The Zahir

The older man, who had played the drum during the ceremony, started counting the money and putting it into six equal piles. I think it was only then that Mikhail noticed my presence.

"I thought I'd see you here."

"And I imagine you know the reason."

"After I've let the divine energy pass through my body, I know the reason for everything. I know the reason for love and for war. I know why a man searches for the woman he loves."

I again felt as if I were walking along a knife edge. If he knew that I was here because of my Zahir, then he also knew that this was a threat to his relationship with Esther.

"May we talk, like two men of honor fighting for something worthwhile?"

Mikhail seemed to hesitate slightly. I went on:

"I know that I'll emerge bruised and battered, like the master who wanted to sit between the buffalo's horns, but I deserve it. I deserve it because of the pain I inflicted, however unconsciously. I don't believe Esther would have left me if I had respected her love."

"You understand nothing," said Mikhail.

These words irritated me. How could a twenty-five-year-old tell an experienced man who had suffered and been tested by life that he understood nothing? I had to control myself, to humble myself, to do whatever was necessary. I could not go on living with ghosts, I could not allow my whole universe to continue being dominated by the Zahir.

"Maybe I really don't understand, but that's precisely why I'm here--in order to understand. To free myself by understanding what happened."

"You understood everything quite clearly, and then suddenly stopped understanding; at least that's what Esther told me. As happens with all husbands, there came a point when you started to treat your wife as if she were just part of the goods and chattel."

I was tempted to say: "Why didn't she tell me that herself? Why didn't she give me a chance to correct my mistakes and not leave me for a twenty-five-year-old who will only end up treating her just as I did." Some more cautious words emerged from my mouth however.

"I don't think that's true. You've read my book, you came to my book signing because you knew what I felt and wanted to reassure me. My heart is still in pieces: have you ever heard of the Zahir?"

"I was brought up in the Islamic religion, so, yes, I'm familiar with the idea."

"Well, Esther fills up every space in my life. I thought that by writing about my feelings, I would free myself from her presence. Now I love her in a more silent way, but I can't think about anything else. I beg you, please, I'll do anything you want, but I need you to explain to me why she disappeared like that. As you yourself said, I understand nothing."

It was very hard to stand there pleading with my wife's lover to help me understand what had happened. If Mikhail had not come to the book signing, perhaps that moment in the cathedral in Vitoria, where I acknowledged my love for her and out of which I wrote A Time to Rend and a Time to Sew, would have been enough. Fate, however, had other plans, and the mere possibility of being able to see my wife again had upset everything.

"Let's have lunch together," said Mikhail, after a long pause. "You really don't understand anything. But the divine energy that today passed through my body is generous with you."

We arranged to meet the next day. On the way home, I remembered a conversation I had had with Esther three months before she disappeared.

A conversation about divine energy passing through the body.

Their eyes really are different. There's the fear of death in them, of course, but beyond that, there's the idea of sacrifice. Their lives are meaningful because they are ready to offer them up for a cause."

"You're talking about soldiers, are you?"

"Yes, and I'm talking as well about something I find terribly hard to accept, but which I can't pretend I don't see. War is a ritual. A blood ritual, but also a love ritual."

"You're mad."

"Maybe I am. But I've met other war correspondents, too, who go from one country to the next, as if the routine of death were part of their lives. They're not afraid of anything, they face danger the way a soldier does. And all for a news report? I don't think so. They can no longer live without the danger, the adventure, the adrenaline in their blood. One of them, a married man with three children, told me that the place where he feels most at ease is in a war zone, even though he adores his family and talks all the time about his wife and kids."

"I just can't understand it at all. Look, Esther, I don't want to interfere in your life, but I think this experience will end up doing you real harm."

"It would harm me more to be living a life without meaning. In a war, everyone knows they're experiencing something important."

"A historic moment, you mean?"

"No, that isn't enough of a reason for risking your life. No, I mean that they're experiencing the true essence of man."

"War?"