"We'll be late."
Gabriela can no longer hold back the tears, the tension, the fear, and the terror of the three minutes she has just lived through. She sobs convu
lsively, not caring about her makeup now, which someone will fix for her anyway. The man offers her his arm to lean on, so that she won't stumble in her high heels, and they start walking across the square toward the Boulevard de la Croisette. The noise of the crowd grows ever more distant, and her sobs grow ever louder. She's crying out all the tears of the day, the week, and the years she had spent dreaming of that moment, and which was over before she could even take in what had happened.
"I'm sorry," she says to the man accompanying her.
He strokes her hair. His smile reveals affection, understanding, and pity.
7:31 P.M.
He has finally understood that you cannot search out happiness at any price. Life has given him all it could, and he's beginning to see just how generous life has always been to him. Now and for the rest of his days, he will devote himself to disinterring the treasures hidden in his suffering and enjoying each second of happiness as if it were his last.
He has overcome Temptation. He is protected by the spirit of the girl who understands his mission perfectly, and who is now beginning to open his eyes to the real reason for his trip to Cannes.
For a few moments in that pizzeria, while he was remembering what he'd heard on those tapes, Temptation had accused him of being mentally unbalanced and of believing that anything was permitted in the name of love. His most difficult moment was, thank God, behind him now.
He is a normal person; his work requires discipline, routine, negotiating skills, and planning. Many of his friends say that he's become more of a loner; what they don't know is that he's always been a loner. Going to parties, weddings, and christenings, and pretending to enjoy playing golf on Sundays was merely part of his professional strategy. He's always loathed the social whirl, with all those people concealing behind their smiles the real sadness in their souls. It didn't take him long to see that the Superclass are as dependent on their success as an addict is on his drugs, and nowhere near as happy as those who want nothing more than a house, a garden, a child playing, a plate of food on the table, and a fire in winter. Are the latter aware of their limitations, and do they know that life is short and wonder what point there is in going on?
The Superclass tries to promote its values. Ordinary people complain of divine injustice, they envy power, and it pains them to see others having fun. They don't understand that no one is having fun, that everyone is worried and insecure, and that what the jewels, cars, and fat wallets conceal is a huge inferiority complex.
Igor is a man of simple tastes; indeed, Ewa always complained about the way he dressed. But what's the point of buying a ridiculously expensive shirt when no one is going to see the label anyway? What's the point of frequenting fashionable restaurants if nothing of interest is said there? Ewa used to say that he didn't talk very much at the parties and other work-related events. He tried to change his behavior and be more sociable, but none of it really interested him. He would look at the people around him talking on and on, comparing share prices, boasting about their marvelous new yacht, launching into long disquisitions on Expressionist painting (but really just repeating what a tour guide had told them on a visit to a Paris museum), and stating boldly that one writer is infinitely better than another (basing themselves entirely on the reviews they've read because, naturally, they never have time to read fiction).
They are so very cultivated, so very rich, and so utterly charming. And at the end of each day, they all ask themselves: "Is it time I stopped?" And they all reply: "If I did, there would be no meaning to my life."
As if they actually knew what the meaning of life was.
TEMPTATION HAS LOST THE BATTLE. It wanted to make him believe that he was mad: it's one thing to plan the sacrifice of certain people, quite another to have the capacity and the courage to carry it out. Temptation said that we all dream of committing crimes, but that only the unbalanced make that macabre idea a reality.
Igor is well-balanced and successful. If he wanted, he could hire a professional killer, the best in the world, to carry out his task and send the requisite messages to Ewa. Or he could hire the best public relations agency in the world, and by the end of the year, he'd be the talk not only of economics journals, but of magazines interested only in success and glamour. At that point, his ex-wife would weigh up the consequences of her mistaken decision, and he would know just the right moment to send her flowers and ask her to come back, all was forgiven. He has contacts at all levels of society, from businessmen who've reached the top through perseverance and hard work, to criminals who've never had a chance to show their more positive side.
He isn't in Cannes because he takes a morbid pleasure in seeing the look in a person's eyes as he or she confronts the inevitable. He's decided to place himself in the line of fire, in the dangerous position in which he finds himself now, because he's sure that every step he takes during this seemingly endless day will prove vital if the new Igor who exists within him is to be born again out of the ashes of his tragedy.
