ዘመኑ ባፈራው የቴክኖሎጂ ግብአት በመጠቀም ለህብረተሰባችን ስራ ለሁሉም በሚል ግብ የተሻለ የስራ አማራጭ፣ ለተሻለ ኑሮ፣ ለተሻለ የገበያ ትስስር ፣ ለተቀናጀ የገበያ ተደራሽነት ገዥን ከደንበኛ የማስተሳሰሪያ የቴክኖሎጂ አማራጭ ይዘን መተናል በሁሉም የስራ መስክ በሁሉም የስራ እርከን ስራ ለሚገኙ ባለሙያዎች እና ድርጅቶች የስራ አጋጣሚን መፍጠር
ዘመኑ ባፈራው የቴክኖሎጂ ግብአት በመጠቀም ለህብረተሰባችን ስራ ለሁሉም በሚል ግብ የተሻለ የስራ አማራጭ፣ ለተሻለ ኑሮ፣ ለተሻለ የገበያ ትስስር ፣ ለተቀናጀ የገበያ ተደራሽነት ገዥን ከደንበኛ የማስተሳሰሪያ የቴክኖሎጂ አማራጭ ይዘን መተናል በሁሉም የስራ መስክ በሁሉም የስራ እርከን ስራ ለሚገኙ ባለሙያዎች እና ድርጅቶች የስራ አጋጣሚን መፍጠር
ዘመኑ ባፈራው የቴክኖሎጂ ግብአት በመጠቀም ለህብረተሰባችን ስራ ለሁሉም በሚል ግብ የተሻለ የስራ አማራጭ፣ ለተሻለ ኑሮ፣ ለተሻለ የገበያ ትስስር ፣ ለተቀናጀ የገበያ ተደራሽነት ገዥን ከደንበኛ የማስተሳሰሪያ የቴክኖሎጂ አማራጭ ይዘን መተናል በሁሉም የስራ መስክ በሁሉም የስራ እርከን ስራ ለሚገኙ ባለሙያዎች እና ድርጅቶች የስራ አጋጣሚን መፍጠር
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ዘመኑ ባፈራው የቴክኖሎጂ ግብአት በመጠቀም ለህብረተሰባችን ስራ ለሁሉም በሚል ግብ የተሻለ የስራ አማራጭ፣ ለተሻለ ኑሮ፣ ለተሻለ የገበያ ትስስር ፣ ለተቀናጀ የገበያ ተደራሽነት ገዥን ከደንበኛ የማስተሳሰሪያ የቴክኖሎጂ አማራጭ ይዘን መተናል በሁሉም የስራ መስክ በሁሉም የስራ እርከን ስራ ለሚገኙ ባለሙያዎች እና ድርጅቶች የስራ አጋጣሚን መፍጠር
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👁 :
This, like so many of the decisions she made with her husband, the opposition leader Alexei Navalny, is unambiguous.
Navalnaya knows she faces arrest if she returns home while President Putin is still in power. His administration has accused her of participating in extremism.
This is no empty threat. In Russia, it can lead to death.Her husband, President Putin’s most vocal critic, was sentenced to 19 years for extremism, charges that were seen as politically motivated. He died in February in a brutal penal colony in the Arctic Circle. US President Joe Biden said there was "no doubt" Putin was to blame. Russia denies killing Navalny.
Yulia Navalnaya, sitting down for our interview in a London legal library, looks and sounds every inch the successor to Navalny, the lawyer turned politician who dreamt of a different Russia.
As she launches Patriot, the memoir her husband was writing before his death, Yulia Navalnaya restated her plans to continue his fight for democracy.
When the time is right, “I will participate in the elections… as a candidate,” she told the BBC.
“My political opponent is Vladimir Putin. And I will do everything to make his regime fall as soon as possible”.For now, that has to be from outside Russia.
She tells me that while Putin is in charge she cannot go back. But Yulia looks forward to the day she believes will inevitably come, when the Putin era ends and Russia once again opens up.
Just like her husband, she believes there will be the chance to hold free and fair elections. When that happens, she says she will be there.Her family has already suffered terribly in the struggle against the Russian regime, but she remains composed throughout our interview, steely whenever Putin's name comes up.
Her personal grief is channelled into political messaging, in public anyway. But she tells me, since Alexei's death, she has been thinking even more about the impact the couple's shared political beliefs and decisions have had on their children, Dasha, 23, and Zakhar, 16.
“I understand that they didn’t choose it”.
But she says she never asked Navalny to change course.He was barred from standing for president by Russia’s Central Election Commission.
His investigations through his Anti-Corruption Foundation were viewed by millions online, including a video posted after his last arrest, claiming that Putin had built a one-billion dollar palace on the Black Sea.
The president denied it.
Yulia says: “When you live inside this life, you understand that he will never give up and that is for what you love him”.
Navalny was poisoned with the nerve agent Novichok in 2020.
He was flown to Germany for treatment and the German chancellor demanded answers from Putin’s regimeHe began writing his memoir as he recovered.
He and Yulia returned to Russia in January 2021 where he was arrested after landing.
Many ask why they returned.
“There couldn’t be any discussion. You just need to support him. I knew that he wants to come back to Russia. I knew that he wants to be with his supporters, he wanted to be an example to all these people with his courage and his bravery to show people that there is no need to be afraid of this dictator.
“I never let my brain think that he might be killed… we lived this life for decades and it’s about you share these difficulties, you share these views. You support him”.After his jailing, Navalny continued his book in notebook entries, posts on social media and prison diaries, published for the first time. Some of his writing was confiscated by the prison authorities, he said.
Patriot is revealing - and devastating. We all know Navalny’s final chapter, which makes the descriptions of his treatment - and his courage in the face of it - even more poignant.
Navalny spent 295 days in solitary confinement, punished, according to the book, for violations including the top button of his fatigues being unbuttoned. He was deprived of phone calls and visits.
Yulia Navalnaya told me: “Usually, the normal practice is banishment just for two weeks and it's the most severe punishment. My husband spent there almost one year."In a prison diary from August 2022, Navalny writes from solitary confinement:
It is so hot in my cell you can hardly breathe. You feel like a fish tossed onto the shore, yearning for fresh air. Most often, though, it is like a cold, dank cellar….. It is invariably isolated, with loud music constantly playing. In theory, this is to prevent prisoners in different cells from being able to shout to each other; in practice, it is to drown out the screams of those being tortured.Navalnaya says she was prevented from visiting or speaking to her husband for two years before he died. She says Alexei was tortured, starved and kept in "awful conditions".
After his death, the US, EU and UK announced new sanctions against Russia. These included freezing the assets of six prison bosses who ran the Arctic Circle penal colony and other sanctions on judges involved in criminal proceedings against Navalny.
Yulia calls the reaction to his death by the international community “a joke” and urges them to be “a little less afraid” of Putin. She wants to see the president locked up.
“I don’t want him to be in prison, somewhere abroad, in a nice prison with a computer, nice food… I want him to be in a Russian prison. And it’s not just that - I want him to be in the same conditions like Alexei was. But it’s very important for me”.
The Russians claim Navalny died of natural causes. Yulia believes President Putin ordered the killing.
“Vladimir Putin is answering for the death and for the murder of my husband”.
She says the Anti-Corruption Foundation she now leads in her husband’s place already has “evidence” which she will reveal when they have “the whole picture”.The book is as much a political work as a memoir, a rallying cry to anyone who believes in a free Russia. It is also being published in Russian, as an ebook and audiobook. But the publishers won’t send hard copies to Russia or Belarus, because they say they can’t guarantee the book would get through customs.
How many Russians will dare to buy it, even in electronic form, is unclear - and how much impact it could have remains questionable.The message etched on every page is that Navalny never gave up. His arch wit shines through.
He says, in the punishment cell, he is getting “for free” the experience of staying silent, eating scant food and getting away from the outside world that “rich people suffering from a midlife crisis” pay for.
Only once does he share feeling “crushed”, during the hunger strike he undertook in 2021 in order to demand medical care from civilian doctors. “For the first time, I’m feeling emotionally and morally down,” he writes in one entry.
But Yulia says she never worried that he would actually be broken by the regime.
“I'm absolutely confident that is the point why finally they decided to kill him. Because they just realised that he will never give up”.
Even the day before he died, when he appeared in court, Navalny was filmed joking with the judge.Yulia says laughter was his “superpower”.
“He really, truly laughed at this regime and at Vladimir Putin. That's why Vladimir Putin hated him so much”.The writing is laced with a great deal of irony.
The book will sell better if he dies, Navalny writes:
Let’s face it, if a murky assassination attempt using a chemical weapon, followed by a tragic demise in prison, can’t move a book, it is hard to imagine what would. The book's author has been murdered by a villainous president; what more could the marketing department ask for?
In the end, Patriot is also a love story about two people fully committed to a cause they believed in.
A cause for which Yulia has now become the figurehead.
After a visit from her, Navalny writes:
I whispered in her ear ‘Listen, I don’t want to sound dramatic, but I think there’s a high probability I’ll never get out of here…. They will poison me’.
‘I know’, she said with a nod, in a voice that was calm and firm. ‘I was thinking that myself’...
It was one of those moments when you realise you found the right person. Or perhaps she found you.
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👁 :
Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed (PhD) has received and held a discussion with the United Nations Secretary General António Guterres this morning, the Ethiopian Prime Minister said in a post on his social media page.
“I am pleased to welcome United Nations Secretary General António Guterres to Ethiopia and had the pleasure of receiving him this morning at my office,” premier Abiy noted.
He confirmed that their discussion covered various regional and multilateral issues.
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👁 :
A 5.9-magnitude earthquake has hit Turkey’s eastern province of Malatya, the Turkey Disaster and Emergency Management Authority
The earthquake occurred at 10:46 a.m. local time (07:46 GMT) at a depth of about 10 kilometers (6.2 miles) near the city of Kale in the province of Malatya.
Earlier in the day, the European-Mediterranean Seismological Centre (EMSC) said that a 6.1-magnitude earthquake hit eastern Turkey. The quake took place 46 kilometers east of the city of Malatya. The epicenter was located at a depth of 9 kilometers.
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👁 :
China has successfully completed the technical verification of a large-scale AI model technology using a recently launched satellite.
The satellite conducted 13 tests of its AI model from 25 September to 5 October, which included various types of tasks using different conditions. This is reported by CGTN, a partner of TV BRICS.
The results of the technical tests confirmed the suitability of the large AI model in space and the robustness of the satellite’s computing platform.
In the next phase, the satellite will generate 3D remote sensing data in orbit. Its 3D imaging capabilities can support a wide range of digital twin applications in a variety of sectors, including low-element economies, cultural tourism and sports.
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👁 :
Massive floods caused serious damage and power outages on Friday in parts of France’s mountainous southeast region after days of heavy rain, though there were no immediate reports of any casualties, Reuters reported, citing local weather authority.
France’s weather authority Meteo France placed six departments south of the city of Lyon on a red flood alert on Thursday. The alert was downgraded to ‘orange’ on Friday, indicating that water levels would come down again.
“At certain places in the Ardeche region, up to 700 milimetres of water has fallen in 48 hours. That’s more than a year’s rainfall in Paris, so it’s absolutely gigantic,” Agnes Pannier-Runacher, the environment minister, told BFM TV.
French news stations showed cars, traffic signs and cattle being swept away by the floods. The A47 highway close to Lyon was temporarily transformed into a giant stream of water.
The French interior ministry said Paris had dispatched 1,500 additional firefighters to the affected areas.
👁 :
The BRICS summit in Kazan will be attended by representatives of 36 countries and 6 international organisations. This was announced by Russian Presidential Aide Yury Ushakov at a briefing on 21 October.
He said that the meeting of delegations of the BRICS countries will be held on 22 October. It will start with an informal lunch in the Kazan City Hall, and in the morning of 23 October a meeting of the BRICS member states will be held.
“It is planned to consider the most pressing aspects of the global agenda in a narrow group, exchange views on the topics of cooperation of the BRICS states in the international arena <…>.The leaders will discuss the situation that is developing in the context of further financial cooperation within the BRICS, as well as a very important and very sensitive issue, the further expansion of the BRICS members” Russian Presidential Aide, Yury Ushakov, said.
As for the accession of new countries to the group, the Russian Presidential Aide said that a discussion is expected on the issue of formalising the new members of the association as partners.
In addition, a gala reception will be held on behalf of the Russian President on the evening of 23 October. Leaders and heads of delegations of the BRICS countries, as well as representatives of the states participating in the enlarged meeting, have been invited to attend the reception.
The meeting in the BRICS+ format will be held on 24 October. Representatives of Asia, Africa, Europe and Latin America will assess the state of cooperation in the field of economy and trade, as well as summarise the results of cooperation in the cultural and humanitarian sphere and touch upon the topics of sustainable development and food security.
Dilma Rousseff, President of the BRICS New Development Bank (NDB), Sergey Katyrin, Chairman of the Russian part of the BRICS Business Council, President of the Chamber of Commerce and Industry of the Russian Federation, and others will make a presentation on the same day.
At the end of the enlarged meeting, the BRICS Kazan Declaration will be adopted. This comprehensive document will summarise the results of the Russian presidency in the group. According to Ushakov, the final declaration is currently under preparation.
The BRICS summit starts on Tuesday, 22 October, and will last three days. The meeting of the member countries of the association will be held under the motto “Strengthening Multilateralism for Just Global Development and Security”. The second part of the summit, the BRICS+ session, will be devoted to the theme “BRICS and the Global South: Building a Better World Together”.
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👁 :
Addis Ababa Addis Sub-City Mercato is being worked on to control the fire that occurred in the area commonly known as Shema Thar, the Fire and Disaster Risk Management Commission of the city has announced.
According to Ngatu Mamo, Public Relations Officer of the Commission, fire fighting vehicles and experts have been deployed at the scene to control the fire.The told Yegnane.com that they will announce the cause of the fire and the damage caused by the investigation.
The mayor of Addis Ababa, Adanech Abebe, has stated that fire and risk prevention is working closely with the local community to control the fire.He also pointed out that efforts are being made to use a helicopter as it is difficult for the local road fire truck to move fully in an effort to quickly control the accident.
Mayor Adanech expressed his deep regret for the property damage caused by the fire.
👁 :
BytheriverPiedraIsatdownandwept.Thereisalegendthateverythingthat falls into the waters of this river–leaves, insects, the feathers of birds–is transformedintotherocksthatmaketheriverbed.IfonlyIcouldtearoutmy heartandhurlitintothecurrent,thenmypainandlongingwouldbeover,and I could finally forget.
By the river Piedra I sat down and wept. The winter air chills the tears on my cheeks,andmytearsfallintothecoldwatersthatcoursepastme.Somewhere,
thisriverjoinsanother,thenanother,untilfarfrommyheartandsightallof themmerge with thesea.
May my tears runjust as far, that my love might never knowthat one day Icried forhim.Maymytearsrunjustasfar,thatImightforgettheRiverPiedra,the monastery, the church in the Pyrenees, the mists, and the paths we walked together.
Ishallforgettheroads, themountains, andthefields ofmydreamsthe dreams that will never come true.
Iremembermy"magicmoment"thatinstantwhena"yes"ora"no"canchangeone's lifeforever.Itseemssolongagonow.Itishardtobelievethatitwasonly
lastweekthatIhadfoundmyloveonceagain, andthenlosthim.
Iam writingthis story on the bank of the River Piedra. My hands are freezing, mylegsarenumb,andevery minuteIwanttostop.
"Seektolive.Remembranceisfortheold,"hesaid.
Perhapslove makesus old before our time oryoung,if youth haspassed. But how canInotrecallthosemoments?ThatiswhyIwritetotrytoturnsadnessinto longing,solitudeintoremembrance.SothatwhenIfinishtellingmyselfthe
story,Icantoss itintothePiedra.That'swhatthewoman whohasgiven me sheltertoldmetodo.Onlytheninthewordsofoneofthesaintswillthe waterextinguishwhattheflames havewritten.
Alllovestoriesarethesame.
We hadbeenchildren together.Thenhe left, like so manyyoungpeople wholeave small towns. He said he was going to learn about the world, that his dreams lay beyond the fields of Soria.
Yearspassed with almost nonewsofhim.Every nowandthen hewouldsend me a letter,butheneverreturnedtothepathsandforestsofourchildhood.
WhenIfinishedschool,Imovedto Zaragoza, andthereIfound thathehadbeen right.Soriawasasmalltown,andasitsonlyfamouspoethadsaid,roadsare madetobetraveled.Ienrolledintheuniversityandfoundaboyfriend.Ibegan tostudyforascholarship(Iwasworkingasasalesgirltopayformycourses).
But Ilost the competition forthe scholarship, and after that Ileft my boyfriend.
Then the letters from my childhood friend began to arrive more frequently and I was envious of the stamps from so many different places. He seemed to know
everything; he had sprouted wings, and now he roamed the world. Meanwhile, I was simply trying to put down roots.
Some of his letters, all mailed from the same place in France,spoke of God. In one, he wroteaboutwanting to entera seminary and dedicate his life to prayer. Iwrotehimback,askinghimtowaitabit,urginghimtoexperiencemoreofhis freedombeforecommittinghimselftosomethingsoserious.
But after Ireread my letter, Itore it up. Who wasIto speak aboutfreedom or commitment?Comparedtohim,Iknewnothingaboutsuchthings.
OnedayIlearnedthathehadbeguntogivelectures.Thissurprisedme;I thoughthewastooyoungtobeabletoteachanythingtoanyone.Andthenhe wroteto me that he was goingto speak to a small group in Madrid and he asked me to come.
So Imadethe four-hourtrip from Zaragoza to Madrid. Iwantedto see him again;Iwantedtohearhisvoice.Iwantedtositwithhiminacafeandrememberthe olddays,whenwehadthoughttheworldwasfartoolargeforanyoneeverto know it truly.
Saturday,December4,1993
The place wheretheconferencewasheldwasmore formalthanIhadimaginedit, and there were more people there than I had expected. How had all this come about?
Hemustbefamous.Ithought.He'dsaidnothingaboutthisinhisletters.I wantedto go up to thepeople in theaudience andask themwhy theywere there, but I didn't have the nerve.
Iwas even more surprised when Isaw him enter the room. He was quite different from theboyIhadknown–butofcourse,it hadbeentwelve years; people change. Tonighthis eyes wereshining–helookedwonderful.
"He'sgivingusbackwhatwasours,"saidawomanseatednexttome. A strange thing to say.
"Whatishegivingback?"Iasked. "Whatwas stolen from us. Religion."
"No, no,he'snotgivingus anything back," said a youngerwoman seated onmy right."Theycan'treturnsomethingthathasalwaysbelongedtous."
"Well,then,whatareyou doinghere?"thefirstwomanasked, irritated.
"I want to listen to him. I want to see how they think; they've already burned usatthestakeonce,andtheymaywanttodoitagain."
"He'sjustonevoice,"saidthewoman."He'sdoingwhathecan."
The young woman smiled sarcastically and turned away, putting an end to the conversation.
"He'stakingacourageous position foraseminarian," theotherwoman went on, looking to me for support.
Ididn'tunderstandanyofthis,andIsaidnothing.Thewomanfinallygaveup. The girl atmyside winked atme,asifIwereherally.
But Iwassilentforadifferentreason. Iwasthinking,Seminarian? Itcan't lie! He would have told me.
Whenhe started to speak, Icouldn't concentrate. Iwas sure he had spotted meintheaudience,andIwastryingtoguesswhathewasthinking.HowdidIlook to him? Howdifferent was the woman of twenty-nine from the girlof seventeen?Inoticedthathisvoicehadn'tchanged.Buthiswordscertainlyhad.
You have to take risks, he said. We will only understand the miracle of life fully when we allowtheunexpected to happen.
Every day, God gives us thesun–and also one momentin which we have theability tochangeeverythingthatmakesusunhappy.Everyday,wetrytopretendthatwe haven't perceived that moment, that it doesn't exist–that today is the same as yesterdayandwillbethesameastomorrow.Butifpeoplereallypayattention
totheireverydaylives,theywilldiscoverthatmagicmoment.Itmayarrivein
the instant when we are doing something mundane, like putting our front-door keyinthe lock; itmayliehidden inthe quietthatfollowsthe lunchhourorin
the thousand and one things that all seem the same to us. But that moment exists–amomentwhenallthepowerofthestarsbecomesapartofusandenables us to perform miracles.
Joyissometimesablessing,butitisoftenaconquest.Ourmagicmomenthelps us to changeand sendsus offin searchof our dreams. Yes, we are goingto suffer, we will have difficult times, and we will experience many disappointments–but all of this is transitory; it leaves no permanent mark. And oneday wewilllookbackwithprideandfaithatthejourneywehavetaken.
Pitifulisthepersonwho isafraidoftakingrisks.Perhapsthispersonwill
neverbedisappointedordisillusioned;perhapsshewon'tsufferthewaypeople
do when theyhaveadream tofollow.But when thatpersonlooks back–andatsome pointeveryone looksback–shewill hear her heartsaying,"What have you done withthemiraclesthatGodplantedinyourdays?Whathaveyoudonewiththe talents God bestowed on you? You buried yourself in a cave because you were fearfuloflosingthosetalents.Sothisisyourheritage:thecertaintythat
youwastedyourlife"
Pitiful are the people who must realize this. Because when they are finally able to believe in miracles, their life's magic moments will have already passed them by.
After the lecture, members of the audience rushed up to him. Iwaited, worried aboutwhathisfirstimpressionofmewouldbeaftersomanyyears.Ifeltlike
achild–insecure,tensebecauseIknewnoneofhisnewfriends,andjealousthat hewaspayingmoreattentiontotheothersthantome.
Whenhefinally came up to me, heblushed. Suddenlyhewasnolonger amanwith importantthingstosaybutwasonceagaintheboywhohadhiddenwithmeatthe hermitageofSanSatúrio,tellingmeofhisdreamtotraveltheworld(whileour parentswerecallingthepolice,surethatwehaddrownedintheriver).
"Pilar,"hesaid.
Ikissedhim.Icouldhavecomplimentedhimonhispresentation.Icouldhave
said Iwas tired of beingaround so manypeople. Icould have made some humorous remark about our childhood or commented on how proud I was to see him there, so admired by others.
Icould haveexplained thatIhadtorunandcatchthelast busbackto Zaragoza.
I could have. What does this phrase mean? At any given moment in our lives, thereare certainthingsthat could have happened but didn't.The magic moments go unrecognized, and then suddenly, the hand of destiny changes everything.
That'swhathappened to me justthen. Inspite of all thethingsIcould have done or said, Iasked a question that has brought me, a week later, to this riverandhascausedmetowritetheseverylines.
"Canwehavecoffeetogether?"Isaid.
Andhe,turningto me,acceptedthehandofferedbyfate.
"Ireally need to talk to you. Tomorrow Ihave a lecture in Bilbao. Ihave a car. Come with me."
"Ihavetoget backtoZaragoza," Ianswered,notrealizingthatthiswasmy last chance.
Then I surprised myself–perhaps because in seeing him, I had become a child again…orperhapsbecausewearenottheoneswhowritethebestmomentsofour lives. I said, "But they're about to celebrate the holiday of the Immaculate Conception in Bilbao. I can go there with you and then continue on to Zaragoza."
Just then,itwason thetipof mytonguetoaskhimabouthisbeinga
"seminarian." Hemust haveread myexpression, because hesaidquickly, "Doyou want to ask me something?"
"Yes. Beforeyour lecture,a woman said that you were givingherback whathad been hers. What did she mean?"
"Oh,that'snothing."
"Butit'simportanttome.Idon'tknowanythingaboutyourlife;I'meven surprisedtoseesomanypeoplehere."
He justlaughed, andthen he started to turnawayto answerotherpeople's questions.
"Wait," Isaid, grabbing his arm."You didn't answerme.""I don't think it would interest you, Pilar."
"Iwanttoknowanyway."
Takingadeepbreath,heledmetoacorneroftheroom."Allofthegreat religions–including Judaism, Catholicism, and Islam–are masculine. Men are in chargeofthedogmas,menmake thelaws, andusually all thepriests are men.""Isthatwhatthewomanmeant?"
Hehesitatedbefore heanswered."Yes.Ihaveadifferentview ofthings:I believe in thefeminine side of God."
Isighed with relief.The woman wasmistaken; he couldn't be a seminarian because seminarians don't have such different views of things.
"You'veexplaineditverywell,"Isaid.
Thegirlwhohadwinkedatmewaswaitingatthedoor.
"Iknowthatwebelong tothesametradition,"shesaid."My nameisBrida."
"Idon'tknowwhatyou'retalkingabout.""Ofcourseyoudo,"she laughed.
Shetook my armand led me out of the building before Icould say anything more. Itwasacoldnight,andIwasn'tsurewhatIwasgoingtodo untilweleftfor Bilbao the next morning.
"Wherearewegoing?"Iasked. "TothestatueoftheGoddess."
"But… Ineedto find aninexpensive hotel whereIcanstay forthenight.""I'll show you one later."
IwantedtogotosomewarmcafewhereIcouldtalktoherforabitandlearn as much as Icould abouthim. But Ididn't want to argue. While she guided me across thePaseo de Castellana, Ilookedaround atMadrid; Ihadn'tbeenthere in years.
Inthemiddle oftheavenue,she stoppedandpointedtothesky. "There Sheis." The moon shone brilliantly throughthebare branchesofthetrees oneither side of the road.
"Isn'tthatbeautiful!"Iexclaimed.
Butshewasn'tlistening.Shespreadherarmsintheformofacross,turning herpalmsupward,andjuststoodtherecontemplatingthemoon.
What have Igotten myself into? Ithought. Icame here to attend a conference,andnowIwindupinthePaseodeCastellanawiththiscrazygirl.Andtomorrow I'm going to Bilbao!
"O mirroroftheEarth Goddess," Brida wassaying, hereyes closed. "Teach us aboutour power and make men understand us. Rising, gleaming, waning, and revivingintheheavens,youshowusthecycleoftheseedandthefruit."
She stretched her arms toward the night sky and held this position for some time. Several passersby lookedatherandlaughed,but she paid noattention;I was the one who was dying of embarrassment, standing there beside her.
"Ineededtodo that,"shesaid,afterherlong adorationofthemoon,"sothat the Goddess would protect us."
"Whatareyoutalkingabout?"
"Thesamethingthatyourfriendwastalkingabout,onlywithwordsthatare true."
IwassorrynowthatIhadn'tpaidcloserattentiontothe lecture.
"WeknowthefemininesideofGod,"Bridacontinuedaswestartedtowalkon.
"We,thewomen,understandandlovetheGreatMother.Wehavepaidforour wisdom with persecution and burnings at the stake, but we have survived. And now we understand Her mysteries."
Burningsatthestake?Shewastalkingaboutwitches!
Ilooked more closely at the woman by my side. Shewas pretty, with hairthat hung to the middle of her back.
