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heavens, heard thunder, and wondered who had created all of this. We are born,
we suffer, we die, and the mountains endure.
"There is some point at which we have to wonder whether all our effort is worth
it. Why not try to be like those mountains wise, ancient, and in their place?
Why risk everything to transform a half-dozen people who 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 was silent for a few moments.
"Are you reading my thoughts now?"
"No. But if that's the way you feel, you wouldn't have chosen the religious
life."
"I've tried many times to understand my fate," he said. "But I haven't yet. I
accepted that I was to be a part of God's army, and everything I've done has
been in an attempt to explain to people why there is misery, pain, and
injustice. I ask them to be good Christians, and they ask me, 'How can I believe
in God when there is so much suffering in the world?'
"And I try to explain something that has no explanation. I try to tell them that
there is a plan, a battle among the angels, and that we are all involved in the
battle. I try to say that when a certain number of people have enough faith to
change the scenario, all of the others everywhere on the planet will benefit.
But they don't believe me. They do nothing."
"They are like the mountains," I said. "The mountains are beautiful. Anyone who
beholds them has to think about the grandness of creation. They are living proof
of the love that God feels for us, but their fate is merely to give testimony.
They are not like the rivers, which move and transform what is around them."
"Yes. But why not be like the mountains?"
"Maybe because the fate of mountains is terrible," I answered. "They are
destined to look out at the same scene forever."
The padre said nothing.
"I was studying to become a mountain," I continued. "I had put everything in its
proper place. I was going to take a job with the state, marry, and teach the
religion of my parents to my children, even though I no longer accepted it. But
now I have decided to leave all that behind me in order to be with the man I
love. And it's a good thing I decided not to be a mountain I wouldn't have
lasted very long."
"You say some very wise things."
"I'm surprising myself. Before, all I could talk about was my childhood."
I stood and started back down the trail. The padre seemed to respect my silence
and did not try to speak to me until we reached the road.
I took his hands and kissed them. "I'm going to say good-bye. But I want you to
know that I understand you and your love for him."
The padre smiled and gave me his blessing. "And I understand your love for him,
too," he said.
I spent the rest of the day walking through the valley. I played in the snow,
visited a village near Saint-Savin, had a sandwich, and watched some boys
playing soccer.
At the church in the village, I lit a candle. I closed my eyes and repeated the
invocations I had learned the previous night. Then, concentrating on a crucifix
that hung behind the altar, I began to speak in tongues. Bit by bit, the gift
took over. It was easier than I had thought.
Perhaps this all seems silly murmuring things, saying words that have no
meaning, that don't help us in our reasoning. But when we do this, the Holy
Spirit is conversing with our souls, saying things the soul needs to hear.
When I felt that I was sufficiently purified, I closed my eyes and prayed.
Our Lady, give me back my faith. May I also serve as an instrument of your work.
Give me the opportunity to learn through my love, because love has never kept
anyone away from their dreams.
May I be a companion and ally of the man I love. May we accomplish everything we
have to accomplish together.
When I returned to Saint-Savin, night had almost fallen. The car was parked in
front of the house where we were staying.
"Where have you been?" he asked.
"Walking and praying," I answered.
He embraced me.
"At first, I was afraid you had gone away. You are the most precious thing I
have on this earth."
"And you are for me," I answered.
It was late when we stopped in a small village near San Martin de Unx. Crossing
the Pyrenees had taken longer than we'd thought because of the rain and snow of
the previous day.
"We need to find someplace that's open," he said, climbing out of the car. "I'm
hungry."
I didn't move.
"Come on," he insisted, opening my door.
"I want to ask you a questiona question I haven't asked since we found each
other again."
He became serious, and I laughed at his concern.
"Is it an important question?"
"Very important," I answered, trying to look serious. "It's the following: where
are we going?"
We both laughed.
"To Zaragoza," he said, relieved.
I jumped out of the car, and we went looking for a restaurant that was open. It
was going to be almost impossible at that hour of the night.
No, it's not impossible. The Other is no longer with me. Miracles do happen, I
said to myself. "When do you have to be in Barcelona?" I asked him. He'd told me
he had another conference there.
He didn't answer, and his expression turned serious. I shouldn't ask such
questions, I thought. He may think I'm trying to control his life.
We walked along without speaking. In the village plaza, there was an illuminated
sign: Mesón el Sol.
"It's open let's have something to eat" was all he said.
The red peppers with anchovies were arranged on the plate in the shape of a
star. On the side, some manchego cheese, in slices that were almost transparent.
In the center of the table, a lighted candle and a half-full bottle of Rioja
wine.
"This was a medieval wine cellar," our waiter told us.
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