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

34 Chicken Little: The Inside Story
and the dining room table was set; Rachel had adorned it with imported
lilies and daffodils. Five candlesticks were ready in their
Mexican brass holders.
My prime rib, glazed with mustard and honey and heavily laced
with garlic, was on low heat, dripping its juice onto roast potatoes,
button onions and carrots. Rachel had prepared a plate of mixed
cheese and biscuits, with olives, sweet radish and dill pickles on
the side, garnished with parsley. Arnold was due any minute.
I lit the fire. Rachel talked about the meeting with her agent, at
which they had worked out details for her next show. I told her
where I was in my book, well, as much as I thought I could risk; it
was still pretty fragile.
Sunny lay at our feet with ears perked, looking from one to the
other. Rachel says that when Sunny’s not asleep or eating, she’s
studying for her Ph.D. in us.
Rachel worked on a sketch. I finished off a crossword puzzle
and then fidgeted.
“Supposed to snow tonight,” said Rachel.
“Early for snow,” I said.
“That’s what the papers say too.”
“Do you suppose there’s time for some Scrabble?” I asked.
We both jumped at the knock. Sunny barked up a storm. Rachel
collared and soothed her. I opened the door. A taxi was pulling out
of the driveway.
Two men in dark cloaks stood on the porch. One limped forward:
slight build, little taller than a dwarf; elderly, thick salt and pepper
goatee, almost entirely bald. Definitely gnomish. He looked up at me
with a calm, penetrating gaze and vigorously grasped my hand.
“Adam Brillig,” he bowed slightly, proffering a large bouquet of
iris, then turned, “and this is my assistant, Norman.”
A tall, lean man with dark hair, mid-forties, stepped into the
light. I recognized the face immediately. Norman! My goodness,
what a surprise. He’d been in analysis with me a few years back. 40
We’d lost touch when he went off to study in Zürich. He greeted
me warmly, with a firm grip.
40 Our time together is the subject of my Survival Papers and Dear Gladys.