My eyes were fixed on the railway tracks. Esther and I, walking along parallel to each other, never touching. Two destinies that...
Railway tracks.
How far apart were they?
In order to forget about the Zahir, I tried asking one of the platform staff.
"They're 143.5 centimeters, or 4 feet 81/2 inches, apart," he replied.
He seemed to be a man at peace with life, proud of his job; he didn't fit Esther's stereotype at all, that we all harbor a great sadness in our soul.
But his answer didn't make any sense at all: 143.5 centimeters or 4 feet 81/2 inches?
Absurd. Logically, it should be either 150 centimeters or 5 feet. A round number, easy for builders of carriages and railway employees to remember.
"But why?" I asked the man.
"Because that's the width between the wheels on the carriages."
"But surely the wheels are that distance apart because the tracks are."
"Look, just because I work in a railway station doesn't mean I know everything about trains. That's just the way things are."
He was no longer a happy person, at peace with his work; he could answer one question, but could go no further. I apologized and spent what remained of the fifteen minutes staring at the tracks, feeling intuitively that they were trying to tell me something.
Strange though it may seem, the tracks seemed to be saying something about my marriage, and about all marriages.
The actor arrived, and he was far nicer than I expected, despite being so famous. I left him at my favorite hotel and went home. To my surprise, Marie was there waiting for me, saying that, due to adverse weather conditions, filming had been put off until the following week.
I assume that, since today is Thursday, you'll be going to the restaurant."
"Do you want to come too?"
"Yes, I do. Why? Would you prefer to go alone?"
"Yes, I would."
"Well, I've decided to come anyway. The man hasn't yet been born who can tell me where I can and cannot go."
"Do you know why all railway tracks are 143.5 centimeters apart?"
"I can try and find out on the Internet. Is it important?"
"Very."
"Leaving railway tracks to one side for the moment, I was talking to some friends of mine who are fans of your books. They think that anyone who can write books like A Time to Rend and a Time to Sew, or the one about the shepherd or the pilgimage to Santiago, must be some kind of sage who has an answer for everything."
"Which is not quite true, as you know."
"What is the truth, then? How is it that you can pass on to your
readers things that are beyond your own knowledge?"
"They're not beyond my knowledge. Everything that's written in my books is part of my soul, part of the lessons I've learned throughout my life, and which I try to apply to myself. I'm a reader of my own books. They show me things that I already knew, even if only unconsciously."
"What about the reader?"
"I think it's the same for the reader. A book--and we could be talking about anything here, a film, a piece of music, a garden, the view of a mountain--reveals something. 'Reveal' means both to unveil and to reveil. Removing the veil from something that already exists is different from me trying to teach others the secret of how to live a better life.