"While men were goingoffto hunt,we remained in the caves, in the womb of the Mother,caringforourchildren.AnditwastherethattheGreatMothertaught
useverything.
"Menlivedthrough movement,whileweremainedclosetothewomboftheMother.
Thisallowedustoseethatseedsareturnedintoplants,andwetoldthisto
themen.We made thefirstbread, andwefed our people. We shapedthefirstcup so that we could drink. And we came to understand thecycleofcreation, because our bodiesrepeattherhythmofthemoon."
Shestoppedsuddenly."ThereSheis!"
I looked. There in the middle of the plaza, surrounded on all sides by traffic, wasafountainportrayingawomaninacarriagedrawnbylions.
"This is the Plaza Cybele," I said, trying to show off my knowledge of Madrid. I hadseenthisfountainondozensofpostcards.
But the youngwoman wasn't listening. Shewas already in the middle of the street,tryingtomakeherwaythroughthetraffic."Comeon!Let'sgoover there!"sheshouted,wavingtomefromthemidstofthecars.
Idecidedtotrytofollowher,ifonlytogetthenameofahotel.Her craziness was wearing me out; Ineeded to get some sleep.
We made it to thefountainatalmost thesame time; myheart waspounding, but she had a smile on her lips. "Water!" she exclaimed. "Water is Her manifestation."
"Please,Ineedthenameofaninexpensivehotel."
Sheplunged herhandsintothewater. "You should do this,too," she saidtome. "Feel the water."
"No!ButIdon'twanttospoilyourexperience.I'mgoingtolookforahotel.""Just a minute."
Brida took a small flute from herbag and began to play. To my surprise, the musichadahypnotic effect;thesounds ofthetrafficreceded, andmyracing heartbegantoslowdown.Isatontheedgeofthefountain,listeningtothe
noise of the water and the sound of the flute, my eyes on the full moon gleaming above us. SomehowIwas sensing–although Icouldn't quite understand it–that the moon was a reflection of my womanhood.
Idon'tknow howlong she continuedto play. When she stopped, she turned to the fountain. "Cybele, manifestation of the Great Mother, who governs the harvests, sustains the cities, and returns to woman her role as priestess…"
"Whoareyou?"Iasked."Why didyouaskmetocomewithyou?"
Sheturnedtome."Iamwhatyouseemetobe. Iamapartofthereligionof the earth."
"Whatdoyouwantfromme?"
"Icanread your eyes. Icanread your heart. You are goingto fall in love. And suffer."
"Iam?
"You know what I'm talking about. I saw how he was looking at you. He loves you."
Thiswomanwasreallynuts!
"That'swhyIaskedyoutocome with me–because heisimportant.Even thoughhe says some silly things, at least he recognizes the Great Mother. Don't let him
losehisway. Helphim."
"Youdon'tknowwhatyou'retalkingabout.You'redreaming!"AndIturnedand rushedbackintothetraffic,swearingI'dforgeteverythingshehadsaid.
Sunday,December5,1993
Westopped foracupofcoffee.
"Yes,lifeteaches usmanythings,"Isaid,tryingtocontinue theconversation. "It taughtme that we canlearn, and it taughtme that we canchange," he replied, "even when it seems impossible."
Clearly he wanted to drop the subject. We had hardly spoken during the two-hour drivethathadbroughtustothisroadside cafe.
In the beginning, I had tried to reminisce about our childhood adventures, but he'dshownonlyapoliteinterest.Infact,hehadn'tevenreallybeenlistening tome;hekeptaskingmequestionsaboutthingsIhadalreadytoldhim.
Somethingwas wrong.Hadtimeanddistancetakenhimawayfrommyworld
forever?
Afterall, he talks about"magic moments," Ireasoned.Whywould he care ahout anoldfriend'scareer?Helivesinadifferentuniverse,whereSoriaisonly
remote memory–a town frozen in time, his childhoodfriends still young boys and girls,theoldfolksstill alive anddoingthesame thingsthey'dbeendoingfor
somanyyears.
Iwasbeginning toregretmydecision tocome with him.Sowhenhechangedthe subjectagain,Iresolvednottoinsistanyfurther.
Thelasttwohoursofthe drivetoBilbaoweretorture.
He was watching the road, I was looking out the window, and neither of us could hide the bad feelings that had arisen between us. The rental cardidn't have a radio,soallwecoulddowasendurethesilence.
"Let'saskwherethebusstationis,"Isuggestedassoonasweleftthe highway. "The buses leave from here regularly for Zaragoza."
Itwasthehourofsiesta,andtherewerefewpeople inthestreets. We passed onegentlemanandthenacoupleofteenagers, buthedidn'tstoptoaskthem. "Doyouknowwhereitis?"Ispokeup,aftersometimehadpassed.
"Where whatis?"
Hestillwasn'tpayingattentiontowhatIsaid.
AndthensuddenlyIunderstoodwhatthesilencewasabout.Whatdidhehavein commonwithawomanwhohadneverventured out intotheworld?Howcouldhe possibly be interested in spending time with someone who feared the unknown, who preferred a secure job and a conventional marriage to the life he led? Poor me, chatteringawayaboutfriendsfromchildhoodanddustymemoriesofan insignificantvillage–thoseweretheonly thingsIcoulddiscuss.
Whenweseemedtohavereachedthecenteroftown,Isaid,"Youcanletmeoff here."Iwastryingtosoundcasual,but Ifeltstupid, childish,andirritated.
Hedidn'tstopthecar.
"IhavetocatchthebusbacktoZaragoza,"Iinsisted.
"I'veneverbeenherebefore,"heanswered."Ihavenoideawheremyhotel is,I don'tknow wherethe conference is being held, and Idon'tknow wherethe bus station is."
"Don'tworry,I'llbeallright."
Hesloweddownbutkeptondriving.
"I'd really like to…" he began. He tried again but still couldn't finish his thought.
I could imagine what he would like to do: thank me for the company, send greetingstohisoldfriends–maybethatwouldbreakthetension.
"I would really like it if you went with me to the conference tonight," he finally said.
Iwasshocked.Was he stalling fortime so that he could make up fortheawkward silence of our trip?
"I'dreallylikeyoutogowithme,"herepeated.
Now,maybeI'magirl fromthefarmwithnogreatstoriestotell.MaybeIlack the sophistication of women from the big city. Life in the country may not make awomanelegantorworldly,butitstillteachesherhowtolistentoherheart and to trust her instincts.
Tomy surprise,myinstincts toldmethathemeantwhathe said.
I sighed with relief. Of course I wasn't going to stay for any conference, but atleastmyfriendseemed tobe back.Hewaseven inviting mealong onhis adventures,wantingtosharehisfearsandtriumphswithme.
"Thanks forthe invitation," Isaid, "but Idon'thave enough money fora hotel, andIdo needtogetbacktomystudies."
"Ihavesome money.Youcanstayinmy room.We'llaskfortwobeds."
I noticed that he was beginning to perspire, despite the chill in the air. My heartsoundedanalarm,andallthejoyofthemomentbeforeturnedinto confusion.
Suddenlyhestoppedthecarandlookeddirectlyintomyeyes.
Noone canlie, noone canhideanything, when helooks directlyintosomeone's eyes. And anywoman with theleastbit ofsensitivity canread theeyes ofaman in love.
Ithoughtimmediatelyofwhatthatweirdyoungwomanatthefountainhadsaid. Itwasn'tpossiblebutitseemedtobetrue.
Ihadneverdreamedthatafteralltheseyearshewouldstillremember.Whenwe werechildren,wehadwalkedthroughtheworldhandinhand.Ihadlovedhim–if achild canknowwhatlovemeans.Butthatwasso manyyearsago–it wasanother life,alifewhoseinnocencehadopenedmyhearttoallthatwasgood.
Andnowwewereresponsibleadults.Wehadputawaychildishthings.
Ilooked into his eyes. Ididn't want to–or wasn't able to–believe what Isaw there.
"I just have this last conference, and then the holidays of the Immaculate Conception begin. Ihave to go up into the mountains; Iwant to show you something."
This brilliantmanwhowas able to speak of magic moments was nowhere with me, acting as awkward as could be. He was moving too fast, he was unsure of himself; thethingshewasproposingwereconfused.Itwaspainfulformetoseehimthis way.
Iopened thedoor andgot out, then leanedagainst thefender,looking atthe nearlydesertedstreet.Ilitacigarette.Icouldtrytohidemythoughts, pretendthatIdidn'tunderstandwhathewassaying;Icouldtrytoconvince
myselfthat this wasjusta suggestion made by one childhood friend to another. Maybe he'd been on the road too long and was beginning to get confused.
MaybeIwasexaggerating.
Hejumpedoutofthecarandcame to myside.
"I'dreally like you to stay forthe conference tonight," he said again. "But if you can't, I'll understand."
There!Theworldmadeacompleteturnandreturnedtowhereitbelonged.It wasn'twhatIhad beenthinking;he wasno longer insisting,he wasready to let meleave–amaninlovedoesn'tactthatway.
Ifeltbothstupidand relieved.Yes,Icouldstayforatleast onemoreday.We
could have dinner together and get a little drunk–something we'd never done when wewereyounger.ThiswouldgivemeachancetoforgetthestupidideasI'djust had,anditwouldbeagoodopportunitytobreaktheicethathadfrozenusever since we left Madrid.
One day wouldn't make anydifference. And then atleast I'dhave a story to tell my friends.
"Separate beds," Isaid, joking."Andyou pay fordinner, because I'mstill a student. I'm broke."
Weputourbagsinthehotelroomandcamedowntoseewheretheconferencewas to be held. Since we were so early, we sat down in a cafe to wait.
"Iwant togiveyousomething,"hesaid,handingmeasmallredpouch.
I opened it and found inside an old rusty medal, with Our Lady of Grace on one side andtheSacredHeart ofJesus ontheother.
"Thatwasyours,"hesaid,noticingmysurprise.Myheartbegantosoundthe alarmagain. "Oneday–it wasautumn, justlike it is now,and we must have been ten–Iwassittingwithyouintheplazawherethegreatoakstood.
"Iwasgoingto tell you something, something Ihadrehearsed forweeks.But as soon as I began, you told me that you had lost your medal at the hermitage of San Saturio, and you asked me to see if I could find it there."
Iremembered.Oh,God,Iremembered!
"Ididfindit.ButwhenIreturnedtotheplaza,Inolonger hadthecourageto say what Ihad rehearsed. So Ipromised myselfthat Iwould returnthe medal to
youonly when Iwasabletocomplete thesentence thatI'dbegunthatday almost twentyyearsago.Foralongtime,I'vetriedtoforgetit,butit'salways
there.Ican'tlivewithitanylonger."
He put down his coffee, lit a cigarette, and looked at the ceiling fora long time. Then he turned to me. "It's a very simple sentence," he said. "Ilove you."
Sometimesanuncontrollable feeling of sadness grips us,he said. We recognize thatthemagicmomentoftheday haspassed andthatwe'vedonenothingahout it.Lifebeginstoconcealitsmagicanditsart.
Wehavetolistentothechildweoncewere,thechildwhostillexists inside
us.Thatchild understands magicmoments.Wecanstifleitscries, butwecannot silence its voice.
The child weonce wereisstill there.Blessed arethechildren, fortheirsis the kingdom of heaven.
Ifwe are notreborn–ifwe cannot learn to look atlife with theinnocence and theenthusiasmofchildhood–itmakesnosensetogoonliving.
There are many ways to commit suicide. Those who try to kill the body violate God'slaw.ThosewhotrytokillthesoulalsoviolateGod'slaw,eventhough theircrime is less visibleto others.
Wehavetopayattentiontowhatthechildinourhearttellsus.Weshouldnot be embarrassedbythischild. Wemustnotallowthischild tobe scaredbecause
thechildisaloneandisalmostnever heard.
Wemustallowthechildtotakethereinsofourlives.Thechildknowsthat eachday isdifferentfromevery otherday.
Wehavetoallowittofeellovedagain.Wemustpleasethischild–evenifthis meansthatweactinwayswearenotused to,inwaysthatmayseemfoolishto others.
Rememberthat humanwisdomis madnessin theeyes ofGod. But if we listento the childwho livesin oursoul,oureyeswill grow bright. If we donot lose contact with that child, we will not lose contact with life.
Thecolorsaroundmeweregrowingvivid;IfeltthatIwasspeakingwithmore intensity and that my glass made a louder sound when Iput it down on the table. Agroupofabouttenofuswerehavingdinnertogetheraftertheconference.
Everyonewasspeaking atthesame time, andIwassmiling, forthis nightwas special:itwasthefirstnightinmanyyearsthatIhadnotplanned.
Whatajoy!
WhenI'ddecidedtogotoMadrid,Ihadbeenincontrolofmyactionsandmy feelings.Now,suddenly,allthathadchanged.HereIwasinacitywhereI'd neverset footbefore, even thoughitwasonly threehours from theplacewhere I'dbeenborn.IwassittingatatablewhereIknewonlyoneperson,and
everyonewasspeaking tomeasifthey'dknownmeforyears. Iwasamazed thatI could enterintotheconversation,thatIcould drinkandenjoymyselfwith
them.
IwastherebecausesuddenlylifehadpresentedmewithLife.Ifeltnoguilt, nofear,noembarrassment.AsIlistened towhathewassaying–and feltmyself
growingcloserto him–Iwasmore andmore convinced that he wasright:thereare moments when you have to take a risk, to do crazy things.
Ispend day after day with my texts and notebooks, making this superhuman effort justtopurchasemyownservitude,Ithought.WhydoIwantthatjob?Whatdoes
itoffermeasahumanbeing,asawoman?
Nothing! I wasn't born to spend my life behind a desk, helping judges dispose of their cases.
No, I can't think that way about my life. I'm going to have to return to it this week.It must bethe wine. After all, when all is said and done, if you don't
work,you don'teat. This is all a dream. It's goingto end. ButhowlongcanImakethedreamgoon?
ForthefirsttimeIconsideredgoingtothemountainswithhimforthenextfew days.Afterall,aweek ofholidayswasabouttobegin.
"Whoareyou?"awomanatourtableaskedme. "A childhood friend," I answered.
"Washedoingthesethingswhenhewasachild,too?""Whatthings?"
Theconversationatthetableseemedtofadeandthendieout. "You know: the miracles."
"Hecouldalwaysspeakwell."Ididn'tunderstandwhatshemeant.
Everyone laughed, including him. I had no idea what was going on. But–maybe becauseofthewine–Ifeltrelaxed,andforonceIdidn'tfeellikeIhadtobe
incontrol.
Ilooked around and then said something that Iforgotthe nextmoment. Iwas thinking about the upcoming holiday.
It was good to be here, meeting newpeople, talking aboutserious thingsbut always with a touch of humor.Ifelt like Iwasreally participatingin the world.Foratleastthisonenight,Iwasnolongerjustseeingtherealworld throughtelevision or the newspapers. When I returned to Zaragoza, I'dhave storiestotell.IfIacceptedhisinvitationfortheholidays,I'dhavewhole years of memories to live on.
He was so rightnotto pay any attentionto my remarks aboutSoria, Ithought. AndIbegantofeelsorryformyself;forso manyyears,mydrawerfullof memorieshadheldthesameoldstories.
"Havesomemorewine,"awhite-hairedmansaid,fillingmyglass.
I drank itdown. I kept thinking about how few things I wouldhavehadtotell my childrenand grandchildren if I hadn't comewithhim.
"I'mcounting onour trip to France,"he said to me so that only Icould hear. Thewinehadfreedmytongue."But only ifyouunderstandonething.""What's that?"
"It'saboutwhatyousaidbeforetheconference.Atthecafé.""The medal?"
"No," I said, looking into his eyes and doing everything I could to appear sober. "What you said."
"We'lltalkaboutitlater,"hesaid,quicklytryingtochangethesubject.
Hehadsaidthathelovedme.Wehadn'thadtimetotalkaboutit,butIknewI could convince him that it wasn't true.
"Ifyouwantmetotakethetripwithyou,youhavetolistentome,"Isaid. "Idon'twanttotalkaboutithere.We'rehavingagoodtime."
"YouleftSoriawhenyouwereveryyoung,"Iwenton."I'monlyalinktoyour past. I'vereminded you of your roots, and that's what makes you thinkas you do.Butthat'sallitis.Therecan'tbeanyloveinvolved."
He listened but didn't answer.Someone asked him his opinion aboutsomething, and our conversation was interrupted.
At least I'veexplained howIfeel, Ithought. The love he was talking about only exists in fairy tales.
Inreallife,lovehastobepossible.Evenifitisnotreturnedrightaway,
love canonly survive when the hope exists that you will be able to win over the person you desire.
Anythingelseisfantasy.
Fromtheotherside ofthetable,as ifhehadguessedwhatIwasthinking,he raised his glass in a toast. "To love," he said.
Icouldtellthathe,too,wasalittledrunk.SoIdecidedtotakeadvantageof
theopening: "Tothose wiseenough to understand that sometimes love is nothing morethanthefoolishnessofchildhood,"Isaid.
"The wiseare wiseonly because they love. And thefoolish are foolish only because they think they can understand love," he answered.
The othersatthetableheardhim,andinamomentananimated discussionabout lovewasinfullswing.Everyonehadastrongopinionandwasdefendingtheir positiontoothandnail;ittookmorewinetocalmthingsdown.Finallysomeone saiditwasgettinglateandthattheowneroftherestaurantwantedtoclose.
"We havefive daysofvacation,"someoneshoutedfromanothertable."Ifthe owner wants to close, it's just because you were getting too serious." Everyone laughed–except me.
"Thenwherecanwetalkaboutserious things?"someoneaskedthedrunkatthe other table.
"Inchurch!"saidthedrunk.Andthistimeallofuslaughed.
My friend stood up. Ithoughthe was goingto start a fight,because we were all acting like adolescents, and that's what adolescents do. Fighting is as much a
partofbeingateenagerasthekisses,thesecretembraces,theloudmusic,and the fast pace.
But insteadhe took my handand moved towardthe door. "We should go," he said. "It's getting late."
Itwas raining inBilbao.Lovers needtoknowhowtolosethemselvesandthen
howto find themselves again. He was able to do both well. Nowhe was happy,and as we returned to the hotel he sang:
Sonloslocosqueinventaronelamor.
Thesongwasright:itmusthave beenthelunaticswhoinventedlove.
I was still feeling the effects of the wine, but I was struggling to think clearly. I had to stay in control of the situation if I wanted to make the trip with him.
But it will be easy to be in control because I'm nottoo emotional, Ithought. Anyonewhocanconquerherheartcanconquertheworld.
Conun poema y un trombó a develarte el corazón
Tolosemyhearttoyouwithapoemandatrombone.IwishIdidn'thaveto controlmyheart.IfIcouldsurrender,evenifonlyforaweekend,thisrain falling on my face would feel different. If love were easy, I would be embracing himnow,andthewordsofhissongwouldbeourstory.IfZaragozaweren't waitingformeaftertheholidays,I'dwanttostaydrunkandbefreetokisshim, caress him, say the things and hear the things that lovers say and do to each other.
Butno!Ican't.Idon'twantto.
Salgamosavolar,queridamia,thesongsays. Yes, let's fly away. But under my conditions.
He still didn't know that I was going to sayyes to hisinvitation. Why did I wanttotakethisrisk?
BecauseIwasdrunk,becauseIwastiredofdaysthatwereallthesame.
But this weariness willpass. I'mgoingto wantto get back to Zaragoza, whereI have chosen to live. My studiesare waiting for me. The husband I'm still lookingfor iswaitingfor me–ahusbandwho won'tbeasdifficult tofind.
Aneasierlifewaitsforme,withchildrenandgrandchildren,withaclear
budget and a yearly vacation. Idon'tknow what his fears are, but Iknow my own.Idon'tneednewfears–myownareenowh.
IwassureIcouldneverfallinlovewithsomeonelikehim.Iknewhimtoo well, all his weaknesses and fears. Ijust couldn't admire him as the others seemed to.
But love ismuchlike adam:ifyouallowatinycracktoform throughwhich onlyatrickleofwatercanpass,thattricklewillquicklybringdownthewhole structure,andsoonnoonewillbeabletocontroltheforceofthecurrent.
Forwhenthose wallscome down,then lovetakes over, anditnolonger matters what is possible or impossible; it doesn't even matter whether we can keep the lovedoneatourside.Toloveistolosecontrol.
No,no,Icannotallowsuchacracktoform.Nomatterhowsmall.
"Hey,holdupaminute!"
He stopped singing immediately. Quick steps echoed on the damp pavement behind us.
"Let'sgetout ofhere,"hesaid,grabbingmyarm. "Wait!"amanshouted."Ineedtotalktoyou!"
But he moved ahead even more rapidly. "Thishas nothingto do with us," he said. "Let's get to the hotel."
Yet itdidhavetodo withus–there wasnooneelse onthestreet.Myheartwas beating fast,and theeffects of thewine disappeared altogether. Iremembered thatBilbao wasinBasque countryandthatterroristattackswerecommon.The man's footsteps came closer.
"Let'sgo,"hesaid,hurryingalong.
But it wastoo late. Aman's figure, soaked from head to foot, stepped in front of us.
"Stop,please!"themansaid."FortheloveofGod."
Iwas frightened. Ilooked around frantically fora means of escape, hoping that bysomemiracleapolicecarwouldappear.Instinctively,Iclutchedathis arm–but he pulled away.
"Please!"saidtheman."Iheardthatyouwereinthecity.Ineedyourhelp. It'smyson."Themankneltonthepavementandbegantoweep."Please,"he said, "please!"
Myfriendgaspedforbreath;Iwatchedasheloweredhisheadandclosedhis eyes. Forafewminutesthesilence wasbrokenonly by thesoundoftherainand thesobsofthemankneelingonthesidewalk.
"Gotothehotel, Pilar,"hesaidfinally. "Getsomesleep.Iwon'tbe back until dawn."
Monday,December6,1993
Loveis atrap.Whenitappears, weseeonlyitslight,notitsshadows.
"Look attheland around here!"he said. "Let's lie downon theground and feel theplanet's heart beating!"
"ButI'llgetmycoatdirty,andit'stheonlyoneI havewithme."
Weweredrivingthroughhillsofolivegroves.Afteryesterday'sraininBilbao, themorningsun made me sleepy. Ihadn'tbroughtsunglasses–I hadn'tbrought anything,sinceI'dexpectedtoreturntoZaragozatwodaysago.I'dhadto sleep in a shirt he loaned me, and I'dbought a T-shirt at a shop near the hotel inBilbaosothatatleastIcouldwashtheoneIwaswearing.
"You must be sickofseeing me inthesame clothesevery day," Isaid,tryingto makeajokeaboutsomethingtrivialtoseeifthatwouldmakeallthisseem real.
"I'mgladyou'rehere."
Hehadn'tmentionedloveagainsince hehadgiven methemedal,buthehadbeen inagoodmood;heseemed tobe eighteenagain.Nowhewalkedalong besideme bathed in the clear morning light.
"Whatdo you have to do over there?"Iasked, pointingtowardthepeaks of the Pyrenees onthehorizon.
"BeyondthosemountainsliesFrance,"heansweredwithasmile.
"I know–I studiedgeography, too, you know. I'm just curious about why we have to go there."
Hepaused,smiling to himself. "Soyou cantake alook atahouse you mightbe interested in."
"If you're thinkingaboutbecominga real estate agent,forgetit. Idon'thave any money."
Itdidn'tmattertomewhetherwevisitedavillageinNavarraorwentallthe waytoFrance.Ijustdidn'twanttospendtheholidaysinZaragoza.
You see?Iheardmybrainsay tomyheart. You'rehappythatyou'veacceptedhis invitation.You'vechanged–youjusthaven'trecognizedityet.
No, Ihadn't changed at all. Iwas just relaxing a little. "Lookatthestonesontheground."
They were rounded,with nosharpedges. They lookedlike pebbles from thesea. ButtheseahadneverbeenhereinthefieldsofNavarra.
"Thefeetoflaborers,pilgrims,andexplorerssmoothedthesestones,"hesaid. "The stones were changed–and the travelers were too."
"Hastravelingtaughtyouallthethingsyouknow?""No.Ilearnedfrom themiraclesofrevelation."
Ididn'tunderstand,butIdidn'tpursueit.Fornow,Iwascontenttobaskin thebeautyofthesun,thefields,andthemountains.
"Where arewegoingnow?"Iasked.
"Nowhere.Let's justenjoythemorning,thesun, andthecountryside.We havea longtripaheadofus."Hehesitatedforamomentandthenasked,"Doyoustill have the medal?"
"Sure,I'vekeptit,"Isaid,andbegantowalkfaster.Ididn'twanttotalk aboutthemedal–Ididn'twanttotalkaboutanythingthatmightruinthe happinessandfreedomofourmorningtogether.
A village appeared. Like most medieval cities, it was situated atop a mountain peak;even from adistance, Icould see thetowerofachurchandtheruins ofa castle.
"Let'sdrivetothatvillage,"Isuggested.
Althoughheseemedreluctant,heagreed.Icouldseeachapelalongtheroad, andIwantedtostopandgoin.Ididn'tprayanymore,butthesilenceof churchesalwaysattractedme.
Don'tfeelguilty,Iwas sayingtomyself.If he'sinlove,that'shisproblem.
Hehadasked aboutthemedal.Iknewthathewashoping we'dget back to our conversationatthecafe.ButIwasafraidofhearingsomethingIdidn'twantto hear.Iwon'tget into it, Iwon'tbringup thesubject.
Butwhatifhereallydidloveme?Whatifhethoughtthatwecouldtransform this love into something deeper?
Ridiculous, I thought to myself. There's nothing deeper than love. In fairy tales,theprincesses kiss thefrogs,andthefrogsbecomeprinces.Inreal life, the princesses kiss princes, and the princes turn into frogs.
Afterdrivingforanotherhalfhour,wereachedthechapel.Anoldmanwas seatedonthesteps.Hewasthefirstpersonwe'dseensinceourdrivebegan.
Itwastheendoffall,and,inkeeping withtradition,thefieldshadbeen returnedoncemoretotheLord,whowouldfertilizethelandwithhisblessings and allow human beings to harvest his sustenance by the sweat of their brows. "Hello," he said to the man.
"Howareyou?"
"Whatisthenameofthisvillage?""San Martín de Unx."
"Unx?"Isaid."Itsoundslikethenameofagnome."
The old man didn't understand the joke. Disappointed, I walked toward the entrancetothechapel.
"You can'tgo in," warnedtheold man."It closed atnoon. Ifyou like, you can comebackatfourthisafternoon."
ThedoorwasopenandIcouldlookinside,althoughitwassobrightoutthatI couldn't see clearly.
"Justforaminute?" Iasked."I'dlike tosay aprayer.""I'm very sorry. It's alreadyclosed."
Hewaslisteningtomyconversationwiththeoldmanbutdidn'tsayanything. "Allright,then,let'sleave,"Isaid."There'snopoint inarguing."
