LoveStar
head. He walked with heavy steps up the stairs to their apartment, a knot in his stomach, opened the door to the second floor and called:
    â€œSigrid, honey. Are you home?”
    He closed his eyes, fought against tears and wished fiercely and in earnest that life could be like it was before. When love was red as a strawberry and life was as sweet and golden as honey.
    â€œSigrid? Are you home?”

LEMON SUN
    LoveStar sat alone in his jet, soaring soundlessly over the Atlantic. The scheduled landing time was in three hours and fifty minutes at the LoveStar headquarters in Oxnadalur. He didn’t dare move because in his hand he held a tiny seed. An hour ago the seed had been green and seemed to quiver but now the quivering was fainter. He thought the seed looked gray, though the grayness might have been caused by the lighting in the plane.
    There was a knot in his stomach. LoveStar had had a greater influence on the world than any other man in history. Everything he touched had turned to gold, but in his hand he held a seed that seemed only to be turning gray. He didn’t know what it contained, but it was sure to be more powerful than an atom bomb.
    Though everything had gone according to plan, LoveStar didn’t know what would happen next. As a rule he’d had ideas for the next twenty years, but now he was quite empty. In fact he had been empty for some time, having developed a sufficiently strong immune system to ward off stupid ideas.
    It was a long time since he had slept the whole night through. He invariably jerked awake, feeling as if someone were whispering in his ear. As if someone were sitting on his chest, almost suffocating him. He didn’t dare sleep with the light off any longer. He was distracted at board meetings, lost the thread, was oblivious to questions, and couldn’t come up with any answers when asked. He often sat alone at night, waiting for news of the search. Generally he sat at a glass table drawing, writing, or doing calculations. There was nothing he could do but wait. In the days before he boarded the plane, he’d sat in his office with a white sheet of paper in front of him, calculating:
    For God, every day is like 1,000 years
    every hour 41.67 years
    every minute 0.69 years or 251 days
    every second 0.012 years, which is 4.2 days
    a moment is a day.
    The speed of light is 186,000 miles per second, so light travels
    186,000 miles in 4.2 days, according to God’s sense of time.
    The speed of light from God’s perspective is therefore around 0.5 miles a second or 1,845 miles an hour. That’s three times faster than the top speed of an empty jumbo jet.
    For 1,000 years in Your sight are like a day.
    He looked up, listened, then continued his calculations: “I’m 71 years old. I’ve lived 25,992 days. For someone who perceives each passing day as 1,000 years I am almost 26 million years old. Humans sleep for three centuries. When they wake up in the morning they take five days to open their eyes. I don’t need to sleep for three centuries; just now I slept for a third of a moment. That’s eight hours in God-time. It’s half-past two. I haven’t closed my eyes for 100 years.”
    Putting down his pen, he got up and looked in the mirror. He closed his eyes and opened them. He used to do this sometimes when he was small. By opening his eyes quickly he tried to see what he looked like with his eyes shut. He closed his eyes and opened them. His palms were sweating and his hands shook. The maid came in and drew white curtains across the windows. She was carrying a round plate on which there was a slice of bread spread with honey.
    â€œChicago?” asked LoveStar.
    The maid nodded.
    LoveStar looked at the bread. A round slice of bread spread with golden honey. Sun on a white plate. LoveStar took a bite out of the sun; it looked like a waning moon and his tremors vanished. Two bites, and he chewed slowly until the world and time

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