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As Josef starts recording, the frame shakes a little; in it, a computer screen with Craigslist on. It’s dead quiet with the exception of his shallow breaths.
“So I’ve been digging,” he breaks the silence as he brings the camera closer to the screen, the ad coming into focus, “and I think I found something promising.” He begins reciting the ad, moving the camera word by word, as if reading with a finger:
“Looking for a videographer to film a documentary about fungi.
I’m seeking an experienced videographer to film a documentary about fungi. A beautiful king boletus, to be exact. Videographer must use their own high-quality equipment and own a car, since the filming will take place at a remote location in the forest, which I will disclose upon contacting. Please, keep that in mind. Date is flexible but preferably before October. Payment is $300 for a day of filming.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, the camera turns, putting Josef in view. He looks downcast. “So, it’s October 16th,” he sighs and gives a lopsided frown. “Oh, buddy,” he utters, all gentle and musing. The camera’s back on the ad with the frame zooming in on ‘A beautiful king boletus.’
“So, it took a bit of convincing to get this project going,” Josef starts as the footage continues, now from the passenger seat, pointing at him from below. He taps a tune on the wheel, the radio blending with the sound of driving. No car passes him by; behind the side window, only thick pine woods can be seen.
“Sadly, I think I know exactly what Richard is going through,” he glances knowingly at the camera, then back at the road again. “Sometimes it’s months before someone answers my ad, but when they do,” he shakes his head almost in disbelief, a smile widening on his face as he reminisces about every single project, “oh, when they do it’s just magic.”
“In all honesty, that’s exactly what I’m going through right now. So, I thought, ‘hey, why not take a bit of an artistic risk? Why not take a bit of inspiration?…’” he makes a dramatic drumroll on the wheel. “Welcome to Encounters?!” He says hesitantly, but still with excitement.
“Almost there, Richard. Don’t you worry,” he faces the camera flashing his teeth in a wide smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Josef gets out of the driver’s seat and goes behind the car to open the passenger door. He grabs the camera, but before taking it out he points it at the backseat — there: an axe, plastic tarp, and, of course, Peachfuzz. The camera does a 180°, ending up on Josef’s giddy face. He winks and mouths ‘magic’. As he gets out of the car, the footage goes back to showing his point of view.
He parked the car on the side of a high road that goes through a thick woodland. A few feet away, on the other side, there is a light gray hatchback; its trunk facing Josef, and rummaging through it is a man.
Josef prowls behind, gaining distance quickly, yet quietly. In a matter of seconds, he’s behind the unsuspecting man and sneakily points the camera over his shoulder to see inside the trunk. Besides two wicker baskets, reams of scribbled notes are scattered, with some being shuffled through by the man. He’s completely lost in them, every now and then muttering some sentences out loud, despite Josef obnoxiously breathing down his neck.
“Hi,” putting all his lungs into the glottal h, Josef finally exclaims, having gotten tired of waiting around. At that, notes come flying as the man throws his hands up in shock. Turning, he would fall down if not for the trunk behind him; instead, he sits at the edge, clutching his chest bewildered.
“Hi,” he repeats, “I’m Josef. Here for the fungi fun ti--” He’s cut off by Richard — wordlessly — he holds up his hand to silence him, the other one still at his heart. Josef patiently waits. A good minute has to pass before the man composes himself. His eyes are full of contempt when he finally spares Josef a glance.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Josef says, but no regret can be heard in his voice; it’s rather jolly, actually. It doesn’t seem to phase Richard, though, who languidly nods and mutters ‘sure’ a few times. He slowly gets up from the trunk, and when he sees the mess — notes scattered on the moist asphalt — he lightly shakes his head, his lips pursed in a dejected frown. Then, he leans on the trunk with his hand and begins to lower himself to the ground–
“No, no, no, no,” Josef snaps, stopping Richard in his tracks. He’s given the camera by Josef, who promptly says “I got it.” For a moment it’s black, when the lens is engulfed in Richard’s vest, but then, instinctively, he turns it to film his point of view: Josef on his knees, gathering notes — some soaked and limp, some just a little damp.
“A professional like you,” Josef glances up with a sly grin, “will do just fine without some notes.” At that he scoffs as he lifts them, shaking his head at their insignificance — at least in his eyes. Getting up, he carelessly folds them and stuffs them in his back pockets; his hands come at his hips, as he takes a good look at Richard.
