Chicken Little: The Inside Story (A Jungian ... - Inner City Books

122 Chicken Little: The Inside Story
“Listen, and it will come to you,” he smiled.
Rachel nudged me.
“You do have the tools,” she said.
“And the outlet,” added Brillig.
I shook my head, feeling gang-banged.
“Sorry, our mandate doesn’t extend to Chickle Schtick.”
“Your mandate, as I understand it,” said Brillig, “is self-imposed
and not evangelical.”
“It’s not suicidal either,” I replied.
Brillig picked an Inner City flyer off the sideboard, opened it
and read:
Our aim is not to convince people that a knowledge of Jungian psychology
could change their lives, but rather to provide stimulating
reading for those who already know that.
“You wrote this?”
I shrugged.
“All I’m suggesting,” said Brillig, “is that your readers might
find a mix of the two stimulating.”
“Not to say bewildering,” snickered Arnold.
“Thou sayest,” I said, though glad to have him back.
Brillig smoothed his hair strands and pulled me aside.
“Man to man,” he said, peering up at me, “I shall need to borrow
Ms. Rachel.”
I swallowed.
“For what purpose?”
“Research,” he smiled.
Piss on you, I thought, but Rachel was already in my ear.
“Don’t worry, lover,” she whispered. “I’ll be back.”
By ten o’clock everything was packed up. We called two cabs,
one for Brillig and Norman and Rachel, and one for their bags and
trunks. There were hugs all around and then they were gone.
Arnold and I drove slowly back to my place, with Sunny pacing
restlessly in the back. My head was awhirl. Everything had happened
so fast, I didn’t know what to think. It was snowing again
and cars were sliding all over. We passed three accidents.
I was exhausted and felt bleak.