"Does that include suffering for love?"
"It includes everything. If there is suffering, then it's best to accept it, because it won't go away just because you pretend it's not there. If there is joy, then it's best to accept that too, even though you're afraid it might end one day. Some people can only relate to life through sacrifice and renunciation. Some people can only feel part of humanity when they think they are 'happy.' But why all these questions?"
"Because I'm in love and I'm afraid of suffering."
"Don't be afraid; the only way to avoid that suffering would be to refuse to love."
"I can feel Esther's presence. Apart from the young man's epileptic fit, you haven't told me anything else about what happened at the pizzeria. That's a bad sign for me, although it might be a good sign for you."
"It might be a bad sign for me too."
"Do you know what I would like to know? I'd like to know if you love me as much as I love you. But I don't have the courage to ask. Why do I have such frustrating relationships with men? I always feel like I have to be in a relationship and that means I have to be this fantastic, intelligent, sensitive, exceptional person. The effort of seduction forces me to give of my best and that helps me. Besides, it's really hard living on your own, and I don't know if that's the best option either."
"So you want to know if I'm still capable of loving a woman, even though she left me without a word of explanation."
"I read your book. I know you are."
"You want to know whether, despite loving Esther, I'm still capable of loving you?"
"I wouldn't dare ask that question because the answer could ruin my life."
"You want to know if the heart of a man or a woman can contain enough love for more than one person?"
"Since that's a less direct question than the previous one, yes, I'd like an answer."
"I think it's perfectly possible as long as one of those people doesn't turn into..."
"...a Zahir. Well, I'm going to fight for you anyway, because I think you're worth it. Any man capable of loving a woman as much as you loved--or love--Esther deserves all my respect and all my efforts. And to show that I want to keep you by my side, to show how important you are in my life, I'm going to do as you ask, however absurd it might be: I'm going to find out why railway tracks are always 4 feet 81/2 inches apart."
The owner of the Armenian restaurant had done exactly what he had told me he was planning to do: the whole restaurant, and not just the room at the back, was now full of people who had come for the meeting. Marie eyed them with some curiosity and occasionally commented on what a varied crowd they were.
"Why bring children to something like this? It's absurd."
"Perhaps they haven't got anyone they can leave them with."
At nine o'clock on the dot, the six performers--the two musicians in oriental dress and the four young people in their white shirts and full skirts--walked onto the stage. Service at the tables came to an immediate halt, and the people in the audience fell silent.
"In the Mongolian creation myth, doe and wild dog come together," said Mikhail in that voice which was not his own. "Two beings with very different natures: in the wild, the dog would normally kill the deer for food. In the Mongolian myth, they both understand that they each need the qualities of the other if they are to survive in a hostile world, and that they should, therefore, join forces.
"To do this, they must first learn to love. And in order to love, they must cease to be who they are, otherwise they will never be able to live together. With the passing of time, the wild dog comes to accept that his instinct, always focused on the struggle to survive, now serves a greater purpose: finding someone with whom he can rebuild the world."
He paused.
"When we dance, we spin around that same Energy, which rises up to our Lady and returns to us imbued with all her strength, just as the water in rivers evaporates, is transformed into clouds, and returns in the form of rain. My story today is about the circle of love.
"One morning, a farmer knocked loudly on the door of a monastery. When Brother Porter opened the door, the farmer held out to him a magnificent bunch of grapes.
"'Dear Brother Porter, these are the finest grapes from my vineyard. Please accept them as a gift from me.'
"'Why, thank you! I'll take them straight to the Abbot, who will be thrilled with such a gift.'
"'No, no. I brought them for you.'
"'For me? But I don't deserve such a beautiful gift from nature.'
"'Whenever I knocked on the door, you opened it. When the harvest had been ruined by drought, you gave me a piece of bread and a glass of wine every day. I want this bunch of grapes to bring you a little of the sun's love, the rain's beauty, and God's miraculous power.'
"Brother Porter put the grapes down where he could see them and spent the whole morning admiring them: they really were lovely. Because of this, he decided to give the present to the Abbot, whose words of wisdom had always been such a boon to him.
"The Abbot was very pleased with the grapes, but then he remembered that one of the other monks was ill and thought: 'I'll give him the grapes. Who knows, they might bring a little joy into his life.'
"But the grapes did not remain for very long in the room of the ailing monk, for he in turn thought: 'Brother Cook has taken such good care of me, giving me only the very best food to eat. I'm sure these grapes will bring him great happiness.' And when Brother Cook brought him his lunch, the monk gave him the grapes.
"'These are for you. You are in close touch with the gifts nature gives us and will know what to do with this, God's produce.'
"Brother Cook was amazed at the beauty of the grapes and drew his assistant's attention to their perfection. They were so perfect that no one could possibly appreciate them more than Brother Sacristan, who had charge of the Holy Sacrament, and whom many in the monastery considered to be a truly saintly man.
