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

2
The Meeting
It was a slow week. Arnold came by a couple of times to shoot the
breeze or talk about his dreams. I ask his advice on mine too. Being
so unalike, we can often spot each other’s blind spots.
Rachel was busy with her classes. Business was slow to sluggish.
I cleaned up the mailing list and culled the files. I raked the
leaves and canned beets. I made long lists of things to do when I
felt like it. I walked Sunny and watched old movies on television.
I kept my own counsel and slept a lot.
Brillig’s fax, late on a Monday afternoon, woke me up. My apprehension
grew as it rolled slowly out.
Dear Friend (if I may be so bold),
My heart leaped at your reply. Nothing could have made me happier!
I shall be arriving late Friday afternoon. I would be obliged if
you would arrange accommodation. I implore you to free yourself
for the weekend.
Adam Brillig, D.Sc., Dipl. Analyt. Psych., Dipl. C.S.
P.S. I shall be with my assistant. He’s green but shows potential.
I could write here, in pulp-fiction fashion, something like, “My
heart fell,” or “I was dumb-struck,” but nothing close to adequate
comes to mind.
Rachel found me in twilight.
“He’s coming anyway,” I said, showing her the fax.
She read it and giggled.
“Put them in the attic with the squirrels.”
I grimaced, but in truth I was grateful to Rachel for trying to
lighten my mood. What she didn’t know was that I had been scared
to death that Brillig wouldn’t take the hint, that he might follow up
with something else to keep me awake.
I called Arnold to give him the news. He laughed.
“What are you worried about?” he said. “You could fax him
back and tell him to go fly a kite.”
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