The Zahir Page 0,89

at the cars, the shop windows, the people oblivious to everyone else, when I look at all the buildings and the monuments, I see in them your absence. Make us capable of bringing you back."

The group continued as one: "Dear Lady, we recognize your presence in the difficulties we are experiencing. Help us not to give up. Help us to think of you with tranquility and determination, even when it is hard to accept that we love you."

I noticed that everyone there was wearing the same symbol

somewhere on their clothing. Sometimes it was in the form of a brooch, or a metal badge, or a piece of embroidery, or was even drawn on the fabric with a pen.

"I would like to dedicate tonight to the man sitting on my right. He sat down beside me because he wanted to protect me."

How did he know that?

"He's a good man. He knows that love transforms and he allows himself to be transformed by love. He still carries much of his personal history in his soul, but he is continually trying to free himself from it, which is why he stayed with us tonight. He is the husband of the woman we all know, the woman who left me a relic as proof of her friendship and as a talisman."

Mikhail took out the piece of bloodstained cloth and put it down in front of him.

"This is part of the unknown soldier's shirt. Before he died, he said to the woman: 'Cut up my clothes and distribute the pieces among those who believe in death and who, for that reason, are capable of living as if today were their last day on earth. Tell those people that I have just seen the face of God; tell them not to be afraid, but not to grow complacent either. Seek the one truth, which is love. Live in accordance with its laws.'"

They all gazed reverently at the piece of cloth.

"We were born into a time of revolt. We pour all our enthusiasm into it, we risk our lives and our youth, and suddenly, we feel afraid, and that initial joy gives way to the real challenges: weariness, monotony, doubts about our own abilities. We notice that some of our friends have already given up. We are obliged to confront loneliness, to cope with sharp bends in the road, to suffer a few falls with no one near to help us, and we end up asking ourselves if it's worth all that effort."

Mikhail paused.

"It is. And we will carry on, knowing that our soul, even though it is eternal, is at this moment caught in the web of time, with all its opportunities and limitations. We will, as far as possible, free ourselves from this web. When this proves impossible and we return to the story we were told, we will nevertheless remember our battles and be ready to resume the struggle as soon as the conditions are right. Amen."

"Amen," echoed the others.

"I need to talk to the Lady," said the fair young man with the Mohawk.

"Not tonight. I'm tired."

There was a general murmur of disappointment. Unlike those people at the Armenian restaurant, they knew Mikhail's story and knew about the presence he felt by his side. He got up and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. I went with him.

I asked how they had come by that apartment, and he explained that in French law anyone can legally move into a building that is not being used by its owner. It was, in short, a squat.

I began to be troubled by the thought that Marie would be waiting up for me. Mikhail took my arm.

"You said today that you were going to the steppes. I'll say this one more time: Please, take me with you. I need to go back to my country, even if only for a short time, but I haven't any money. I miss my people, my mother, my friends. I could say, 'The voice tells me that you will need me,' but that wouldn't be true: you could find Esther easily enough and without any help at all. But I need an infusion of energy from my homeland."

"I can give you the money for a return ticket."

"I know you can, but I'd like to be there with you, to go with you to the village where she's living, to feel the wind on my face, to help you along the road that will lead you back to the