"Brother Sacristan, in turn, gave the grapes to the youngest of the novices in order to help him understand that God's work is to be found in the smallest details of the Creation. When the novice received them, his heart was filled with the Glory of God, because he had never before seen such a beautiful bunch of grapes. At the same time, he remembered the day he had arrived at the monastery and the person who had opened the door to him; that gesture of opening the door had allowed him to be there now in that community of people who knew the value of miracles.
"Shortly before dark, he took the bunch of grapes to Brother Porter.
"'Eat and enjoy. You spend most of your time here all alone, and these grapes will do you good.'
"Brother Porter understood then that the gift really was intended for him; he savored every grape and went to sleep a happy man. In this way, the circle was closed; the circle of happiness and joy which always wraps around those who are in contact with the energy of love."
The woman called Alma sounded the cymbal.
"As we do every Thursday, we listen to a story of love and tell stories about the lack of love. Let us look at what is on the surface and then, little by little, we will understand what lies beneath: our habits, our values. And when we can penetrate that layer, we will be able to find ourselves. Who would like to begin?"
Several hands went up, including--to Marie's surprise--mine. The noise started up again; people shifted in their seats. Mikhail pointed to a tall, pretty woman with blue eyes.
"Last week, I went to see a male friend of mine who lives alone in the mountains, near the border with Spain; he loves the good things of life and has often said that any wisdom he may have acquired comes from the fact that he lives each moment to the fullest. Now, right from the start, my husband was against my going to see this friend. He knows what he's like, that his favorite pastimes are shooting birds and seducing women. But I needed to talk to this friend; I was going through a difficult time and only he could help me. My husband suggested I see a psychiatrist or go on a trip; we even had a row about it, but despite all thes
e domestic pressures, I set off. My friend came to meet me at the airport and we spent the afternoon talking; we ate supper, drank some wine, talked a bit more and then I went to bed. When I woke up the next morning, we went for a walk near where he lives and he dropped me back at the airport.
"As soon as I got home, the questions began. Was he alone? Yes. You mean he didn't have a girlfriend with him? No, he didn't. Did you have anything to drink? Yes, I did. Why don't you want to talk about it? But I am talking about it! Alone together in a house in the mountains, eh? Very romantic. So? And all you did was talk, you say? Yes, that's all. And you expect me to believe that? Why shouldn't you believe it? Because it goes against human nature--if a man and a woman get together, have a bit to drink, and talk about personal things, they're bound to end up in bed!
"I agree with my husband. It does go against everything we're taught. He'll never believe the story I've just told, but it's absolutely true. Since then, our life has become a little hell. It will pass, but going through all this pain is pointless, and all because we've been told that if a man and a woman like each other and circumstances allow, they're bound to end up in bed together."
Applause. Cigarettes were lit. The clink of glasses and bottles.
"What's going on?" whispered Marie. "Group therapy for couples?"
"It's all part of the meeting. No one says whether it's right or wrong, they just tell stories."
"But why do they do it in public, in this irreverent way, with people drinking and smoking?"
"Perhaps it's to stop things from getting too heavy. That way it's easier. And if it helps to make things easier, what's wrong with that?"
"Easier? Talking to a load of strangers who might go and repeat this story to her husband tomorrow?"
Someone else had started talking, and so I wasn't able to tell Marie that it didn't matter: everyone was there to talk about the lack of love disguised as love.
"I'm the husband of the woman who just told that story," said a man, who must have been at least twenty years older than the pretty, young blonde woman. "Everything she said is true, but there's something she doesn't know and which I haven't had the courage to tell her. I'll do so now.
"When she went off to the mountains, I couldn't sleep all night, and I started imagining, in detail, what was going on. When she arrives, the fire is already lit; she takes off her coat, takes off her sweater; she's not wearing a bra under her thin T-shirt. He can clearly see the shape of her breasts.
"She pretends not to notice him looking at her. She says she's going to the kitchen to get another bottle of champagne. She's wearing very tight jeans, she walks slowly, and she doesn't need to turn around to know that he's watching her every move. She comes back, they talk about very personal things, which makes them feel even closer.
"They finish talking about the problem that took her there. Her cell phone rings; it's me, wanting to know if she's all right. She goes over to him, puts the phone to his ear, and they both listen to what I have to say; it's an awkward conversation, because I know it's too late to put any kind of pressure on her, it's best just to pretend that everything's fine and tell her to enjoy her time in the mountains, because the following day she'll be back in Paris, taking care of the kids and doing the shopping.
"I hang up, knowing that he has heard the whole conversation. The two of them--because, before, they were sitting on separate sofas--are now very close indeed.
"At that point, I stopped thinking about what was happening in the mountains. I got up, went into my children's bedroom, walked over to the window, and looked out over Paris, and do you know what I felt? I felt excited, very, very excited; the thought of the two of them together, knowing that my wife could, at that very moment, be kissing another man, making love with him, had aroused me sexually.
