Year 160
The old, old man sat by the fireplace, as he had every night for more years than he cared to count.
No one else in the house spoke to him while he was in his reverie: not the servants, for fear of their jobs; not his many, many progeny, now of the third and even fourth degree, for to them, he had long since become more legend than paterfamilias; in fact, few would even dare to go near him, whether staring into the fire or not. So there was no one to talk to him for any but the most banal reasons, and, by and large, that was the way he liked it.
But if someone had asked him why he sat by the fire every evening, he wouldn’t have brushed them off, but instead would have told them, “I’m waiting.”
The flames danced before his ancient face as entrancingly as they had since the days of his youth, and he smiled to see them. Or rather, his eyes smiled; his face hadn’t made that expression since his lady had left him to deal with an all too adulatory world by himself. The irony of having attained the dream of his youth only to find it as callow as youth itself was not lost on him; in fact, had there been anyone around who didn’t grovel in his presence, he would have laughed over it with them. But there was no one like that around anymore.
The knowledge that he was not alone came over the old man slowly, but the discovery was in no way unwelcome. Without turning his head, he spoke. “Hello, Lalli.”
“It has been a long time, Emil.” This speech should have surprised the old man, being both in Swedish and longer by half than anything Lalli usually said. Somehow, though, it didn’t. Neither did the discovery that the two of them were now seated together in a beautiful forest glade, the fire now a bonfire in a stone-lined pit.
“It has been a very long time, Lalli; too long, perhaps?” None of the old man’s kin would have recognized the diffident, almost apologetic tones of this statement.
“It is never so long as to be too long; not between the two of us. Not when you’ve been so patiently waiting.”
The old man finally smiled then, and they began to talk. They talked of everything and nothing, the years falling farther away with each word. Time itself seemed to pause out of respect for their conversation, and the duo grew lighter and lighter of heart.
Eventually, though, they fell silent, a silence only possible between such friends as they. The old man was watching the flames dance again when Lalli’s face changed.
The old man looked up. Out from the depths of the forest, figures were coming toward them. There was no need to worry, though, for these were most familiar figures. Madcap Sigrun, hair flaming to match the joy in her eyes; grave but mischievous Mikkel; Tuuri, trying to outshine the sun with her smile; silly Reynir, looking as bashful as ever; and many others. Finally, one last couple emerged.
The old man had been keeping one eye on Lalli’s face, and at these last arrivals, the old man saw his face explode into the only true smile he’d ever seen on Lalli. That was enough so that the old man knew who they were.
Lalli stood. The old man knew Lalli meant to join them, and a keening sadness warred with joy for his friend in his heart. Then Lalli turned, still smiling, and held out his hand. As the old man took it, he felt the last of the years and cares fall away, and, Emil once more, he walked with his friend into the woods.
The fire had died before the old man’s death was noticed. The whole area went into a show of mourning for the passing of a living legend, and it was not until many years later that anyone noticed the remarkable coincidence that his Finn counterpart had likewise died on that same eve.
