Woodsman placed his hand on his shoulder and looked straight into Marc’s hazel eyes. Marc stood strong. But felt his knees tremble.
The Woodsman backed up and started to feed the fire. Marc watched. The Woodsman pulled out his iPhone. Marc had no service on his. The Woodsman’s was perfect. He pointed to the wi-fi router he installed near the site of an old dining hall, which was torched by the “rocket scientists” that ran the camp. It took the Woodsman about 10 years to install the router.

He played Marc greetings from his rabbi in the Old City in Jerusalem. They were short but monumental. Then the Woodsman offered Marc a bottle of ice-cold Genesee Cream Ale and a box of Freihoffers Chocolate Chip Cookies. They clinked their bottles and sipped. When they finished, standing by the fire, the Woodman addressed Marc.

“Marc. I have only done this type of private meeting once before. Oddly enough, that was many years ago… It was on this site. The young lad I addressed grew into one of the people you admire most of all. I know how much you learned or as some of you like to say “leeeeaaarrned” from him. Think deep. That girl loves you. I know you love her. You two will never marry. Just carry on the way you are. You heard what the man from the Old City said. His words speak true. Stay true to yourself. Don’t worry about the crazies. They are destructive. But mostly to themselves. Stay on the clear path.”

Marc felt relieved. He was very impressed that the Woodsman met with his guide. He wondered where they sat.