"
I didn't answer.
"You also didn't really understand the story you told me, about the sign in the
church," she went on. "You saw only the sadness of the procession at the end.
You forgot the happy moments you spent inside. You forgot the feeling that
heaven had descended on you and how good it was to be experiencing all of that
with your…"
She stopped and smiled.
"… childhood friend," she said, winking. "Jesus said, 'Let the dead bury the dead' because he knew that there is no such thing as death. Life existed before
we were born and will continue to exist after we leave this world."
My eyes filled with tears.
"It's the same with love," she went on. "It existed before and will go on
forever."
"You seem to know everything about my life," I said.
"All love stories have much in common. I went through the same thing at one
point in my life. But that's not what I remember. What I remember is that love
returned in the form of another man, new hopes, and new dreams."
She held out the pen and paper to me.
"Write down everything you're feeling. Take it out of your soul, put it on the
paper, and then throw it away. Legend says that the River Piedra is so cold that
anything that falls into it–leaves, insects, the feathers of birds–is turned to
stone. Maybe it would be a good idea to toss your suffering into its waters."
I took the pages. She kissed me, and said I could come back for lunch if I
wanted to.
"Don't forget!" she shouted as she walked away. "Love perseveres. It's men who change."
I smiled, and she waved good-bye.
I looked out at the river for some time. And I cried until there were no more
tears.
Then I began to write.
Epilogue
I wrote for an entire day, and then another, and another. Every morning, I went
to the bank of the River Piedra. Every afternoon, the woman came, took me by the
arm, and led me back to the old convent.
She washed my clothes, made me dinner, chatted about trivial things, and sent me
to bed.
One morning, when I had almost finished the manuscript, I heard the sound of a
car. My heart leaped, but I didn't want to believe it. I felt free again, ready
to return to the world and be a part of it once again.
The worst had passed, although the sadness remained.
But my heart was right. Even without raising my eyes from my work, I felt his
presence and heard his footsteps.
"Pilar," he said, sitting down next to me.
I went on writing, without answering. I couldn't pull my thoughts together. My heart was jumping, trying to free itself from my breast and run to him. But I
wouldn't allow it.
He sat there looking at the river, while I went on writing. The entire morning
passed that way–without a word–and I recalled the silence of a night near a well
when I'd suddenly realized that I loved him.
When my hand could write no longer, I stopped. Then he spoke.
"It was dark when I came up out of the cavern. I couldn't find you, so I went to Zaragoza. I even went to Soria. I looked everywhere for you. Then I decided to
return to the monastery at Piedra to see if there was any sign of you, and I met
a woman. She showed me where you were, and she said you had been waiting for
me."
My eyes filled with tears.
"I am going to sit here with you by the river. If you go home to sleep, I will
sleep in front of your house. And if you go away, I will follow you–until you
tell me to go away. Then I'll leave. But I have to love you for the rest of my
life."
I could no longer hold back the tears, and he began to weep as well.
"I want to tell you something…" he started to say.
"Don't say a thing. Read this." I handed him the pages.
I gazed at the River Piedra all afternoon. The woman brought us sandwiches and
wine, commented on the weather, and left us alone. Every once in a while, he
paused in his reading and stared out into space, absorbed in his thoughts.
At one point I went for a walk in the woods, past the small waterfalls, through
the landscape that was so laden with stories and meanings for me. When the sun
began to set, I went back to the place where I had left him.
"Thank you" was what he said as he gave the papers back to me. "And forgive me."
On the bank of the River Piedra, I sat down and wept.
"Your love has saved me and returned me to my dream," he continued.
I said nothing.
"Do you know Psalm 137?" he asked.
I shook my head. I was afraid to speak.
"On the banks of the rivers of Babylon…"
"Yes, yes, I know it," I said, feeling myself coming back to life, little by
little. "It talks about exile. It talks about people who hang up their harps because they cannot play the music their hearts desire."
"But after the psalmist cries with longing for the land of his dreams, he
promises himself,
If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
let my right hand forget its skill.
Let my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth,
if I do not exalt Jerusalem."
I smiled again.
"I had forgotten, and you brought it back to me."
"Do you think your gift has returned?" I asked.
"I don't know. But the Goddess has always given me a second chance in life. And
She is giving me that with you. She will help me to find my path again."
"Our path."
"Yes, ours."
He took my hands and lifted me to my feet.
"Go and get your things," he said. "Dreams mean work."
END