From behind the camera, a resonant, though hesitant, voice comes: “Alright, well, um, thank you,” he puffs, a little exasperated, as if this small, unfortunate introduction sucked all of the life forces out of him. “Come, I-- I have a, um, a spot where we’ll--”
“You have a really nice, kind face,” cutting Richard off, Josef states with utmost sincerity; each of his features morphing to form the most trustworthy and genuine face, the results of which are quite uncanny. “Here, give me--” he takes the camera back from Richard and points it at him.
The camera slowly moves down, sizing the man up: A stout man below average height with a good head of white — brilliantly white — hair. He’s clad in a knitted evergreen vest and a plaid dress shirt; the sage in it brings out his green, beady eyes, looking up at him from behind semi-rimless brown glasses. Good genes in the body hair department — besides a thick, full beard, forearm hair is peeking from under his rolled-up sleeves. Josef imagines his chest must be hairy, too. Going further down, there’s a brown leather belt, tightened around his sleek, camel pants that almost reach the floor — under them, his brown oxfords are barely visible.
And then up the camera goes; this time, though, Josef sees him behind the outfit, which was clearly tailored with care for the filming. For one, his pants are too big — they hang loosely, almost sagging around his legs; to keep them on, a new hole in the belt had to be punched. Second thing Josef notices is that his sleeves are rolled to cleverly hide coffee stains; some were too dark, though. Up he goes, and at last in view comes Richard’s ungroomed beard and bushy, unkempt eyebrows that form a furrow.
“There he is: Richard Culligan, the man, the legend,” Josef culminates the segment, which leaves Richard rather confused and maybe even disgusted with the way his eyebrows scrunch, wrinkling the root of his nose.
“You know, you don’t have to, uhh, film. Right now, at least,” Richard waves his hand at him dismissively. “I suppose you won’t be able to hold one…” he mutters, turning to take a wicker basket out of the trunk, which he then closes.
“Are you kidding me?” Josef exclaims, taking a stride towards Richard and startling him in the process — the basket almost falls out of his grip. “What’s a documentary without bloopers? Or without an introduction? Some people aren’t cultured enough to know about your field, you know?.” There’s a pregnant pause. Richard looks above the lens, presumably staring at Josef. After a short while, he points at himself questioningly, at which the camera moves up and down, nodding.
“Okay. Um, my name is Richard Culligan. I am a mycologist, precisely a-- a forest mycologist, as in I study fungi within forest ecosystems. A rather underappreciated field, despite being incredibly fascinating,” at that he softly chuckles. A hint of a smile appears on his face, as he momentarily forgets about the awkward beginning with Josef.
“Incredibly fascinating, and there’s untapped potential, too,” he instinctively looks at Josef before remembering to talk to the camera, “people are scared of foraging. They shouldn’t be. I’ve eaten piles, piles of mushrooms,” he laughs and spreads his arms to present himself in all his glory, “and look at me, healthy as a horse.”
“Hey, man, you must really like these mushrooms,” Josef interjects, his voice full of glee.
The man chuckles, but begins to shake his head frantically “Well, you see, this is more about-- about, uhh, public health and to encourage foraging, especially in the, um, current economic climate,” following his explanation, he raises his eyebrows and nods at Josef as if to coax him to soak in his words.
“That’s great, this is--” he turns the camera towards himself “this is great, what this man is-- what Richard is doing,” he points the camera back at Richard who’s looking quite lost, “Props to you man, hey--” for a split second fear can be seen in Richard’s eyes before he’s enveloped in a hug. “Really, that’s amazing.”
“Thanks, um, no need for that” the man is caught off guard by the uncalled for display of affection, though he clearly does have to make an effort to suppress a soft smile. It’s nice to be appreciated.
“I think we’re gonna go a lot deeper places than this, Richard…” he sighs, almost dreamily. “Dick, can I call you Dick?” He moves the camera a bit closer to the man.
The man fumbles with his words, a series of stutters come out as he glances back and forth at the camera. “Richard-- Richard’s fine. Call me-- just call me Richard.” His mouth forms a thin line and his eyebrows raise, creasing his forehead even more than it normally is. He turns and takes a few steps, but then he looks at Josef again and nods his head at him as if to ask if he’s following — both where he’s going and what he’s saying — and then begins to carefully amble down the slope of the hill.
