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"That said," I added, "it was my choice to ask them."
Of course it was, but the last thing I wanted was for him to go to Athena's house alone.
The actors had all arrived, but instead of another read-through of the new play, the director decided to change the program.
"Today we'll do another exercise in psychodrama." [Editor's note: a therapeutic technique that involves people acting out their personal experiences.]
There was no need. We all knew how the characters would behave in the situations described by the playwright.
"Can I suggest a subject?"
Everyone turned to look at me. The director seemed surprised.
"What's this, a revolt?"
"No, listen. We create a situation where a man, after great difficulty, manages to get a group of people together to celebrate an important ritual in the community, something, let's say, like the autumn harvest. Meanwhile, a strange woman arrives, and because of her beauty and the various rumors circulating--about her being a goddess in disguise, for example--the group the man has formed in order to keep alive the traditions in his village breaks up, and its members all go off to see the woman instead."
"But that's got nothing to do with the play we're rehearsing!" said one of the actresses.
The director, however, had understood what I was driving at.
"That's an excellent idea. Let's begin."
And turning to me, he said, "Andrea, you can be the new arrival. That way you can get a better understanding of the situation in the village. And I'll be the decent man trying to preserve the old ways. The group will be made up of couples who go to church, get together on Saturdays to do work in the community, and generally help one another."
We lay down on the floor, did some relaxation, and then began the exercise proper, which was really very simple. The main character (in this case, me) created various situations, and the others reacted to them.
When the relaxation was over, I transformed myself into Athena. In my fantasy, she roamed the world like Satan in search of subjects for her realm, but she disguised herself as Gaia, the goddess who knows everything and created everything. For fifteen minutes, the other actors paired up into "couples," got to know each other, and invented a common history involving children, farms, understanding, and friendship. When I felt this little universe was ready, I sat at one corner of the stage and began to speak about love.
"Here we are in this little village, and you think I'm a stranger, which is why you're interested in what I have to tell you. You've never traveled and don't know what goes on beyond the mountains, but I can tell you: there's no need to praise the earth. The earth will always be generous with this community. The important thing is to praise human beings. You say you'd love to travel, but you misuse the word love. Love is a relationship between people.
"Your one desire is for the harvest to be a good one, and that's why you've decided to love the earth. More nonsense: love isn't desire or knowledge or admiration. It's a challenge, it's an invisible fire. That's why, if you think I'm a stranger on this earth, you're wrong. Everything is familiar to me because I come in strength and in fire, and when I leave, no one will be the same. I bring true love, not the love they write about in books or in fairy tales."
The "husband" of one of the "couples" began looking at me. His "wife" became distraught.
During the rest of the exercise, the director--or, rather, the decent man--did all he could to explain the importance of maintaining traditions, praising the earth, and asking the earth to be as generous this year as it had been last year. I spoke only of love.
"He says the earth needs rituals, well, I can guarantee that if there's love enough among you, you'll have an abundant harvest, because love is the feeling that transforms everything. But what do I see? Friendship. Passion died out a long time ago, because you've all got used to one another. That's why the earth gives only what it gave last year, neither more nor less. And that's why, in the darkness of your souls, you silently complain that nothing in your lives changes. Why? Because you've always tried to control the force that transforms everything so that your lives can carry on without being faced by any major challenges."
The decent man explained, "Our community has survived because we've always respected the laws by which even love itself is guided. Anyone who falls in love without taking into account the common good will be condemned to live in constant fear of hurting his partner, of irritating his new love, of losing everything he built. A stranger with no ties and no history can say what she likes, but she doesn't know how hard it was to get where we are now. She doesn't know the sacrifices we made for our children. She doesn't know that we work tirelessly so that the earth will be generous with us, so that we will be at peace, and so that we can store away provisions for the future."
For an hour I defended the passion that devours everything, while the decent man spoke of the feeling that brings peace and tranquility. In the end, I was left talking to myself while the whole community gathered around him.
I'd played my role with great gusto and with a conviction I didn't even know I felt. Despite everything, though, the stranger left the village without having convinced anyone.
And that made me very, very happy.
HERON RYAN, JOUR
NALIST
An old friend of mine always says: "People learn twenty-five percent from their teacher, twenty-five percent from listening to themselves, twenty-five percent from their friends, and twenty-five percent from time." At that first meeting at Athena's apartment, where she was trying to conclude the class she had started at the theater, we all learned from...well, I'm not quite sure from what.
She was waiting for us, with her son, in her small living room. I noticed that the room was entirely painted in white and was completely empty apart from one item of furniture with a sound system on it, and a pile of CDs. I thought it odd that her son should be there, because he was sure to be bored by the class. I was assuming she would simply pick up from where we had stopped, giving us commands through single words. But she had other plans. She explained that she was going to play some music from Siberia and that we should all just listen.
Nothing more.
"I don't get anywhere meditating," she said. "I see people sitting there with their eyes closed, a smile on their lips or else grave-faced and arrogant, concentrating on absolutely nothing, convinced that they're in touch with God or with the Goddess. So instead, let's listen to some music together."