"I felt awful. How could I possibly get excited over something like that? The next day, I talked to two friends; obviously, I didn't use myself as an example, but I asked them if they had ever felt aroused when they caught another man staring at their wife's cleavage. They didn't really answer the question because it's such a taboo. But they both agreed that it's always nice to know that your wife is desired by another man, although they wouldn't go any further than that. Is this a secret fantasy hidden in the hearts of all men? I don't know. This last week has been a little hell for both of us simply because I didn't understand my own feelings. And because I can't understand them, I blame her for provoking in me feelings that make my world seem suddenly unsafe."
This time a lot of cigarettes were lit, but there was no applause. It was as if, even there, the subject continued to be a taboo.
I put up my hand again, and meanwhile asked myself if I agreed with what the man had just said. Yes, I did. I had imagined similar scenarios involving Esther and the soldiers she met in war zones, but I had never dared say as much, not even to myself.
Mikhail looked in my direction and nodded.
I don't know how I managed to get to my feet and look at that audience, who were still visibly shocked by the story of the man who had felt aroused by the thought of his wife having sex with another man. No one seemed to be listening, and that helped me make a start.
"I apologize for not being as direct as the two previous speakers, but I nevertheless have something to say. I went to a train station today and learned that the distance between railway tracks is always 143.5 centimeters, or 4 feet 81/2 inches. Why this absurd measurement? I asked my girlfriend to find out and this is what she discovered. When they built the first train carriages, they used the same tools as they had for building horse-drawn carriages. And why that distance between the wheels on carriages? Because that was the width of the old roads along which the carriages had to travel. And who decided that roads should be that width? Well, suddenly, we are plunged back into the distant past. It was the Romans, the first great road builders, who decided to make their roads that width. And why? Because their war chariots were pulled by two horses, and when placed side by side, the horses they used at the time took up 143.5 centimeters.
"So the distance between the tracks I saw today, used by our state-of-the-art high-speed trains, was determined by the Romans. When people went to the United States and started building railways there, it didn't occur to them to change the width and so it stayed as it was. This even affected the building of space shuttles. American engineers thought the fuel tanks should be wider, but the tanks were built in Utah and had to be transported by train to the Space Center in Florida, and the tunnels couldn't take anything wider. And so they had to accept the measurement that the Romans had decided was the ideal. But what has all this to do with marriage?"
I paused. Some people were not in the slightest bit interested in railway tracks and had started talking among themselves. Others were listening attentively, among them Marie and Mikhail.
"It has everything to do with marriage and with the two stories we have just heard. At some point in history, someone turned up and said: When two people get married, they must stay frozen like that for the rest of their lives. You will move along side by side like two tracks, keeping always that same distance apart. Even if sometimes one of you needs to be a little farther away or a little closer, that is against the rules. The rules say: Be sensible, think of the future, think of your children. You can't change, you must be like two railway tracks that remain the same distance apart all the way from their point of departure to their destination. The rules don't allow for love to change, or to grow at the start and diminish halfway through--it's too dangerous. And so, after the enthusiasm of the first few years, they maintain the same distance, the same solidity, the same functional nature. Your purpose is to allow the train bearing the survival of the species to head off into the future: your children will only be happy if you stay just as you were--143.5 centimeters apart. If you're not happy with something that never changes, think of them, think of the children you brought into the world.
"Think of your neighbors. Show them that you're happy, eat roa
st beef on Sundays, watch television, help the community. Think of society. Dress in such a way that everyone knows you're in perfect harmony. Never glance to the side, someone might be watching you, and that could bring temptation; it could mean divorce, crisis, depression.
"Smile in all the photos. Put the photos in the living room, so that everyone can see them. Cut the grass, practice a sport--oh, yes, you must practice a sport in order to stay frozen in time. When sport isn't enough, have plastic surgery. But never forget, these rules were established long ago and must be respected. Who established these rules? That doesn't matter. Don't question them, because they will always apply, even if you don't agree with them."
I sat down. There was a mixture of enthusiastic applause and indifference, and I wondered if I had gone too far. Marie was looking at me with a mixture of admiration and surprise.
The woman on stage sounded the cymbal.
I told Marie to stay where she was, while I went outside to smoke a cigarette:
"They'll perform a dance now in the name of love, in the name of the Lady."
"You can smoke in here, can't you?"
"Yes, but I need to be alone."
It may have been early spring, but it was still very cold; nevertheless, I was in need of some fresh air. Why had I told that story? My marriage to Esther had never been the way I described: two railway tracks, always beside each other, always forming two correct, straight lines, We had had our ups and downs; one or other of us had occasionally threatened to leave for good; and yet we continued on together.
Until two years ago.
Or until the moment when she began to want to know why she was unhappy.
No one should ever ask themselves that: Why am I unhappy? The question carries within it the virus that will destroy everything. If we ask that question, it means we want to find out what makes us happy. If what makes us happy is different from what we have now, then we must either change once and for all or stay as we are, feeling even more unhappy.
I now found myself in precisely that situation: I had a lively, interesting girlfriend, my work was going well, and there was every chance that, in the fullness of time, things would sort themselves out. I should resign myself to the situation. I should accept what life was offering me, not follow Esther's example, not look at anyone else, but remember Marie's words, and build a new life with her.