Afterword by Nina Schuyler

Author:Nina Schuyler [Schuyler, Nina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CLASH Books

Hours later, Virginia takes a break from writing equations. A bath, a nap. Then she heads out into the blue evening for dinner with her friend, Ilsa.

They meet at their favorite restaurant that serves salads with unexpected ingredients—heirloom tomatoes, nectarines, with mint and pecans and couscous. They both enjoy the element of surprise in these fancy concoctions.

Ilsa is already seated and waves for her to come join. An art historian, Ilsa served as the curator for the Asian Art Museum, with countless trips to Thailand and Vietnam. When her husband got sick five years ago, she quit her job to care for him. He died three years ago, and still there is a lost look in her eye as if she’s on the hunt for him and might find him again. At age 70, she’s kept wisps of her beauty, with her shoulder-length gray hair and steady, dark gray intelligent eyes.

Virginia hugs Ilsa and smells lavender and a hint of musty old age.

“Is everything all right?” says Ilsa. “You look very tired.”

Virginia feels a kinship with Ilsa. They’ve known each other for seven years, long enough for Virginia to have told Ilsa about Haru, though Ilsa rarely mentions it. Virginia can’t decide if Ilsa finds it so peculiar, so confusing she can’t speak of it, or if she doesn’t know how to ask. Or maybe it’s because their friendship has been mostly structured around the book club and what they’ve read. “Just a lot of work right now.”

They talk about Ilsa’s desperate need to do something. She’s too idle, too much unstructured time, too many thoughts about the purpose of living, that old question that gnaws at your brain when there’s not enough life happening. Maybe it’s time for her to do something artistic; all those years in the museum, admiring other people’s creations. Maybe ceramics? Cups, vases, plates, that sort of thing.

“Do you think it’s too late to start something new?” says Ilsa.

Virginia sets down her wine glass. “Absolutely not. It’s the best way to grow old and stay young at the same time. I swear by it.”

Ilsa raises her glass and toasts Virginia.

“Now, you might not be a master—”

“Pshh,”’ says Ilsa. “I don’t care about that. I’m looking to restore my joie de vivre.” Ilsa dabs her napkin to the corners of her mouth. “Did you read the book?”

“Unfortunately, I’ve been too busy.”

Ilsa tells her the book is about a woman who falls in love with a bear.

“A bear?” says Virginia.

“A black bear.”

The woman in the book lives in North Tahoe, and every winter a bear hibernates under her deck. Then one winter, the bear sleeps on her deck near the wood pile. A particularly warm winter comes along and the bear doesn’t hibernate at all, and the woman leaves food for the bear, a smorgasbord of nuts, honey, apples, and homemade bread. It becomes a ritual—the woman, the food, the bear. Soon the woman waits on the porch with the food. The bear, at first hesitant, comes up the stairs and joins her at the picnic table.

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