In the sky, two moons gazed at each other, reflecting the sun with all their might. The sun had set once again.
Nights on the planet were very cold. After dark, all the people of Saturn would retreat to their mountain homes. Life in the mountains was very solitary. The Saturnians, living in a state of constant flight or war, endured very difficult lives; if all went well, they might live to be fifty.
In the mountains, they fed on wild goats and wild herbs. They would build fires right next to their homes and roast the goat meat thoroughly.
They spent their entire days in seclusion. They were deeply devoted to God. Every morning when they woke up, they never failed to give thanks for being alive once again on Saturn. They meditated throughout the day and gathered as a community to converse before the sun set.
They had no notebooks or pens to write with. They passed down their traditions and collective memories from one generation to the next; throughout their ten-thousand-year history, they had lived joyfully, raised families, brought up their children, and strived to develop their civilization.
Among them was Heki—Saturn’s Socrates, part doctor, part psychologist, physicist, storyteller, and clergyman—a short, utterly ugly man. Heki was scheduled to see a patient that day.
His patient was a typical Saturnian in his mid-twenties—blue-eyed, with light brown hair, single, and a pleasant conversationalist, though he had contracted tuberculosis.
He sat right next to Heki, by the fire. He didn’t know where to begin. In fact, his illness was obvious: Maladi D’amour. A victim of love.
I can almost see the look on your face as you ask, “Can there really be love on Saturn?” You’re curious, aren’t you? Hold on a moment—I’m just as curious as you are about what’s going to happen.
-Heki, where should I start?
-With the first sentence that comes to mind.
-I’m burning. My love for Hera has been going on for ten years. Every day, I watch her as she heads out to light the fire near her house.
– Every day?
– Every day. She walks slowly, tucking her flowing hair behind her left ear. She’s always well-groomed. She lives alone. No one in the village knows what happened to her parents. I’ve been in love with her ever since I can remember—ever since I was a child.
After I finished puberty and had my bar mitzvah on Saturn (Saturnians also believed in the Jewish God), I began to see her more often. Over the years, she grew taller and more beautiful. Hashem is my witness that my passion and desire for her never faded. During our evening conversations, I tried so hard to get closer to her. But I couldn’t. I wanted so much to open up to her.
I was always waiting for the right moment to speak to her. I knew exactly when she would go to light the fire every day, and I’d watch her from a distance.
Years passed, months passed. I no longer wanted to wake up in the mornings. It was as if Saturn had come crashing down on my head. I’d cry uncontrollably and stay in bed all day. I had stopped eating. My love for her had turned into a hopeless, infatuation. Those around me saw how I was and felt very sorry for me. That’s how I fell ill.
“Now listen to me carefully. First, you’ll boil the herbs I’m giving you every morning and drink them. You’ll also drink a Saturn spoonful (it was bigger than a soup spoon) of this syrup every night before going to bed. These will get you back on your feet.
Now I want you to relax. Your whole body is relaxing, from your head to your toes. Your breathing is slowing down. Your thoughts and your mind are relaxing. Now you’re very comfortable. We’re going on a journey back to your childhood. Now tell me, what’s the first thing you remember?
-I had a little lamb. I loved it very much.
-Then what?
-Then a wolf came down from the mountain. I remember it vaguely. It was early in the morning. I was playing with my lamb. I heard growling in the distance. Then I got very scared and ran home.
I saw what happened through the big window of the house. The wolf attacked my lamb. It left it covered in blood. My lamb died, thrashing helplessly.
-How did you feel at that moment?
-I was so, so sad. I remember thinking I’d never be happy again.
-This is exactly that moment. Now listen carefully to what I’m about to tell you. That moment is gone. It will never happen again. That girl won’t die like your lamb. You won’t lose her. What’s making you sick is actually the lingering traces of that memory. You’ll slowly regain your strength and heal.
I’m going to talk to that girl. It’s clear she has feelings for you, too. On the night of the full moons, I’ll dance around the fire and pray to Hashem to send you healing. You’ll be back on your feet in a month or two.
A new life—a life under Saturn—awaits you.
Yes, our Saturn-inspired hero has recovered. Why don’t you reflect on this story for a moment? In which area of your life do you need healing?