The Zahir Page 0,6

have bought a house in the country.)

We spend three days alone, contemplating the sea. I cook for her, and she tells me stories about her work and ends up falling in love with me. We come back to the city, she starts sleeping at my apartment on a regular basis. One morning, she leaves earlier than usual and returns with her typewriter; from then on, without anything being said, my home becomes her home too.

The same conflicts I had with my previous wives begin to surface: women are always looking for stability and fidelity, while I'm looking for adventure and the unknown. This time, though, the relationship lasts longer. Nevertheless, two years on, I decide it's time for Esther to take her typewriter back to her own apartment, along with everything else she brought with her.

"It's not going to work."

"But you love me and I love you, isn't that right?"

"I don't know. If you're asking me if I like your company, the answer is yes. If, on the other hand, you're asking me if I could live without you, the answer is also yes."

"I'm glad I wasn't born a man. I'm very content with my female condition. All you expect of us women is that we can cook well. Men, on the other hand, are expected to be able to do everything - they've got to be able to keep a home afloat, make love, take care of the children, bring in the money, and be successful."

"That's not it either: I'm very happy with myself. I enjoy your company, but I just don't think it's going to work."

"You enjoy my company, but hate being by yourself. You're always looking for adventure in order to forget more important things. You always want to feel the adrenaline flowing in your veins and you forget that the only thing that should be flowing through them is blood."

"I'm not running away from important things. Give me an example of something important."

"Writing a book."

"I can do that any time."

"Go on then, do it. Then, if you like, we can go our separate ways."

I find her comment absurd; I can write a book whenever I want to; I know publishers, journalists, all of whom owe me favors. Esther is just a woman who's afraid of losing me, she's inventing things. I tell her it's over, our relationship is at an end, it isn't a matter of what she thinks would make me happy, it's about love.

What is love? she asks. I spend half an hour explaining and realize that I can't come up with a good definition.

She says that, since I don't know how to define love, I should try and write a book.

I say that the two things are completely unrelated. I'm going to leave the apartment that very day; she can stay there for as long as she likes. I'll go and stay in a hotel until she has found somewhere else to live. She says that's fine by her, I can leave now, the apartment will be free within the month - she'll start looking for a new place tomorrow. I pack my bags, and she goes and reads a book. I say it's getting late, I'll leave tomorrow. She says I should leave at once because, tomorrow, I won't feel as strong or as determined. I ask her if she's trying to get rid of me. She laughs and says I was the one who wanted to end the relationship. We go to bed, and the following day, the desire to leave is not as urgent, and I decide I need to think things through. Esther, however, says the matter isn't over yet: this scenario will simply keep recurring as long as I refuse to risk everything for what I believe to be my real reason for living; in the end, she'll become unhappy and will leave me. Except that, if she left, she would do so immediately and burn any bridges that would allow her to come back. I ask her what she means. She'd get another boyfriend, she says, fall in love.

She goes off to her work at the newspaper, and I decide to take a day's leave (apart from writing lyrics, I'm also working for a recording company). I sit down at the typewriter. I get up again, read the papers, reply to some urgent letters, and, when I've done that, start replying to nonurgent letters. I make a list of things I need to do, I listen to

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