Josef hasn’t moved from where he stood. He zooms right in on Richard's head once he turns, closely following his movement along the path. “Sure,” he gleefully affirms, his voice near a yell so that Richard can hear him — although he hasn’t made much progress treading, the volume is to account for the man’s mild hearing loss.
Richard promptly turns. The camera, still zoomed in, captures his head moving a little forward and eyebrows scrunching. A bit baffled, he waves his hand, beckoning Josef to follow. This he finally does, camera bumping a little as he strides forward; then the footage cuts.
Richard’s mouth is in full view. Josef finally zooms out, though the man’s face is still filling up the frame. “You recording? Is this-- is this on?” Looking for any indication that it is, he closely inspects the camera.
“Yep. Ready when you are,” Josef says, at which Richard nods and waddles back a little.
“Right,” he scratches his nose. It’s silent for a moment besides a bunch of ‘uhhs’ and ‘umms’ from Richard.
“You want your flash cards?” Josef’s voice rings. “I have some, wait--” the camera tilts a little, as he presumably searches his pockets; then in the frame appears his outstretched hand with a bunch of notes.
“Yes, yes. Thank you, forgot it. Forgot,” Richard mumbles as he shuffles through the notes, trying to find the right one for the scene. “Right,” he nervously chuckles and glances towards the camera as he puts them in his pockets, clearly unsuccessful in finding what he was looking for. A moment of silence follows. Dejectedly, he just stares — not at the camera, though, but above: at Josef.
“What’s going on? Come on, talk to me, Richard.”
But he just lightly shakes his head and shrugs.
“Why are you doing this?” Josef says, at which Richard stares at him confused until Josef waggles the camera to show him what he means.
“Well, I told you… It’s to, um,” he stumbles through nearly every letter of the alphabet in a series of stutters, “en-- encourage fora--”
“Yeah, yeah current economic what? Climate? And public health?” Josef’s slightly irked voice nearly makes it feel as if he was berating him. He draws nearer towards Richard and, in a much softer tone, he continues: “Come on. You and I both know it’s not true.”
Richard nods at that and sighs. “Mushrooms are… My life purpose, really.” He says solemnly, insinuating a confession of a guilty pleasure at best and a terrible crime at worst. Timidly, he goes on: “Thanks to them, I met my wife, my, um… My late wife, Jean. They were our glue, really. We used to stroll down these exact woods,” he makes a motion with his hand, prompting Josef to take in the view, “they changed, of course, and we did with them, but what never changed is the love between us three.”
“Richard, this is… Beautiful. I can’t believe you tried to hide all of these beautiful feelings under the premise of a — no offense — a flimsy excuse of a documentary.”
“No, really-- it really was meant to be a documentary, but I just, I lost the passion after…” The rest is lost on his tongue with a bitterness by the way he grimaces.
“After her passing.” Josef continues for him, unscathed by the pain they’d cause Richard if he were to say them out loud. In truth, hearing them from someone else seems to have an opposite effect on him. During the first month, people checked in. Later, though, people thought it inappropriate to mention — mention her. He’s been on his own.
“Richard, this is not the first time I’m making a video to commemorate a person. If that’s what you’re looking for, and I think you subconsciously do, then I’m the best guy there is,” Josef says as gently as possible, clearly conscious of Richard's inner turmoil.
Richard takes a breath as if to say something but it turns into a sniffle. He turns to the side, covering his face with his hands, from behind which a few faint ‘sorry’s slip out.
“Don’t be sorry, hey--” the camera’s put on the ground — still filming Richard, now from a lower angle, though. Then in the frame comes Josef; his arms are already outstretched, swiftly engulfing Richard in a bear hug. Richard’s head barely reaches his shoulder. “The structure of a fungus mirrors that of the human brain — an intricate web of connections. Let’s reach those connections together.”
Richard does a double take at Josef. Though his eyes are glazed with tears, a hint of glee seems to break through. “I didn’t know you-- you, um, were interested in mushrooms,” his gaze falls to the side as he chuckles, his arms still awkwardly restrained by Josef’s.
“Oh, no. I saw it in this show called Hannibal, have you seen it?”
“No, um, I can’t say that I have.”
“But, Richard,” he says, and then he grabs his shoulders and shakes them when the man doesn’t look up to face him. “Richard, I want to make magic with you. I think you’re special.”
As he takes off his glasses to wipe his tears away, Richard says “you, um… You’re also quite special,” he bursts at that, this time with laughter though; and when Josef steals a glance at the camera, he, too, begins to laugh.
