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

3
An Unveiling
I awoke at 5:30. That’s about when I usually get up. Even when
there’s not much to do, I like to get a jump on the day. Some weekends
I force myself to sleep in, but that Saturday morning my mind
was seething. In spite of all the drink—I think between us we finished
four bottles of wine and fully half the Napoleon brandy—my
head was clear as a bell.
Arnold was asleep on the couch with Sunny. She snooked an eye
and closed it. I crept past them and put on a pot of coffee.
To my surprise Brillig emerged from the basement.
He was nattily attired in a brown suede vest with gold snaps, an
open-neck shirt and those penny loafers stylish in the fifties. A thin
silver chain circled his neck.
“Pardon me,” he smiled, “I am an early riser, it is a good hour
for exploring.”
While he inspected my wall-hangings, I put the coffee and cups
on a tray with a basket of sweet rolls and croissants, butter, strawberry
jam and honey.
Brillig turned away from the French doors to the garden. It was
still dark outside.
“You have published a good many books,” he said.
I beamed. They were piled high in the basement.
“Why only Jungian analysts?” asked Brillig. “Do you think they
have a monopoly on the truth?”
I heard Arnold stirring. Sunny padded in and licked my feet. I let
her out in the garden and scooped food into her dish.
“It’s pragmatic,” I said. “There are only two of us. We couldn’t
cope with a flood of manuscripts.”
I outlined the work involved—invoicing, packing, accounting,
foreign rights, mailing lists, marketing and so on.
“And that’s where your energy goes?”
“Yes,” I said. “I have a few analysands, but otherwise I’m involved
with the books. I work away in my room and send stuff into
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