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“I spoke to three scholars,” he says at last. “Two of them said that after death, the just go to Paradise. The third one, though, told me to consult some verses from the Koran.”
I can see that he’s excited.
“Here’s the first one, 2:28: ‘Allah will cause you to die, and then he will bring you back to life again, and you will return to Him once more.’ My translation isn’t perfect, but that’s what it means.”
He leafs feverishly through the sacred book. He translates the second verse, 2:154.
“ ‘Do not say of those who died in the name of Allah: They are dead. For they are alive, even though you cannot see them.’”
“Exactly!”
“There are other verses, but, to be honest, I don’t feel very comfortable talking about this right now. I’d rather tell you about Tunis.”
“You’ve told us quite enough. People never leave; we are always here in our past and future lives. It appears in the Bible, too, you know. I remember a passage in which Jesus refers to John the Baptist as the incarnation of Elias: ‘And if you will receive it, he [John] is the Elias who is to come.’ And there are other verses on the same subject,” I say.
He starts telling us some of the legends that surround the founding of the city, and I understand that it’s time to get up and continue our walk.
ABOVE ONE OF THE GATES in the ancient city wall is a lantern, and Samil explains its significance to us.
“This is the origin of one of the most famous Arabic proverbs: ‘The light falls only on the stranger.’ ”
The proverb, he says, is very apt for the situation we’re in now. Samil wants to be a writer and is fighting to gain recognition in his own country, whereas I, a Brazilian author, am already known here.
I tell him that we have a similar saying: “No one is a prophet in his own land.” We always tend to value what comes from afar, never recognizing the beauty around us.
“Although sometimes,” I go on, “we need to be strangers to ourselves. Then the hidden light in our souls will illuminate what we need to see.”
My wife appears not to be following the conversation, but at one point, she turns to me and says, “There’s something about that lantern, I can’t quite explain what it is, but it’s something to do with your situation now. As soon as I work out what it is, I’ll tell you.”
WE SLEEP FOR A WHILE, have supper with friends, and go for another walk around the city. Only then does my wife manage to explain what she had felt during the afternoon.
“You’re traveling, but, at the same time, you haven’t left home. As long as we’re together, that will continue to be the case, because you have someone by your side who knows you, and this gives you a false sense of familiarity. It’s time you continued on alone. You may find solitude oppressive, too much to bear, but that feeling will gradually disappear as you come more into contact with other people.”
After a pause, she adds, “I once read that in a forest of a hundred thousand trees, no two leaves are alike. And no two journeys along the same path are alike. If we continue to travel together, trying to make things fit our worldview, neither of us will benefit. So I give you my blessing and say I’ll see you in Germany for the first match in the World Cup!”
If a Cold Wind Blows
WHEN I ARRIVE at the Moscow hotel with my publisher and my editor, a young woman is waiting outside for me. She comes over and grasps my hands in hers.
“I need to talk to you. I’ve come all the way from Ekaterinburg to do just that.”
I’m tired. I woke up earlier than usual and had to change planes in Paris because there was no direct flight. I tried to sleep on the journey, but every time I managed to drop off, I would fall into the same unpleasant, repetitive dream.
My publisher tells her that there will be a signing session tomorrow and that, in three days’ time, we’ll be in Ekaterinburg, the first stop on my train journey. I hold out my hand to say good-bye and notice that hers is very cold.
“Why didn’t you wait for me inside?” I ask.
What I would really like to ask is how she found out which hotel I’m staying at, but that probably wouldn’t be so very hard, and it isn’t the first time this kind of thing has happened.
“I read your blog the other day and realized that you were talking directly to me.”
I was beginning to post my thoughts about the journey on a blog. It was still in the experimental stage, and since I wrote the pieces ahead of time, I didn’t know which article she was referring to. Even so, there could certainly have been no reference in it to her, given that I had met her only a few seconds ago.
She takes out a piece of paper containing the article. I know it by heart, although I can’t remember who told me the story. A man called Ali is in need of money and asks his boss to help him. His boss sets him a challenge: if he can spend all night on the top of a mountain, he will receive a great reward; if he fails, he will have to work for free. The story continues:
When he left the shop, Ali noticed that an icy wind was blowing. He felt afraid and decided to ask his best friend, Aydi, if he thought he was mad to accept the wager. After considering the matter for a moment, Aydi answered, “Don’t worry, I’ll help you. Tomorrow night, when you’re sitting on top of the mountain, look straight ahead. I’ll be on the top of the mountain opposite, where I’ll keep a fire burning all night for you. Look at the fire and think of our friendship, and that will keep you warm. You’ll make it through the night, and afterward, I’ll ask you for something in return.”
Ali won the wager, got the money, and went to his friend’s house.