“We’re located in a beautiful northeastern forest. Most likely place to find the protagonist of today's, well, video. Coniferous forest, to be exact, though--” he stops in his tracks as Josef begins pointing the camera upwards at the treetops. “Yes, uhh, though deciduous forests are where you can find them, too.”
“And the protagonist,” at this his eyes gleam and mouth corners twitch upwards, as if he’s mentioning an old friend, “king bolete, also known as cep or, penny bun, or its latin nomenclature — boletus edulis. But really, I think king bolete does a great job at describing this magnificent fella,” a row of small, pearly teeth flash behind his beard.
“It’s highly priced for its versatile taste in both gourmet cuisines as well as in households. Omelettes, sauces, meat — you name it. Its nutty flavor will make a name for itself in the dish without overshadowing the rest of the ingredients, only adding richness and a distinct aroma. Truly, one of the most esteemed edible fungi in the world,” Richard says almost in one breath; his eyes on the camera, but he seems to be focused on something deeper within him.
“Well, technically all mushrooms are edible,” Josef cuts in, at which Richard perks up and begins to rapidly shake his head, huffing and puffing air, trying to formulate a sentence, “...some only once!” Josef adds with a triumphant laugh. “Gotcha.”
“Yeah, um, don’t. No, this-- this one is edible, but not every-- not every mushroom is edible. Just to clarify. Please, refer to my forager’s guide if you’re not sure. Available online and physically,” Richard spits out like a quickfire, his finger held up to accentuate his point.
“Ooh, a shameless plug. Get that coin, Richie.” Though Richard waves him off, a chuckle slips out of him. He continues his lecture:
“What we’re looking for is a brown, bun-like cap and a thick, white stem with a faint net pattern called reticulum,” he says, using his hands to outline an approximate shape of the mushroom in the air — in a much bigger proportion, though.
Richard begins strolling with hands behind his back, attentively looking at the ground. “They’re quite shy, they like to hide in the moss so be careful where you step.” The location he chose is a mossy clearing, the ground beneath them softly glowing with dew. “If you find one make sure to look around for any of its, um, friends or, or relati--” the word is lost in a gasp, as his gaze intently settles on the side of the moss patch.
The camera follows his line of sight to find the object of his awe: king boletus in all its glory, proudly standing among the greenery. On its glistening cap, the sun is caught with a glossy shine. Richard wasn’t that far off with his visualization of its size — it’s massive. Josef zooms in on the mushroom. Richard’s hand comes in frame, as he lightly caresses the head of the mushroom with his finger.
“See? Brown, thick cap,” he knocks on it to accentuate, “bun-like,” he traces his finger along the perimeter. Now zoomed out, the frame shows Richard, crouching next to the mushroom. His hands come at its sides, flattening the moss around it. Next, he grabs the stem and firmly twists it, extracting it with a bit of dirt hanging on, which he then brushes off.
Now, with the mushroom next to his face, he poses for the camera with a big warm smile; and it only grows larger as he spots something on the stem. “Oh,” he grins, “he has a little friend.” He turns the mushroom around to show a smaller one merged with the bigger at the stem.
“Us,” says Josef. It seems to catch both Richard and his smile off-balance; and though he quickly fixes his expression, he doesn’t flash his teeth this time –-- just nods at Josef as he gets up from the ground, moving towards the camera.
Down the trail they follow. Woodland surrounds them from every side — the more they go, it seems to thin out, though. Richard must be leading them to their cars. The leaves, rustled by the easy wind, let way for sun rays to cascade down the foliage; its color rusting’s a portent for the nearing golden fall.
Forest hums a tranquil tune. Against it, Josef’s voice sounds almost strident, though he speaks quite wistfully: “do you think there are any wolves ‘round here?”
Richard’s head snaps around, as if he forgot there is someone behind him, recording at that. His movements turn a little awkward and mechanical. “Uhh, no. No, I’m pretty sure there aren’t. Well, at least I’ve never seen one here.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah,” he chuckles nervously, “yeah, I am pretty sure about that. What, um... What are you implying, my friend?” He begins to inspect the ground, trying to pass it up as searching for mushrooms, but soon his gaze goes a little higher to look between the bushes and thickets.
“Nothing,” and he leaves it at that; this single word seems to throw off any other sound, though. Everything is suddenly out of tune, from the cardinal's whistles to Richard’s wearied sighs.
