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Siegfried walked quietly across the hallway of the first floor of his house, where the bedrooms were located. It was spring, the last days of May had just begun, and one could clearly feel the “threshold” at that moment. It wasn't a threshold in its original sense. More like a transition. A transition to hitherto sweet, unspoken promises. The feeling when winter's hard grip on the Dales had been broken, when spring won its battle with imposing tenacity and opened its gates to the first warmth that the coming summer promised. Everything suddenly felt lighter, clearer than in the months before. Siegfried had always loved this time of the year.
He slowly opened the door to the room at the end of the hall. The large bed in the middle was empty, but that didn't surprise him. His gaze immediately went to the walk-in closet on the side, a small room with a window and a bed. And recently, the favorite abode of a special little person whom he very much enjoyed having around.
“Uncle Siegfried!”
When the little boy saw him, he threw his arms up in delight, instantly brightening his uncle's face. Having a child in the house was a precious thing. While little Rosie preferred to sleep close to her parents under the roof, Jimmy had recently discovered a newfound independence and claimed this little kingdom in Tristan's room as his own.
“Jimmy, I see you've already settled in nicely.”
“Yes, I finally have room for all my toys!”
Proudly, the little boy sat enthroned on his bed in his flannel pajamas, his hands spread wide. Siegfried approached. Neatly arranged in the small room were stuffed animals, toy figures and many other things—things Jimmy didn't have to share with Rosie. Only a small, ragged sheep was allowed to share his bed with him.
"An excellent arrangement! I wish I had something like that in my room."
Siegfried playfully raised an eyebrow, which immediately made the boy laugh, and himself as well.
“But what did I hear from Mrs. Hall, young fellow? You don't want to go to sleep, even though you have such a wonderful room?”
“You promised me a bedtime story!”
“Oh have I?”
Siegfried couldn't help but smile. Of course, the boy hadn’t forgotten; children never forget anything. Unlike him. And while he thoroughly enjoyed the playful teasing, he remembered the book he'd brought upstairs, the one he was holding in his arms. Jimmy patted the seat next to him invitingly, making room for his uncle and Siegfried gratefully accepted.
"So then, let's see what a good story might be...", said the dutiful uncle, humorously in form of a rhyme, as he rummaged in his breast pocket for his glasses. Mrs. Hall had specifically reminded him. He found them, fanned the frame apart with one hand, and put them on before opening the book. Siegfried hunched over so as not to bump into the small bedside table behind him. The warm light of the bedside lamp shone over his shoulders, scattering playful shadows throughout the room. A wonderful little refuge. He felt the familiar firmness of the sheets beneath him, the light scent of lavender meant to soothe them for the night. Mrs. Hall had told him so. Back then, some time ago, when she still truly spoke to him, when words weren't merely strategically placed bubbles of dust. Nothing more than the exchange of pure information.
His gaze darkened at this thought, and he stared rigidly over the edge of the book.
“Did you find anything, Uncle Siegfried?”
“Oh well…I think I have.”
With short finger movements, he turned to the appropriate page and nodded approvingly to little Jimmy, who snuggled up to his side.
“It's an old Japanese legend. The one about Princess Orihime…”
“Is she pretty?”
“Yes, I'm sure she was.”
“Then she must look like mum!”
Jimmy smiled up at Siegfried, and Siegfried agreed, knowing full well that the own mother was the most beautiful woman for a boy and that this would remain the case for a very long time.
“Orihime lives in heaven with the gods. I've already told you that other cultures do indeed have multiple gods...”.
Jimmy nodded knowingly.
"And her job was to sew beautiful clothes for the other gods. But soon the day came when she felt very lonely. And so, her father allowed her to marry Hikoboshi, a cowherd..."
"A cowherd? A farmer, like Grandpa or Tom?"
"Something like that, yes. The two married and were very happy. But as is so often the case in fairy tales and legends…,” Siegfried audibly drew in a breath, “…they were not destined to remain happy forever. Overwhelmed by love, they began to neglect their duties. Orihime stopped weaving, and Hikoboshi stopped tending the flock. The Heavenly Emperor punished them and banished them both to opposite shores of the Milky Way.”
“Oh no!”
“Unfortunately, yes! But the Heavenly Emperor took pity on them and allowed them to meet again. However, only once a year, on July 7th, provided the sky was clear. And so, from then on, they lived for that one day.”
“That’s not a happy story, Uncle Siegfried.” Visibly disappointed, Jimmy looked up at his uncle, blinking away the first signs of sleep, not very successfully. "Why do they do that? If they can only see each other once a year, why meet anyway?”
Siegfried chuckled. Children's perspectives were so wonderfully uncomplicated.
"Well, they love each other. And when you love someone, you accept these hardships. They might even be soulmates."
He only realized what he'd said after the words had already been spoken. His gaze drifted thoughtfully into the distance.
“So..Souu…What’s a Souuu…”
“Soulmate...” Siegfried cleared his throat, his gaze still fixed on the window in front of him. He felt Jimmy move away to lie down and snuggle into his blanket.
"During your lifetime, Jimmy, you will meet and love quite some people...", his voice became quieter, almost as soft as a whisper. “But sometimes there is that one very special person with whom you can be completely yourself. Someone who not only clears your mind, but also your heart."
"I'm always myself," came a barely audible voice from beside him. Siegfried blinked and smiled at the boy, who had already closed his eyes and was drifting off to sleep.
