Sometimes at work, the women come to me for advice on their man. They explain a complicated tale; a densely woven tapestry of regret, sorrow and confusion. My only advice is this. Think of man as monkey. We are no more complicated than that. We are simple, we do not think as much as you do. Once you can see your man as a monkey, you will understand him. I think Hanuman would agree with me.

Staring at Monkey Face, my brother pointed out the distance, the places where our grandfather, an immigrant to America, surveyed the Oregon desert as a hunter and a fisherman. Where he brought grandmother.

Although he passed away when I was young, I remember grandfather as that man. The gentleman hunter. As nighttime took away the last light in Eastern Oregon and Monkey Face disappeared, I thought about Grandfather, who always served his woman.