Of course he would return eventually. He was destined to meet Spoon again in this way. The wonderful silver needle connected her to his destiny. Now he was beginning to see the significance of his profession. He quickened his pace. He wasn’t depressed at all. On the contrary, he felt proud. From a distance, he saw the light in his house. He knew how much his parents loved him and how much they worried about him. Now he could reassure them.

He was whistling when he went inside.

“Gray, you still have time to get some sleep. You’ll have sweet dreams!” Dad said from his bedroom.

“Yes, Dad, I’m looking forward to that!”

He fell asleep easily in the grass. The insects swarmed around him, and he returned to the depths of darkness. He began his journey to the ancestral house. Someone gently took his hand, and he knew who was walking beside him. He wanted to keep going without turning.

He did not think he was an angel. Instead, like Spoon, he often thought he was a devil. Now, despite his enthusiasm and dedication to his medical practice, on a rainy day he would suddenly feel the urge to kill. The objects were often snakes, lizards, and the herb with the local name of seven-leaf flower, or dandelion—this weed that grew everywhere drove him crazy. The strange thing was that despite his urge to kill, he never actually harmed the plants or animals. And as he grew older, he felt less and less likely to do evil. He crouched down and looked at a little green snake. “I’m getting a little older. It’s a good thing . . . What do you think?” The snake didn’t move. Although it was motionless, Gray felt it communicating with him. Gray was moved by the wild thing, and—through it—he saw his own foolishness.

On rainy spring nights, Gray often heard a woman walking toward him from far away. The woman didn’t look like Spoon, but she was the type he longed for—flexible, strong, and not too young. Her eyes were penetrating, like his. She could see his unmentionable disease but not worry about it. She sat at his bedside, put her arms around his neck, and told him that his illness was benign. Not only would it not harm him, it would be beneficial. Gray was very pleased. He remembered sneaking into the back room in the dark with her once and fiddling with the herbs. Gray said to her, “You’re not Spoon. You look nothing like her.”

“But I am,” the woman said.

When Dad coughed in the next room, the woman vanished. Gray tried repeatedly to grab her but missed. He knew she wasn’t far off, and he knew she wasn’t Spoon, only a little like Spoon. He hoped the rain would stop, so it wouldn’t soak her clothes and hair.

“Gray, have you found a new girlfriend?” Father asked him in the morning.

“It seems so. But no—no,” Gray said.