Glück - Faithful and virtuous night

The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the authors copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy. CONTENTS PARABLE First divesting ourselves of worldly goods, as St. Francis teaches, in order that our souls not be distracted by gain and loss, and in order also that our bodies be free to move easily at the mountain passes, we had then to discuss whither or where we might travel, with the second question being should we have a purpose, against which many of us argued fiercely that such purpose corresponded to worldly goods, meaning a limitation or constriction, whereas others said it was by this word we were consecrated pilgrims rather than wanderers: in our minds, the word translated as a dream, a something-sought, so that by concentrating we might see it glimmering among the stones, and not pass blindly by; each further issue we debated equally fully, the arguments going back and forth, so that we grew, some said, less flexible and more resigned, like soldiers in a useless war.

And snow fell upon us, and wind blew, which in time abatedwhere the snow had been, many flowers appeared, and where the stars had shone, the sun rose over the tree line so that we had shadows again; many times this happened. Also rain, also flooding sometimes, also avalanches, in which some of us were lost, and periodically we would seem to have achieved an agreement, our canteens hoisted upon our shoulders; but always that moment passed, so (after many years) we were still at that first stage, still preparing to begin a journey, but we were changed nevertheless; we could see this in one another; we had changed although we never moved, and one said, ah, behold how we have aged, traveling from day to night only, neither forward nor sideward, and this seemed in a strange way miraculous. And those who believed we should have a purpose believed this was the purpose, and those who felt we must remain free in order to encounter truth felt it had been revealed. AN ADVENTURE 1 . It came to me one night as I was falling asleep that I had finished with those amorous adventures to which I had long been a slave. Finished with love? my heart murmured.

To which I responded that many profound discoveries awaited us, hoping, at the same time, I would not be asked to name them. For I could not name them. But the belief that they existed surely this counted for something? The next night brought the same thought, this time concerning poetry, and in the nights that followed various other passions and sensations were, in the same way, set aside forever, and each night my heart protested its future, like a small child being deprived of a favorite toy. But these farewells, I said, are the way of things. And once more I alluded to the vast territory opening to us with each valediction. And with that phrase I became a glorious knight riding into the setting sun, and my heart became the steed underneath me.

I was, you will understand, entering the kingdom of death, though why this landscape was so conventional I could not say. Here, too, the days were very long while the years were very short. The sun sank over the far mountain. The stars shone, the moon waxed and waned. Soon faces from the past appeared to me: my mother and father, my infant sister; they had not, it seemed, finished what they had to say, though now I could hear them because my heart was still. At this point, I attained the precipice but the trail did not, I saw, descend on the other side; rather, having flattened out, it continued at this altitude as far as the eye could see, though gradually the mountain that supported it completely dissolved so that I found myself riding steadily through the air All around, the dead were cheering me on, the joy of finding them obliterated by the task of responding to them As we had all been flesh together, now we were mist.

As we had been before objects with shadows, now we were substance without form, like evaporated chemicals. Neigh, neigh, said my heart, or perhaps nay, nayit was hard to know. Here the vision ended. I was in my bed, the morning sun contentedly rising, the feather comforter mounded in white drifts over my lower body. You had been with me there was a dent in the second pillowcase. We had escaped from death or was this the view from the precipice? THE PAST Small light in the sky appearing suddenly between two pine boughs, their fine needles now etched onto the radiant surface and above this high, feathery heaven Smell the air.

That is the smell of the white pine, most intense when the wind blows through it and the sound it makes equally strange, like the sound of the wind in a movie Shadows moving. The ropes making the sound they make. What you hear now will be the sound of the nightingale, chordata , the male bird courting the female The ropes shift. The hammock sways in the wind, tied firmly between two pine trees. Smell the air. That is the smell of the white pine.

It is my mothers voice you hear or is it only the sound the trees make when the air passes through them because what sound would it make, passing through nothing? FAITHFUL AND VIRTUOUS NIGHT My story begins very simply: I could speak and I was happy. Or: I could speak, thus I was happy. Or: I was happy, thus speaking. I was like a bright light passing through a dark room. If it is so difficult to begin, imagine what it will be to end On my bed, sheets printed with colored sailboats conveying, simultaneously, visions of adventure (in the form of exploration) and sensations of gentle rocking, as of a cradle. Spring, and the curtains flutter.

Breezes enter the room, bringing the first insects. A sound of buzzing like the sound of prayers. Constituent memories of a large memory. Points of clarity in a mist, intermittently visible, like a lighthouse whose one task is to emit a signal. But what really is the point of the lighthouse? This is north, it says. Not: I am your safe harbor.

Much to his annoyance, I shared this room with my older brother. To punish me for existing, he kept me awake, reading adventure stories by the yellow nightlight. The habits of long ago: my brother on his side of the bed, subdued but voluntarily so, his bright head bent over his hands, his face obscured At the time of which Im speaking, my brother was reading a book he called the faithful and virtuous night. Was this the night in which he read, in which I lay awake? Noit was a night long ago, a lake of darkness in which a stone appeared, and on the stone a sword growing. Impressions came and went in my head, a faint buzz, like the insects. When not observing my brother, I lay in the small bed we shared staring at the ceilingnever my favorite part of the room.

It reminded me of what I couldnt see, the sky obviously, but more painfully my parents sitting on the white clouds in their white travel outfits. And yet I too was traveling, in this case imperceptibly from that night to the next morning, and I too had a special outfit: striped pyjamas. Picture if you will a day in spring. A harmless day: my birthday. Downstairs, three gifts on the breakfast table. In one box, pressed handkerchiefs with a monogram.

In the second box, colored pencils arranged in three rows, like a school photograph. In the last box, a book called My First Reader . My aunt folded the printed wrapping paper; the ribbons were rolled into neat balls. My brother handed me a bar of chocolate wrapped in silver paper. Then, suddenly, I was alone. Perhaps the occupation of a very young child is to observe and listen: In that sense, everyone was occupied I listened to the various sounds of the birds we fed, the tribes of insects hatching, the small ones creeping along the windowsill, and overhead my aunts sewing machine drilling holes in a pile of dresses Restless, are you restless? Are you waiting for day to end, for your brother to return to his book? For night to return, faithful, virtuous, repairing, briefly, the schism between you and your parents? This did not, of course, happen immediately.