This line comes from one of the final scenes in the movie Out of Africa. The scene is of Karen Blixen lowering herself to her knees to beg to the new English governor on behalf of the native Kikuyu who live on her foreclosed farm.
The governor answers noncommittally, but his wife rises to the occasion and gives her word that she will look into the matter and offers her hand. We don't know if this supremely dramatic scene ever happened, but the screenplay makes use of this moment to speak to the plight of human relationships on several levels.
The one I wish to focus on here is the plight of the friendship that is lost in the instant of its forming. When Baroness Blixen wishes a happy life in Africa to the new governor's wife, Her Excellency replies, "I'm sorry I won't know you."
When we meet others with whom we feel that immediate friendship, these moments usually aren't dramatic, and don't have us kneeling before heads of state, involving the fate of a people, sealing promises with a handshake in the space of a few moments. Often there is just a very small something that tunes us to someone, and we have a moment of uplift before the goodbye.
One time, a few years ago, I did feel the gain and loss of a friendship I hadn't yet experienced. Like in a fairy tale, I happened upon a woman in a nature preserve near my home. We were both drawn to that lovely woodsy space, yet had never met before. I was not yet familiar with the area, and had just begun to explore it. She had lived near there a while and was getting ready to move to California, and was coming toward the end of her visits to favorite spots.
As we chatted, I began to feel as if I were looking in a mirror, although we look nothing alike; and as if I were talking with an echo, although our stories were very different. After the smiling knowledge of coming upon another understanding soul, I felt the concurrent drift of our going separate ways. Both of us recognized the value of that wistful feeling and took it as a sign that saying a farewell a dieu would be dispiriting.
Because we live in an era that doesn't rely on fountain pens, steamer ships and foreign postage rates, we have been able to stay connected easily. She has left our little peaceful island in the woods, and now sees more sunlight. I, myself, will be staying a while longer and will see more rain. Regardless of climate or boundary, she has become my friend, my mentor, and an encouragement to keep saying to myself, through the revealing mirror of my work, "I'm glad I'll come to know you."
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