THE HOMECOMING

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In the next room Ben recognized his solar-powered helicopter high on a shelf, while on the windowsill, a dusty wooden dancing man in red shirt and blue pants leaned a sharp left. His right leg was missing from the knee down. Buckets and boxes were stacked everywhere. Over the scene still stared the great horned owl, his expression holding no patience for the antics of human beings.

Upstairs I got my worst blow of all. What had once been my sanctuary was now unrecognizable. Cupboard doors were swung open and spewing mounds of clothing. It was impossible to cross the room without wading through them. Beneath a thick gray rind of dust, my books still lined the shelves. I had carted many of these volumes halfway around the world and back and they had become as firmly planted in the Ningunsaw Valley as I myself had been. Even now after nearly three years, the act of taking my personal belongings seemed somehow a sacrilege. I had poured so many years into this home that the retrieving of any item felt like the desecration of a monument. Yet there was a substantial leak in this ship, and I had better start plucking what I wanted from the water.

The next morning I awoke to the sound of a red-breasted sapsucker drumming on the house while the plaintive two-note piping of a varied thrush gently woke the woods to another day. And we had so little time. A mere five days was not long enough to restore order to our old home. However, some things I couldn't stand for more than a day. My kitchen window, which I used to define as framed with sunshine because of its coat of yellow paint, looked sadly myopic with its plug of spattered plastic. All of it, including sill and wing windows, was filthy. Once Eric had maneuvered the plastic frame out of its hold and I had mixed up water and vinegar, I began, just as in the past, to wash the window, sensing at my shoulder the arrival of a red rufous, hovering like a beggar beside the feeder.

Upstairs, Natalia and Ben dove into action, rummaging through the ruins of their former life looking for treasures. Nat had remembered vividly some of the clothing I had left behind, including a tiger-striped skirt and wide cape purchased in Edinburgh. With delight she discovered a beige shawl I had crocheted in Paris and the antique eyelet lace blouse I had bought there. She waltzed down the stairs wearing the hooded monk dress I had bought and worn in Israel. Natalia and Ben both poked their heads out of the tiny attic window and waved hello to Eric and me, standing far below beside the woodshed. Ben sported a paisley shirt and vest that had once belonged to his dad. He said all he needed now was a tie and decent suit jacket and his outfit would be complete.

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