Hecontinuedto look atme, his gaze empty, distant."Don'tyou wantto see the chapel?"heasked.
I could see he didn't approve of my decision. He thinks I'm weak, cowardly, unabletofightforwhatIwant.Evenwithoutakiss,theprincessis transformed into a frog.
"Rememberyesterday?"Isaid."Youendedourconversationinthebarbecause you didn'twanttoargue withme.NowwhenIdo thesame thing,youcriticizeme." Theoldmanwatchedourdiscussionimpassively.Hewasprobablyhappythat somethingwasactuallyhappening,thereinaplacewhereallthemornings,all
theafternoons,andallthenightswerethesame.
"The door to thechurch is open,"he said, speaking to theold man."If you want somemoney, we cangive you some.But she wants to see thechurch."
"It'stoolate."
"Fine. We'llgoinanyway." Hetookmyarmandwewentin.
My heart was pounding. The old mancould get nasty, call the police, ruin the trip.
"Whyareyoudoingthis?"
"Becauseyouwantedtoseethechapel."
Iwasso nervous Icouldn't even focus onwhatwasinside. The argument–andmy attitude–had ruined our perfect morning.
Ilistened carefullyforanysoundsfromoutside.Theoldmanmightcallthe village police, I thought. Trespassers in the chapel! Thieves! They're breaking thelaw!Theoldmanhadsaidthechapelwasclosed,thatvisitinghourswere over. He's a poor old man, unable to keep us from going in. And the police will he tough on us because we offended a feeble old man.
IstayedinsidethechapeljustlongenoughtoshowthatI'dreallywantedto seeit.Assoon asenough time hadpassed foranimaginaryAveMaria,Isaid, "Let's go."
"Don'tbefrightened,Pilar.Don'tjustfallintoplayingarole."
Ididn'twantmyproblemwiththeoldmantobecomeaproblemwithhim,soI tried tostaycalm."Idon'tknowwhatyoumeanby 'playingarole.'"
"Somepeople always havetobe doingbattle withsomeone,sometimes even with themselves,battlingwiththeirownlives.Sotheybegintocreateakindof
play in their head, and they write the script based on their frustrations.""Iknowa lot ofpeople like that. Iknowjustwhatyou mean."
"But theworstpartisthattheycannotpresent theplaybythemselves,"he continued."Sotheybegintoinviteotheractorstojoinin.
"That's what that fellow outside was doing. He wanted revenge for something, and he chose us to play a part. If we had accepted his restrictions, we'd be
regretting it. We would have been defeated. We would have agreed to participate in his miserable life and in his frustrations.
"Theman'saggressionwaseasytosee,soitwaseasyforustorefusetherole he wanted us to play. But other people also 'invite' us to behave like victims, whentheycomplainabouttheunfairnessoflife,forexample,andaskusto agree, toofferadvice,toparticipate."
He looked into my eyes. "Be careful. When you join in that game, you always wind up losing."
He was right. But I still wasn't happy about being inside the chapel. "OK, but I'vealreadysaidmyprayer.I'vedonewhatIwantedtodo.Let'sgo."
The contrast between the darkness inside the chapel and the strong sunlightblinded me fora fewmoments. Whenmyeyes adjusted, Isawthat theold manwas no longer there.
"Let'shavesomelunch,"hesaid,walkinginthedirectionof the village.
Idranktwoglassesofwineat lunch.I'dneverdonethatinmylife.
He was speaking to the waiter, whotold him that there were several Roman ruins inthearea.Iwastryingtolistentotheirconversation,butIwashaving
troublestiflingmybadmood.
The princesshadturned into afrog.Sowhat?Whodo Ihaveto proveanything to?Iwasn'tlookingforanything–notforamanandcertainlynotforlove.
Iknewit,Isaidtomyself.1knewhewasgoingtoturnmyworldupsidedown. Mybrainwarnedme,butmyheart didn'twanttotakeits advice.
I'vepaidaconsiderablepriceforthelittleIhavegained.I'vebeenforcedto
deny myselfmanythingsI'vewanted,to abandonso manyroads that were opento me. I'vesacrificed my dreams in the name of a larger dream–a peaceful soul. I didn't want to give up that peace.
"You'retense,"hesaid,breakingoffhisconversationwiththewaiter. "Yes, I am. I think that old manwentfor the police. I think this is a small
place, and they know where we are. Ithinkthis boldness of yours about having lunch here could wind up ruining our holiday."
He twirledhisglassofwater.Surelyhe knewthat this wasnottheproblem–that
Iwasactuallyashamed. Whydo wealways do this?Whydo wenotice thespeck in oureyebutnotthemountains,thefields,theolivegroves?
"Listen,that'snotgoingtohappen,"hesaid."The oldmanhasgone homeand hasalreadyforgottenthewholething.Trustme."
That'snotwhy I'mso tense, you idiot. "Listentoyour heart more," hewent on.
"That's justit!Iamlisteningtoit,"I said."AndIfeelthatweshould
leave.I'mnot enjoyingthisplace."
"Youshouldn'tdrinkduringtheday.Itdoesn'thelpanything."
Uptothatpoint,I'dcontrolledmyself.NowitwastimetosaywhatIthought.
"Youthinkyouknoweverything,"Isaid,"thatyouknowallaboutmagicmoments, theinnerchild… Idon'tknowwhatyou're doinghere with me."
Helaughed."Iadmireyou.AndIadmirethebattleyou'rewagingwithyour heart."
"Whatbattle?"
"Nevermind,"hesaid.
ButIknewwhathewastalkingabout.
"Don'tkidyourself,"Isaid."Wecantalkaboutitifyoulike.You'remistaken about my feelings."
He stopped fooling with his glass and looked at me. "No, I'm not mistaken. I know you don't love me."
Thisconfusedmeevenmore.
"But I'm going to fightforyour love," he continued. "There are some things in life that are worth fighting for to the end."
Iwasspeechless.
"Youareworthit,"hesaid.
Iturnedaway,tryingtopretendthatIwasinterestedintherestaurant's decor. Ihadbeenfeelinglike afrog,andsuddenly Iwasaprincessagain. Iwanttobelievewhatyou'resaying,Ithoughttomyself.Itwon'tchange anything,butatleastIwon'tfeelsoweak,soincapable.
"Iapologizeformyoutburst,"Isaid.
Hesmiled,signaledtothe waiter,andpaidthecheck.
Onthewaybacktothecar,Ibecameconfusedagain.Maybeitwasthesun–but
no,itwasautumn,andthesun wasweak.Perhapstheoldman–buthedisappeared a while ago.
Allthiswassonewtome.Lifetakesus bysurpriseandordersusto move
toward the unknown–even when we don't want to and when we think we don't need to.
Itried toconcentrate onthescenery, but Icouldn't focus ontheolive groves, thevillageatopthemountain,thechapelwiththeoldmanatthegate.Allof
itwassounfamiliar.
IrememberedhowmuchI'ddrunk theday before andthesong he hadsung: Las tardecitas de Buenos Aires tienen este no sé…
¿Quéséyo?
Viste,salídetucasa,porArenales…
Why sing of the nights of Buenos Aires, when we were in Bilbao? Ididn't live on astreetcalledArenales.Whathadgottenintohim?
"Whatwasthatsongyouweresingingyesterday?"Iasked. "Balada para un loco" he said. "Whydo you ask aboutit now?""I don't know."
But Ihad a reason: Iknewhe'd sung thesong as a kind of snare. He'd made me memorize the words, just as I would memorize course work for an examination. He couldhavesungasongIwasfamiliarwith–buthe'dchosenoneI'dneverheard before.
Itwasatrap.Later,ifIheardthesongplayedontheradioorataclub,I'd thinkofhim,ofBilbao,andofatimeinmylifewhenautumnturnedtospring. I'drecalltheexcitement,theadventure,andthechildwhowasrebornoutof God knows where.
That'swhathe wasthinking.He waswise,experienced; he knewhowto woo the woman he wanted.
I'mgoingcrazy,Itoldmyself.Imustbe analcoholic,drinkingso muchtwo days in a row.He knows all the tricks. He's controlling me. leading me along with his sweetness.
"Iadmire the battle you are waging with your heart,"he had said at the restaurant.
But hewaswrong. Because Ihadfoughtwith myheart anddefeatedit long ago. I was certainly not going to become passionate about something that was impossible. Iknewmy limits; Iknewhowmuchsuffering Icould bear.
"Saysomething,"Idemanded,aswewalkedbacktothecar. "What?"
"Anything.Talktome."
SohebegantotellmeaboutthevisionsoftheVirginMaryatFátima.Idon't knowwhy he came up with that, but thestory of thethreeshepherds whohad spoken to the Virgin distracted me.
Myheartrelaxed.Yes,Iknowmylimits,andIknowhowtostayincontrol.
Wearrivedatnightinafogsodensewecouldhardlyseewherewewere.Icould make out only a small plaza, a lamppost, some medieval houses barely illuminated by the yellow light, and a well.
"Thefog!"heexclaimed.
Icouldn't understand why he wasso excited. "We'reinSaint-Savin,"heexplained.
The name meantnothingto me. But we were in France,and that in itself thrilled me.
"Whythis place?"Iasked.
"Because thehouse Iwant you to see is here," he answered, laughing."Also, I promised that Iwould come back here on theday of theImmaculate Conception.""Here?"
"Well,nearhere."
He stoppedthecar.Whenwe steppedout, he took myhand,andwe began to walk through the fog.
"Thisplace becamea partof my life quite unexpectedly,"he said. You too? I thought.
"WhenIfirstcame here, IthoughtIwas lost.But Iwasn't–actually,Iwas just rediscovering it."
"Youtalkinriddlessometimes,"Isaid.
"ThisiswhereIrealizedhowmuchI neededyouinmylife."
Ilookedaway;Icouldn'tunderstandhim."Butwhatdoesthathavetodowith losing your way?"
"Let's find someone who'll rent us a room, becausethe two hotels in thisvillage are only open during the summer. Then we'll have dinner at a good restaurant–no tension, no fear of the police, no need to think about running back to thecar!And when thewine loosens our tongues,we'll talk aboutmany things."
Webothlaughed.Ialreadyfeltmorerelaxed.Duringthedrivehere,Ihad looked back over the wild things I'dbeen thinking. And as we crossed over the top ofthemountainsthatseparateFrancefromSpain,I'daskedGodtocleanse my soul of tension and fear.
Iwastiredofplayingthechildandactingthewaymanyofmyfriendsdid–the
ones who are afraid that love is impossiblewithout even knowing what love is.IfIstayedlikethat,Iwouldmissoutoneverythinggoodthatthesefewdays with him might offer.
Careful,Ithought.Watch out forthebreak inthedam. Ifthatbreak occurs, nothing in the world will be able to stop it.
"May the Virginprotect us from here on," he said. I remained silent.
"Whydidn'tyousay'amen'?"he asked.
"Because Idon'tthinkthat's importantanymore. There was a time when religion wasapartofmylife,butthattimehaspassed."
Heturnedaroundandbegantowalkbacktothecar."Istillpray,"Iwenton. "IprayedaswewerecrossingthePyrenees.Butit'ssomethingautomatic,and I'm not even sure I still believe in it."
"Why?"
"Because I'vesuffered, andGod didn'tlistentomyprayers. Because manytimes in mylifeIhave tried to love with all myheart, andmylove haswound up being trampled or betrayed.If God is love, he should have cared more aboutmy feelings.
"Godislove.Buttheone whounderstandsthisbestistheVirgin."
Iburst out laughing. When Iturned to look at him, Isaw that he was serious–this was not a joke.
"The Virgin understands the mystery of total surrender," he went on. "And having loved and suffered, she freed us from pain. Inthesame waythat Jesus freed us from sin."
"Jesus was the son of God. They say that the Virgin was merely a woman who happened to receive him into her womb," I said. I was trying to make up for my laughterandlet himknowthatIrespectedhisfaith.
He opened thecardoor andtook out our bags. WhenItried to take mine from his hand,hesmiled. "Let mecarryyour bag."laul
Noone'sdonethatformeina longtime,Ithought.
Weknockedonthedoorofthefirsthouse,butthewomansaidshedidn'trent rooms. Attheseconddoor, no one answered. Atthethird,a kind old mangreeted us–butwhenwelookedattheroom,therewasonlyadoublebed.Iturnedit down.
"Maybeweshouldheadforalarger city,"Isuggestedasweleft.
"We'll find a room," he said. "Do you knowtheexercise of theOther?It's part ofastorywrittenahundredyearsago,whoseauthor…"
"Forget theauthor,and tell me thestory," Iinterrupted.We were once more walkingalongtheonlystreetinSaint-Savin.
Amanruns into an old friend whohad somehow never been able to make it in life."Ishouldgivehimsomemoney,"hethinks.Butinsteadhelearnsthathis old friend has grown richand is actually seeking him out to repay the debts he had run up over the years.
They go to a bar they used to frequent together, and the friend buys drinks for everyonethere.Whentheyaskhimhowhebecamesosuccessful,heanswersthat until only a jew days ago, he had been living the role of the "Other."
"WhatistheOther?"theyask.
"TheOtheristheonewhotaughtmewhat Ishouldbelike,butnotwhat Iam.
TheOtherbelievesthatitisourobligationtospendourentirelifethinking
abouthowto get our handsonas muchmoney as possible so that we willnotdie ofhungerwhenweareold.Sowethinksomuchaboutmoneyandourplansfor acquiringitthatwediscoverwearealiveonlywhenourdaysonearthare practically done.And then it's too late."
"Andyou?Whoareyou?"
"Iamjustlikeeveryoneelsewholistenstotheirheart:apersonwhois enchantedby themystery oflife.Whois opento miracles,whoexperiences joy andenthusiasmforwhattheydo.It'sjustthattheOther,afraidof disappointment, kept me from taking action."
"Butthereissufferinginlife," oneof thelistenerssaid.
"Andtherearedefeats.Noonecanavoidthem.Butit'sbettertolose someof thebattlesinthestruggleforyourdreamsthantobedefeatedwithoutever even knowing what you're fighting for."
"That'sit?"anotherlistenerasked.
"Yes, that's it. When I learned this, I resolved to become the person I had always wantedto be. The Otherstoodthereinthecornerofmyroom, watching me,butIwillneverlettheOtherintomyselfagaineventhoughithasalready tried tofrightenme, warningme thatit'srisky nottothinkaboutthefuture.
"FromthemomentthatIoustedtheOtherfrommylife,theDivineEnergybegan
toperformitsmiracles."
InspiteofthefactthatmyfriendhadlongagoexpelledtheOtherfromhis life, he still wasn't having much luck finding us lodging forthe night.But I knew he hadn't told me that story forhis ownsake–he had told it formine. He
seemedtobetalkingaboutmyfears,myinsecurity,andmyunwillingnesstosee what was wonderful because tomorrow it might disappear and then I would suffer. Thegodsthrowthedice,andtheydon'taskwhetherwewanttobeinthegameor not. They don'tcare if when you go, you leave behind a lover, a home, a career,
oradream.Thegodsdon'tcarewhetheryouhaveitall,whetheritseemsthat your every desire canbe met throughhardworkand persistence. The gods don't want to know about your plans and your hopes. Somewhere they're throwing the dice–andyouarechosen.Fromthenon,winningorlosingisonlyaquestionof luck.
The godsthrowthedice,freeinglovefromits cage. Andlovecancreateor destroy–dependingonthedirectionofthewindwhenitissetfree.
For the moment, the wind was blowing in his favor.But the wind is as capricious as the gods–and deep inside myself, I had begun to feel some gusts.
At last, as if fate wanted to show me that the story of the Other was true–and theuniversealways conspirestohelpthedreamer–wefound ahousetostayin,
with a room with separatebeds. Myfirstmove wasto bathe,washmyclothes,and putontheshirtIhadbought.Ifeltrefreshed,andthismademefeelmore
secure.
After having dinner with the couple who owned the house–the restaurants were also closed during the autumn and winter–he asked for a bottle of wine, promising to replace it thenextday. We puton our coats, borrowed twoglasses, and went out.
"Let'ssitontheedgeofthewell,"Isuggested.
Andtherewesat,drinkingtokeepthecoldand thetensionaway.
"It looks like theOtherhas gotten to you," Ijoked. "Your good mood seems to have disappeared."
Helaughed."Iknewweweregoingtofindaroom,andwedid.Theuniverse always helps us fightforour dreams, no matter howfoolish they may be. Our dreamsareourown,andonlywecanknowtheeffortrequiredtokeepthem alive."
In the fog, which hung yellow under the glow of the street lamp, we couldn't see even as far as the other side of the plaza.
Itookadeepbreath.Wecouldn'tavoidthesubjectanylonger.
"Wehavetotalkaboutlove,"Isaid."YouknowhowI'vebeentheselastfew days.Ifit hadbeenup tome, thesubjectwouldneverhavecome up.But ever since youbroughtitup,Ihaven'tbeenabletostopthinkingaboutit."
"It'srisky,fallinginlove."
"Iknowthat,"Ianswered. "I'vebeeninlove before.It'slikeanarcotic.At
first it brings the euphoria of complete surrender. The nextday, you want more. You'renotaddictedyet,butyoulike thesensation,andyouthinkyoucanstill control things. You think about the person you love for two minutes, and forget them for three hours.
"But then you get used to that person, and you begin to be completely dependent onthem.Nowyouthinkabouthimforthreehoursandforgethimfortwominutes.
Ifhe's notthere,youfeel likeanaddictwhocan'tgetafix.Andjustas
addicts steal and humiliate themselves to get what they need, you're willing to do anything for love."
"Whatahorriblewaytoputit,"hesaid.
Itreallywasahorrible waytoputit;myanalogydidn'tgo withtheromanceof theevening–the wine, thewell,andthemedieval houses in theplaza.But it was true. Ifhe wasgoingto baseso manyof his actions on love, he needed to know what the risks were.
"Soweshouldloveonlythose whocanstaynearus,"Isaid.
Helookedoutatthefog.Nowhenolongerseemedinterestedinwhetherwe negotiatedthedangerouswatersofaconversation aboutlove. Iwasbeingtough, but there was no other way.
Subject closed, Ithought.Our beingtogether forthese three days has been enoughtochangehismind.Mypridewasabitwounded,butmyheartwas relieved.DoIreallywantthis?Iaskedmyself.IrealizedthatIwasalready beginning to sense thestorms brought on by thewinds of love. Ihad already beguntofeelthebreakinthedam.
We drank for some time without bringing up anything serious. We talked about the couple whoowned thehouse and thesaint forwhom thetown had beennamed. He told me some of the legends about the church across the square, which I could barely see in the fog.
"You'reupset,"hesaidatonepoint.
Yes, my mind was wandering. I wished I were there with someone who could bring peacetomyheartsomeonewithwhomIcouldspendalittletimewithoutbeing afraidthatIwouldlosehimthenextday.Withthatreassurance,thetimewould passmoreslowly.Wecouldbesilentforawhilebecausewe'dknowwehadthe restofourlives togetherforconversation.Iwouldn'thavetoworryabout
seriousmatters,aboutdifficultdecisionsandhardwords.
Wesatthereinsilence–andthatinitselfwasasign.Forthefirsttime,we
had nothingto say, although Ionly noticed this when he stood up to go find us another bottle of wine.
Silence.Then Iheard thesound of his footsteps returningto thewell where we'dbeensittingformorethananhour,drinkingandstaringatthefog.
This was the firsttime we'd beensilent forso long. It was notthe awkward silenceofthetripfromMadridtoBilbao.Andnotthesilenceofmyfearful heartwhenwewereinthechapelnearSanMartindeUnx.
This wasasilence thatspoke foritself.Asilence thatsaidwenolonger neededtoexplainthingstoeachother.
The soundofhis footstepshalted. Hewaslooking atme–and whathesawmust have beenbeautiful: a woman seated on theedge of a well,on a foggy night,in the light of the street lamp.
Theancienthouses,theeleventh-centurychurch,andthesilence.
Thesecond bottleofwinewas halfemptywhenIdecided tospeak.
"This morning, I convinced myself that I was an alcoholic. I've been drinking frommorningtonight.Inthesepastthreedays,I'vedrunkmorethaninthe entire past year."
Hereachedoutandstroked myhair withoutsayinganything.Iabsorbedhistouch
withouttryingtopullaway.
"TellmeaboutyourlifesinceIlastsawyou,"Iasked.
"There arenogreatmysteriestotell.Mypathisalways there,andIdo everything I can to follow it in a dignified way."
"Whatisyourpath?"
"Thepathofsomeoneseekinglove."
He hesitated for a moment, fiddling with the near-empty bottle. "Andlove'spathisreallycomplicated," heconcluded.
"Becauseonthatpathwecangoeithertoheavenortohell?"Iwasn'tsure whetherhewasreferringtousornot.
Hedidn'trespond.Perhapshewasstill deep intheocean ofsilence, but the winehadloosenedmytongueagain,andIhadtospeak.
"Yousaidthatsomethinghereinthiscityalteredyourcourse."
"Yes,Ithinkitdid.I'mstillnotabsolutelysure,andthat'swhyIwantedto bring you here."
"Is thissomekindoftest?"
"No.It'sasurrender. SothatShewillhelpme tomake therightdecision.""Who will?"
"TheVirgin."
The Virgin! Ishould have known. Iwas surprised that all his years of travel, oflearning,ofnewhorizonshadn'tfreedhimfromtheCatholicismofhis
childhood. Inatleastthis respect,myfriends andIhadcome a long way–weno longer lived under the weight of guilt and sin.
"I'm surprisedthat after all you've been through, you still keep the faith.""Ihaven't keptit. Ilostit and recoveredit."
"But a faith in virgins? Inimpossible thingsand in fantasies? Haven't you had anactive sex life?"
"Well,normal.I'vebeeninlovewithmanywomen."
To mysurprise, Ifelt astab ofjealousy. But myinnerbattle seemed alreadyto havesubsided, andIdidn'twanttostart itup again.
"Whyisshe 'TheVirgin?Whyisn'tShepresentedtousas anormalwoman, like any other?"
He drained the few drops remaining in the bottle and asked if I wanted him to go for another. I said no.
"WhatIwantisananswerfromyou. Everytimewestarttospeakaboutcertain
things,youtrytotalkaboutsomethingelse."
"Shewasnormal.Shehadalreadyhadotherchildren.TheBible tellsusthat Jesus had twobrothers.Virginity, as it relatesto Jesus, is based on a
differentthing:Maryinitiateda newgeneration ofgrace. Anewera began. She is the cosmic bride, Earth, which opens to the heavens and allows itself to be fertilized.
"BecauseofthecourageSheshowedinacceptingherdestiny,SheallowedGodto comedowntoearthandShewastransformedintotheGreatMother."
Ididn'tunderstand exactly whathe wastelling me, andhe could see that. "SheisthefemininefaceofGod.Shehasherowndivinity."
Hespoke with greatemotion;infact, his wordsalmost sounded forced, as ifhe felt he was committing a sin.
"Agoddess?"Iasked.
Iwaitedforhimtoexplain,buthecouldn'tsayanythingmore.Ithoughtabout his Catholicism and about how what he had just said seemed blasphemous. "WhoistheVirgin?WhatistheGoddess?"
"It'snoteasytoexplain,"hesaid,clearlygrowingmoreandmoreuncomfortable. "I have some written material with me. If you want, you canread it."
"Idon'twanttoreadrightnow;Iwantyoutoexplainittome,"Iinsisted.
Helookedaround forthewinebottle,but it wasempty. Neitherofus could remember why we had come to the well in the firstplace. Somethingimportant was intheair–asifwhathewassayingwerepartofamiracle.
"Goon,"Iurgedhim.
"Hersymboliswater–likethefogallaround us.The Goddess uses water as the means to manifest Herself."
Themistsuddenly seemed totakeonalifeofits own,becomingsacred–even though Istill didn't understand what he was tryingto say.
"Idon'twanttotalktoyouabouthistory.Ifyouwanttolearnaboutthe
history,youcanreadthebooksIbroughtwithme.Butyoushouldknowthatthis woman–the Goddess, the Virgin Mary, the Shechinah, the Great Mother, Isis, Sofia, slave and mistress–is present in every religion on the face of the earth.
Shehas beenforgotten,prohibited, and disguised, but Hercult has continued from millennium to millennium and continues to survive today.
"OneofthefacesofGodisthefaceofawoman."
Istudied his face.His eyes weregleaming,andhewasstaringintothefogthat envelopedus.IcouldseethatInolongerneededtoprompthim.
"SheispresentinthefirstchapteroftheBible–whenthespiritofGodhovered overthewaters,andHeplaced thembelowandabovethestars.Itwasthemystic marriage of earth and heaven. Sheis present in the final chapter of the Bible, when
theSpiritandthebridesay, "Come!" And let himwhohearssay, "Come!"And let him who thirsts come.
Whoeverdesires,lethimtakethe water of life freely."
"Whyiswaterthesymbolof thefemininefaceof God?"
"Idon'tknow.But Shenormally chooses that medium to manifest Herself. Maybe because Sheis thesourceof life;we are generated in water, and fornine
monthsweliveinit.Wateristhesymbolofthepowerofwoman,thepowerthat no man–no matter how enlightened or perfect he may be–can capture."
Hepausedforamomentandthenbeganagain.
"Ineveryreligionandineverytradition,ShemanifestsHerselfinoneformor another–ShealwaysmanifestsHerself.SinceIamaCatholic,IperceiveHeras the Virgin Mary."
He took me by thehand,and in less than five minutes,we had walkedout of Saint-Savin.We passed acolumn by theside oftheroad thathadsomething strangeatthetop:itwasacrosswithanimageoftheVirginintheplace where Jesus ought to have been.
Nowthe darkness and the mist completely enveloped us. Ibegan to imagine Iwas immersedinwater,inthematernalwomb–wheretimeandthoughtdonotexist.
Everythinghehadbeensayingtomewasbeginningtomakesense.Iremembered the woman at the conference, And then I thought of the girl who had led me to
theplaza.ShetoohadsaidthatwaterwasthesymboloftheGoddess.
"Twentykilometersfromherethere'sagrotto,"hewastellingme."Onthe eleventh of February, 1858, a younggirl was balinghaynearthegrotto with two otherchildren.Shewasafragile,asthmaticgirlwholivedinmiserable
poverty.Onthatwinter'sday,shewasafraidofcrossingasmallstream,
because if she got wetshe mightfall ill. And herparents needed thelittle money she made as a shepherd.
"Awoman dressed in white,with twogolden roses on herfeet, appeared. The woman treatedthechild as ifshe wereaprincess,askedifshe mightreturnto thatplaceacertainnumberoftimes,andthenvanished.Thetwoothergirls, whowereentrancedbywhathadhappened,quicklyspreadthestory.