“Wait, wait. My boot’s untied,” Josef stops in his tracks and Richard with him. “Could you maybe hold this for a second?” Already handing him the camera as he says it, he doesn’t even give Richard a chance to protest.
Only sound is registered, as leaves crunch under a series of rapid strides; right away, Richard’s loud shouts begin. Once his throat gives out, hoarse coughs follow. The lens, pointed at Richard, failed to catch Josef running off. The camera at his chest shakes in his hands with each gasp of air. His heart audibly thumps.
“Oh god…” he mutters. Finally, he lifts his hands and, by that, the camera. The whole frame is taken up by his exasperated face. By how much they’ve been walking, he expected to see the road and their cars already, but with the way he glances around, it seems like he’s in a completely different part of the forest; maybe even a different forest altogether.
Only when he calms down does he think of doing anything else, like, for example, turning the camera around. “This can’t be happening,” he resumes, treading down the path; this time not only is he looking left and right, but every now and then he glances behind, too. Then he stops and fully turns around. Taking a few steps forward, he begins to worry if something happened to Josef: maybe he just went to take a leak and Richard’s freaking out over nothing?
A rustle comes from behind him. Barely has he turned, when a rock hits the tree at his side. Away he leaps, the camera almost slipping from his grip. Then, quiet again. Richard lets out a shaky breath. He hesitates for a moment. Eventually, he decides to go back to where Josef ran off. After all, Richard is the one who brought him here, so there is no way he will find his way around the forest alone.
Wolf—right in front of Richard, from behind a tree—a wolf jumps out, screaming. The camera droops a little. No audible reaction comes from Richard, at which the wolf takes off his head to reveal Josef.
“Holy cow, Richard, are you alright?” Josef approaches him, an amused grin on his face that turns semi-concerned when Richard doesn’t respond. “Hey, buddy--” he takes the camera out of his grip and sets it on the side, so as to display them both.
Richard is chalk white, his skin almost merging with his hair. Like a fish, his mouth opens and closes, only to let out the word ‘you’ a few times. He can’t bring himself to look at Josef, though. The other man, in turn, grabs his shoulders, kneading them.
“It’s alright, hey--” squeezing his shoulders hard, he finally grabs Richard’s attention, “it’s alright,” he states and looks into his eyes so intently, it’s impossible for the other one to look away. Soon, Richard begins to nod.
“I wanted you to feel like it’s your first time here. You know, the thrill, excitement, inexperience…” he lists off, at which Richard furrows his brows and opens his mouth to interject; however, Josef is faster, “and I kinda wanted to prove you wrong. See, from what I noticed, there are two wolves around here. You were scared, but you still went back for me…” at the last sentence, Josef’s voice lowers and his hands wander towards Richard’s neck, “you’re my pack, Richard.”
“Sure…” his hands come at Josef’s forearms, patting them before cautiously taking them off him. “Sure, but where did you even-- what, what is this?” he points at the mask, fatigue striking in his eyes.
“This? This is Peachfuzz. Say hello!” Richard’s head tilts, as if to say he’s not satisfied with the answer, prompting Josef to follow up with: “Oh, I got him from my car, it’s right there.” He pointed in the direction of a path they missed while walking before. For a moment, it seems like Richard almost wants to say something — berate Josef for not telling him before — but he gives up, runs his hand through his hair, and begins to trudge dejectedly.
Josef lets him gain some distance before retrieving the camera from the ground. “I’m afraid I pushed him too hard,” his mouth forms a thin line and his eyebrows shoot up. Sighing, as if upset about the inevitable goodbye once he reaches Richard, he takes his time getting there.
“It’s weird… We spent almost a whole day together, but…” at that he frowns and shrugs, “he’s a tough nut to crack. I feel like instead of opening up, he’ll just explode.”
“Wish me luck,” with a quick wink at the camera, he turns it around, showing that he’s already reached the cars, where Richard’s awkwardly standing next to his. With hands in pockets he’s looking at the ground, where the wicker basket lies. If not for the freshly acquired trust issues, he would probably be going through the mushrooms one by one, cutting off the stems and checking if there are any maggots.
Once he notices Josef, Richard straightens up and grabs the basket, only to put it back on the ground right away. He scratches his nape.
Richard crosses his hands. “So,” he attempts a cordial smile, “that’s a wrap, right?” After a while, his mouth corners start to droop to accommodate his genuine feeling. Purple hues have begun to stain the sky. With a few faint chirps, crickets’ attempt to fill in the silence, but it only seems to give it the opposite effect.
