The Myth of Wile E

A Great Philanthropist and Friend to Nature

As I had requested, the No Trespassing signs came down, and the fences too, replaced by signs that said "Land for Public Use." The mogul had, of course, put up a big sign naming the land after himself, but the land didn't seem to mind.

Apparently, the mogul had decided that a forty-six-acre tax write-off/PR victory was almost as good as building a shopping mall, and probably a lot less work. There was an article on the front page of the local newspaper calling the mogul a "great philanthropist" and "friend to nature," and probably similar articles on some of the middle pages of the Internet too.

Also, I was awarded something called an "easement" that would let me use the hill to come and go from my house to Old Mill Road, forever.

The very first thing I did was put back my mailbox. I was pretty sure the mail carrier would be relieved about that.

The second thing I did was carry one of those doors up the hill and down the road to Bob. I felt pretty lucky to have my house back, plus a roof over my head that more or less didn't leak. I saw no reason to go back on my promise of giving Bob the doors. What did I need with doors on my closets, anyway? Who was I trying to keep out of there—the squirrels?

When I brought the first of the doors to Bob he was grateful, but said he might not be needing them after all. He'd been thinking of leaving the filling station and moving back to his log cabin for the winter.

"Really?" I said. "That's great. But you're not . . . worried? About . . . you know."

"Well, I've been thinking," Bob said. "And the thing is . . . the thing is, well, I don't think there really is a family of Bigfeet."

"No . . . ?" I said.

"No," Bob said.

"Hmm." I'd always heard you shouldn't wake a sleepwalker for some reason—like, you shouldn't break the spell of their dream or something. I figured believing in things like Bigfeet was a lot like dreaming awake, and you should let the dreamer wake up on their own. So I just said, "Hmm."

"No," Bob said again. "No, there's no family of Bigfeet, probably."

"No?"

"I think," Bob said, "probably, there's just the one."

"Ah," I said.

"And maybe he's not so bad, really. Maybe he's misunderstood. Maybe he's just causing mischief on account of, he's alone."

"It's as good a theory as any," I told Bob.