"Thisbroughtonalongordealforthegirl.Shewasimprisoned,andthe authoritiesdemanded that she deny thewhole story. Othersoffered hermoney to gethertoasktheapparitionforspecialfavors.Withindays,herfamilybegan
tobeinsultedintheplazabypeoplewhothoughtthatthegirlhadinventedthe story in order to get attention.
"Thegirl, whosenamewasBernadette,hadnounderstandingofwhatshehadseen.
Shereferredtotheladywhohadappearedas'That,'andherparents,concerned as they were, went to the village priest for assistance. The priest suggested
thatwhentheapparitionnextappeared, Bernadette shouldask thewoman'sname. "Bernadette did as she was asked, but received only a smile in response. 'That' appeared before her a total of eighteen times and, for the most part, said
nothing. During one of her appearances, though, she asked the girl to kiss the ground. Without understanding why, Bernadette did as she was asked. During anothervisitation,sheaskedthegirltodigaholeinthefloorofthegrotto.
Bernadette obeyed, and there immediately appeared a hole filled with filthy water,becauseswinewerekeptthere.
"'Drinkthewater,'the womansaid.
"The water wasso dirty thatalthough Bernadette cuppedit inherhands,she threwit awaythreetimes,afraidtobringit tohermouth.Finallyshe did,
despiteherrepugnance.Intheplacewhereshehaddug,morewaterbegantocome forth.Amanwhowasblindinoneeyeappliedseveraldropsofthewatertohis face and recovered his vision. Awoman, desperate because her newborn child appearedtobedying,dippedthechildinthespring–onadaywhenthe temperaturehadfallenbelowzero.Andthechildwascured.
"Little by little, the word spread, and thousands of people began to come to the place. The girl repeatedly asked the woman her name, but the woman merely smiled.
"Untilone day, 'That'turned to Bernadette, andsaid,'IamtheImmaculate Conception.'
"Satisfiedatlast,thegirlran totell theparishpriest.
"'Thatcannotbe,'hesaid.'Noonecanbethetreeandthefruitatthesame time, my child. Go there, and throw holy water on her.'
"Asfaras thepriestwasconcerned,only God could haveexistedfrom thevery beginning–and God, as far as anyone could tell, was a man."
Hepausedforalongtime.
"Bernadette threw holy water on 'That,' and the apparition smiled tenderly, nothingmore.
"OnthesixteenthofJuly,thewomanappearedforthelasttime.Shortlyafter, Bernadette entered a convent, not knowing that she had changed forever the destiny of that small village near the grotto. The spring continued to flow, and miraclesfollowed,oneaftertheother.
"Thestoryspread,firstthroughoutFranceandlatertheworld.Thecitygrew
andwastransformed.Businessessprangupeverywhere.Hotelsopened.Bernadette diedandwasburiedinaplacefarfromthere,neverknowingwhathadoccurred. "Somepeoplewhowantedtoputthechurchinabadlight–andwhoknewthatthe Vatican was now acknowledging apparitions–began to invent false miracles that werelaterunmasked.Thechurchreactedstrongly:fromacertaindateon,it
wouldacceptasmiraclesonlythosephenomenathatpassedarigorousseriesof examinations performed by medical and scientific commissions.
"Butthewaterstillflows,and thecurescontinue."
Iheardsomething nearby;it frightenedme, but hedidn'tseemto notice. The fognowhadalifeandastoryofitsown.Iwasthinkingabouteverythinghe hadtoldme, andIwondered howheknewallofthis.
Ithoughtaboutthefeminine face of God. The manatmy side had a soul filled withconflict.Ashorttimeago,hehadwrittentomethathewantedtoentera Catholicseminary,yetnowhewasthinkingthatGodhasafeminineface.
He was silent. Istill felt as if Iwere in the womb of the Earth Mother,beyond time and place.
"There were two important things that Bernadette didn't know," he finally said. "ThefirstwasthatpriortothearrivaloftheChristianreligioninthese
parts,thesemountainswereinhabitedbyCelts–andtheGoddesswastheir
principal object of devotion. Generations and generations had understood the femininefaceofGodandsharedinHerloveandHerglory."
"Andthesecondthing?"
"ThesecondwasthatashorttimebeforeBernadetteexperiencedhervisions,the authorities at the Vatican had met in secret. Virtually no one knew what had occurred at those meetings–and there's no question but that the priest in the small village didn't have the slightest idea. The highest council of the
Catholic Church was deciding whether they should ratify the dogma regarding the Immaculate Conception.
"Thedogmawoundupbeingratified,throughthepapalbullknownasIneffabilis Deus.Butthegeneralpublicneverknewexactlywhatthismeant."
"Andwhatdoyouhavetodowithallthis?"Iasked.
"IamHerdisciple. IhavelearnedthroughHer."Heseemed tobe saying thatShe wasthesourceofallhis knowledge.
"YouhaveseenHer?""Yes."
Wereturnedtotheplazaandwalkedtowardthechurch.Isawthewellinthe lamplight,with thebottleofwineandtwoglasses onits wall. Acoupleof sweetheartsmusthavebeenhere,Ithink.Silent,allowingtheirheartstospeak to each other. And after their hearts had said all they had to say, they began
tosharethegreatmysteries.
IfeltthatIwasfacingsomethingquiteseriousandthatIneededtolearn everything Icould from my experiences. For a few moments, Ithought about my studies, aboutZaragoza,andaboutthemanIwashopingtofindinmylifebut all that seemed far away, clouded by the mists over Saint-Savin.
"WhydidyoutellmethestoryofBernadette?"Iasked.
"Idon'tknowwhyexactly,"heanswered,withoutlookingatmedirectly."Maybe because we'renottoo farfromLourdes. Maybe because theday after tomorrow is theday oftheImmaculateConception. Ormaybe itwasbecause Iwantedtoshow youthatmyworldisnotsosolitaryandmadasitmayappear.Thereareothers whoarepartofthatworld,andtheybelieveinwhattheysay."
"Inever said that your world is mad. Maybe it's mine that's crazy.Imean,here Iam,spendingthemostcrucialtimeofmylifeconcentratingontextbooksand
coursesthatwon'thelpme atalltoescape from theplace Ialreadyknowtoo well."
IsensedthathewasrelievedthatIunderstoodhim.Iexpectedhimtosay something moreabouttheGoddess, butinsteadheturnedtomeandsaid,"Let's getsomesleep.We'vehadalottodrink."
Tuesday,December7,1993
Hewentstraighttosleep,butIwasawakeforalongtime,thinkingaboutthe fog,thewine,andour conversation.Ireadthemanuscripthegave me,andwhat wasinitthrilledme:God–ifGodreallyexisted–wasbothFatherandMother.
Later,Iturnedoutthelightandlaytherethinking.Whenwewerequietwith eachother,IwasabletoseehowcloseIfelttohim.
Neitherofushadsaidanything. Lovedoesn't needtobe discussed; ithasits ownvoiceandspeaksforitself.Thatnight,bythewell,thesilencehad
allowed our heartstoapproach eachotherandget toknoweachotherbetter.My hearthadlistenedcloselytowhathishadsaid,andnowitwascontent.
BeforeIfell asleep,IdecidedIwould do whathe called the"exercise of the Other."
Iamhereinthisroom,Ithought,farfromeverythingfamiliartome,talking aboutthingsthat have never interestedme and sleeping in a city whereI've never set foot before. I can pretend–at hast for a few minutes–that I am different.
IbegantoimaginehowIwouldliketobelivingrightatthatmoment.Iwanted tobehappy,curious,joyful–livingeverymomentintensely,drinkingthewater of life thirstily. Believing again in my dreams. Able to fightforwhat I
wanted.
Lovingamanwholovedme.
Yes, thatwasthewoman Iwantedto be–the woman whowassuddenly presenting herself andbecomingme.
Ifelt that my soul was bathed in the light of a god–orof a goddess–in whom I hadlostfaith.AndIfeltthatatthatmoment,theOtherleftmybodyandwas standing inthecornerofthatsmallroom.
I observed the woman I had been up until then: weak but trying to give the impressionofstrength.Fearfulofeverythingbuttellingherselfitwasn't
fear–it was the wisdom of someone who knew what reality was. Putting up shutters infrontofwindowstokeepthejoyofthesunfromentering–justsothesun's
rayswouldn'tfademyoldfurniture.
I looked at the Other, there in the corner of the room–fragile, exhausted, disillusioned. Controlling andenslavingwhatshould reallybe free:her emotions.Tryingtojudgeherfuturelovesbytherulesofherpastsuffering.But love is always new. Regardless of whether we love once, twice, or a dozen timesinourlife,wealwaysfaceabrand-newsituation.Lovecanconsignusto hellortoparadise, butitalways takes ussomewhere. We simply havetoaccept it,becauseitiswhatnourishesourexistence.Ifwerejectit,wedieof
hunger,because welack thecouragetostretch out ahandandpluck thefruit fromthebranchesofthetreeoflife.Wehavetotakelovewherewefindit, even if that means hours, days, weeks of disappointment and sadness.
Themomentwebegintoseeklove,lovebeginstoseekus. And to save us.
Whenthe Otherleft me, my heart once again began to speak to me. It told me thatthebreachinthedikehadallowedthewaterstopourthrough,thatthe wind was blowingin all directions at once, and that it was happy because Iwas once again willingto listento whatit hadto say.
MyhearttoldmethatI wasinlove.AndI fellasleepwithasmileonmylips.
WhenIawoke, thewindowwasopen and he wasgazing atthemountains in the distance.Iwatchedhimwithoutsayinganything,readytoclosemyeyesifhe turned toward me.
Asif he knew,he turned and lookedatme. "Good morning," he said.
"Goodmorning.Closethewindow–it'ssocold."
TheOtherhadappearedwithnowarning.Itwasstilltryingtochangethe directionof thewind, to detect shortcomings, to say, No, that's impossible. But it knew it was too late.
"Ihavetogetdressed,"Isaid. "I'llwaitforyoudownstairs."
Igot up, banished the Other from my thoughts, opened the window again, and let thesunin.Itslightbathedeverything–themountainswiththeirsnow-covered peaks,thegroundblanketedindryleaves,andtheriver,whichIcouldhearbut not see.
The sun shone onme, warming mynudebody.Iwasnolonger cold–I wasconsumed by a heat,theheatof a spark becominga flame, theflame becominga bonfire,
the bonfire becominganinferno,Iknew. I wanted this.
Ialso knewthat from this momenton Iwasgoingto experience heaven and hell, joy and pain, dreams and hopelessness; that I would no longer be capable of containingthewindsthatblewfromthehiddencornersofmysoul.Iknewthat fromthismomentonlovewouldbemyguide–andthatithadwaitedtoleadme eversince childhood,whenIhadfeltloveforthefirsttime.Thetruthis,I
had never forgotten love, even when it had deemed me unworthy of fighting for it.Butlovehadbeendifficult,andIhadbeenreluctanttocrossits
frontiers.
IrecalledtheplazainSoriaandthemomentwhenIhadaskedhimtofindthe medal Ihad lost. Ihad known what he was goingto tell me, and Ihadn't wanted to hear it, because he was the type who would someday go off in search of wealth, adventure, and dreams. I needed a love that was possible.
IrealizedthatIhadknownnothingoflovebefore.WhenIsawhimatthe conference and accepted his invitation, I'dthought that I,as a mature woman, would be able to control the heart of the girl whohad been looking forso long forherprince.Thenhehadspokenaboutthechildinallofus–andI'dheard againthevoiceofthechildIhadbeen,oftheprincesswhowasfearfulof loving and losing.
Forfourdays,Ihadtriedtoignoremyheart'svoice,butithadgrownlouder andlouder, andtheOtherhadbecomedesperate. Inthefurthestcornerofmy soul,mytrueselfstillexisted,andIstillbelievedinmydreams.Beforethe Other could say a word, I had accepted the ride with him. I had accepted the invitation to travel with him and to take the risks involved.
Andbecauseofthat–becauseofthatsmallpartofme thathadsurvived–lovehad
finallyfoundme,afterithadlookedformeeverywhere.Lovehadfoundme, despitethebarricadethattheOtherhadbuiltacrossaquietstreetin
Zaragoza,abarricadeofpreconceivedideas,stubbornopinions,andtextbooks.
I opened the window and my heart. The sun flooded the room, and love inundated my soul.
We wandered forhours, throughthesnowandalong theroads. We breakfastedina villagewhose name I never found outbut in whose central plaza a dramaticfountain sculpture displayed a serpent and a dove combined into a single
fabulouscreature.
He smiled when he sawit. "It's a sign–masculine andfeminine joined in a single figure."
"I'd never thought before about what you told me yesterday," I said. "But it makessense."
"'AndGodcreatedmanandwoman,'"hequotedfromGenesis,"becausethatwas his imageandsimulacrum:manandwoman."
Inotedanewgleaminhiseye.Hewashappyandlaughedateverysillything. He fell into easy conversation with the few people we met along the way–workers dressedingrayontheirwaytothefields,adventurersincolorfulgear,
preparing to climb a mountain peak. I said little–my French is awful–but my soul rejoiced atseeing himthis way.
His joy made everyonewhospoke with him smile. Perhapshis heart had spoken to him,andnowheknewthatIloved him–eventhoughIwasstillbehavinglike just an old friend.
"Youseemhappier,"Isaidatonepoint.
"Because I'vealways dreamedof beinghere with you, walking throughthese mountainsandharvestingthe'goldenfruitsofthesun.'"
The goldenfruitsofthesun–a versewrittenagesago, repeated by himnow,at just the right moment.
"There's another reason you're happy,"Isaid, as we left thesmallvillage with thestrangestatue.
"What'sthat?"
"You know that I'm happy. You're responsible for my being here today, climbing themountainsoftruth,farfrommymountainsofnotebooksandtexts.You're
makingmehappy.Andhappinessissomethingthatmultiplieswhenitisdivided.""DidyoudotheexerciseoftheOther?"
"Yes.Howdidyouknow?"
"Becauseyou'vechangedtoo.Andbecausewealwayslearnthatexerciseatthe right time."
TheOtherpursuedmeallthroughthemorning.Everyminute,though,itsvoice grewfainter,and its image seemed to dissolve. It reminded me of those vampire films wherethemonstercrumbles into dust.
We passed another column with animageoftheVirginonthecross. "What are you thinking about?" he asked me.
"About vampires.Thosecreatures ofthenight,locked inside themselves, desperately seeking company. Incapable of loving."
"That'swhylegendhasitthatonlyastakethroughtheheartcankillthem; whenthathappens,theheart bursts, freeingtheenergy ofloveanddestroying the evil."
"Ineverthoughtofthatbefore.Butitmakessense."
Ihadsucceededinburying thestake. Myheart, freed ofallits curses,was awareofeverything.TheOthernolongerhadaplacetocallitsown.
AthousandtimesIwantedtotakehishand,andathousandtimesIstopped myself.Iwasstillconfused–IwantedtotellhimIlovedhim,butIdidn'tknow how to begin.
We talked about the mountains and the rivers. We were lost in a forest foralmost anhour,but eventually wefound thepathagain. We ate sandwiches and drank melted snow. When the sun began to set, we decided to return to
Saint-Savin.
Thesoundofourfootstepsechoedfromthestonewalls.Attheentrancetothe church,Iinstinctivelydippedmyhandinthefontofholywaterandmadethe sign of the cross. Irecalled that water was the symbol of the Goddess.
"Let'sgoin,"hesuggested.
We walked through the dark, emptybuilding. Saint Savin, a hermit who had lived atthestartofthefirstmillennium,wasburiedbelowthemainaltar.Thewalls
oftheplacewerecrumblingandhadclearlybeenreconstructedseveral times.
Some places are like that: they can suffer throughwars,persecutions, and indifference,buttheystillremainsacred.Finallysomeonecomesalong,senses that something is missing, and rebuilds them.
Inoticedanimage of thecrucified Christ that gave me a funnyfeeling–I had theimpression thathisheadwasmoving,followingme.
"Let'sstophere."
We werebefore analtarofOurLady. "Look at the image."
Mary,with herson inherlap.The infantJesuspointingtotheheavens. "Look more carefully," he said.
Istudied thedetailsofthewoodencarving:thegiltpaint,thepedestal,the perfectionwithwhichtheartisthadtracedthefoldsoftherobe.Butitwas whenIfocusedonthefingerofthechild JesusthatIunderstoodwhathemeant. Although Mary held him in her arms, it was Jesus who was supporting her. The child'sarm,raisedtothesky,appearedtobeliftingtheVirgintowardheaven, backtotheplaceofHerGroom'sabode.
"The artistwhocreated thismore thansix hundred years ago knewwhathewanted to convey," he commented.
Footsteps sounded on thewooden floor. Awoman entered and lit a candle in front of the main altar.
Weremainedsilent forawhile,respecting hermomentofprayer.
Lovenever comesjusta littleata time,Ithought,asIwatchedhim, absorbed
in contemplation of the Virgin. The previous day, the world had made sense, even without love's presence. But now we needed each other in order to see the true brilliance of things.
Whenthewomanhadgone,hespoke again."TheartistknewtheGreatMother,the Goddess, and the sympathetic face of God. You've asked me a question that up untilnowIhaven'tbeenabletoanswerdirectly.Itwas'Wheredidyoulearn
allthis?'"
Yes, Ihad asked him that, and he had already answered me. But Ididn't say so. "Well,Ilearnedinthesamewaythatthisartistdid:Iacceptedlovefromonhigh. Iallowedmyself to beguided," he went on. "Youmust remember the letterIwroteyou,whenIspokeofwantingtoenteramonastery.Inevertoldyou,but
I didinfactdothat."
Iimmediatelyrememberedtheconversation we'dhadbefore theconferencein Bilbao.Myheartbegantobeatfaster,andItriedtofixmygazeontheVirgin. She was smiling.
Itcan'tbe, Ithought.You entered andthen youleft.Phase,tellme thatyou left the monastery.
"I had already lived some pretty wild years," he said, not guessing my thoughts thistime."Igottoseeotherpeoplesandotherlands.Ihadalreadylookedfor Godinthefourcornersoftheearth.Ihadfalleninlovewithotherwomenand worked in a number of different jobs."
Anotherstab.IwouldhavetobecarefulthattheOtherdidn'treturn.Ikeptmy gaze on the Virgin's smile.
"Themysteriesoflifefascinatedme,andIwantedtounderstandthembetter.I looked for signs that would tell me that someone knew something. I went to India andtoEgypt.Isatwithmastersofmagicandofmeditation.Andfinally I discoveredwhatIwaslookingfor:thattruthresideswherethereisfaith."
Truthresideswherethereisfaith!Ilookedaroundagainattheinteriorofthe church–thewornstones,fallen andreplacedso manytimes.Whathadmade human beingssoinsistent?Whathadcausedthemtoworksohardatrebuildingthis
small temple in such a remote spot, hiddenin themountains? Faith.
"The Buddhists were right, the Hindus were right, the Muslims were right, and so were the Jews. Whenever someone follows the path to faith–sincerely follows
it–heorsheisabletounitewithGodandtoperformmiracles.
"Butitwasn'tenoughsimplytoknowthatyouhavetomakeachoice.Ichosethe CatholicChurchbecauseIwasraisedinit,andmychildhoodhadbeen impregnatedwithitsmysteries.IfIhadbeenbornJewish,Iwouldhavechosen Judaism.Godisthesame,eventhoughHehasathousandnames;itisuptousto select a name forHim."
Onceagain,stepssoundedinthechurch.
Amanapproachedandstaredatus.Thenheturnedtothecenteraltarandreached for the two candelabra. He must have been the one responsible for guarding the
church.
Iremembered the watchmanat the other chapel, the manwhowouldn't allow us to enter. But this man said nothing.
"Ihaveameetingtonight,"hesaidwhenthemanleft.
"Please,goonwithwhatyouweresaying.Don'tchangethesubject."
"Ienteredamonasteryclosetohere.Forfouryears,IstudiedeverythingI could.Duringthattime,ImadecontactwiththeClarifiedsandthe Charismatics,the sects that have beentryingto open doors that have been closed forso long tocertainspiritual experiences. Idiscovered thatGod was
nottheogrethathadfrightenedmeasachild. Therewasamovementafootfora return to the original innocence of Christianity."
"Youmeanthataftertwothousandyears,theyfinallyunderstoodthatitwas time to allowJesus to becomea partofthechurch?" Isaid with somesarcasm. "Youmaythinkyou'rejoking,butthatwasexactlyit.Ibegantostudywithone of thesuperiors atthemonastery. He taughtme that we have to accept thefire of revelation, the Holy Spirit."
The Virgin continuedto smile, and the infant Jesus kept his joyful expression, butmyheartstoppedwhenhesaidthat.Itoohadbelievedinthatonce–but time,age,andthefeelingthatIwasalogicalandpracticalpersonhad
distanced me from religion. I realized how much I wanted to recover my childhood faith,when1hadbelievedinangelsandmiracles.ButIcouldn'tpossiblybring
itbacksimplythroughanactofwill.
"The superior toldme thatifIbelieved thatIknew,then Iwouldinfact eventually know," he continued. "I began to talk to myself when I was in my cell.IprayedthattheHolySpiritwouldmanifestitselfandteachmewhatI neededtoknow.Littlebylittle,Idiscovered thatasItalkedtomyself,a wiser voicewassaying thingsforme."
"That'shappened to me, too,"Iinterruptedhim. He waitedforme to goon. But I couldnt say anything else.
"I'mlistening,"hesaid.
Something had stopped my tongue. He was speaking so beautifully, and I couldn't express myselfnearly as well.
"The Otherwants to come back," he said, as if he hadguessed whatIwas thinking. "The Other is always afraid of saying something that might sound silly.
"Yes," I said, struggling to overcome my fear. "OK, sometimes when I'm talking with someone and get excited about what I'm saying, Ifind myself saying things I've never said before. It seems almost as if I'm 'channeling' an intelligence
thatisn'tmine–onethatunderstands lifemuchbetterthanme. But thisisrare. InmostconversationsIprefertolisten.IalwaysfeelasifI'mlearning something new, even though Iwind up forgetting it all."
"We are our owngreatest surprise," he said. "Faith as tiny as a grain of sand allows us to move mountains. That's what I've learned. And now, my own words sometimes surprise me.
"The apostles were fishermen, illiterate and ignorant. But they accepted the flame thatfellfrom theheavens. They werenotashamed oftheirownignorance; theyhadfaith intheHoly Spirit.This giftisthereforanyonewhowillaccept
it. One hasonlytobelieve,accept,andbewillingtomakemistakes."
The Virginsmiled downonme. Shehadevery reason to cry–butShewasjoyful. "Go on."
"That'sall,"heanswered. "Acceptthegift.And then thegiftmanifests itself."
"It doesn't work that way.""Didn't you understand me?"
"I understand. But I'm like everyone else: I'm scared. It might work for you or formy neighbor, but never forme."
"Thatwill changesomeday–when you beginto see that we are really just like that child there."
"Butuntilthen,we'llallgoonthinkingwe'vecomeclosetothelight,when actuallywe can'teven light our ownflame."
Hedidn'tanswer.
"Youdidn'tfinishyourstoryabouttheseminary,"Isaid. "I'm still there."
BeforeIcould react,hestoodup andwalkedtothecenterofthechurch. IstayedwhereIwas.Myheadwasspinning.Stillintheseminary?
Betternottothinkaboutit.Lovehadflooded mysoul,andtherewasnowayI couldcontrolit.Therewasonlyonerecourse:theOther,withwhomIhadbeen harshbecauseIwasweak,andcoldbecauseIwasafraid–butInolongerwanted theOther.Icouldnolonger lookatlifethroughits eyes.
A sharp,sustainedsoundlikethatofanimmensefluteinterruptedmythoughts.
Myheartjumped.
Thesoundcameagain.Andagain.Ilookedbehindmeandsawawoodenstaircase thatleduptoacrude platform,whichdidn'tseemtofitwiththefrozenbeauty
ofthechurch.Ontheplatformwasanancientorgan.
Andtherehewas.Icouldn'tseehis facebecause thelighting wasbadbutIknew he was up there.
Istood up,andhecalledtome.
"Pilar!" he said, his voice full of emotion."Staywhereyou are."Iobeyed.
"May the GreatMotherinspire me," he said. "May this music be my prayer forthe day."
AndhebegantoplaytheAveMaria.Itmusthavebeenaboutsixintheevening, timefortheAngelus–atimewhenlightanddarknessmerge.Thesoundofthe organ echoed throughthe empty church, blending in my mind with the stones and theimagesladenwithhistoryandwithfaith.Iclosedmyeyesandletthemusic flowthroughme,cleansingmysoulofallfearandsinandremindingmethatI amalwaysbetterthanIthinkandstrongerthanIbelieve.
ForthefirsttimesinceIhadabandonedthepathoffaith,Ifelta strong
desire to pray. AlthoughIwasseated in a pew, my soul waskneeling atthefeet oftheLadybeforeme,thewomanwhohadsaid,
"Yes,"
whenShecouldhavesaid"no."Theangelwouldhavesoughtoutsomeoneelse,and there would have been no sin in the eyes of the Lord, because God knows His children's weakness.
But Shehad said, "Thywillbedone,"
even though Shesensed that Shewas receiving, along with the words of the angel,allthepainandsufferingofHerdestiny;eventhoughHerheart'seyes could see Herbeloved son leaving the house, could see the people whowould follow Him and then deny Him; but
"Thywillbedone,"
even when,atthemostsacred momentinawoman's life,Shehadtolie downwith the animals in a stable to give birth, because that was what the Scriptures
required;
"Thywillbedone,"
even when, in agony, Shelookedthroughthestreets forHerson and found Himat the temple. And He asked that Shenotinterfere because He had otherobligations and tasks to perform;
"Thywillbedone,"
even when SheknewthatShewouldsearchforHimfortherestofHerdays,Her heart filled with pain, fearing every moment for His life, knowing that He wasbeing persecuted and threatened;
"Thywillhedone,"
even when, finding Him in the crowd, She was unable to drawnear Him; "Thy will he done,"
evenwhenSheaskedsomeonetotellHimthatShewasthereandthesonsentback the response, "My mother and my brothers are those who are here with me";
"Thywillbedone,"
evenwhenattheend,aftereveryonehadfled,onlyShe,anotherwoman,andone of them stood at the foot of the cross, bearing the laughter of His enemies andthe cowardice of His friends;
"Thywillbedone."
Thy will be done,my Lord. Because you knowtheweaknessin theheart of your children,andyouassigneachofthemonlytheburdentheycanbear.Mayyou understandmylove–becauseitistheonlythingIhavethatisreallymine,the only thingthatIwillbe abletotakewithmeintothenextlife.Pleaseallow
ittobe courageous andpure;pleasemake itcapableofsurvivingthesnaresof the world.
The organstopped, and the sun went into hiding behind the mountains–as if both wereruled by thesame Hand.The musichadbeenhis prayer, andhis prayer had beenheard.Iopened myeyesandfoundthechurchincompletedarkness, except forthesolitary candle that illuminatedtheimage of theVirgin.
