Open Sesame! and the petals unfurl and though I've been pillaged before by careless insects, when you dip into me, no nectar could ever compare with what I know I can give, for you will drink only of me, and not buzz on soon to another in the garden of the world. You will stay to nourish, so the flower will never really die, or the fountain of nectar go dry. I will know that I have been waiting for this moment in our destiny. Ashamed, I doubted my garden would ever be found, my treasures fully appreciated; that for every bee there is one special flower, for every flower one special worshipper. I make this too much a fairy tale ending. Our letters are the bees which have carried a special pollen from the anthers of each of us to the flower that is the other and impregnated us with a knowledge too sweet and idealistic to be realizable anywhere except in a garden known only by ourselves. ... I've wrestled like Jacob and the Angel for the proper blessing and I must come to you. I'm catching a plane tomorrow for Minneapolis. See you Tuesday.

* *

When Kip phoned the publishing house, Randy was not there. With Randy's address to guide him, Kip scanned the phonebook and then put in a call to his home. "Randy's not receiving callers today," answered a cool, feminine voice.

"But I'm Kip; I've flown from Montana. He's expecting me.

The voice softened. "Oh yes, the dear friend he's been writing. Where are you? I'll drive to you so we can... talk. You see, he's only been out of the V.A. hospital a few months. We are grateful to you. Your wonderful friendship has given us back a glimpse of the once carefree Randy who had been so handsome and physically whole. It wasn't exactly wise of you to have come."

He frowned into the receiver. "He never told me."

The woman voiced no explanation, but insisted that Kip tell her where he was at so she could come to him.

When Kip hung up, his thoughts were churning, and yet, it was only minutes. before a woman, whom he gathered to be Mrs. Swanson, drove up in her MercedesBenz white convertible. She slowed at the curb long enough for him to toss his bag over the seat and hop in beside her. She spoke his name and told him hers, and then they chatted for several minutes, inconsequentially. Kip felt he could no longer hide what he wanted to say. At a red light, she leaned toward him and indicated he should light his unlit cigarette from the glowing end of hers. He smelled expensive perfume and noticed her green eyes as they regarded him with a cunning expression. He felt a shiver of presentiment. "Was he b-badly wounded?" "Yes," she answered, staring at the road ahead of her. "He lost a leg and was badly burned along one side of his body, a hand and across one cheek. For two years he's been in the hospital, apathetic, unwilling to rejoin the living you might say. He moves the leg reasonably well. He took the job under coercion; and the staff has been extremely nice to him. But progress was brief until he began corresponding with you."

"Then the pictures he sent of himself were before he went to Korea, and all the plays and concerts he's been seeing with debutantes are from a long time ago?" "I imagine that is so, but actually, he has ventured to concerts and movies even unattended since he began writing to you."

"So he told me these things just to have something to say. My letters were so full of my own pursuits... oh, God, and to think he hasn't been living at all for so long." Kip looked up. "Say, we're back at the airport, what gives?" He looked over at the woman with shock.

Her eyes glittered at him. "But don't you see, you'll spoil everything."

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