• I was watching some reruns when his absurdly long and skinny arm snaked out with the remote. The hero and his love interest flickered and died with a quiet implosion of sound.



    I turned, irritated. "I was watching that!"



    "It's recorded," he said quietly, and I realized that he was miserable for some reason. It's often hard to tell, because he doesn't act belligerent or choke up or anything. I looked at him now. His long, skinny limbs were all folded up, like a spider. He was sitting in a rocking chair, and it was rocking slightly, back and forth, back and forth. Apart from this motion, he was eerily still, eyes wide and staring at me.



    "What is it?" I asked, concerned.



    He carefully placed his book on the coffee table after dog-earing his page. He did this without ever taking his eyes off me. After a moment he spoke in his usual calm, measured tones. "Do you ever wonder if we're alone in the universe?"



    I laughed, not unkindly. "What's brought this on?" I asked.



    He just kept staring at me, kept rocking.



    I sighed and stood up. "Shove over." He complied, and I sat next to him on the chair, put my arms around his shoulders. "Tell me what's up."



    He looked at me desperately. "Don't you ever think about it?" he pleaded. "About the stars, those cold unfeeling stars. Which would be worse, to know there is nothing out there and we are all alone in the vast dark void, or to know that those stars are full of light and warmth and life and we are denied it!" His voice was thick with unaccustomed emotion.



    For a moment I just sat there, stunned. He never talked this much, even with me. I'd told myself we had an unspoken connection, that there was no need for speech because we knew each other so well. Apparently not.



    But it was only a few seconds before I found the words he needed. I pulled him closer. He felt cold. I wished, suddenly, that I could tell him that he was everything to me. Teacher, student, husband, lover. I wished I could tell him that I wanted to be with him forever. I wished I could tell him how much I needed him. But I knew, instinctively, that that wasn't what he needed right now.



    I swallowed.



    "No, I don't think much about the possibility of life on other planets. That's because I've looked around, and this planet is more than enough. It has infinite variety, infinite splendor and vastness, it is covered in light and warmth and life. And it is covered in people, too! Good people, most of them, interesting people, intelligent, creative people! Poets and architects and scientists and heroes and parents and lovers. And I'll tell you this: there is one thing those stars definitely haven't got, and that's you, beautiful you." I looked deep into his eyes. "Understand?"



    He nodded, and smiled, ever so slightly.



    "Excellent." I kissed his forehead. "Now go to bed. It'll all look better in the morning."



    "What about you?" he said as he stood up obediently, long legs unfolding.



    I grinned. "I want to finish my show. He's just confessed his undying love to her, and-"



    He rolled his eyes as he disappeared downstairs.



    I didn't turn the TV back on. Instead I went out onto the balcony. The night air was sharp and chilling on my skin. I looked up. The stars were there, unfriendly distant points of light. Those cold unfeeling stars...



    I shivered, and went back inside.



    ***



    On my way to bed, something caught my eye. It was his book. Involuntarily I reached out and snagged it, pages ruffling. I glanced at the cover. Childhood's End, by Arthur C. Clarke. The book fell open onto the dog-eared page. On sentence jumped out at me, probably because it had been circled in pencil by a careful and conscientious hand.



    I smiled and tucked the book under my arm as I went to bed.



    ***



    The stars are no place for Man.