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"Let's face the storm."
"No, it's all right. Well, we can if you want, but the storm isn't a sign, it's just one of the consequences of the destruction of the Aral Sea."
The furious wind is abating, and the horses seem to be galloping faster. We enter a kind of valley, and the landscape changes completely. The infinite horizon is replaced by tall, bare cliffs. I look to the right and see a bush full of ribbons.
"It was here! It was here that you saw..."
"No, my tree was destroyed."
"So what's this, then?"
"A place where something very important must have happened."
He dismounts, opens his saddlebag, takes out a knife, and cuts a strip off the sleeve of his shirt, then ties this to one of the branches. His eyes change; he may be feeling the presence beside him, but I prefer not to ask.
I follow his example. I ask for protection and help. I, too, feel a presence by my side: my dream, my long journey back to the woman I love.
We remount. He doesn't tell me what he asked for, and nor do I. Five minutes later, we see a small village of white houses. A man is waiting for us; he comes over to Mikhail and speaks to him in Russian. They talk for a while, then the man goes away.
"What did he want?"
"He wanted me to go to his house to cure his daughter. Nina must have told him I was arriving today, and the older people still remember my visions."
He seems uncertain. There is no one else around; it must be a time when everyone is working, or perhaps eating. We were crossing the main road, which seemed to lead to a white building surrounded by a garden.
"Remember what I told you this morning, Mikhail. You might well just be an epileptic who refuses to accept the diagnosis and who has allowed his unconscious to build a whole story around it, but it could also be that you have a mission in the world: to teach people to forget their personal history and to be more open to love as pure, divine energy."
"I don't understand you. All the months we've known each other, you've talked of nothing but this moment--finding Esther. And suddenly, ever since this morning, you seem more concerned about me than anything else. Perhaps Dos's ritual last night had some effect."
"Oh, I'm sure it did."
What I meant to say was: I'm terrified. I want to think about anything except what is about to happen in the next few minutes. Today, I am the most generous person on the face of this earth, because I am close to my objective and afraid of what awaits me. My reaction is to try and help others, to show God that I'm a good person and that I deserve this blessing that I have pursued so long and hard.
Mikhail dismounted and asked me to do the same.
"I'm going to the house of the man whose daughter is ill. I'll take care of your horse while you talk to Esther."
He pointed to the small white building in the middle of the trees.
"Over there."
I struggled to keep control of myself.
"What does she do?"
"As I told you before, she's learning to make carpets and, in exchange, she teaches French. By the way, although the carpets may look simple, they are, in fact, very complicated--just like the steppes. The dyes come from plants that have to be picked at precisely the right time; otherwise the color won't be right. Then the wool is spread out on the ground, mixed with hot water, and the threads are made while the wool is still wet; and then, after many days, when the sun has dried them, the work of weaving begins. The final details are done by children. Adult hands are too big for the smallest, most delicate bits of embroidery."
He paused.
"And no jokes about it being child's play. It's a tradition that deserves respect."
"How is she?"
"I don't know. I haven't spoken to her for about six months."
"Mikhail, these carpets are another sign."
"The carpets?"
