Providence Read Free Page A

wouldn’t have happened at all.
    One night in the spring of 1941 I had a dream.
    A great black beetle came scurrying down the length of the trunk to confront me, and I shrank back, terrified. I was terrified because all insects terrified me at this age and because I was sure the beetle was going to blame me for what had happened to its home, which was this tree. But the beetle spoke up immediately to reassure me. It wasn’t a matter of vocalization. He spoke in my mind.
    “It’s all right,” the beetle said. “Don’t be afraid, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you.”
    I drew a little closer, fear giving way to curiosity. It isn’t often that an adult actively seeks communication with a six-year-old—and this beetle was definitely an adult. It had an aura of great wisdom and authority.
    It, he. I had the impression it was a he.
    “This tree was my home,” the beetle said. “Mine and others’, of course. Squirrels, birds, and so on.”
    “I know,” I said.
    “We’ll have to abandon it now, of course.”
    I said I was sorry it had fallen down.
    “That’s all right,” he said. “As a matter of fact, it didn’t just fall down. We felled it on purpose to block your path, so I could talk to you. There was no other way to do it.”
    I was dumbfounded, of course.
    “It’s really dark out tonight, isn’t it?” he went on conversationally, making small talk to put a small boy at ease.
    I said I guessed so, or something.
    The beetle seemed to reflect for a bit. Then, conveying a feeling of great compassion: “You don’t really belong here at all, do you.”
    I was surprised to hear him say this and asked what he meant.
    “I mean, you don’t really feel much at home in these streets, in these houses, in this world. You’re not really cherished here.”
    Now that it had been put into words by this wise creature, I suddenly knew it was true. I felt tears stinging my eyes, as one does at moments of great revelation.
    “The thing is,” he went on very gently, “you’re not
needed
here.”
    I nodded, unable to speak, too overcome with grief and with the great truth of what he was telling me.
    “Well, well,” he said, giving me a little time to recover. “But that’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
    “It is?”
    “Yes. Yes, it is. You see, you’re needed somewhere else.”
    I blinked at him in astonishment and said, “I am?”
    “Yes, you are. Very badly.”
    Once again I was dumbfounded. I opened my mouth but the word I wanted to utter wouldn’t come out. It didn’t matter; he knew what it was:
Where?
    “There,” said the beetle, nodding toward my right. I turned and saw that the city lot beside me had vanished, along with its tall, dark house. In its place now stood a lovely forest that opened at the edge of the sidewalk, and I realized that the beetle’s tree had come from this forest and not from the city lot. The fallen tree was a sort of bridge spanning the two locations, which were in reality hundreds or thousands of miles apart. About twenty yards away I saw a deer standing motionless in a little moonlit glade, watching me with grave speculation. Then after a few moments the deer turned and disappeared into a thicket beside him.
    “We need to tell you the secret of our lives,” the beetle said.
    “He wants you to follow him, of course,” the beetle said. “We all do.”
    I tore my gaze away from the forest.
    “We’ll all be there, waiting for you,” he went on, and then paused as if thinking about how to explain. “You need to know some things, you see, if you’re going to help us. It will almost mean giving up your life, will almost mean becoming one of us.” Then he added, rather shyly: “We need to tell you the secret of our lives.”
    I understood that he was talking about something that was meant to happen in the future, but I saw no reason to wait. I didn’t want to wait and saw no reason to wait. The forest was there now, a step away, and I was