The Holland Press

Moon Stone. Episode Three. The Farmister.

“Ugh, this first one. I spent a week writing these questions. Now they look pretty weak.”

“Correspondence.” Luna said quietly.

“Ma’am?”

“I was a journalist in the seventies. Iran. That’s what I was doing in the Middle East. That’s the answer to your first question, and it wasn’t weak.”

“Can you tell me more about that?”

“I can, but I won’t. Next question.” Luna said flatly.

“Well, the second one is really better anyway.”

“The Farmister.” She interrupted Benjamin, whose polite nature wasn’t allowing him much footing.

“Yes, The Farmister.” He replied. Finally glad to feel some level ground.

“You asked what I saw in your story. I saw questions, Benjamin. Who is your missing person?”

“The story is true. My grandfather always sets an extra plate at the table. Every meal. Every day. It’s for the Farmister.”

“I asked who it was.”

“Well I don’t know the name. Only that they are unaccounted for.”

“A family member? A friend? Some missing in action brother in arms?” Luna quizzed.

“I always thought it was an idea. A place for a guest or stranger. That’s very true to our Jewish heritage.”

“To remember you were once strangers in a strange land.” She echoed.

“Yes. And to be kind to strangers, but my mother told me once it was for someone specific. Someone he lost.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No. He’s very private. You’d have to know him.”

“Let me know him, storyteller.”

Benjamin shifted in his seat. He glanced at the rain outside steadily coming down. He looked at his paper then folded it up. “I didn’t like any of those questions anyway.” He said.

“Lovely.” Said Luna. “We’re being organic.”

“His name is Samson Steiner. Everyone calls him Sam. He served in the military when he was young in Israel. Later he moved here to Oregon and worked as a postman. He’s a quiet man, but he can be funny. He loves family. Tradition. He dabbled in archeology. He reads all the time. He’s an anchor. He just doesn’t talk about his own personal past.”

“Yet he likes digging the past up?” She asked.

“Ha! Yes I guess he does.”

“What else does he do?”

“He makes things. He works with his hands. Creates. Invents.”

“Such as?”

“Small things. Like this.” Benjamin reached down into his backpack and pulled up a little leather man shaped object.

“It’s a Kamea. He makes one for each family member. See, the head is a special knot. It’s just leather scraps, but it’s cool.”

“May I?” Luna turned her palm up. Benjamin placed the handmade talisman in it. “We call it our ‘knothead.’”

Luna ran her thumb across it, feeling the complex leather knot. Benjamin noticed her eyes going glassy.

“Well, that’s very special, Benjamin. Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“I’d like you to have it, Mrs. Stone.”

“No, Benjamin, that’s entirely unnecessary.”

“Please. It would mean a lot to me. Grandpa will make me another one. He’s a huge fan of yours. He’ll understand.”

“Is he now?”

“He’s got all your books. He reads them over again. He said to tell you he’s waiting for the next one.”

“Oh tell him not to wait on me. But maybe you should write one. You might name it Knothead.”

“About that thing?” He asked.

“It’s a place to start. Maybe it becomes about your grandfather, or continues on about the Farmister. You can’t know where a story may go, you just have to start it.”

“Have you started another one?” He asked.

“Don’t be sly with me. I’ve already taken that role in this play.”

“Alright. I wasn’t trying to be sly. I was just curious.”

“Yes and no.”

“How so?”

“Yes, I’ll accept your knothead. No, I haven’t started anything new in a long while.”