At a memorial gathering for Ann Barr Snitow, already a part of our New School firmament even as nobody can quite imagine the world without her, a niece read us a story. It was one of Grimm's fairy tales - Ann loved fairy tales and had shelves and shelves of them from all around the world - and this was one she had clearly returned to often. Once in the wintertime when the snow was very deep, a poor boy had to go out and fetch wood on a sled. After he had gathered it together and loaded it, he did not want to go straight home, because he was so frozen, but instead to make a fire and warm himself a little first. So he scraped the snow away, and while he was thus clearing the ground he found a small golden key. Now he believed that where there was a key, there must also be a lock, so he dug in the ground and found a little iron chest. "If only the key fits!" he thought. "Certainly there are valuable things in the chest." He looked, but there was no keyhole. Finally he found one, but so small that it could scarcely be seen. He tried the key, and fortunately it fitted. Then he turned it once, and now we must wait until he has finished unlocking it and has opened the lid. Then we shall find out what kind of wonderful things there were in the little chest.
Ann's niece read her this story (which I gather the Brothers Grimm placed last in their collection, to suggest the trove was unending) two days before she died. Apparently it calmed her a little. "What happens next?" she said. And then: "Afterward we won't be able to discuss it!"
