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“I need you to do something for me.”
She gives her first smile of the day. I am asking her for something. I need her.
“Something only I can do?”
“Yes, something only you can do. Just don’t ask me why I want you to do it.”
I TAKE HER HAND and lead her into the church. It isn’t the first time I’ve been inside an Orthodox church, but I never know quite what to do, apart from lighting one of the slender wax candles and praying to the saints and angels to protect me. Even so, I always love the beauty of these churches, which repeat the same architectural ideal: the vaulted ceiling, the bare central nave, the lateral arches, the gold icons made by artists who pray and fast, and before which some of the ladies who have just come in bow, then kiss the protective glass.
As always happens when we’re focused on what we want, things begin to slot perfectly into place. Despite everything I experienced last night, despite still not having got beyond reading the letter, there is time enough before we reach Vladivostok, and my heart is at peace.
Hilal seems equally enchanted by the surrounding beauty. She must have forgotten that we’re in a church. I go over to a lady sitting in a corner, selling candles. I buy four, light three, and place those before what seems to be an image of Saint George. I pray for myself, my family, my readers, and my work.
I light the fourth and take it to Hilal.
“Please just do as I say. Hold this candle.”
Instinctively, she glances around to see if anyone is watching. She must think that what I’m asking her to do will seem disrespectful to the church we’re in. The next moment, however, she’s her usual blasé self. After all, she hates churches and doesn’t see why she should behave like everyone else.
The flame from the candle is reflected in her eyes. I bow my head. I don’t feel guilty at all; I feel only acceptance and the ache of a remote pain happening in another dimension, a pain I must embrace.
“I betrayed you, and I want you to
forgive me.”
“Tatiana!”
I put my hand over her mouth. She may be strong and talented and a real fighter, but I have to remember that she is still only twenty-one. I should have phrased it differently.
“No, it wasn’t Tatiana. But please, forgive me.”
“I can’t forgive you when I don’t know what you’ve done.”
“Remember the Aleph. Remember what you felt at that moment. Try to bring into this sacred place something that you don’t know but that is there in your heart. If necessary, think of a favorite symphony and let it guide you to where you need to go. That’s all that matters now. Words, explanations, and questions won’t help; they’ll only confuse something that is already quite complex enough. Forgive me, but let that forgiveness come from the depths of your soul, the same soul that passes from one body to another and learns as it travels through nonexistent time and infinite space.
“We can never wound the soul, just as we can never wound God, but we can become imprisoned by our memories, and that makes our lives wretched even when we have everything we need in order to be happy. If only we could be entirely here, as if we had just woken up on planet Earth and found ourselves inside a golden temple, but we can’t.”
“I don’t see why I should forgive the man I love. Or perhaps only for one thing, for never having heard those same words on his lips.”
A smell of incense begins to waft toward us. The priests are coming in for morning prayers.
“Forget who you are now and go to the place where the person you always were is waiting. There you will find the right words, and then you can forgive me.”
Hilal seeks inspiration in the gilded walls, the pillars, the people entering the church at this early hour, the flames of the lit candles. She closes her eyes, possibly following my suggestion and imagining some music.
“You won’t believe this, but I think I can see a girl, a girl who isn’t here anymore but who wants to come back…”
I ask her to listen to what the girl has to say.
“The girl forgives you, not because she has become a saint but because she can no longer bear to carry this burden of hatred. Hating is very wearisome. I don’t know if something is changing in Heaven or on Earth, or if my soul is being damned or saved, but I feel utterly exhausted, and only now do I understand why. I forgive the man who tried to destroy me when I was ten years old. He knew what he was doing, and I did not. But I felt that it was my fault, and I hated him and myself. I hated everyone who came near me, but now my soul is being set free.”
This isn’t what I was expecting.
“Forgive everything and everyone, but forgive me, too,” I ask her. “Include me in your forgiveness.”
“I forgive everything and everyone, including you, even though I don’t know what crime you have committed. I forgive you because I love you and because you don’t love me. I forgive you because you help me to stay close to my Devil, even though I haven’t thought of him for years. I forgive you because you reject me and my powers are wasted, and I forgive you because you don’t understand who I am or what I’m doing here. I forgive you and the Devil who touched my body before I even knew what life was about. He touched my body but distorted my soul.”
She puts her hands together in prayer. I would have liked her forgiveness to have been exclusively for me, but Hilal is redeeming her whole world, and perhaps that is better.