Iheard his footsteps again, returningto whereIsat. The light of that single candle gleamed onmytears,andmysmile–a smile thatwasn'tperhapsas beautifulastheVirgins–showedthatmyheartwasalive.
Helookedatme,andIathim.Myhandreachedoutforhisandfoundit.Nowit was his heart that was beating faster–I could almost hear it in the silence.
Butmysoulwasserene,andmyheartatpeace.
Iheldhis hand,andheembraced me.We stoodthereatthefeetoftheVirgin for I don't know how long. Time had stopped.
Shelookeddownatus.Theadolescent girlwhohadsaid"yes"toherdestiny.
The woman whohad agreedto carry theson of God in Herwomband thelove of God in Her heart. She understood.
Ididn'twanttoaskforanything.Thatafternooninthechurchhadmadethe entirejourneyworthwhile.Thosefourdayswithhimhadmadeupforanentire year in which so little had happened.
We left the church handin handand walked back towardour room. My head was spinning–seminary,GreatMother,themeetinghehadlaterthatnight.
Irealizedthenthatwebothwantedtouniteoursoulsunderonedestiny–butthe seminary and Zaragoza stood in the way.My heart felt squeezed. Ilooked around atthemedievalhomesandthewellwherewehadsatthepreviousnight.I recalled thesilence andthesadnessoftheOther,thewoman Ihadonce been.
God, Iam tryingto recover my faith. Please don'tabandon me in the middle of thisadventure,Iprayed,pushingmyfearsaside.
Hesleptalittle,butIstayedawake,lookingout thedarkenedwindow.Later, we got up and dined with the family–they never spoke at the table. He asked for a key to the house.
"We'llbehomelatetonight,"hesaidto thewoman.
"Youngpeople shouldenjoythemselves,"sheanswered,"andtakeadvantageofthe holidays as best they can."
"Ihavetoask yousomething," Isaid,whenwewerebackinthecar."I'vebeen trying to avoid it, but I have to ask."
"Theseminary,"hesaid.
That's right. I don't understand. Even though it's no longer important, I thought.
"Ihave always loved you," he began. "Ikept the medal, thinking that someday I wouldgiveit toyouandthatI'dhavethecouragetotellyouthatIlove you.
Every road I traveled led back to you. I wrote the letters to you and opened every letter of yours afraid that you would tell me you had found someone. "ThenIwascalledtothespirituallife.Orrather,Iacceptedthecall,
because it hadbeenwith me since childhood–justas it wasforyou.Idiscovered thatGod wasextremelyimportanttomylifeandthatIcouldn't be happyifI didn'tacceptmyvocation.ThefaceofChristwasthereinthefaceofevery
poorsoulImetonmytravels,andIcouldn'tdenyit." He paused,and Idecidednotto pushhim.
Twentyminuteslater,hestopped thecarand wegotout.
"ThisisLourdes,"hesaid."Youshouldseeitduringthe summer."
WhatIsawnowweredesertedstreets,closedshops,andhotelswithbarsacross their entrances.
"Sixmillion people come here in thesummer," he went on enthusiastically. "It looks like a ghost town to me."
We crossedabridgeandarrived atanenormousirongate with angelsoneither side. One side of the gate was standing open, and we passed throughit.
"Go on with what you were saying," I said, in spite of my decision not to pursue it."TellmeaboutthefaceofChristonthepeopleyoumet."
Icould see thathedidn'twanttocontinue theconversation. Perhapsthis wasn'ttherighttimeorplace.Buthavingbegun,hehadtocompleteit.
We were walking downa broad avenue,bordered on bothsides by snow-covered fields. At its end, I could see the silhouette of a cathedral.
"Goon,"Irepeated.
"Youalreadyknow.Ienteredtheseminary.Duringthefirstyear,Iaskedthat God helpmetotransformmyloveforyouintoaloveforallpeople. Inthe secondyear,IsensedthatGodhadheardme.Bythethirdyear,eventhoughmy longingforyouwasstillstrong,Ibecamecertainthatmylovewasturning towardcharity, prayer, and helping theneedy."
"Thenwhydidyouseekmeout?Whyrekindletheflameinme?Whydidyoutellme about the exercise of the Other and force me to see how shallow my life is?" I soundedconfusedandtremulous.Fromoneminutetothenext,Icouldseehim
drawing closer to the seminary and further from me. "Why did you come back? Why waituntiltodaytotellmethisstory,whenyoucanseethatIambeginningto
loveyou?"
Hedidnotanswerimmediately.Thenhesaid,"You'llthinkit'sstupid."
"I won't. I'm not worried anymore about seeming ridiculous. You've taught me that."
"Two monthsago, mysuperior askedme toaccompanyhimtothehouseofawoman whohaddiedandleftallherwealthtotheseminary.ShelivedinSaint-Savin,
andmysuperiorhadtoprepareaninventoryofwhatwasthere."
We were approaching the cathedral at the end of the avenue. My intuition told me that as soon as we reached it, any conversation we were having would be interrupted.
"Don'tstop,"Isaid."Ideserveanexplanation."
"Iremember the moment Istepped into that house. The windows looked out on the Pyrenees, and the whole scene was filled with the brightness of the sun,
intensified by thesnow'sglare. Ibegan to make alistofthethingsinthe house,butafterjustafewminutes,Ihadtostop.
"Ihaddiscoveredthatthewoman'stastewasexactlythesameasmine.Sheowned recordsthatIwouldhavepurchased,thesamemusicthatIwouldhaveenjoyed listeningtoasIlookedoutonthatbeautifullandscape.Herbookshelveswere filled withbooksIhadalreadyreadandothersthatIwouldhavelovedtoread.
Looking at the furnishings, the paintings,and all herotherpossessions, Ifelt asifIhadchosenthemmyself.
"Fromthatdayon,Icouldn'tforgetthathouse.EverytimeIwenttothechapel topray,Irealizedthatmyrenunciationhadnotbeentotal.Iimaginedmyself therewithyou,looking out atthesnowonthemountaintops,afireblazingin thehearth.Ipicturedourchildrenrunningaroundthehouseandplayinginthe fields around Saint-Savin."
Although Ihad never been near the house, Iknew exactly what it looked like. AndIhopedhe'dsaynothingelsesothatIcouldfantasize.
But hewenton.
"For the past twoweeks, Ihaven't beenable to stand the sadness in my soul. I wenttomysuperiorandtoldhimwhatwashappeningtome.Itoldhimaboutmy loveforyouandwhathadbegunwhenweweretakingtheinventory."
Alightrainbegantofall.Ibowed myheadandgatheredthefrontofmycoat.I
suddenlydidn'twanttoheartherestofthestory.
"Somysuperior said,'Therearemanywaysto serveour Lord. Ifyou feelthat's your destiny,go in searchof it. Onlya manwhois happycancreate happiness in others.'
"'I don't know if that's my destiny,' I told my superior. 'Peace came into my heartwhenIenteredthisseminary.'
"'Well, then, go there and resolve any doubts you may have,' he said. 'Remain outthereintheworld,orcomebacktotheseminary.Butyouhavetobe committed to the place you choose. A divided kingdom cannot defend itself from itsadversaries.Adividedpersoncannotfacelifeinadignifiedway.'"
Hepulledsomethingfromhispocketandhandedittome.Itwasakey.
"Thesuperiorloanedmethekeytothehouse.Hesaidthathewouldholdofffor awhileonsellingthepossessions.Iknowthathewantsmetoreturntothe seminary. But he wastheone whoarrangedthepresentationin Madrid–sothat we could meet."
Ilookedatthekeyinmyhandandsmiled. Inmyheart,bells wereringing,andtheheavens hadopened tome. Hecould serveGod inadifferentway–bymyside. BecauseIwasgoingtofightforthattohappen.
Iputthekeyinmybag.
The basilica loomed in front of us. Before I could say anything, someone spotted him and came towardus. The light rain continued, and Ihad no idea howlong we wouldbethere;Icouldn'tforgetthatIhadonlyonesetofclothes,andI
didn'twantthemtogetsoaked.
Iconcentratedon that problem. Ididn't want to thinkabout the house–that was a matter suspended between heaven and earth, awaiting the hand of destiny.
He introduced me to several people whohad gathered around. They asked wherewe were staying, and when he said Saint-Savin, one of them told us the story of the hermit saint who was buried there. It was Saint Savin who had discovered the
well in the middle of the plaza–and the original mission of the village had been tocreatearefugeforreligiouspersonswhohadleftthecityandcometothe mountains in searchofGod.
"Theyarestilllivingthere,"anothersaid.
Ididn'tknowifthestorywastrue,nordidIhaveanyideawho"they"were.
Otherpeoplebegan toarrive,andthegroupbegantomovetowardtheentranceof
thegrotto.Anolder mantried to tell me something in French. Whenhe sawthat Ididn'tunderstand,heswitchedtoanawkwardSpanish.
"Youarewithaveryspecial man,"hesaid."Amanwhoperformsmiracles."
Isaid nothingbut rememberedthat nightin Bilbao when a desperate manhadcome lookingforhim.Hehadtoldmenothingaboutwherehehadgone,andIhadn't asked.Rightnow,Ipreferredtothinkaboutthehouse,whichIcouldpicture perfectly–itsbooks, its records, its view, its furniture.
Somewhereintheworld,ahomeawaitedus.Aplacewherewecouldcarefor daughters or sons whowould come home from school, fill the house with joy, and neverpickup after themselves.
Wewalkedinsilencethroughtherainuntilfinallywereachedtheplacewhere thevisionsofMaryhadoccurred.ItwasexactlyasIhadimagined:thegrotto,thestatue ofOur Lady,andthefountain–protected by glass–wherethemiracle of the water had taken place. Some pilgrims were praying; others were seated silentlyinsidethegrotto,theireyesclosed.Ariverranpasttheentrance,
andthesoundofthewatermademefeelatpeace.AssoonasIsawtheimage,I saidaquickprayer,askingtheVirgintohelpme–myheartneedednomore suffering.
Ifpain must come, mayit come quickly. Because Ihavealifeto live, andI needtolive itinthebest waypossible. Ifhehastomake achoice, mayhe make it now. Then I will either wait for him or forget him.
Waitingispainful.Forgettingispainful.Butnotknowingwhichtodoisthe worst kind of suffering.
Insomecornerofmyheart,Ifeltthatshehadheardmyplea.
Wednesday,December8,1993
By the time the cathedral's clock struck midnight, the group around us had grown considerably. We were almost a hundred people–some of them priests and nuns–standing in the rain, gazing at the statue.
"Hail,OurLadyoftheImmaculateConception,"someoneclosetomesaid,assoon as the tolling of the bells ceased.
"Hail,"everyoneanswered,withsomeapplause.
Aguard immediately came forward and asked that we be quiet. We were bothering the other pilgrims.
"Butwe'vecomealongway,"saidoneofthemeninourgroup.
"So have they," answered theguard, pointingto theothers whowere praying in the rain. "And they are praying silently."
Iwantedtobealonewithhim,farfromthisplace,holdinghishandandtelling him howIfelt. We needed to talk more aboutthe house, aboutour plans, about love. Iwantedto reassure him, to make clear howstrongmy feelings were, and to let him knowthat his dream could come true–because Iwould be athis side, helping him.
Theguardretreated,andoneofthepriestsbegantorecitetherosaryinalow voice.Whenwereachedthecreedthatclosestheseriesofprayers,everyone remained silent, their eyes closed.
"Whoarethesepeople?"Iasked. "Charismatics," he answered.
Ihad heard of thembefore but didn't know exactly what their name meant.He could see that I didn't understand.
"ThesearepeoplewhoacceptthefireoftheHolySpirit,"hesaid,"thefire that Jesus left but that is used by so few people to light their candles. These people are very close to the original truth of Christianity, when everyone was capable of performing miracles.
"They are guided by theWomanDressedby theSun,"he said, pointingwith his eyes to the Virgin.
The group began to chantquietly, as if in response to aninvisiblecommand. "You're shivering from the cold. You don't have to take part in this," he said. "Are you going to stay?"
"Yes.This ismylife."
"Then I'm going to participate," I answered, even though I would have preferred tobefarfromthere."Ifthisisyourworld,Iwanttolearntobeapartof
it."
Thegroupcontinuedtosing.Iclosedmyeyesandtriedtofollowthewords,even though I couldn't speak French. I repeated the words without understanding them.Buttheirsoundhelped thetimetopassmorequickly.
Itwouldendsoon.AndwecouldreturntoSaint-Savin,justthetwo ofus.
Iwentonsinging mechanically–butlittlebylittle,Ibegantofeelthemusic takingholdofme,asifithadalifeofits own.Itwashypnotizing. The cold seemedlessbitter,andtherainnolongerbotheredme.Themusicmademefeel better. Ittransported me back to a time when God had felt closerto me and had
helpedme.
JustasIwasaboutto surrendercompletelyto themusic,itstopped.
I opened my eyes. This time, instead of a guard, there was a priest. He approached one of theotherpriests in our group. They whispered to one another for a few moments, and the padre left.
Our priestturned tous."We haveto say our prayers ontheotherside ofthe river," he said.
Silently we walked across the bridge directly in front of the grotto and moved to the other bank. It was a prettier place, on the bank of the river, surrounded by trees and an open field. The river now separated us from the grotto. From there,wecouldclearlyseetheilluminatedimage,andwecouldsingloudly without disturbing others' prayers.
Thepeoplearoundmebegantosinglouder,raisingtheirfacestotheskyand smilingas theraindrops courseddowntheircheeks.Someraisedtheirarms,and sooneveryonejoinedin,wavingtheirarmsfromsidetosideinrhythmtothe music.
Iwantedtogiveintothemoment,butatthesametimeIwantedtopayclose attentionto whattheyweredoing.One priestnearme wassinging inSpanish, andItriedtorepeatthewords.TheywereinvocationstotheHolySpiritand theVirgin,requestingtheirpresenceandaskingthattheyraindowntheir blessingsandtheirpowersoneachofus.
"May thegift of tongues befall us," said another priest, repeatingthephrase inSpanish,Italian,andFrench.
Whathappenednextwasincomprehensible.Eachofthemanypeoplepresentbegan tospeakalanguagethatwasdifferentfromanyIhadeverheard.Itwasmore
soundthanspeech,with wordsthatseemed to come straightfrom thesoul, making no sense at all. Irecalled our conversation in the church, when he had spoken about revelations, saying that all wisdom was the result of listening to one's
ownsoul. Perhaps this is the language of the angels, Ithought,tryingto mimic what they were doing–and feeling ridiculous.
Everyonewas looking at the statue of the Virginon the otherside of the river; theyallseemedtobeinatrance.Ilookedaroundforhimandfoundhim
standing atsome distance from me. His handswere raised to theheavens and he wasspeakingrapidly,asifinconversationwithHer.Hewassmilingandnodding his head as if in agreement; occasionally he looked surprised.
Thisishisworld,Ithought.
The whole scene began to scare me. The manIwantedatmy side wastelling me thatGodisalsofemale,hewasspeakinganincomprehensiblelanguage,hewasin atrance,andheseemed closertotheangelsthantome.Thehouseinthe mountains began to seem less real, as if it were part of a world that he had
alreadyleftbehind.
All of our days together–startingwith the conference in Madrid–seemed to be part of a dream, a voyage beyond the space and time of my life. At the same time,though,thedreamhadtheflavoroftheworld,ofromance,andofnew adventures.Ihadtriedtoresist;nowIknewhoweasilylovecouldsetfireto theheart.Ihadtriedtostayunreceptivetoallofthisinthebeginning;now
IfeltthatsinceIhadlovedbefore,Iwouldknowhowtohandleit.
Ilookedaroundagain,anditdawnedonmethatthiswasnottheCatholicismI had been taughtat school. And this was not the way Ihad pictured the manin my life.
Amaninmylife!Howstrange!Isaidtomyself,surprised atthethought. Thereonthebankoftheriver,lookingacrossatthegrotto,Ifeltbothfear andjealousy.Fearbecauseitwasallnewtome,andwhatisnewhasalways scaredme.Jealousybecause,bitbybit,Icouldseethathislovewasgreater thanI'dthoughtandspreadoverplaceswhereI'dneversetfoot.
Forgive me, Our Lady. Forgive me if I'm being selfish or small-minded, competing with you for this man's love.
Butwhatifhisvocationwasn'ttobewithmebutwastoretreatfromtheworld, locking himself in a seminary and conversing with angels? How long would he resistbeforehefledfromourhousetoreturntohistruepath?Orevenifhe
never went back to the seminary, what price would Ihave to pay to keep him from returning to that path?
Everyonethere,exceptme,seemedtobeconcentratingonwhattheyweredoing.I was staring at him, and he was speaking the language of the angels.
Suddenly,fearandjealousy werereplaced by calm andsolitude.The angelshad someonetotalkwith,andIwasalone.
Ihadnoideawhatpushedmeinto tryingtospeakthat strangelanguage.Perhaps
itwasmystrongneedtoconnectwithhim,totellhimwhatIwasfeeling. PerhapsIneeded tolet mysoul speaktomemyheart hadso manydoubtsand neededsomanyanswers.
Ididn'tknowexactlywhattodo,andIfeltridiculous.Butallaroundmewere
menandwomenofallages,priestsandlaypeople, novicesandnuns,studentsand old-timers.TheygavemethecouragetoasktheHolySpiritforthestrengthto overcome my fear.
Try, Isaid to myself. All you have to do is open your mouth and have the courage to say things you don't understand. Try!
Iprayedthatthisnight–thenightfollowingadaythathadbeensolongthatI couldn't even remember how it had begun–would be an epiphany. A new beginning forme.
God must have heardme. The words began to come more easily–and little by little they lost their everyday meanings. My embarrassment diminished, my confidence grew,andthewordsbegantoflowfreely.AlthoughIunderstoodnothingofwhat Iwassaying,itallmadesensetomysoul.
Simplyhavingthecouragetosaysenselessthingsmademeeuphoric.Iwasfree, withnoneedtoseekortogiveexplanationsforwhatIwasdoing.Thisfreedom lifted me to the heavens–where a greater love, one that forgives everything and never allows you to feel abandoned, once again enveloped me.
Itfeelsasifmyfaithiscomingback,Ithought,surprisedatthemiracles that love canperform. Isensed that the Virgin was holding me in herlap,
covering me and warming me with her mantle. The strange words flew more rapidly from my lips.
Withoutrealizingit,Ibegantocry.Joyfloodedmyheart–ajoythat
overpowered myfearsandwasstrongerthanmyattempts to controlevery second of my life.
Irealized that my tears were a gift; at school, the sisters had taughtme that thesaintsweptwithecstasy.Iopenedmyeyes,gazedatthedarknessofthe
heavens, andfelt mytears blendingwith theraindrops. The earth wasalive and the drops from above brought the miracles of heaven with them. We were all a partofthat same miracle.
Howwonderful that God may be a woman, Isaid to myself,as the others continued tochant.Ifthat'strue,thenitwascertainlyGod'sfemininefacethattaught
ushowtolove.
"Let us pray in tentsof eight," said thepriestin Spanish, Italian,and French.
Onceagain,Iwasconfused.Whatwashappening?Someonecameovertomeandput his arm around my shoulders. Another person did the same on my other side. We formed a circle of eight people, arms around each other's shoulders. Then we
leanedforward,ourheadstouching.
We lookedlike ahumantent.The rainfellharder,but noone cared. The position we had taken concentrated all our energies and heat.
"May the Immaculate Conception help my child find his way," said the man embracingmefromtheright."Please,let'ssayanAveMariaformychild.""Amen,"everyonesaid.AndweeightprayedanAveMaria.
"May theImmaculate Conception enlighten me and arouse in me thegiftof curing,"saidawomanfromourcircle."LetussayanAveMaria."
Again,all of us said "Amen"and we prayed. Eachpersonmade a petition, and everyone participated in the prayers. Iwas surprised at myself, because Iwas praying like achild–and like achild, Ibelieved thatour prayers wouldbe answered.
Thegroupfellsilentforafractionofasecond.Irealizedthatitwasmyturn tomakeapetition.Underanyothercircumstances,Iwouldhavediedof embarrassmentandbeenunabletosayaword.ButIfeltapresence,andthat presence gave me confidence.
"May the Immaculate Conception teach me to love as she loves," I finally said. "May that love growin me and in themanto whom it is dedicated. Let us say an Ave Maria."
Weprayedtogether,andagainIfeltasenseoffreedom.Foryears,Ihadfought againstmyheart,becauseIwasafraidofsadness,suffering,andabandonment. ButnowIknewthattruelovewasaboveallthatandthatitwouldbebetterto die than to fail to love.
Ihad thought that only others had the courage to love. But nowIdiscovered that I too was capable of loving. Even if loving meant leaving, or solitude, or sorrow,love wasworthevery penny ofits price.
Ihavetostopthinkingofthese things.Ihavetoconcentrateontheritual.
Thepriestleadingthegroupaskedthatwedisbandthetentsandprayforthe sick.Everyonecontinuedtopray,sing,anddancein therain,adoringGodand
the VirginMary.Nowand then, people went back to speaking strange languages, waving their arms, and pointing to the sky.
"Someonehere…someonewhohasasickdaughter-in-law…mustknowthatsheis being cured," cried one woman.
The prayers resumed, along with chants of joy. From time to time, we would hear thevoice ofthis woman again.
"Someone in this group wholost hermotherrecently must have faith and know thatsheisintheglory ofheaven."
Later,hewouldtellmethatshehadthegiftofprophecy,thatcertain individuals can sense what is happening at some distant place or what will happen in the future.
Secretly,Itoobelievedinthepowerofthatvoicethatwasspeakingof miracles.Ihopedthatvoicewouldspeakofthelovebetweentwoofthose present. Ihoped to hearthat voice proclaimthat this love wasblessed by all the angels and saints–and by God and by the Goddess.
I'm not sure howlong the ritual lasted. People continued to speak in tongues andtochant;theydancedwiththeirarmshelduptothesky,prayedforthe people around them,andpetitioned formiracles.
Finally, thepriestwhowasconducting theceremony said, "Let us chanta prayer forallofthoseherewhoareparticipatingforthefirsttimeinaCharismatic renewal."
ApparentlyIwasnottheonlyone.Thatmademefeel better.
Everyonechantedaprayer.This time Ijustlistened, asking thatfavorsbe granted to me.
Ineededmany.
"Letusreceivetheblessing,"saidthepriest.
The crowd turned toward the illuminated grotto across the river. The priest said several prayers and blessed us all. Then everyone kissed, wished each othera "Happy Day of the Immaculate Conception," and went their separate ways.
Hecametome.Hisexpressionwashappierthanusual. "You're soaked," he said.
"Soareyou!"Ilaughed.
We walked back to the carand drove to Saint-Savin.I'dbeenso eager forthis momenttoarrive–butnowthatitwashere,Ididn'tknowwhattosay.Icouldn't
even bring myself to talk about the house in the mountains, the ritual, the strangelanguages,orthetentprayers.
He was living in two worlds. Somewhere, those two worlds intersectedand I had to find where that was.
But atthatmoment,wordswereuseless. Lovecanonly be found throughtheact of loving.
"I'veonly gotonesweaterleft,"hesaidwhenwereachedtheroom."Youcan have it. I'll buy another for myself tomorrow."
"We'llputourwetthingsontheheater.They'llbedrybytomorrow.Anyway, I'vegottheblousethatIwashedyesterday."
Neither of us said anything for a few minutes. Clothing. Nakedness. Cold.
Finally, hetook another shirtout ofhis bag. "You cansleepinthis," hesaid. "Great," I answered.
I turned out the light. In the dark, I took off my wet clothes, spread them over the heater, and turned it to high.
By the light from the lamppost outside the window, he must have been able to make out my silhouette and known that Iwas naked. Islipped the shirt on and crawled under the covers.
"I love you," I heard him say. "I'mlearninghowtoloveyou."
He lita cigarette. "Do you thinkthe rightmoment will come?"he asked. Iknewwhathemeant.Igotupandsatontheedgeofhisbed.
The light from his cigarette illuminated our faces. He took my handand we sat thereforsometime. Iranmyfingersthroughhishair.
"Youshouldn'thaveasked,"Isaid."Lovedoesn'taskmanyquestions, because if westoptothinkwebecomefearful.It'saninexplicablefear;it'sdifficult
eventodescribeit.Maybeit'sthefearofbeingscorned,ofnotbeing accepted, or of breaking the spell. It's ridiculous, but that's the way it is.
That'swhy you don'task–you act.Asyou've said manytimes,you have to take risks."
"Iknow.I'veneveraskedbefore."
"Youalreadyhavemyheart,"Itoldhim."Tomorrowyoumaygoaway,butwewill alwaysrememberthemiracleofthesefewdays.IthinkthatGod,inHerinfinite wisdom,concealshellinthemidstofparadise–sothatwewillalwaysbealert,
so thatwewon'tforgetthepainasweexperiencethejoyofcompassion."Hetookmyfaceinhishands."Youlearnquickly,"hesaid.
I had surprisedmyself. But sometimes if you think you know something, you do wind up understanding it.
"Ihopeyouwon'tthinkI'mbeingdifficult,"Isaid."Ihavebeenwithmany men.I'vemadelovetosomeI'vebarelyknown."
"Samehere,"hesaid.
Hewastryingtosoundnatural,butfromhistouch,Icouldtellthathehadn't wantedto hearthis from me.
"Butsincethismorning,IfeelasifI'mrediscoveringlove.Don'ttryto
understandit,becauseonlyawomanwouldknowwhatImean.Andittakestime."
He caressed my face. Then Ikissed him lightly on thelips and returned to my bed.
Iwasn'tsurewhyIdid.WasItryingtobindhimevenclosertome,orwasI tryingtoset himfree?Inanycase, ithadbeenalong day, andIwastoo tired to think about it.
Forme,thatwasanightofgreatpeace.Atonepoint,Iseemedtobeawakeeven thoughIwasstillsleeping.AfemininepresencecradledmeinHerlap;Ifelt
asifIhadknownHeralongtime.Ifeltprotected andloved.
Iwoke atseven,dying oftheheat.Irememberedhavingturned theheaterto highin order to dry myclothes.Itwasstill dark, andItried to get up without making a sound so that I wouldn't disturb him.
ButassoonasIstood,Icouldseethathewasn'tthere.
Istartedtopanic.TheOtherimmediatelyawokeandsaidtome,"See?You agreed,andhedisappeared.Likeallmendo."
Mypanicwasincreasingbytheminute,butIdidn'twanttolosecontrol."I'm stillhere,"theOthersaid."Youallowedthewindtochangedirection.You openedthedoor,andnowloveisfloodingyourlife.Ifweactquickly,we'llbe able to regain control."
Ihadtobepractical,totakeprecautions.