“Are you sure? I think it’s lacking something.”
By the initial confidence in Richard’s voice, it seems like he practiced how it’s going to play out in his head on the way to the car. Now, he remains silent, though. It’s not like he’s expected Josef to relent — after all, it was him that nagged Richard to make this damned documentary; but, then again, he’s hoped that the impending nightfall will hinder the filming. How Josef intends to continue it is beyond his imagination.
“That little culinary bit…” circling Richard, he muses, “nutty flavor, sauce and meat… God, Richard, you can’t leave a man hanging like that!” Richard flinches at the exclamation, but Josef doesn’t let up; he puts the camera right in his face. “Got me hungry like a wolf,” he nearly purrs, only to break into a howl immediately after.
At that, Richard recoils, hitting the hood of the car. Josef chuckles, “Gotcha.”
“Yeah, yeah… Fine. Alright, follow me,” he doesn’t spare Josef a glance as he turns to enter his car.
Josef wordlessly follows his orders, going to his car on the opposite side of the road. Once he enters, he places the camera on the passenger seat, facing him. At first, his expression paints a striking confusion, then — after taking a moment to ponder it — there’s a knowing smile on his face. “Oh, Richard… Think you can hide in your moss?”
The footage cuts.
“You gonna give me a tour?” Josef takes off his shoes at the entrance. The hall’s a bit cramped, but that’s just the price of having a cozy home; something Josef hasn’t really expected from Richard. Mahogany flooring contrasts against the beige walls, though the warmth lighting somewhat mitigates it.
Richard turns, “have a look around, I’ll be in the kitchen — on the right”, and he shuffles to where he pointed. Right after he disappears, he shouts, “bathroom’s at the end of the hallway.”
“Got it.”
Josef has no interest in going to the bathroom, though; unless, like the hallway, it’s also full of Jean’s pictures. The camera tours the walls — it’s a miracle they haven’t collapsed under the gallery. Looking at every photo, it becomes clear who the culprit of the artistic clutter is. “And here’s the dead wife,” he mutters under his nose.
A spunky woman, taller than him in every way; all straight lines, from the cut of her bob to the stripped, tailored suits she wore — androgynous with a zest of feminine flair, the perfect dramatic natural. She was the man and she let him be a man of his own choice. There were many ways to describe this woman, but only one remains now: dead. With Jean away went the flame, leaving the hearth almost empty; there are a few embers here and there, but Richard will never gain back the spirit to stoke up the fire. Charred logs reside, littering the place.
Josef enters the living room. There, a well-worn leather couch with a glass top coffee table in front, more paintings on the walls, and, on a dresser, Jean in a black, sleek urn. Next to her, a few bouquets, all in a different state of withering.
As he makes his way to the kitchen, the sound of chopping gets louder. In view comes Richard’s back. Having taken off his vest, he’s now just in a dress shirt. On his lower back, there’s a sweat stain. Josef comes behind him, pointing the camera at the countertop, where Richard makes a swift job with the onions. Beside, on the stove, the pan is already heating.
“So, whatcha making?” Josef says, punctuating each vowel in an excited tone. Richard goes on to drop the minced onion onto the pan. They begin to sizzle, and, soon, caramelize.
“Sautéed mushrooms and onions,” he utters. Josef goes on to poke him with the camera, and annoyingly drags out ‘uh-huh?’ Richard sighs. “It’s well… It is simple, but it doesn’t make it any less of a dish. That’s my kind of fast food,” he chuckles, “quick and warm, and it always makes the house smell like home.”
Josef audibly sniffs around, “mmm, it sure does.”
Richard moves to rinse the boletes. He sets them back to stir the golden onions, and then goes to slice the mushroom caps into thin wedges. All the while, Josef records his every move, though at last, he settles on his face.
“Tell me about Jane.”
Richard shoots him a glare. “Jean,” he spits out. “It’s, um… It’s Jean. Not Jane.”
“Yeah, right. Sorry.”
Silence creeps into the room, making it even more cramped. Richard adds the mushrooms to the pan. As he’s stirring, he seasons the mix with a sprinkle of salt and pepper.
Josef takes a chance again, “so, you two used to make it a lot? You and Jill?”
