the unicorn in captivity

We met at the bus stop and spent most of the morning at the museum, walking carefully through stone rooms of objects that glittered blue, red and gold, past innumerable heavy-lidded Madonnas, and out into the garden, where, when no one was looking, we picked a quince from a quince tree.

Later, we waited, side by side in front of the tapestry, the famous one that shows the end of the chase. Caged at last, the unicorn kneels, its head docilely lowered, chained to a tree and circled by a fence. The room was full of people and the docent cleared her throat and began to explain the symbolism of the dandelion and the thistle.

I turned away to look at the fireplace on the opposite wall. It was big enough and deep enough that I could have stood inside it. To one side was an ivory column that rose tapering and pale, ridged with spirals that twined like braids. It was only the elongated tooth of a narwhal,* that grey and finless Arctic whale. But it was easy to understand how someone might have mistaken it for a unicorn's horn.







*I realize it's totally going to ruin the tone of this post if I mention The Avenging Narwhal or his tireless quest to rid the world of cuteness once and for all. But, well, you know.