He tried to love them all in the fire of their divine glory. He left himself
a fool walking around, making always the wrong remark, doing always
the wrong move, until he kneeled and gave his soul only to find out that
angels and daemons, they all had only his own wisdom, and in proportions
not very masterly assigned. He was tired of himself, whether a lord of a secret
society or the chief of the archangels, or just the stupid, he was very tired
now, tired of being tired, he didn't want him any more, in any form.
The candle
of the icon is spent. The abbey returned to the sea -not even an island now. Jean came back to his hotel and
made himself as comfortable as he could be in his chair, beside the European
shore. Everything was the same and yet very changed. He had been here
before, that is for sure, but all seemed so imperishable, so incorruptible -
he feared to say "eternal". He thought of writing a letter to Paul, on how a nightmare can
be so terribly
alive. For a moment which he barely noticed, he wished he were someone else,
whoever. Slowly he got up and went to the shore. There was this girl who asked
him for some information. He was sad, he could hardly speak, but he managed
to help her, pazzled how anyone might want to speak to him.
He walked under the heat and the glare. A
man was coming on. When he approached, Jean looked at him. He also looked at
Jean with a side-glance. His eyes were dark, small, sparkling and violent. Jean was scared
and dropped his eyes. "He realised that I saw him?" he feared. And he continued walking,
collecting himself. Sometime he gazed upon the large trees beside the
ancient sea, he saw the bright heaven, still and beautiful. "It's impossible", he thought, "it's unbelievable, how good
he is,
how merciful, how hospitable, how discreet, even in hell. This is
your hell, my Lord? This is?"