"He'sgone," said theOther."You have to get awayfrom this place in themiddle ofnowhere.YourlifeinZaragozaisstillintact;getbacktherequickly–before you lose everythingyou'veworked so hardto gain."
Hemusthavebadsomegoodreason,Ithought.
"Menalwayshavetheirreasons,"saidtheOther."Butthefactisthatthey always wind up leaving."
Well, then, Ihad to figure out howto get back to Spain. Ihad to keep my wits aboutme.
"Let'sstartwiththepracticalproblem:money,"theOthersaid.
Ididn't have a cent.Iwould have to go downstairs, call my parents collect, andwaitforthemtowiremethemoneyforatickethome.
But it wasa holiday, andthemoney wouldn't arrive untilthenextday. How would I eat? How would I explain to the owners of the house that they would have towaitforseveraldaysfortheirpayment?"Betternottosayanything,"said
theOther.
Right,shewastheexperienced one. Sheknewhowtohandle situationslike this. Shewasn'ttheimpassionedgirl wholoses controlofherself.Shewasthewoman whoalways knew what she wanted in life. Ishould simply stay on there, as if he wereexpectedtoreturn.Andwhenthemoneyarrived,Iwouldpaythebilland leave.
"Very good," said the Other."You're getting back to howyou were before. Don't besad.Oneofthesedays,you'llfindanotherman–oneyoucanlovewithout taking so many risks."
Igathered my clothesfrom theheater.They were dry. Ineeded to find out which ofthesurroundingvillageshadabank,makeaphonecall,takesteps.IfI thoughtcarefullyaboutall of that, therewouldn't be time forcryingor
regrets.
ThenIsawhisnote:
I'vegone totheseminary.Packupyour things,because we'regoingbackto Spaintonight.I'llbebackbylateafternoon.Iloveyou.
Iclutchedthenotetomybreast,feelingmiserable andrelievedatthesame time.InoticedthattheOtherhadretreated.
Ilovedhim.Witheveryminutethatpassed,mylovewasgrowingandtransforming me.Ionceagainhadfaithinthefuture,andlittlebylittle,Iwasrecovering
myfaithinGod.Allbecauseoflove.
I will not talk to my own darkness anymore, I promised myself, closing the door ontheOther.Ajailfromthethirdfloorhurtsasmuchasafallfromthe hundredth.
IfIhavetofall,mayitbefromahighplace.
"Don'tgoouthungryagain,"saidthewoman.
"Ididn'trealizeyouspokeSpanish,"Ianswered,surprised.
"The border isn'tfar from here. Tourists come to Lourdes in thesummer. IfI couldn'tspeakSpanish,Icouldn'trentrooms."
Shemade me some toast and coffee. Iwasalreadytryingto prepare myselfto make it throughtheday–each hourwasgoingtoseemlike ayear. Ihopedthat this snack would distract me fora while.
"Howlonghaveyoutwobeenmarried?"sheasked.
"He wasthefirstpersonIeverloved,"Isaid. Thatwasenough.
"Doyousee those peaks out there?"thewoman continued."The firstlove ofmy life died up in those mountains."
"Butyoufoundsomeoneelse."
"Yes,Idid.AndIfoundhappinessagain.Fateisstrange:almostnooneIknow marriedthefirstloveoftheirlives. Thosewhodidarealways tellingmethat they missed something important, that they didn't experience all that they might have."
Shestopped talking suddenly. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to offend you."
"I'mnotoffended."
"Ialwayslookatthatwellthereintheplaza.AndIthinktomyselfthat
before, nooneknewwheretherewaswater.ThenSaintSavindecidedtodigand foundit. If he hadn't done that, this villagewould bedown there bythe
river."
"Butwhatdoesthat have todowithlove?" Iasked.
"That well brought many people here, with their hopes and dreams and conflicts. Someone dared to look forwater, water wasfound, andpeople gathered whereit flowed. Ithinkthatwhenwelookforlovecourageously,itrevealsitself,and
we wind up attracting even more love. If one personreally wants us, everyone does. But if we'realone, we become even more alone. Life is strange."
"Haveyouever heardofthebookcalled theIChing?" Iaskedher. "No, I haven't."
"Itsaysthata citycanbemovedbutnotawell.It's aroundthewellthat
lovers find each other, satisfy their thirst, build their homes, and raise their children.Butifoneofthemdecidestoleave,thewell cannotgowiththem.
Love remains there, abandoned–even though it is filled with the same pure water as before."
"You speak like amaturewoman whohasalreadysuffered agreatdeal, mydear," she said.
"No. I've always been frightened. I've never dug a well. But I'm trying to do thatnow,andIdon'twanttoforgetwhattherisksare."
Ifelt something in thepocket of my bag pressing atme. WhenIrealized what it was,myheart wentcold.Iquickly finishedmycoffee.
Thekey.Ihadthekey.
"There was a woman in this city whodied and left everything to the seminary at Tarbes,"Isaid."Doyouknowwhereherhouseis?"
Thewomanopened thedoor andshowed me.Itwasoneofthemedieval houseson theplaza.Thebackofthehouselookedoutoverthevalleytowardthemountains in the distance.
"Two priests went throughthehouse abouttwomonthsago," she said. "And…"She stopped, looking at me doubtfully."Andone of themlooked a lot like your husband."
"It was," Ianswered. The woman stood in her doorway, puzzled, as Iquickly left.Ifeltaburstofenergy,happythatIhadallowedthechild inmetopull a prank.
Isoonstoodinfrontofthehouse,notknowingwhattodo.Themistwas everywhere, and Ifelt as if Iwere in a gray dream wherestrangefiguresmight appear and take me away to places even more peculiar.
Itoyednervouslywiththekey.
Withthemistasthickasitwas,itwould beimpossibletoseethemountains
fromthewindow.Thehousewouldbedark;therewouldbenosunshiningthrough thecurtains.Thehousewouldseemsadwithouthimatmyside.
I lookedatmywatch.Nineinthemorning.
I had to do something–something that would make the time pass, that would help me wait.
Wait. This wasthefirstlesson Ihadlearnedaboutlove.The day drags along, youmakethousandsof plans,youimagineeverypossibleconversation,you
promisetochangeyourbehaviorincertainways–andyoufeelmoreandmore anxiousuntilyour loved onearrives.But bythen,youdon'tknowwhattosay. Thehoursofwaitinghavebeentransformedintotension,thetensionhasbecome fear, and the fear makes you embarrassed about showing affection.
I didn't know whether I should go in. I remembered our conversation of the previousday–thehousewasthesymbolofadream.
But Icouldn't spend the whole day just standing there. Igathered up my courage,graspedthekeyfirmly,andwalkedtothedoor.
"Pilar!"
The voice, with a strongFrench accent,came from the midst of the fog. Iwasmoresurprisedthanfrightened.Ithoughtitmightbetheownerofthehouse where we had rented the room–although I didn't recall having told him my name. "Pilar!" Iheardagain,nearerthistime.
I looked back at the plaza shrouded in mist. A figure was approaching, walking hurriedly.PerhapstheghoststhatIhadimaginedinthefogwerebecominga reality.
"Wait,"thefiguresaid."Iwanttotalktoyou."
Whenhehadcome closer,Icould see thatit wasapriest.Helookedlike a caricature of thecountrypadre:short,on theheavy side, with sparse white hairon a nearly bald head.
"Hola,"hesaid,holdingouthishandandsmiling. Iansweredhim,abit astonished.
"Toobadthefogishidingeverything,"hesaid,lookingtowardthehouse. "SinceSaint-Savinis inthemountains, theview from thishouse is beautiful;
you cansee thevalley downbelow and thesnow-covered peaks. But you probably already knew that."
Idecided thatthismustbethesuperiorfromthe monastery.
"Whatare you doing here?" Iasked. "Andhowdo you know my name?""Do you want to go in?" he said, trying to change the subject.
"No!I'dlikeyoutoanswermyquestions."
Rubbinghishandstogethertowarmthem,hesatdownonthecurb.Isatdown nextto him. The fog was growing thicker by the minute. The church was already hiddenfrom sight,anditwasonly sixty feetawayfrom us.
AllIcouldseewasthewell.IrememberedwhattheyoungwomaninMadridhad
said.
"Sheispresent,"Isaid. "Who?"
"TheGoddess," Ianswered."Sheisthismist."
"So,he must have talkedto you aboutthat," he laughed. "Well, Iprefer to refer to Her as the Virgin Mary. That's what I'm used to."
"Whatareyoudoinghere?Howdoyouknowmyname?"Irepeated.
"Icameherebecause Iwantedtoseeyoutwo.AmemberoftheCharismatic group lastnighttoldmeyouwerebothstayinginSaint-Savin.Andit'sasmallplace.
"Hewenttotheseminary."
Thepadre'ssmiledisappeared,andheshookhishead."Toobad,"hesaid,asif speaking to himself.
"Youmean,toobadhewenttotheseminary?"
"No,he'snotthere.I'vejustcome fromtheseminary."
Foramoment,Icouldn'tsayanything.IthoughtbacktothefeelingI'dhad whenIwoke up:themoney, thearrangements Ineeded tomake, thecalltomy parents,theticket.ButI'dmadeavow,andIwasn'tgoingtobreakit.
Apriest was sitting beside me. As a child, I used to tell everything to our priest.
"I'm exhausted," I said, breaking the silence. "Less than a week ago, I finally learned who I am and what I want in life. Now I feel like I'vebeen caught in a stormthat'stossingmearound,andIcan'tseemtodoanythingaboutit.""Resistyourdoubts,"thepadresaid."It'simportant."
Hisadvicesurprisedme.
"Don'tbefrightened,"hecontinued,asifheknewwhatIwasfeeling."Iknow thatthechurchisinneedofnewpriests,andhewouldbe anexcellentone. But thepricehe would have to pay would be very high."
"Whereishe?DidheleavemeheretoreturntoSpain?"
"ToSpain?There'snothingforhimtodoinSpain,"saidthepriest."Hishomeis atthemonastery, only a fewkilometers from here. He's notthere.But Iknow where we can find him."
His wordsbroughtbacksomeofmyjoyandcourage–atleasthehadn'tgoneaway.
But the priest was no longer smiling. "Don't let that encourage you," he went on,again reading mymind. "It would be better if he hadgone back to Spain."
Hestood and askedmetogowithhim.Wecouldseeonlyafewyardsinfrontof
us,butheseemedtoknowwherehewasgoing.WeleftSaint-Savinbythesame roadalongwhich,twonightsbeforeorcouldithavebeenfiveyearsbefore?–I hadheardthestoryofBernadette.
"Wherearewegoing?"Iasked. "To find him," he answered.
"Padre,you'veconfusedme,"Isaid,aswewalkedalong together."Youseemed sad when you said he wasn't at the seminary."
"Tellmewhatyouknowaboutthereligiouslife,mychild."
"Verylittle.Onlythattheprieststake avowofpoverty,chastity,and obedience." I wondered whether I should go on and decided that I would. "And that they judge the sins of others, even though they may commit the same sins themselves.Thattheyknowallthereistoknowaboutmarriageandlove,but theynevermarry.Thattheythreatenuswiththefiresofhellformistakesthat
theythemselvesmake. Andtheypresent Godtousasavengefulbeingwhoblames man for the death of His only Son."
The padrelaughed. "You've hadanexcellentCatholiceducation,"hesaid."But I'mnotasking youaboutCatholicism. I'masking aboutthespiritual life."
Ididn't respond fora moment. "I'm notsure. There are people wholeave everythingbehindandgoinsearchofGod."
"AnddotheyfindHim?"
"Well,youwouldknowtheanswertothat,Padre.Ihavenoidea."
The padrenoticedthat Iwas beginning to gasp with exertion, and he slowed his pace.
"You hadthatwrong," hesaid."Apersonwhogoes insearchofGod is wasting his time. He canwalk a thousand roads and join many religions and sects–but he'll never find God that way.
"God is here, rightnow,at our side. We cansee Him in this mist, in the ground we'rewalking on,even in myshoes.His angelskeep watchwhile we sleep and help us in our work.Inorder to findGod, you have only to look around.
"ButmeetingHimisnoteasy.ThemoreGodasksustoparticipateinHis mysteries, the more disoriented we become, because He asks us constantlyto followourdreamsandourhearts.Andthat'sdifficulttodowhenwe'reusedto living in a different way.
"Finally wediscover,to our surprise, thatGod wants us to be happy,because He is the father."
"Andthemother,"Isaid.
Thefogwasbeginning toclear.Icouldseeasmallfarmhousewhereawomanwas gathering hay.
"Yes, and themother,"he said. "In order to have a spiritual life,you neednot enter a seminary, or fast, or abstain, or take a vow of chastity. All you have
todoishavefaithandacceptGod.Fromthenon,eachofusbecomesapartof His path. We become a vehicle for His miracles."
"He hasalreadytoldme aboutyou," Iinterrupted,"and he hastaughtme these ideas."
"Ihope that you accept God's gifts," he answered. "Because it hasn't always beenthatway,ashistoryteachesus.Osiriswasdrawnandquartered inEgypt. The Greek gods battledbecause of themortals on earth. The Aztecsexpelled Quetzalcoatl. The Viking gods witnessed the burning of Valhalla because of a woman. Jesus was crucified. Why?"
Ididn'thaveananswer.
"Because GodcametoearthtodemonstrateHispowertous.WeareapartofHis dream,andHewantsHis dreamtobe ahappyone. Thus, ifweacknowledgethat God created us forhappiness, then wehaveto assume thateverythingthatleads to sadness and defeat is our own doing. That's the reason we always kill God, whether on the cross, by fire, through exile, or simply in our hearts."
"ButthosewhounderstandHim…"
"They are the ones who transform the world–while making great sacrifices." The woman carrying the hay saw the priest and came runningin our direction. "Padre, thank you!" she said, kissing his hands. "The young man cured my husband.'"
"It was the Virgin whocured your husband," he said. "The lad is only an instrument."
"Itwashe.Comein,please."
Irecalled the previous night.When we arrived at the cathedral, a manhad told meIwaswithamanwhoperformed miracles.
"We'reinahurry,"thepadresaid.
"No!No, we're not," Isaid, in my halting French. "I'm cold, and I'dlike some coffee."
The woman took me by thehand,andweentered thehouse.Itwassimple but comfortable: stone walls, wood floors, and bare rafters. Seated in front of the
fireplacewasamanofaboutsixty.Assoonashesawthepadre,hestoodto kiss his hand.
"Don'tgetup,"saidthepriest."Youstillneedtoconvalescea bit."
"I've already gained twenty-five pounds," he answered. "But I'm still not able to be of much help to my wife."
"Not to worry. Beforelong, you'll be better than ever. "Where is the young man?" the husband asked.
"Isaw him heading towardwherehe always goes," thewife said. "Onlytoday, he went by car."
Thepadreeyedmebutdidn't sayanything.
"Give usyour blessing, Père,"thewoman asked."His power…""The Virgin's power," the priest corrected.
"The Virgin Mother's power is also your power, Père. It was you who brought it here."
Thistime,hedidn'tlookmyway.
"Prayformyhusband,Père,"thewomaninsisted.
Thepriesttook adeepbreath."Standinfrontofme,"hesaidtotheman.
The oldmandidas hewastold.The padreclosed his eyes andsaidanAveMaria. ThenheinvokedtheHolySpirit,askingthatitbepresentandhelptheman.
He suddenly began to speak rapidly. It sounded like a prayer of exorcism, although Icouldn't understand whathe wassaying. His handstouchedtheman's shoulders and then slid down his arms to his fingertips. He repeated this
gestureseveraltimes.
Thefirebegantocrackleloudlyinthefireplace.Thismayhavebeena coincidence, yet it seemed that the priest was entering into territoryIknew nothingabout–andthathewasaffectingtheveryelements.
Every snap of the fire startled the woman and me, but the padre paid noattentiontoit;hewascompletelyinvolvedinhistaskaninstrumentofthe Virgin,ashehadsaid.Hewasspeakingastrangelanguage,andthewordscame forth at great speed. He was no longer moving his hands; they simply rested on the man's shoulders.
The ritual stopped as quickly as it had started. The padre turned and gave a conventional blessing, making the sign of the cross with his righthand."May Godbeeverhereinthishouse,"hesaid.
Andturningtome,heaskedthatwecontinueourwalk.
"Butyouhaven'thadcoffee,"thewomansaid,asshesawthatwewereaboutto leave.
"IfIhavecoffeenow,Iwon'tbeabletosleep,"thepadreanswered.
Thewomanlaughedandmurmuredsomethinglike"It'sstillmorning."Butwewere already on our way.
"Padre,thewomanspoke ofayoungmanwhocured herhusband.Wasithe?""Yes, it was."
Ibegan to feel uneasy. Iremembered the day before, and Bilbao, and the conferenceinMadrid, andpeople speaking ofmiracles,andthepresencethatI had sensed as we embraced and prayed.
Iwas in love with a manwhowas capable of performing cures. Amanwhocould helpothers,bringrelieftosuffering,givehealthtothesickandhopeto
theirloved ones.Was Idistracting himfrom his mission justbecause it wasat oddswithmyimageofahousewithwhitecurtains,cherishedrecords,and favorite books?
"Don't blame yourself, my child," the padre said. "You're reading my mind."
"Yes,Iam," thepadresaid."Ihavethatgifttoo,and Itrytobeworthyof
it.TheVirgintaughtmetopenetratetheturmoilofhumanemotionsinorderto controlthemas wellas possible."
"Doyouperformmiracles,too?"
"Iamnotable to cure.ButIhaveoneofthegiftsoftheHolySpirit."
"Soyoucanreadmyheart,Padre.AndyouknowIlovehim,withalovethatis growing every minute. We discovered the world together, and together we remain init.Hehasbeenpresenteverydayofmylife–whetherIwantedhimthereornot."
WhatcouldIsaytothispriestwhowaswalkingbesideme?Hewouldnever understand that Ihad had other men, that Ihad been in love, and that if Ihad married, I would be happy. Even as a child, I had found and forgottenlove in the plaza of Soria.
Butthewaythingslookednow,Ihadn'tforgottenthatfirstloveverywell.It hadtakenonlythreedaysforallofittocomerushingback.
"Ihave a rightto be happy,Padre.I'verecoveredwhatwaslost,and Idon't wanttolose itagain.I'mgoingtofightformyhappiness. IfIgiveupthe
fight,Iwillalsoberenouncingmyspirituallife.Asyousaid,Iwouldbe
puttingGodaside,alongwithmypowerandmystrengthasawoman.I'mgoingto fight for him, Padre."
Iknewwhatthat little manwasdoinghere. He hadcome to convince me to leave him, because he had a more important mission to accomplish.
No, I couldn't believe that the padre walking at my side wanted us to marry and liveinahouseliketheoneinSaint-Savin.Thepriesthadsaidthattotrick
me. He wantedme to lower my defenses and then–witha smile–he would convince me
oftheopposite.
Hereadmythoughtswithoutsayingaword.Orperhapshewastryingtofoolme. Maybehedidn'tknowwhatotherswerethinking.Thefogwasdissipatingrapidly, andIcouldnowseethepath,themountainpeak,thefields,andthe
snow-coveredtrees.Myemotionswerebecomingclearer,aswell.
Damn!Ifit's true that be canread someone's thoughts, then let him read mine and know everything! Let him know that yesterday he wanted to make love to me–that IrefusedandthatnowIregretit.
YesterdayIhadthoughtthatifhehadtoleave,Iwouldstillatleasthavethe memory of my childhood friend. But that wasnonsense. Even thoughhe hadn't entered me, something even more profound had, and it had touched my heart. "Padre, Ilove him," Irepeated.
"So do I.And love always causes stupidity.Inmy case, it requires that Itry to keep him from his destiny."
"Thatwon'tbeeasy,Padre.Anditwon'tbeeasyinmycase,either.Yesterday, duringtheprayersatthegrotto,IdiscoveredthatItoocanbringforththese giftsthatyouweretalkingabout.AndI'mgoingtousethemtokeephimwith me."
"Goodluck,"saidthepadre,withasmile."I hopeyoucan."
Hestoppedandtookarosaryfromhispocket.Holdingit,helookedintomy eyes."Jesussaidthatweshouldnottakeoaths,andIamnotdoingso.ButI'm tellingyou,inthepresenceofallthatissacredtome,thatIwouldnotlike him to adopt theconventional religious life. Iwould notlike to see him ordainedapriest.HecanserveGodinotherwaysatyourside."
Itwashardformetobelievethathe wastellingmethetruth.Buthe was.
"He'supthere,"thepadre said.
Iturned.Icouldseeacarparkedabitfurtherahead–thesamecarwehad driven from Spain.
"He always comesonfoot," he said, smiling. "Thistime he wantedto give us the impression thathe'dtraveledalong way."
The snowwassoakingmysneakers.But thepadrewaswearingonly opensandals withwoolensocks.Idecidednottocomplain–ifhecouldstandit,so couldI.
We began to hike towardthetop ofthemountains. "How long will it take us?"
"Halfanhouratthemost.""Where are we going?"
"Tomeetwithhim.Andothers."
Icouldseethathedidn'twanttosayanymore.Maybeheneededallofhis energy for climbing. We walked along in silencethe fog had by now disappeared almost completely,andtheyellowdiskofthesunwascomingintoview.
ForthefirsttimeIhadaviewoftheentirevalley;therewasariverrunning throughit, somescattered villages,andSaint-Savin,looking as thoughit were pastedagainsttheslopeofthemountain.Icouldmakeoutthetowerofthe church, acemetery Ihadnotnoticedbefore, andthemedieval houses looking down on the river.
Abit belowus,ata point we hadalreadypassed, a shepherdwastending his flock of sheep.
"I'm tired,"thepadresaid."Let'sstopforawhile."
We brushedthesnowfrom thetop ofaboulder andrestedagainst it. Hewas perspiring–andhisfeetmusthavebeenfrozen.
"MaySantiagopreservemystrength, because Istill wanttowalkhis pathone more time," said the padre, turning to me.
Ididn'tunderstandhiscomment,so Idecidedtochangethesubject."There are footsteps in the snow."
"Somearethoseofhunters.Othersareofmenandwomenwhowanttorelivea tradition."
"Whichtradition?"
"ThesameasthatofSaintSavin.Retreatfromtheworld,cometothese mountains,andcontemplatetheglory ofGod."
"Padre,there'ssomethingIneedtounderstand.Untilyesterday,Iwaswitha manwhocouldn't choose between the religious life and marriage. Today, Ilearn thatthissamemanperformsmiracles."
"We allperformmiracles,"hesaid."Jesussaid,'Ifourfaithisthesizeofa mustard seed, we willsay to themountain, "Move!" And it willmove.'"
"Idon'twantalessoninreligion,Padre.I'minlovewithaman,andIwantto know more about him, understand him, help him. I don't care what everyone else can do or can't do."
The padre took a deep breath. He hesitated for a moment and then said, "A scientist who studied monkeys on an island in Indonesia was able to teach a certainone to washbananasin the river before eating them.Cleansed of sand anddirt,thefoodwasmoreflavorful.Thescientist–whodidthisonlybecause he was studying the learning capacity of monkeys–did not imagine what would eventually happen. So he was surprised to see that the other monkeys on the islandbegan to imitate thefirstone.
"Andthen, one day, when a certainnumber ofmonkeyshadlearnedto washtheir bananas, the monkeys on all of the other islands in the archipelago began to do thesamething.Whatwasmostsurprising,though,wasthattheothermonkeys learnedtodosowithouthavinghadanycontactwiththeislandwherethe experimenthadbeenconducted."
He stopped. "Do you understand?""No," I answered.
"There are several similar scientific studies. The most common explanation is that when a certain number of people evolve, the entire human race begins to evolve. We don't know how many people are needed–but we know that's how it works."
"Like the story of the Immaculate Conception," Isaid. "The vision appeared for the wise men at the Vatican and for the simple farmer."
"The worlditselfhasasoul, andatacertainmoment,thatsoul actson everyone and everything at the same time."
"Afemininesoul."
Helaughed,withoutsayingjustwhathewaslaughingabout.
"By theway,thedogma oftheImmaculateConception wasnotjustaVatican matter,"hesaid."Eightmillionpeoplesignedapetitiontothepope,asking thatitberecognized.Thesignaturescamefromallovertheworld."
"Isthatthefirststep,Padre?""What do you mean?"
"The first step toward having Our Lady recognized as the incarnation of the femininefaceofGod?Afterall,wealreadyacceptthefactthatJesuswasthe incarnation of His masculine side."
"Andso…?"
"Howmuchtime must pass before we accept a Holy Trinity that includes a woman? TheTrinityoftheHoly Spirit,theMother,andtheSon?"
"Let's move on. It's too cold forus to stand here," he said. "Alittle while ago, you noticedmy sandals."
"Haveyoubeenreadingmymind?"I asked.
"I'mgoingtotellyoupartofthestoryofthefoundingofourreligious
order,"hesaid."WearebarefootCarmelites,accordingtotherulesestablished by Saint Teresa of Avila. The sandals are a part of the story, forif one can dominatethebody,one candominatethespirit.
"Teresa was a beautiful woman, placed by herfather in a conventso that she would receive a pure education. One day, when she was walking along a corridor, shebegantospeakwithJesus.Herecstasiesweresostronganddeepthatshe surrendered totally to them, and in a short time, her life had been completely changed. Shefelt that the Carmelite convents had become nothingmore than marriage brokerages, and she decided to create an order that would once again follow the original teachings of Christ and the Carmelites.
"SaintTeresahadtoconquerherself,andshehadtoconfrontthegreatpowers
ofherday–thechurchandthestate.Butshewasdeterminedtopresson,because she was convinced that she had a mission to perform.
"One day–just when Teresa felt her soul to be weakening–a woman in tattered clothingappeared atthehousewhereshewasstaying.Thewomanwantedtospeak withTeresa,nomatter what.The ownerofthehouseofferedthewoman somealms, but the woman refused them; she would not go away until she had spoken with Teresa.
"For three days, the woman waited outside the house, without eating or drinking. FinallyTeresa,outofsympathy,badethewomancomein.
"'No,'saidtheownerofthehouse.'Thewomanismad.'
"'IfIweretolistentoeveryone,I'dwindupthinkingthatI'mthecrazy
one,'Teresaanswered.'Itmaybethatthiswomanhasthesamekindofmadness
asI:thatofChristonthecross.'"
"SaintTeresaspokewithChrist,"Isaid.
"Yes," he answered. "But to get back to our story: the woman was brought to Teresa.ShesaidthathernamewasMaríadeJesusYepesandthatshewasfrom Granada.ShewasaCarmelitenovice,andtheVirginhadappearedandaskedthat she found a convent that followed the primitive rules of the order."
LikeSaintTeresa,Ithought.