"Then you're a lucky one."
The vet quietly put the book aside and turned off the light. The sun hadn't completely set and shone a narrow sliver through the curtains towards the door. He tucked the boy in again and whispered, "If Tristan is too noisy tonight, you know where my door is."
With these words he got up, went out, and left the boy alone, surrounded by his dreams - captivated by adventures, princesses, and heavenly creatures.
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(A few days later)
His predictions about late spring proved true. The last few days had been considerably milder than the days before. And so, the residents of Skeldale House gathered, mostly in good spirits, for a light supper. A fragrant cottage pie lay on the table, accompanied by early green asparagus, bread, and cream cheese. Since Siegfried was planning to go to a village dance with Dorothy later that evening, she spontaneously joined them. A situation that was perfectly reasonable—after all, they were a couple—but one that still made him feel somewhat uneasy, especially at dinner.
Dorothy was an easygoing person, and he was grateful for that. She had settled into the family without hesitation and chatted cheerfully about the latest gossip in Brawton. Since she sat to his right, her hand kept wandering onto his, and each time he took it and held it briefly. Sometimes it even landed on his thigh. While James recounted his latest case and Helen chopped up food for the children, his gaze would sometimes surreptitiously drift to his left. To Mrs Hall.
He lowered his eyes thoughtfully. She hadn't eaten much so far. A slice of pie lay half-stuffed on her plate, and her usually warm, radiant face was paler than usual. He hoped she wasn't coming down with something. Otherwise, everything seemed normal, except for the fact that she hadn't looked at him all evening during dinner. Not once, least not consciously. She was leaning back in her chair, her fingers clasped in her lap almost as if in prayer. Her gaze, as usual, drifted over to Helen and the children. A gentle smile played around her lips.
When Dorothy briefly touched his thigh this time, he flinched noticeably.
"Jimmy told me all about your bedtime stories, Siegfried. He's always so excited the next day…" Helen turned from her plate towards the eldest of the vets and laughed. "I'm just glad this time it wasn't about that Salomé again; he really had nightmares after that one."
Siegfried put his fork down and frowned apologetically at Helen, who responded with a reassuring nod.
Jimmy boasted proudly. “The weaver from Hebden!”
Even five months after the nativity play, he was still confusing heaven with the infamous neighboring village and had everyone laugh again in a sudden. The boy looked at all the joyful faces, puzzled, before continuing. “It’s about a japan-ice princess, as pretty as mum. Her name is Ori…Orim...”
As he listened, Siegfried amusedly wiped his lips with a napkin. He was reminded once again how much he enjoyed having children in the house. A source of joy and lightness, especially this little boy, who was as captivated by classic myths as much as he was. The only thing his companion was still having trouble with was remembering the names, so he decided to help him out.
"Jimmy, her name is Ori..."
“Orihime, my dear…”
The vet was instantly stunned. He had already begun to formulate his thoughts when someone else had finished speaking for him. Someone he hadn't expected to hear. Much to his regret, someone he hadn't expected to hear that evening at all.
“And it's called Japanese, not Japan-ice. This has nothing to do with ice cream, love.”
Siegfried's eyes finally met hers. The eyes of the woman seated next to him, seated to his left. Her irises appeared rather pale and tired that day, yet still possessed a penetrating quality that took his breath away. And his expression, which just moments before had been one of utter astonishment, gained in clarity and tenderness with every passing second. He began to smile, and Audrey answered him in silent recognition.
From a distance, he heard the laughter at the table quietly subside.
"Audrey, how do you know all that?", came a muffled voice from the other side of the table.
Audrey's eyelids drooped shyly. That was the moment he realized he had been looking at her for a tiny tad too long.
“Well, I've tidied up the book often enough. I might have glanced in it once or twice.”
Little Jimmy was lost in wonder as he watched his Uncle Siegfried and Aunty Audrey interact. The older vet, however, was now gazing pensively and almost tenderly at Audrey's hands, rather than into her eyes.
“Aunty Audrey is Uncle Siegfried's soooo...souu...snowflake!”
And suddenly everything seemed to stand still. Siegfried's face froze, and the light spring breeze that had just been wafting through the half-open living room window turned into thick, greasy molasses that constricted his throat. He knew Jimmy had used the wrong word. The wrong word for the right thing, and yes, apparently for the right person, and he thanked God for that. But it didn't take a genius to realize that the conversation might now take an unpleasant turn. All voices had fallen silent. He could imagine them all looking at him questioningly, still naively hoping he might have a funny explanation for it. He felt Dorothy take her hand from his arm, the hand she had placed there just seconds before.
“Jimmy, what do you mean with she is his snowflake?”, Helen asked her son.
The boy shrugged as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "She's his soo...souu…snowflake. She not only clears his mind but..."
"Excuse me, please, a call."
With a sudden jerk, Siegfried pushed the chair back in a loudly way. His face has now taken on the color of dark peaches. Embarrassed, he glanced over to Audrey, who frowned visibly. Her lips silently repeated the word "snowflake...snowflake..." again and again, like a sacred mantra, until, yes, until a glimmer of realization crossed her features. Like a code slowly revealing itself. And Siegfried couldn't withstand. He couldn't withstand the realization of it, not in this moment, not in front of everyone, not when he was so dependent on Audrey's grace.
Before another word could be spoken at the table, he stood up and hurried out.
To a phone call that had never been made.