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Back Black Ambrosia Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. CoverImage
  2. Introduction by Grady Hendrix
  3. Acknowledgments
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. About the Author
  46. About the Cover

“Thank you,” I said. “I have no need for this. I’m really quite all right, and I do have a place to stay tonight. I just sometimes . . . lose track. Please par­don me.” And I walked out with as much dignity as my ineptitude at being crippled would allow.

I will go to Sarah’s, and I will get well. And then I will call Boyd and we will talk it over. I will let him take me in if he needs to, but not like this. Dear God, not like this.

I put my thumb out as soon as I was out of sight of the coffee shop, and got a ride right away.

“It doesn’t seem to matter much what I do. It’s all the same—life’s all the same. I could be a Madison Avenue type, and it would be the same, dealing with the same types of people, doing the same things, handling the same disappointments, the same tests of character, and I’d perform just the same at any of those jobs. I’d just do it the way I’d do it.

“My old man worked construction until he couldn’t anymore. His muscles and spirit wore out about the same time. He tried a desk job, but he was just too far gone. Life had worn him down. I keep thinking that maybe if he’d started out at a desk, he’d have turned out different. But he wouldn’t have. That was his choice in life. He didn’t have to wear down. He didn’t have to work construction. But knowing Pa, he would have worn down doing anything. He just chose construction to do it to him.

“This attitude has given me a lot of freedom in life, but freedom is its own disappointment sometimes. I’ve never really settled down, never really committed to anything—until Angelina, that is. And when she came into my life, I said, Boyd, this is the vehicle for your energies, this is the thing for you to do.

“Selling shoes, ranching, being a cop—it’s all the same stuff. So, I figure, if it doesn’t matter what you do, then how do you choose what to do?

“The choice is the message. All the time I was hunting alone in the mountains, I’d pray for a real hunt. When I’d bring down a deer, I’d be grateful for it, but disappointed, too. Deer were no longer a hunt for me, but I didn’t know what was. I’d just pray for a real hunt.

“So you see, I’d asked for this hunt. The choice of career, or hobby, or both, is your only shot at making a statement in life. To me, it’s the hunt.

“The hunt is the message.”

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