"MaríadeJesuslefttheconventonthedayofhervisionandbeganwalking barefoot to Rome. Her pilgrimage lasted two years–and for that entire period, shesleptoutdoors,intheheatandthecold,livingonalmsandthecharityof others. It was a miracle that she made it. But it was aneven greater miracle that she was received by Pope Pius IV. Because thepope, just like Maríade Jesus, Teresa, and manyothers, wasthinkingof thesame thing,"he finished.
JustasBernadettehadknownnothingoftheVatican'sdecisionandthemonkeys from the other islands couldn't have known about the experimentthat was being conducted, so María de Jesus and Teresa knew nothingof what the other was planning.
Somethingwasbeginningtomakesensetome.
We were nowwalking througha forest. With the fog all but gone, the highest tree branches, covered with snow, were receiving the first rays of the sun.
"IthinkIknowwhereyou're goingwiththis,Padre."
"Yes. The world isatapoint when manypeople arereceivingthesame order: 'Followyourdreams,transformyourlife,takethepaththatleadstoGod.
Perform your miracles. Cure. Make prophecies. Listen to your guardian angel. Transform yourself. Be a warrior, andbe happyas you wage thegood fight.Take risks.'"
Sunshinewaseverywhere.Thesnowwasglistening,andtheglare hurtmyeyes. Yet at the same time, it seemed to support what the priest was saying.
"Andwhatdoesallthishavetodowithhim?"
"I'vetoldyoutheheroicsideofthestory.Butyoudon'tknowanythingabout thesouloftheseheroes."
He paused.
"The suffering," he picked up again. "At moments of transformation, martyrs are born.Beforeapersoncanfollowhisdream,othershavetomakesacrifices.They
have to confront ridicule, persecution, and attempts to discredit what they are trying to do."
"Itwasthechurchthatburnedthewitchesatthestake, Padre."
"Right. And Rome threw the Christiansto the lions. But those whodied at the stake orinthesandofthearenarose quickly toeternalglory–they werebetter off.
"Nowadays, warriors of the light confront something worse than the honorable deathofthemartyrs.They areconsumed,bitbybit,byshameandhumiliation.
That'showitwaswithSaintTeresawhosufferedfortherestofherlife.That's
how it was for Maria de Jesus, too. And for the happy children who saw Our Lady in Fátima, Portugal–well, Jacinta and Francisco died just a few months later;
Luciaenteredaconventfromwhichsheneveremerged.""But that's not how it was for Bernadette."
"Yes, it was. She had to live through prison, humiliation, and discredit. He musthavedescribedthattoyou.Hemusthavetoldyouthewordsofthe visitation."
"Someofthem."
"InthevisitationsatLourdes, thephrasesuttered by Our Ladywouldn'tfill halfapageofanotebook,butoneofthethingstheVirginsaidclearlytothe girl was'Ido notpromise you happiness inthisworld.'Whydid she warn Bernadette?BecausesheknewthepainthatawaitedBernadetteifsheaccepted hermission."
Ilookedatthesun,thesnow,andthebarebranchesofthetrees.
"He is a revolutionary," he continued, sounding humble. "He has the power, and he converseswith Our Lady.If he is able to concentrate his forces well, he can
be one oftheleaders inthespiritual transformationofthehumanrace.This is a critical point in the history of the world.
"Butifhechoosesthispath,heisgoingtogothroughagreatdealof
suffering. His revelations have come to him before their time. Iknow the human soul wellenough toknowwhathecanexpect."
Thepadreturnedtomeandheldmebytheshoulders. "Please,"hesaid."Keep himfrom thesufferingandtragedy thatlie instore forhim.Hewillnotbe
abletosurvivethem."
"Iunderstandyourloveforhim,Padre."
Heshookhishead."No,no.Youdon'tunderstandanything.Youarestilltoo
youngtoknowtheevils oftheworld.Atthispoint, youseeyourselfasa revolutionarytoo.Youwanttochangetheworldwithhim,opennewpaths,see thestory ofyour love foreachotherbecomelegend–a story passed downthrough thegenerations.Youstillthinkthatlovecanconquerall."
"Well,can'tit?"
"Yes,itcan.Butitconquers attherighttimeafterthecelestialbattleshave ended."
"But I love him. I don't have to wait for the celestial battles to end for my love to win out."
Hegazedintothedistance.
"Onthebanksoftherivers ofBabylon,wesatdownandwept," hesaid,as if talkingto himself."On the willows there, we hung upourharps."
"Howsad,"Ianswered.
"Those are the first lines of one of the psalms. It tells of exile and of those who want to return to the promised land but cannot. And that exile is still goingto last fora long time. What canIdo to tryto prevent the suffering of someone who wants to return to paradise before it is time to do so?""Nothing, Padre. Absolutely nothing."
"Thereheis,"saidthepadre.
Isaw him. He was abouttwohundred yards from me, kneeling in the snow. He was shirtless,andevenfromthatdistance,Icouldseethathisskinwasredwith
thecold.
Hisheadwasbowedandhishandsjoinedinprayer.Idon'tknowifIwas influencedbytheritualIhadattendedthenightbeforeorbythewomanwhohad beengatheringhay,butIfeltthatIwaslookingatsomeonewithanincredible spiritual force. Someone who was no longer of this world–who lived in communion withGodandwiththeenlightenedspiritsofheaven.Thebrillianceofthesnow seemedtostrengthenthisperception.
"Atthismoment,thereareotherslikehim,"saidthepriest."Inconstant adoration, communing with God and the Virgin. Hearing the angels, the saints, thepropheciesandwordsofwisdom,andtransmittingallofthattoasmall gatheringofthefaithful.Aslongastheycontinueinthisway,therewon'tbe
aproblem.
"Butheisnot goingtoremainhere.Heisgoingtotraveltheworld,preaching
theconcept oftheGreatMother.The churchisnotyet ready forthat.Andthe worldhasstonesathandtohurlatthosewhofirstintroducethesubject.""Andithasflowerstothrowonthosewhocomeafterward."
"Yes. But that's not what will happen to him."Thepriestbegantoapproachhim.
"Whereareyougoing?"
"Tobringhimoutofhistrance.TotellhimhowmuchIlikeyou.TosaythatI givemyblessingtoyourunion.Iwanttodothathere,inthisplace,whichfor him is sacred."
Ibegantofeelsickwithaninexplicablefear.
"Ihavetothink,Padre.Idon'tknowifthisisright."
"It's not right,"he answered. "Many parents make mistakes with their children, thinkingtheyknowwhat'sbest forthem.I'mnothisfather,andIknowI'm doing the wrong thing. But I have to fulfill my destiny."
Iwasfeeling moreandmoreanxious.
"Let'snotdisturbhim,"Isaid."Lethimfinishhiscontemplation.""Heshouldn't be here.Heshould be with you."
"Maybehe'scommunicatingwiththeVirgin."
"He maybe. But even so, we have to go to him.IfIapproach himwith you atmy side, he will knowthat Ihave told you everything. He knows what Ithink.""Today is the day of the Immaculate Conception," I insisted. "A very special day forhim.Isawhishappinesslastnightatthegrotto."
"The Immaculate Conception is specialforall ofus,"thepadreanswered. "But nowI'mtheonewhodoesn'twanttodiscussreligion.Let'sgotohim."
"Whynow,Padre?Whyatthis moment?"
"Because Iknowthat he is deciding his future. And he maymake thewrong choice."
Iturned awayandbegan to walk downthesame pathwehadjustcome up. The padre followed me.
"Whatareyoudoing?Don'tyousee thatyou're theonly one whocansavehim? Don'tyouseethatheloves youandwouldgiveupeverythingforyou?"
Ihurriedmysteps,anditwasdifficultforhimtokeepup.Yethefoughtto stay at my side.
"At this very moment, he is making his decision! He may be deciding to leave you! Fight for the person you love!"
ButIdidn'tstop.IwalkedasfastasIcould,tryingtoescapethemountains,
thepriest,andthechoicesbehind me. Iknewthatthemanwhowasrushing along behind me wasreading mythoughtsandthatheunderstood thatit wasuseless to tryto make me go back. Yet he insisted; he argued and struggled to the end.
Finally, we reached theboulder wherewe had resteda halfhour earlier. Exhausted, I threw myself down.
Itried to relax. Iwantedto runfrom there,to be alone,to have time to think.
Thepadreappearedafewminuteslater,asexhaustedasIwas.
"Do you see these mountains surrounding us?" he started in. "They don't pray; theyarealreadyapartofGod'sprayers.Theyhavefoundtheirplaceinthe world,andheretheywillstay.Theywereherebeforepeoplelookedtothe heavens, heardthunder,andwondered whohadcreated allofthis.We areborn, wesuffer,wedie,andthemountainsendure.
"Thereissomepointatwhichwehavetowonderwhetheralloureffortisworth it.Whynottrytobelikethosemountains–wise,ancient,andintheirplace?
Why riskeverything totransform a half-dozen peoplewho will immediately forget what they've been taught and move on to the next adventure? Why not wait until a certain number of monkeys learn, and then the knowledge will spread, with no suffering, to all the other islands?"
"Is that what you really think,Padre?"He wassilentfora fewmoments. "Areyoureadingmythoughtsnow?"
"No. But if that's the way you feel, you wouldn't have chosen the religious life."
"I'vetriedmanytimestounderstandmyfate,"hesaid."ButIhaven'tyet.I accepted that I was to be a part of God's army, and everything I'vedone has beeninanattempttoexplaintopeoplewhythereismisery,pain,and injustice. Iask themtobe goodChristians,andtheyask me, 'HowcanIbelieve inGodwhenthereisso muchsufferingintheworld?'
"AndItrytoexplainsomethingthathasnoexplanation.Itrytotellthemthat thereis a plan, a battle among theangels,and that we are all involved in the battle. Itryto say that when a certainnumber of people have enough faith to change the scenario, all of the others–everywhere on the planet–will benefit. But theydon'tbelieveme. They do nothing."
"They are like the mountains," Isaid. "The mountains are beautiful. Anyonewho beholds them has to thinkabout the grandness of creation. They are living proof ofthelovethatGodfeelsforus,buttheirfateismerelytogivetestimony.
They are not like the rivers, which move and transform what is around them.""Yes.Butwhynotbelikethemountains?"
"Maybebecausethefateofmountainsisterrible,"Ianswered."Theyare destinedtolookoutatthesamesceneforever."
Thepadresaidnothing.
"I was studying to become a mountain," I continued. "I had put everything in its properplace.Iwasgoingtotakeajobwiththestate,marry,andteachthe religionofmyparentstomychildren,eventhoughInolongeracceptedit.But nowIhavedecidedtoleaveallthatbehindmeinordertobewiththemanI love.Andit'sagoodthingIdecidednottobe amountain–Iwouldn'thave lasted very long."
"You saysomeverywisethings."
"I'msurprisingmyself.Before,allIcouldtalkaboutwasmychildhood."
Istoodandstartedbackdownthetrail.The padreseemed torespectmysilence anddidnottrytospeaktomeuntilwereachedtheroad.
Itook his handsand kissed them."I'm goingto say good-bye. But Iwant you to know that I understand you and your love for him."
The padre smiled and gave me his blessing. "AndIunderstand your love forhim, too," he said.
Ispent the rest of the day walking throughthe valley. Iplayed in the snow, visited avillage nearSaint-Savin,hadasandwich,andwatchedsomeboys playing soccer.
Atthechurchinthevillage,Ilitacandle.Iclosedmyeyesandrepeatedthe invocations Ihad learned the previous night.Then, concentrating on a crucifix thathungbehindthealtar,Ibegantospeakintongues.Bitbybit,thegift tookover.ItwaseasierthanIhadthought.
Perhapsthisallseemssilly–murmuringthings,sayingwordsthathaveno meaning, that don'thelp us in our reasoning. But when we do this, the Holy Spiritisconversingwithoursouls,sayingthingsthesoulneedstohear.
WhenI feltthatI wassufficientlypurified,I closedmyeyesandprayed.
Our Lady, give me back my faith. May Ialso serve as aninstrument of your work. Givemetheopportunitytolearnthroughmylove,becauselovehasneverkept anyone awayfrom theirdreams.
May Ibe a companion and ally of the manIlove. May we accomplish everything we havetoaccomplishtogether.
WhenIreturned to Saint-Savin,nighthadalmost fallen. The carwasparkedin frontofthehousewherewewerestaying.
"Where have you been?" he asked. "Walking and praying," I answered. He embraced me.
"At first,Iwas afraid you had gone away.You are the most precious thingI have on this earth."
"Andyouareforme,"Ianswered.
It was late when we stopped in a small village nearSan Martin de Unx. Crossing thePyreneeshadtakenlonger thanwe'dthoughtbecause oftherainandsnowof the previous day.
"We needto findsomeplacethat'sopen,"hesaid,climbingout ofthecar."I'm hungry."
Ididn'tmove.
"Comeon,"heinsisted,openingmydoor.
"IwanttoaskyouaquestionaquestionIhaven'taskedsince wefoundeach other again."
Hebecameserious,andIlaughedathisconcern. "Is it an important question?"
"Very important," I answered, trying to look serious. "It's the following: where are we going?"
Webothlaughed.
"ToZaragoza,"hesaid,relieved.
Ijumped out of thecar,and we went looking fora restaurantthat was open. It wasgoingtobealmostimpossible atthathourofthenight.
No, it'snotimpossible.TheOtherisno longerwithme.Miraclesdohappen,I
saidto myself."Whendo you haveto be inBarcelona?" Iasked him.He'dtoldme hehadanotherconferencethere.
He didn't answer,and his expression turned serious. Ishouldn't ask such questions, Ithought.He may thinkI'mtryingto control his life.
We walked along without speaking. In the village plaza, there was an illuminated sign: Mesón el Sol.
"It'sopen–let'shavesomethingtoeat"wasallhesaid.
The red peppers with anchovies were arranged on the plate in the shape of a star.Ontheside,somemanchegocheese,inslices thatwerealmost transparent.
Inthecenterof thetable,a lighted candle and a half-full bottleof Rioja wine.
"Thiswasamedievalwinecellar,"ourwaitertoldus.
Therewasnooneintheplaceatthattimeofnight.Hewentofftomakea telephonecall.Whenhecamebacktothetable,Iwantedtoask himwhomhehad called–but this time I controlled myself.
"We'reopenuntiltwo-thirtyinthemorning,"themansaid,"Soifyoulike,we
canbringyousomemoreham,cheese,andwine,andyoucangoout intheplaza. The wine will keep you warm."
"Wewon'tbeherethatlong,"heanswered."WehavetogettoZaragozabefore dawn."
The manreturned to thebar,and we refilled our glasses. Ifelt thesame sense of lightness Ihad experienced in Bilbao the smooth inebriationthat helps us to say and hearthingsthat are difficult.
''You'retiredofdriving,andwe'vebeendrinking,"Isaid."Wouldn'titbe bettertostaythenight?Isawaninnasweweredriving."
Henoddedinagreement.
"Look at this table," he said. "The Japanese call it shibumi, the true sophistication of simple things. Instead, people fill their bank accounts with money andtravel to expensive places in order to feelthey'resophisticated."I had some more wine.
Theinn. Anothernightat hisside.
"It's strangeto hearaseminarian speak ofsophistication," Isaid,tryingto focusonsomethingelse.
"Ilearnedaboutitattheseminary.ThecloserwegettoGodthroughourfaith,
thesimplerHebecomes.Andthesimpler Hebecomes,thegreaterisHis presence.
"Christ learned about his mission while he was cutting wood and making chairs, beds,andcabinets. Hecameas acarpentertoshowusthat–nomatter whatwe do–everything can lead us to the experience of God's love."
Hestoppedsuddenly.
"But Idon'twant to talk aboutthat," he said. "Iwant to talk aboutthe other kind of love."
Hereachedout tocaressmyface.Thewinemade thingseasierforhim.Andfor me.
"Whydidyoustopsosuddenly?Whydon'tyouwanttotalkaboutGodandthe Virgin and the spiritual world?"
"Iwantto talk abouttheotherkind of love," he said again. "The love that a manand a woman share, and in which there are also miracles."
Itookhishands.HemightknowofthegreatmysteriesoftheGoddess,buthe
didn't know any more than I did about love–even though he had traveled much more than I had.
We heldhandsforalong time. Icould see inhis eyes thedeep fearsthattrue love tests us with. I could see that he was remembering the rejection of the nightbefore,aswellasthelongtimewehadbeenseparated,andhisyearsin themonastery,searchingforaworldwheresuchanxietiesdidn'tintrude.
I could see in his eyes the thousands of times that he had imagined this moment andthesceneshehadconstructed aboutus.Iwantedto say thatyes,hewas welcome, that my heart had won the battle. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him and how badly I wanted him at that moment.
ButIwassilent. Iwitnessed,asifinadream,hisinnerconflict.Icouldsee
that he was wondering whether I'dreject him again, that he was thinking about hisfearoflosingme,andaboutthehardwordshehadheardatother,similar times–becauseweallhavesuchexperiences, andtheyleavescars.
Hiseyes gleamed.Hewasreadytosurmount anybarrier.
Itook one ofmyhandsfrom his andplaced myglassofwineattheedge ofthe table.
"It'sgoingtofall,"hesaid.
"Exactly.Iwantyoutotipitovertheedge.""Break theglass?"
Yes,breaktheglass.Asimple gesture,butonethatbringsupfearswecan't reallyunderstand.What'swrongwithbreakinganinexpensiveglass,when
everyone has done so unintentionally at some time in their life? "Break the glass?" he repeated. "Why?"
"Well, Icould give you lots of reasons," Ianswered. "But actually, just to break it."
"For you?
"No,ofcoursenot."
He eyedtheglasson theedgeofthetable–worriedthat itmightfall.
It'sariteofpassage,Iwantedtosay.It'ssomethingprohibited.Glassesare
notpurposely broken. In a restaurantor in our home, we'recareful notto place glasses by the edge of a table. Our universe requires that we avoid letting glasses fall to the floor.
But whenwebreak themby accident,werealize thatit'snotveryserious. The waiter says, "It's nothing," and when has anyone been charged for a broken glass? Breaking glasses is partof life and does no damageto us,to the restaurant, or to anyone else.
Ibumped the table. The glass shook but didn't fall. "Careful!" he said, instinctively.
"Breaktheglass,"Iinsisted.
Break the glass, I thought to myself, because it's a symbolic gesture. Try to understand that I have broken things within myself that were much more important thanaglass,andI'mhappyIdid.Resolveyourowninternalbattle,andbreak
theglass.
Ourparentstaughtustobecarefulwithglassesandwithourbodies.They taughtus that the passions of childhood are impossible, that we should notflee from priests, that people cannot perform miracles, and that no one leaves on a journey without knowing where they are going.
Breaktheglass,please–andfreeusfromallthesedamnedrules,fromneedingto findanexplanationforevery thing,from doingonly whatothersapprove of. "Breaktheglass,"Isaidagain.
Hestared atme. Then,slowly,heslid his handalong thetableclothtothe glass. And with a sudden movement, he pushed it to the floor.
The sound of the breaking glass caught the waiter's attention. Rather than apologize forhaving broken the glass, he looked at me, smiling–and Ismiled back.
"Doesn'tmatter,"shoutedthewaiter.
But hewasn'tlistening.Hehadstood,seized myhairinhis hands,andwas kissing me.
Iclutched athishair, too,andsqueezedhimwithallmystrength,bitinghis
lipsandfeelinghistonguemoveinmymouth.ThiswasthekissIhadwaitedfor solong–akissbornbytheriversofourchildhood,whenwedidn'tyetknowwhat love meant. A kiss that had been suspended in the air as we grew, that had traveledtheworldinthesouvenirofamedal,andthathadremainedhidden behindpilesofbooks.Akissthathadbeenlostsomanytimesandnowwas found.Inthemomentofthatkisswereyearsofsearching,disillusionment,and impossible dreams.
Ikissed him hard.The fewpeople there in the bar must have been thinking that alltheywereseeingwasjustakiss.Theydidn'tknowthatthiskissstoodfor my whole life and his life, as well. The life of anyone whohas waited, dreamed, andsearched fortheirtrue path.
Themomentof that kisscontainedeveryhappymomentIhadeverlived.
He took off my clothes and entered me with strength, with fear, and with great desire.Iranmyhandsoverhisface,heardhismoans,andthankedGodthathe was there inside me, making me feel as if it were the first time.
We made loveallnightlong–ourlovemakingblended with our sleepingand dreaming.Ifelthiminsidemeandembracedhimtomakesurethatthiswas really happening, to make sure that he wouldn't disappear, like the knights who had once inhabited this old castle-hotel. The silent walls of stone seemed to be telling stories of damsels in distress, of fallen tears and endless days at the window, looking to the horizon, looking fora sign of hope.
ButIwouldnevergothroughthat,Ipromisedmyself.Iwouldneverlosehim.He would always be with me–because Ihad heard the tongues of the Holy Spirit as I lookedatacrucifixbehindanaltar,andtheyhadsaidthatIwouldnotbe committing a sin.
I would be his companion, and together we would tame a world that was going to becreatedanew. Wewould talk about the Great Mother, we would fight at the side of Michael the Archangel, and we would experience together the agony and theecstasyofpioneers. That'swhatthetongueshadsaid to me–and because I
hadrecoveredmyfaith,Iknewtheyweretellingthetruth.
Thursday,December9,1993
Iawoke with his armacross my breast. It was alreadymidmorning, and thebells of a nearby church were tolling.
Hekissedme.Hishandsonceagaincaressedmybody.
"We havetogo," hesaid."The holidayends today, andtheroads willbe jammed."
"Idon'twanttogobacktoZaragoza,"Ianswered."Iwanttogostraighttowhereyou're going.The bankswillbe opensoon, andIcanuse mybankcardto getsomemoneyandbuysomeclothes."
"Youtoldmeyoudidn'thavemuchmoney."
"TherearethingsIcando.Ineedtobreakwithmypastonceandforall.Ifwe go back to Zaragoza, Imight beginto thinkI'm making a mistake, that the exam period is almost here and we canstand to be separated fortwomonthsuntilmy
examsareover.AndthenifIpassmyexams,Iwon'twanttoleaveZaragoza.No, no,Ican'tgoback.IneedtoburnthebridgesthatconnectmewiththewomanI was."
"Barcelona,"hesaidtohimself. "What?"
"Nothing.Let'smoveon."
"Butyou haveapresentationto make."
"But that's twodays from now,"he said. His voice sounded different."Let's go somewhereelse.Idon'twanttogostraighttoBarcelona."
Igotoutofbed. Ididn't want tofocusonproblems.Asalwaysafterafirst
nightoflove with someone,Ihadawakened with acertainsenseofceremony and embarrassment.
I went to the window, opened the curtains, and looked down on the narrow street. Thebalconiesofthehousesweredrapedwithdryinglaundry.Thechurchbells were ringing.
"I'vegotanidea,"Isaid."Let'sgotoaplacewesharedaschildren.I've never been back there."
"Where?"
"ThemonasteryatPiedra."
Aswe left thehotel, thebells were still sounding, andhe suggestedthat we go into a church nearby.
"That'sallwe'vedone,"Isaid."Churches,prayers, rituals."
"We made love," he said. "We've gotten drunk threetimes.We've walkedin the mountains. We've struck a good balance between rigor and compassion."
I'dsaid something thoughtless. Ihad to get used to this newlife. "I'm sorry," I said.
"Let'sjustgoinforafewminutes.Thebellsareasign." Hewasright,butIwouldn'tknowthatuntilthenextday.
Afterward, without really understanding the meaning of the sign we had witnessed inthechurch,wegotthecaranddroveforfourhourstogettothemonastery
atPiedra.
"The roofhadfallen in,andtheheads weremissingfrom thefewimagesthat werestill there–allexcept forone.
Ilookedaround.Inthepast,thisplacemusthaveshelteredstrong-willed people,who'dseentoitthateverystonewascleanedandthateachpewwas occupied by one of the powerful individuals of the time.
But all Isaw nowwere ruins. Whenwe had played here as children, we'd pretended these ruins were castles. In those castles I had looked for my enchantedprince.
Forcenturies,themonks ofthemonasteryatPiedrahadkeptthissmallpiece of paradise to themselves. Situated on a valley floor, it enjoyed a plentiful
supply of what the neighboring villages had to beg forwater. Here the River Piedra broke up into dozens of waterfalls, streams, and lakes, creating luxuriant vegetation all around.
Yetonehadonlytowalkafewhundredyardstoleavethecanyonandfind aridityanddesolation.Theriveritselfonceagainbecameanarrowthreadof waterasifithadexhaustedallofitsyouthandenergyincrossingthevalley.The monks knew all this, and they charged dearly for the water they supplied to theirneighbors.Anuntoldnumberofbattlesbetweenthepriestsandthe villagers marked thehistoryofthemonastery.
Duringone ofthemanywarsthatshookSpain,themonasteryatPiedrahadbeen turned into a barracks. Horses rode through the central nave of the church, and
soldiers slept in its pews, telling ribald stories there and making love with women from the neighboring villages.
Revenge–althoughdelayed–finallycame.Themonasterywassackedanddestroyed.
The monks were never able to reconstruct their paradise. In one of the many legal battles that followed, someone said that the inhabitants of the nearby villageshadcarried out asentence pronouncedby God. Christ hadsaid,"Give drink to those whothirst,"and the priests had paid no heed. For this, God had expelled those who had regarded themselves as nature's masters.
And it wasperhapsforthis reason that although muchofthemonasteryhadbeen rebuiltandmadeintoahotel,themainchurchremainedinruins.The descendantsofthelocalvillagershadneverforgottenthehighpricethattheir parentshadpaidforsomethingthatnatureprovides freely.
"Whichstatue isthat?Theonlyonewithitshead?"Iaskedhim.
"Saint TeresaofAvila," heanswered. "Sheis powerful.And even with thethirst for vengeance that the wars brought about, no one dared to touch her."
He took my hand,and we left the church. We walked along the broad corridors of the monastery, climbed the wooden staircases, and marveled at the butterflies in the inner gardens. Irecalled every detail of that monastery because Ihad been thereasagirl,andtheoldmemoriesseemedmorevividthanwhatIwasseeing now.
Memories.Themonthsandyearsleadinguptothatweek seemed tobe partofsome otherincarnationofmineaneratowhichIneverwantedtoreturn,becauseit
hadn'tbeentouchedby thehandoflove. Ifelt as if Ihadlived thesame day over and over foryears on end, waking up every morningin the same way, repeating the same words, and dreaming the same dreams.
Iremembered my parents, my grandparents, and many of my old friends. Irecalled howmuchtime Ihadspent fightingforsomething Ididn'teven want.
Why had I done that? I could think of no explanation. Maybe because I had been toolazytothinkofotheravenuestofollow.MaybebecauseIhadbeenafraidof what others would think.Maybe because it was hardworkto be different. Perhaps because a humanbeing is condemnedto repeat the steps taken by the previous generationuntil–andIwasthinkingofthepadre–acertainnumberofpeople
begintobehaveina differentfashion.
