Very wisely, they decided to huddle together again. They learned to live with the minor wounds inflicted by their relatives, because the most important thing to their survival was that shared warmth.
The children want to know if they can see a real porcupine.
"Are there any at the zoo?"
I don't know.
"What's the ice age?"
A time when it was very, very cold.
"Like winter?"
Yes, but a winter that never ended.
"But why didn't they remove their prickly spines before they snuggled up together?"
Oh, dear, I should have chosen another story. I turn out the light and decide to sing them to sleep with a traditional song from a village in the Alps, stroking their hair as I do so. They soon fall asleep.
My husband brings me some Valium. I've always refused to take any medicine because I'm afraid of becoming dependent, but I need to be in top form tomorrow.
I take a ten-milligram pill and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. I don't wake up all night.
I GET there early, and go straight to the clubhouse and out into the garden. I walk to the trees at the far end, determined to enjoy this lovely afternoon to the full.
Melancholy. That is always the first word that comes into my head when autumn arrives, because I know the summer is over. The days will grow shorter, and we don't live in the charmed world of those ice-age porcupines; we can't bear to be wounded by the sharp spines of others, even slightly.
We already hear about people in other countries dying of the cold, traffic jams on snowbound highways, airports closed. Fires are lit and blankets are brought out of cupboards. But that happens only in the world we humans create.
In nature, the landscape looks magnificent. The trees, which seemed so similar before, take on their own personalities and paint the forests in a thousand different shades. One part of the cycle of life is coming to an end. Everything will rest for a while and come back to life in the spring, in the form of flowers.
There is no better time than the autumn to begin forgetting the things that trouble us, allowing them to fall away like dried leaves. There is no better time to dance again, to make the most of every crumb of sunlight and warm body and soul with its rays before it falls asleep and becomes only a dim lightbulb in the skies.
I see him arrive. He looks for me in the restaurant and on the terrace, finally going over to the waiter at the bar, who points in my direction. Jacob has seen me now and waves. Slowly, I begin to walk back to the clubhouse. I want him to appreciate my dress, my shoes, my fashionable lightweight jacket, the way I walk. My heart may be pounding furiously, but I must keep cool.
I'm thinking about what words to use. What mysterious reason did I give for meeting again? Why hold back now when we know there's something between us? Are we afraid of stumbling and falling, like we have before?
As I walk, I feel as if I were entering a tunnel I've never traveled before, one that leads from cynicism to passion, from irony to surrender.
What is he thinking as he watches me? Do I need to explain that we shouldn't be frightened and that "if Evil exists, it's to be found in our fears"?
Melancholy. The word is transforming me into a romantic and rejuvenating me with each step I take.
I keep thinking about what I should say when I reach his side. No, best not to think and just let the words flow naturally. They are inside me. I may not recognize or accept them, but they are more powerful than my need to control everything.
Why don't I want to hear my own words before I say them to him?
Could it be fear? But what could be worse than living a sad, gray life, in which every day is the same? What could be worse than the fear that everything will disappear, including my own soul, and leave me completely alone in this world when I once had everything I needed to be happy?
I see the leaves falling, their shapes silhouetted against the sun. The same thing is happening inside me: with every step I take, another barrier falls, another defense is destroyed, another wall collapses, and my heart, hidden behind it all, is beginning to see and enjoy the autumn light.
What shall we talk about? About the music I heard in the car on the way here? About the wind rustling the trees? Abo
ut the human condition with all its contradictions, both dark and redemptive?
We will talk about melancholy, and he'll say that it's a sad word. I'll say, no, it's nostalgic, it describes something forgotten and fragile, as we all are when we pretend we can't see the path to which life has led us without asking our permission. When we deny our destiny because it's leading us toward happiness, and all we want is security.
A few more steps, a few more fallen barriers. More light floods into my heart. It doesn't even occur to me to try to control anything, only to experience this afternoon that will never be repeated. I don't need to convince him of anything. If he doesn't understand now, he will understand later. It's simply a matter of time.