He's always been able to make difficult decisions and to see things through, although no one, not even Ewa, has ever known what went on in the dark corridors of his soul. For many years he endured in silence the threats made by various individuals and groups, and he reacted discreetly when he felt strong enough to rid himself of the people threatening him. He had learned to exercise enormous self-control so as not to be left traumatized by bad experiences. He never took his fears home with him, feeling that Ewa deserved a quiet life and to be kept in ignorance of the terrors that beset any businessman. He chose to save her from that, and yet he received nothing in return, not even understanding.
The girl's spirit soothes him with that thought, then adds something that hadn't occurred to him until then: he wasn't there to win back the person who had left him, but to see, at last, that she wasn't worth all those years of pain, all those months of planning, all his enormous capacity for forgiveness, generosity, and patience.
He has sent one, two, three messages now, and there's been no reaction from Ewa. It would be easy enough for her to find out where he's staying, although, admittedly, phoning the five or six top hotels wouldn't help because when he checked in, he gave a different name and profession. Then again, she who seeks, finds.
He's read the statistics. Cannes has only seventy thousand inhabitants, and that number usually triples during the Film Festival, but festivalgoers all haunt the same places. Where would she be staying? Given that he had seen the two of them the previous night, she was probably staying in the same hotel and visiting the same bar. Even so, Ewa isn't prowling the Boulevard de la Croisette looking for him. She isn't phoning mutual friends, trying to find out where he is. At least one of those friends has all the necessary information, for Igor had assumed that the woman he thought was the love of his life would contact that friend as soon as she realized Igor was in Cannes. The friend has instructions to tell her how she can find him, but so far, there has been no news.
HE TAKES OFF HIS CLOTHES and gets into the shower. Ewa isn't worth all this fuss. He's almost certain that he'll see her tonight, but this is growing less and less important with each passing moment. Perhaps his mission is about something much more important than simply regaining the love of the woman who betrayed him and who speaks ill of him to other people. The spirit of the girl with the dark eyebrows reminds him of the story told by an old Afghan in a break during a battle.
After many centuries of turmoil and bad government, the population of a city high up on one of the desert mountains of Herat province was in despair. They could not simply abolish the monarchy, and yet neither could they stand many more generations of arrogant, egotistical kings. They summoned the Loya Jirga, as the council of wise men is known locally.
The Loya Jirga decided that they should elect a king every four years, and that this king should have absolute power. He could increase taxes, demand total obedience, choose a different woman to take to his bed each night, and eat and drink his fill. He could wear the finest clothes, ride the finest horses. In short, any order he gave, however absurd, would be obeyed, and no one would question whether it was logical or just.
However, at the end of that period of four years, he would be obliged to give up the throne and leave the city, taking with him only his family and the clothes on his back. Everyone knew that this would mean certain death within three or four days because there was nothing to eat or drink in that vast desert, which was freezing in winter and like a furnace in summer.
The wise men of the Loya Jirga assumed that no one would risk standing for the position of king, and that they would then be able to return to the old system of democratic elections. Their decision was made public, and the post of king fell vacant. Initially, several people applied. An old man with cancer took up the challenge and died during the period of his rule with a smile on his face. A madman succeeded him, but left four months later (he had misunderstood the terms) and vanished into the desert. Then rumors started going around that the throne had a curse on it, and no one dared apply for the position. The city was left without a governor, confusion reigned, and the inhabitants realized that they must forget the monarchist tradition altogether and prepare to change their ways. The Loya Jirga felt pleased that its members had taken such a wise decision. They hadn't forced the people to make a choice, they had simply got rid of those who wanted power at any price. Then a young man, married and with three children, came forward.
"I accept the post," he said.
The wise men tried to explain the risks. They reminded him that he had a family and explained that their decision had merely been a way of discouraging adventurers and despots. However, the young man stood firm, and since it was impossible to go back on their decision, the Loya Jirga had no option but to wait another four years before they could put in place the planned return to elections.
The young man and his family proved to be excellent governors. They ruled fairly, redistributed wealth, lowered the price of food, organized popular festivals to celebrate the change of season, and encouraged craftwork and music. Every night, though, a great caravan of horses would leave the city, drawing heavy carts covered with jute cloth so that no one could see what was inside them. These carts never came back.
At first, the wise men of the Loya Jirga thought that the king must be removing treasure from the city, but consoled themselves with the fact that the young man rarely ventured beyond the city walls; if he had and had tried to climb the nearest mountain, he would have rea