Thentheworldchanges,andwechangewithit.
But Ididn'twantto be that wayanymore.Fate hadreturned to me whathadbeen mineandnowofferedmethechancetochangemyselfandtheworld.
Ithoughtagain of the mountain climbers we had met as we traveled. They were young and wore brightly colored clothing so as to be easily spotted should they becomelostinthesnow.Theyknewtherightpathtofollowtothepeaks.
The heights were already festooned with aluminum pins; all they had to do was attachtheirlinestothem,andtheycouldclimbsafely.Theyweretherefora holiday adventure, and on Monday they would returnto theirjobs with the feelingthattheyhadchallengednature–andwon.
But this wasn't really true. The adventurous ones were those who had climbed there first, the ones whohad found the routes to the top. Some, whohad fallen to theirdeath ontherocks, hadnever even made it halfway up. Othershadlost fingersandtoestofrostbite.Manywereneverseenagain.Butoneday,someof themhad made it to the summit.
Andtheireyeswere thefirsttotakein that view,andtheirheartsbeatwith
joy. They had accepted the risks and could nowhonor–with their conquest–all of those who had died trying.
There were probably some people down below who thought, "There's nothing up there. Just a view. What's so great aboutthat?"
Butthefirstclimberknewwhatwasgreataboutit:theacceptanceofthe challenge of goingforward. He knew that no single day is the same as any other and that each morningbrings its ownspecial miracle, its magic moment in which ancient universes are destroyed and newstars are created.
The firstone whoclimbed those mountains must have asked, looking down at the tinyhouseswiththeirsmokingchimneys,"Alloftheirdaysmustseemthesame. What'ssogreataboutthat?"
Nowall themountains had beenconquered and astronauts had walkedin space. There were no more islands on earth–no matter howsmall–left to be discovered. But there were still great adventures of the spirit, and one of them was being offered to me now.
Itwasablessing. The padredidn'tunderstand anything. Thesepainsarenotthe kind that hurt.
Fortunatearethosewhotakethefirststeps.Somedaypeoplewillrealizethat
menandwomenarecapableofspeakingthelanguageoftheangels–thatallofus arepossessedofthegiftsoftheHolySpiritandthatwecanperformmiracles, cure, prophesy, andunderstand.
Wespenttheafternoonwalkingalongthecanyon,reminiscingaboutour childhood.Itwasthefirsttimehehaddoneso;duringourtriptoBilbao,he hadseemedtohavelostallinterestinSoria.
Now, though, he asked me about each of our mutual friends, wanting to know whethertheywerehappyandwhattheyweredoingwith theirlives.
Finally,wearrivedatthelargestwaterfallofthePiedra,whereanumberof small, scattered streams come together and thewater is thrownto therocks belowfrom aheightofalmost one hundred feet.We stoodattheedge ofthe waterfall,listeningtoitsdeafening roarandgazingattherainbowinits mist.
"The Horse's Tail," Isaid, surprised that Istill remembered this name from so long ago.
"Iremember…"hebegan.
"Yes!I knowwhatyou'regoingtosay!"
OfcourseIknew! The waterfallconcealedagigantic grotto.Whenwewere children,returningfromour firstvisittothemonasteryatPiedra,wehad talked about that place fordays.
"Thecavern,"hesaid."Let'sgothere."
Itwasimpossible to pass throughthetorrent of water. But ancientmonks had constructed a tunnel that started at the highest point of the falls and descended throughthe earth to a place at the rear of the grotto.
It wasn't difficult to find the entrance. During the summer, there may even have beenlights showingtheway,butnowthetunnelwascompletelydark.
"Isthistherightway?"Iasked. "Yes. Trust me."
Webegantodescend throughtheholeatthesideofthefalls.Althoughwewere
incomplete darkness, weknewwhereweweregoingand heaskedme againtotrust him.
Thankyou,Lord,Iwasthinking,aswewentdeeperanddeeperintotheearth, becauseIwasalostsheep,andyoubroughtmeback.Becausemylifewasdead, andyourevivedit. Because lavewasn'talive inmyheart, andyougave me back that gift.
I held on to his shoulder. My loved one guided my steps throughthe darkness, knowingthat we would see thelight again andthat it would bringus joy.
Perhapsinourfuturetherewouldbemomentswhenthesituationwas reversed–whenIwouldguidehimwiththesameloveandcertaintyuntilwe reached a safe place and could rest together.
We walked slowly, and it seemed as if we would never stop descending. Maybe this was another rite of passage, marking the end of anera in which there had been
nolightinmylife.AsIwalkedthroughthetunnel,Iwasrememberinghowmuch time Ihadwastedinone place,tryingtoputdownrootsinsoil wherenothing could grow any longer.
But God was good and had given me back my lost enthusiasm, directing me toward theadventuresIhadalwaysdreamedabout.Andtowardthemanwho–withoutmy knowingit–hadwaitedformeallmylife.Ifeltnoremorse overthefactthat
hewasleavingtheseminary–thereweremanywaystoserveGod,asthepadrehad said,andourloveonlymultipliedthenumberofthem.Startingnow, I would
alsohavethechancetoserveandhelp–all becauseofhim.
Wewouldgooutintotheworld,bringingcomforttoothersandtoeachother. Thankyou,Lord, forhelping me to serve.Teach me to he worthy ofthat. Give me thestrengthtoheapartofhismission,towalkwithhimonthisearth,andto developmyspirituallifeanew.Mayallourdaysheasthesehavebeen–going fromplacetoplace,curingthesick,comfortingthoseinsorrow,speakingof
theGreatMother'sloveforallofus.
Suddenly, the sound of water could be heard again and light flooded our path. Thedarktunnelwastransformedintooneofthemostbeautifulspectacleson earth. We wereinanimmensecavern,thesizeofacathedral.Threeofits walls wereofstone,andthefourthwastheHorsesTail,withitswaterfallinginto theemerald-greenlakeatourfeet.
The rays ofthesetting sun passed throughthewaterfall,andthemoist walls glittered.
Weleanedbackagainstthestonewall,sayingnothing.
Whenwewerechildren,thisplacewasapirates'hide-out,wherethetreasures
ofourchildhoodimaginationwerekept.Now,itwasthemiracleofMotherEarth; Iknewshewasthereandfeltmyselftobeinherwomb.Shewasprotectingus with herwallsofstone andwashingawayour sins with herpurifyingwater. "Thank you," I said in a loud voice.
"Whomareyouthanking?"
"Her.Andyou,becauseyouwerean instrumentinrestoringmyfaith."
Hewalkedto theedge ofthewater. Looking out, hesmiled. "Come over here," he said.
Ijoinedhim.
"Iwanttotellyousomethingyoudon'tknowaboutyet,"hesaid.
His words worried me a little. But he looked calm and happy, and that reassured me.
"Everypersononearthhasagift,"hebegan."Insome,thegiftmanifests
itself spontaneously; others have to work to discover what it is. I worked with mygiftduring thefouryears Iwasattheseminary."
NowIwould have to "play a role," as he had taughtme when the old manhad barredusfromthechurch.IwouldhavetofeignthatIknewnothing.There's nothingwrongwithdoingthis,Itoldmyself.This isanotascriptbasedon frustration but on happiness.
"Whatdidyoudoattheseminary?"Iasked,tryingtostallfortimeinorderto play my role better.
"Thatdoesn'tmatter,"hesaid."The factisthatIdeveloped agift.Iamable to cure, when God so wills it."
"That'swonderful," Ianswered, acting surprised. "We won't have to spend money on doctors!"
Hedidn'tlaugh.Ifeltlikeanidiot.
"I developed my gift throughthe Charismatic practices that you saw," he went on."Inthebeginning, Iwassurprised. Iwouldpray,asking thattheHoly
Spirit appear, and then, throughthe laying on of my hands, I would restore many of the sick to good health. My reputation began to spread, and every day people linedupatthegatesoftheseminary,seekingmyhelp.Ineveryinfected,
smellylaceration,IsawthewoundsofJesus.""I'm so proud of you," I said.
"Manyof thepeople atthemonastery opposed me, but my superior gave me his complete support."
"We'llcontinuethiswork.We'llgoouttogetherintotheworld.Iwillclean
and bathe the wounds, and you will bless them, and God will demonstrate His miracles."
Helookedawayfromme,outatthelake.Thereseemedtobeapresenceinthe cavernsimilartotheoneIhadsensedthatnightinSaint-Savinwhenwehad gotten drunk at the well in the plaza.
"I'vealreadytoldyouthis,but I'llsay itagain," hecontinued."OnenightI awoke, and my room was completely bright.Isaw theface of theGreatMother;I sawHerlovinglook.Afterthat,Shebegantoappeartomefromtimetotime.I cannot make it happen, but every once in a while, Sheappears.
"Bythetimeofmyfirstvision,Iwasalreadyawareoftheworkbeingdoneby thetruerevolutionariesofthechurch.Iknewthatmymissiononearth,in additiontocuring,wastosmooththewayforthisnewacceptance as awoman. Thefeminineprinciple,thecolumnofMisericordia,wouldberebuilt–andthe templeofwisdomwouldbe reconstructedintheheartsofallpeople."
Iwasstaringathim.His face,whichhadgrown tense, nowrelaxedagain. "This carried a price–which Iwas willing to pay."
Hestopped,as ifnotknowinghowto go onwith his story. "Whatdo you mean when you say you were willing?" I asked.
"The pathoftheGoddess canonly be opened throughwordsandmiracles.But that'snotthewaytheworldworks.It'sgoingtobeveryhard–tears,lackof understanding, suffering."
That padre, I thought to myself. He tried to put fear in bis heart. But I shall be bis comfort.
"The path isn'taboutpain; it's abouttheglory of serving," Ianswered. "Most humanbeings still cannot trustlove."
Ifeltthathewastryingtotellmesomethingbutcouldn't.Iwantedtohelp him.
"I've been thinking about that," I broke in. "The first man who climbed the highest peak in the Pyrenees must have felt that a life without that kind of adventure would lack grace."
"Whatdo youmeanwhenyouusethewordgrace?"heaskedme,andIcouldsee that he was feeling tense again. "Oneof the names of the GreatMotheris Our
LadyoftheGraces.Hergeneroushandsheap Herblessingsonthose whoknowhow to receivethem.We canneverjudge thelives ofothers,because eachperson
knows only their own pain and renunciation. It's one thing to feel that you are ontherightpath,butit'sanothertothinkthatyoursistheonly path.
"Jesussaid,'ThehouseofmyFatherhasmanymansions.'Agiftisagrace,ora mercy.But itisalsoamercytoknowhowtolive alifeofdignity,love,and work.Maryhadahusbandonearthwhotriedtodemonstratethevalueof
anonymous work.Although he was not heard from very much, he was the one who providedthe roof overtheir headsand the foodfor their mouths,who allowed
hiswifeandsontodoallthattheydid.Hisworkwasasimportantastheirs, eventhoughnooneevergavehimmuchcredit."
Ididn't sayanything, and he tookmy hand."Forgive me formy intolerance." Ikissed his handandputit tomycheek.
"ThisiswhatI'mtryingtoexplaintoyou,"hesaid,smilingagain."I
realized, from the moment Ifound you again, that Icouldn't cause you to suffer because of my mission.
Ibegantofeelworried.
"YesterdayIlied toyou.ItwasthefirstandlastlieI'veevertoldyou,"he continued."Thetruthisthatinsteadofgoingtothemonastery,Iwentupon themountainandconversedwiththeGreatMother.IsaidtoHerthatifShe wanted, I would leave you and continue along my path. I would go back to the gatewherethesickgathered,tothevisitsinthemiddleofthenight,tothe
lackofunderstandingofthosewhowoulddenytheideaoffaith,andtothe cynical attitudeofthose whocannotbelievethatloveisasavior. IfShewere to ask me, Iwould give up whatIwantmost in theworld: you."
Ithoughtagainofthepadre.Hehadbeenright.Achoice hadbeenmade that morning.
"But," he continued, "if it were possible to resolve this awful predicament in my life, I would promise to serve the world throughmy love for you.""Whatareyousaying?"Iasked,frightenednow.
Heseemednottohearme.
"It'snotnecessary tomove mountainsinordertoproveone'sfaith,"hesaid. "Iwasreadytofacethesufferingaloneandnotshareit.IfIhadcontinued
along that path, we would never have our house with the white curtains and the view of the mountains."
"Idon'tcareaboutthathouse!Ididn'tevenwanttogoin!"Isaid,tryingnot toshout."Iwanttogowithyou,tobewithyouinyourstruggle.Iwanttobe
one of those whodoes something forthefirsttime. Don'tyou understand? You've given me back my faith!"
The last rays of thesun illuminatedthewallsof thecavern.But Icouldn't see its beauty.
Godhidesthefiresofhellwithinparadise.
"You'retheonewhodoesn'tunderstand,"hesaid,andIcouldseehiseyes begging me to comprehend. "You don't see the risks."
"But you were willing to accept those risks!""I am willing. But they are my risks."
Iwantedtointerrupthim,buthewasn'tlistening.
"Soyesterday,Iaskedamiracle oftheVirgin,"hecontinued."IaskedthatShe take away my gift."
Icouldn'tbelievewhatIwashearing.
"Ihave a little money andall theexperience that years oftraveling have given me. We'll buy a house, I'll get a job, and I'll serve God as Saint Joseph did, with thehumilityofananonymous person.Idon'tneedmiraclesinmylife anymoretokeep thefaith. Ineedyou.''
Mylegsweregrowingweak,andIfeltasifImightfaint.
"AndjustasIwasaskingthattheVirgintakeawaymygift,Ibegantospeakin tongues,"hewenton."Thetonguestoldme,'Placeyour handsontheearth.Your gift will leave you and returnto theMother'sbreast.'"
Iwasinapanic."Youdidn't…"
"Yes.IdidastheinspirationoftheHolySpiritbade.Thefoglifted,andthe sunshoneonthemountains.IfeltthattheVirginunderstood–because Shehad also loved so greatly."
"But She followed Her man! She accepted the path taken by Her son!""We don'thave Herstrength, Pilar. My gift will be passed on to someone else–suchgiftsareneverwasted.
"Yesterday, from that bar, I phoned Barcelona and canceled my presentation. Let's go toZaragoza–you knowthepeople there,andit'sagoodplace forusto start. I'll get a job easily."
Icouldnolongerthink. "Pilar!" he said.
ButIwasalreadyclimbingbackthroughthetunnel–thistimewithoutafriendly shoulder tolean on–pursued by themultitude ofthesickwhowoulddie,the familiesthatwouldsuffer,themiraclesthatwouldneverbeperformed,the
smiles that would no longer grace the world, and the mountains that would remain in place.
Isawnothing–onlythedarknessthatengulfedme.
Friday,December10,1993
Onthe bank of the River Piedra Isat down and wept. My memory of that nightis confused and vague. Iknow that Ialmost died, but Ican't remember his face nor where he took me.
I'dlike tobe abletorememberallofit–sothatIcouldexpel itfrommyheart. But Ican't.Itallseemslike adream,fromthemomentwhenIcameout ofthatdarktunnelintoaworldwheredarkness hadalreadyfallen.
Therewasnotastarinthesky.Iremembervaguelywalkingbacktothecar, retrieving my small bag, and beginning to wander at random. I must have walked totheroad,tryingtohitcharidetoZaragoza–withnosuccess.Iwoundup returningtothegardensatthemonastery.
The sound of water was everywhere–there were waterfalls on all sides, and I felt the presence of the Great Mother following me wherever I walked. Yes, She had lovedtheworld;SheloveditasmuchasGoddid–becauseShehadalsogiven Her son to be sacrificedby men. But did Sheunderstand a woman's love fora man?
Shemayhavesuffered because oflove, but it wasadifferentkind oflove. Her Groom kneweverything and performed miracles.Herhusband on earth was a humble
laborerwho believedeverythinghisdreamstoldhim.She neverknewwhatitwas
toabandonamanortobeabandonedbyone.WhenJosephconsideredexpellingHer from their home because She was pregnant, Her Groom in heaven immediately sent an angel to keep that from happening.
Herson left Her.But children always leave theirparents. It's easy to suffer becauseyouloveaperson,ortheworld,oryourson.That'sthekindof sufferingthatyouacceptasapartoflife;it'sanoble,grandsortof suffering.It'seasytosufferforacauseoramission;thisennoblestheheart
ofthepersonsuffering.
But howto explainsuffering because ofaman? It'snotexplainable.Withthat kind of suffering, a person feels as if they're in hell, because there is no nobility, no greatness–only misery.
Thatnight,Isleptonthefrozenground,andthecoldanesthetizedme.I thoughtImightdiewithoutacovering–butwherecouldIfindone?Everything thatwasmostimportantinmylifehadbeengivensogenerouslytomeinthe
courseofone week–and hadbeentakenfrom me in a minute, withoutmyhavinga chance to say a thing.
Mybodywastrembling from thecold,but Ihardlynoticed.Atsomepoint, the tremblingwouldstop.Mybody'senergywouldbeexhaustedfromtryingtoprovide mewithheatandwouldbe unabletodo anythingmore.Itwouldresumeits customarystateofrelaxation,anddeathwouldtakemeinitsarms.
Ishookforanotherhour.Andthenpeacecame.
BeforeIclosedmyeyes,Ibegantohearmymother'svoice.Shewastellinga storyshehadoftentoldmewhenIwasachild,notrealizingitwasastory aboutme.
"A boy and a girl were insanely in love with each other," my mother'svoice was saying."Theydecidedtobecomeengaged.Andthat'swhenpresentsarealways exchanged.
"The boy was poor–his only worthwhile possession was a watch he'd inherited from hisgrandfather.Thinkingabouthissweetheart'slovelyhair,hedecidedtosell
thewatchinordertobuyherasilverbarrette.
"The girl had no money herself to buy him a present. Shewent to theshopof the most successfulmerchantin thetown andsold himherhair.Withthemoney, she bought a gold watchband for her lover.
"Whentheymetontheday oftheengagement party,she gave himthewristband fora watch he had sold, and he gave herthe barretteforthe hair she no longer had."
Iwasawakenedbyamanshakingme.
"Drinkthis!"hewassaying. "Drinkthisquickly!"Ihadnoideawhatwas happening northe strength to resist. He opened my mouth and forced me to drink
a hotliquid. Inoticedthat he wasin his shirtsleeves andthat he hadgiven me a wrap.
"Drinkmore!"heinsisted.
WithoutknowingwhatIwasdoing,Iobeyed.ThenIclosedmyeyes.
Iawokeintheconvent,andawomanwastendingme.
"You almost died," she said. "If it weren't for the watchman,you wouldn't be here."
Istood up dizzily. Parts of thepreviousday came back to me, and Iwished that the watchman had never passed my way.
Butapparentlythiswas notthetimeformetodie.Iwas togoonliving.
The woman led me to thekitchenand prepared some coffee, biscuits, and bread forme. Sheaskedme noquestions, andIexplained nothing.WhenIhadfinished eating, she gave me my bag.
"Seeifeverything'sstillthere,"she said.
"I'msureitis.Ididn'treallyhaveanythingmuch."
"You haveyour life,mychild. Along life.Takebettercareofit.""There'sacitynearherewherethere'sachurch,"Isaid,wantingtocry. "Yesterday,beforeIcamehere,Iwentintothatchurchwith…"
Icouldn't explain.
"… with a friend from my childhood. I had already had enough of the churches aroundhere,butthebellswereringing,andhesaiditwasasign–thatwe should go in."
The woman refilled my cup,poured some coffee forherself, and sat downto hear my story.
"Weenteredthechurch,"Icontinued."Therewasnoonethere,anditwasdark.
Itried to look forthesign, but Isawonly thesame old altars andthesame old saints. Suddenly, we heard a movement above, wherethe organwas.
"It was a group of boys with guitars, whobegan to tune their instruments. We decidedtosit andlistentothemusicforawhile before continuingour trip.
Shortly amancameinandsatdownnexttous.Hewashappyandshoutedtothe boys to play a paso doble."
"Bullfightmusic?"thewomansaid."Ihopetheydidn'tdothat!"
"They didn't. But they laughed and played a flamenco melody instead. My friend and I felt as if heaven had descended on us; the church, the surrounding
darkness, thesoundoftheguitars, andtheman's delight–itwasallamiracle. "Littleby little,thechurchbegan tofill.The boyscontinuedtoplaythe
flamenco, andeveryonewhocame in smiled, infected by thejoyofthemusicians. "My friend asked if I wanted to attend the mass that was about to begin. I said no–wehadalong rideahead ofus.Sowedecidedtoleave–but before wedid,we thanked God for yet another beautiful moment in our lives.
"As we arrived at the gate, we saw that many people–perhaps the entire population of the town–werewalkingto the church. I thought it musthave been
thelastcompletelyCatholictowninSpain–maybebecausethecrowdsseemedtobe having so much fun.
"Aswegotintothecar,wesawafuneralprocessionapproaching.Someonehad died; itwasamass forthedead.Assoon asthecortege reachedthegates of
thechurch,themusiciansstoppedtheflamencomusicandbegan toplayadirge.""May God have mercy on that soul," said the woman, crossing herself.
"May He have mercy," Isaid, repeatinghergesture. "But our havinggone into that church really had been a sign–thatevery story has a sad ending."
The woman said nothing.Then she left the room and returned immediately with a pen and paper.
"Let'sgooutside,"shesaid.
Wewentout together,andthesunwasrising.
"Take a deep breath," she said. "Let this new morning enter your lungs and coursethroughyour veins.FromwhatIcansee,your loss yesterdaywasnotan accident."
Ididn'tanswer.
"Youalsodidn'treallyunderstandthestoryyoutoldme,aboutthesign inthe church," she went on. "You sawonly thesadness of theprocession attheend. Youforgotthehappymomentsyouspentinside.Youforgotthefeelingthat heavenhaddescended onyou andhowgood it wasto be experiencingallofthat with your…"
Shestoppedandsmiled.
"…childhoodfriend,"shesaid,winking."Jesussaid,'Letthedeadburythe dead'becauseheknewthatthereisnosuchthingasdeath.Lifeexistedbefore wewerebornandwillcontinue toexist after weleavethisworld."
Myeyes filledwithtears.
"It's thesamewithlove,"shewenton."Itexistedbeforeandwillgoon
forever."
"Youseemtoknoweverythingaboutmylife,"Isaid.
"All love stories have much in common. Iwent throughthe same thingat one point in my life. But that's not what Iremember. What Iremember is that love returnedintheformofanotherman,newhopes,andnewdreams."
Sheheldoutthepenandpapertome.
"Write downeverything you're feeling.Takeit out ofyour soul, putit onthe paper,andthen throwit away.Legend saysthattheRiverPiedra is so coldthat anythingthatfallsintoit–leaves,insects,thefeathersofbirds–isturnedto stone.Maybeitwouldbeagoodideatotossyoursufferingintoitswaters."
Itook thepages.Shekissed me,andsaidIcouldcome backforlunchifI wantedto.
"Don'tforget!"sheshoutedasshewalkedaway."Loveperseveres.It'smenwho change."
Ismiled,andshewavedgood-bye.
Ilookedoutattheriverforsometime.AndIcrieduntiltherewerenomore tears.
ThenIbegantowrite.
Epilogue
Iwroteforanentireday,andthenanother,andanother.Everymorning,Iwent
tothebankoftheRiverPiedra.Everyafternoon,thewomancame,took mebythe arm, and led me back to the old convent.
Shewashedmyclothes,made medinner,chattedabouttrivial things,andsentme to bed.
One morning,when Ihad almost finishedthemanuscript, Iheard thesound of a car.Myheartleaped,butIdidn'twanttobelieveit.Ifeltfreeagain,ready
to return to the world and be a part of it once again. Theworsthadpassed,althoughthesadnessremained.
Butmyheartwasright.Evenwithoutraisingmyeyesfrommywork,Ifelthis presenceandheardhisfootsteps.
"Pilar,"hesaid,sittingdownnexttome.
Iwentonwriting,withoutanswering.Icouldn'tpull mythoughtstogether.My heartwasjumping,tryingtofreeitselffrommybreastandruntohim.But I wouldn't allow it.
He sat there looking at the river, while I went on writing. The entire morning passed that way–withouta word–andIrecalled thesilence of a nightneara well whenI'dsuddenlyrealizedthatIlovedhim.
Whenmyhandcouldwritenolonger,Istopped.Thenhespoke.
"ItwasdarkwhenIcameupoutofthecavern.Icouldn'tfindyou,soIwentto Zaragoza. Ieven went to Soria.Ilookedeverywhere foryou. Then Idecidedto returnto themonastery atPiedra to see if therewasanysign of you, and Imet
awoman. Sheshowed mewhereyouwere,andshesaidyouhadbeenwaitingfor me."
Myeyes filledwithtears.
"I am going to sit here with you by the river. If you go home to sleep, I will sleepinfrontofyourhouse.Andifyougoaway, I willfollow you–untilyou tell me to go away. Then I'll leave. But I have to love you for the rest of my life."
Icould nolonger holdbackthetears,andhebegantoweepaswell. "Iwanttotellyousomething…"hestartedtosay.
"Don'tsayathing.Read this."Ihanded himthepages.
IgazedattheRiverPiedraallafternoon. The woman broughtussandwiches and wine,commentedontheweather,andleftusalone.Everyonceinawhile,he paused in his reading and stared out into space, absorbed in his thoughts.
Atonepoint Iwentforawalkinthewoods,past thesmallwaterfalls,through thelandscapethatwasso ladenwithstoriesandmeaningsforme.Whenthesun begantoset,IwentbacktotheplacewhereIhadlefthim.
"Thankyou"waswhathesaidashegave thepapersbacktome."Andforgive me."OnthebankoftheRiverPiedra,Isatdownandwept.
"Yourlove hassavedme andreturned me to mydream," he continued. I said nothing.
"DoyouknowPsalm137?"heasked.
Ishookmyhead.Iwasafraidtospeak. "Onthebanksoftherivers ofBabylon…"
"Yes,yes,I knowit,"Isaid,feelingmyselfcomingbacktolife,littleby
little. "It talks about exile. It talks about people who hang up their harps because they cannot play the music their hearts desire."
"But after thepsalmist cries with longingfortheland of his dreams, he promises himself,
IfIforgetyou,OJerusalem,
letmyrighthandforgetitsskill.
Letmytongueclingtotheroofofmymouth, if Ido notexalt Jerusalem."
Ismiledagain.
"Ihad forgotten,and you brought it back to me.""Doyou thinkyour gifthasreturned?" Iasked.
"Idon'tknow.But theGoddess hasalways given measecondchanceinlife.And Sheisgivingmethatwithyou.Shewillhelpmetofindmypathagain."
"Ourpath.""Yes,ours."
Hetookmyhandsandliftedmetomyfeet.
"Goandgetyourthings,"hesaid."Dreamsmeanwork."
END
Author Name :Paulo Coelho