“For fuck’s sake, it’s Jill. I mean, Jean, god. It’s Jean," Richard drops the spoon as his hands raise to clutch at his shaking head.
“Hey, it’s alright. We all make mistakes sometimes,” Josef’s utterly compassionate voice nearly makes Richard pop a vessel.
“The only mistake I ever made was this. Get out. I’ll get you your money. Don’t bother sending the footage,” he spews out with a pointed finger and leaves the kitchen. And to think that Richard thought her presence would intimidate him. Nobody likes a widower’s company, but especially in the context of his loss. Despite that, Josef lacks any respect. He’s treating this whole ‘commemoration’ as a joke.
Josef cringes at the camera, “awkward” he says through gritted teeth. Then, he moves to the living room and sets the camera on the coffee table. In front of it, he raises his hand, as if to say ‘wait’ — he bolts out as quietly as possible. Richard comes in frame, but he doesn’t see the camera and moves past it to the kitchen. Only when he notices Josef’s gone, does he come back to the living room and finally see the camera.
“Josef?” He calls out, looking around. Grumbling something about ‘privacy’ and ‘disrespect’, he handles the camera, no doubt trying to find a way to stop the recording. Behind him, in the doorway, appears the wolf.
It begins to sensually move its hips in circles, all the while Richard gives up on messing with the camera, wishing he was more tech-savvy so as to end this humiliation. As he moves to turn around, the wolf raises its hands; in them — an axe. Still as a statue, it waits for a reaction.
And a reaction it gets — greater than it expected, and greater than what Richard can take. As his eyes land on the wolf, he collapses to the ground with not as much of a scream, but rather a sharp gasp. Wolf’s hands twitch in the air; it stays put, though.
The angle is awkward. Richard’s sprawled on the ground, clutching at his heart and whining like a kicked dog. Color drains from his face, and against the reddish planes it’s genuinely white. Slowly, his hand drops to the ground, as it aimlessly searches for Josef. He’s gone, though; and the wolf remains still. Having given up on air, his lips continuously smack a ‘p’ sound, but the ‘lease’ can’t seem to leave his throat. At last, his murmurs slur to the maximum, ending in a series of ‘god,’ ‘Jean,’ and ‘Josef.’
A minute passes. The wolf slowly lowers the axe to the ground. It takes off its mask and Josef comes back.
“Didn’t even get to use it,” leaning on the axe, he shakes his head. “Well, that’s a new one, at least.”
As he gets a whiff of something, his face twists in disgust. “It’s like… Burn--” his eyebrows raise in sudden realization; he drops the axe, quickly striding for the kitchen.
Going back to the living room, he picks up the camera and moves to show the culprit of the scent — burnt mushrooms and onions on the pan. “Man, oh man, I was actually hungry!”
Now, in the car, Josef films vlog style. It's beginning to dawn outside. He grabs a medium-sized bag from the back and shakes it, “mycelium. I found it in their pantry,” he chuckles, “kidding! It was in the shack. Now, I’m no mycologist like Richard here,” he moves the camera to the side to show a black, human shaped bag in the passenger seat, “but, I suppose you just throw it on the ground and BAM mushrooms grow, so I thought ‘hey, why not continue with the fungi motif?’”
Leaving the car, he reveals that he’s on the same road where he and Richard met. “Took me the whole night to dig the hole,” he goes down the slope of the hill, the hole being not that far away from the street. Having placed the camera in front of the pit, he runs back to the car.
A moment later, Josef can be seen dragging Richard by his legs. Once he gets him next to the ditch, he takes a moment to compose himself, resting his hand on his knees. “Woo, what a work out,” he slaps his lap. Then, he returns to the car for the last time.
In one hand, he has the mycelium bag, and in the other he has Jean’s urn.
He moves wordlessly. First, he rips the black bag containing Richard, who hasn’t changed much from when he was lying on the floor — just more marble-like, now. After taking off his clothes, he carefully rolls him down in the pit. After he shows the camera that he’s managed to make him land on his back and not face, he opens the urn and spreads Jean all over Richard. Last, but not least, comes the mycelium, which he, like Jean’s ashes, evenly sprinkles on top.
“Together, forever, these love birds…” He groans, “scoot over.” He begins to strip himself of his clothes, too, and then steps in to lay in the ditch.
Though the video doesn’t show the inside of the pit, from the tone of his voice it’s safe to say Josef is smiling from ear to ear. “Us three again. Richard, Jean, and the wilderness.”