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

4
Search for the Self
After we’d cleared away the remains of breakfast, Brillig spread
some papers on the dining room table. I was relieved to see they
were not maps of mountains. Walk on water, yes; climb to a great
height, no.
Before sitting down to eat, Norman had pulled me aside and said
he wanted to apologize.
“Whatever for?” I asked.
“I was really nervous about meeting you again,” he confessed,
“what with never writing and all.”
I admitted to having occasionally wondered about him. 58
“I’ve always felt a little guilty about not letting you know what
happened. Last night I couldn’t get to sleep for thinking about it.
You saved my life and I’ve often had occasion to recall your
words. I wanted you to know that.”
I told him not to sweat it, it was enough to have him back.
“And your wife . . . Nancy?”
“Oh, she finally married a plumber. We’re all great friends.”
Now Brillig paced the room, lips pursed, rubbing his hands. His
brow was deeply furrowed and I fancied the sound of great gears
grinding. He’d asked if there was an easel he could use. Rachel
found an old one of hers in the crawl space off the third floor and it
was set up near the window.
Norman had opened one of their cases and was rummaging in it,
putting things aside. He was singing to himself. I caught a few
lines, which sounded like: “Here a little, there a little, everywhere a
little little.” My attention was then captured by Brillig rapping a
pencil on the table.
58 This was a face-saving understatement. The truth is that I spent months hoping
to hear from Norman, and when there was no word I went into a severe depression.
This had never happened to me before, nor has it since.
57