Adultery (11 page)

Where is the lightning bolt that brought the monster to life?

No bolt from out of the blue. The traffic, which isn’t very heavy in this area, anyway, grows still thinner. My children will be waiting for their dinner, and my husband—who knows the state I’m in—will soon start to worry. But it’s as if I have a ball and chain around my feet. I still can’t move.

I’m a loser.

SHOULD
someone beg forgiveness for harboring an impossible Love?

No, certainly not.

Because God’s Love for us is also impossible. It’s never requited at the time, and yet He continues to love us. He loved us so much that He sent His only son to explain how Love is the force that moves the sun and all the stars. In one of his letters to the Corinthians (which we were made to learn by heart at school), Paul says:

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.

And we all know why. We often hear what seem to be great ideas to transform the world, but they are words spoken without feeling, empty of Love. However logical and intelligent they might be, they do not touch us.

Paul compares Love with Prophecy, with knowledge of the Mysteries, and with Faith and Charity.

Why is Love more important than Faith?

Because Faith is merely the road that leads us to the Greater Love.

Why is Love more important than Charity?

Because Charity is only one of the manifestations of Love. And the whole is always more important than the part. And Charity is also only one of the many roads that Love uses to bring man closer to his fellow man.

And we all know that there is a lot of Charity out there without Love. Every week, a “charity ball” is held. People pay
a fortune to buy a table, take part, and have fun in their jewels and their expensive clothes. We leave thinking that the world is a better place because of the amount of money collected for the homeless in Somalia, the refugees from Yemen, or the starving in Ethiopia. We stop feeling guilty about the cruel display of poverty, but we never ask ourselves where that money is going.

Those without the right contacts to go to a charity ball or those who can’t afford such extravagance will pass by a beggar and give him a coin. Fine. What could be easier than tossing a coin at a beggar in the street? It’s usually easier than not doing so.

What a sense of relief, and for just one coin! It’s cheap and solves the beggar’s problem.

However, if we really loved him, we would do a lot more for him.

Or we would do nothing. We wouldn’t give him that coin and—who knows?—our sense of guilt at such poverty might awaken real Love in us.

Paul then goes on to compare Love with sacrifice and martyrdom.

I understand his words better today. Even if I were the most successful woman in the world, even if I were more admired and more desired than Marianne König, it would be worth nothing if I had no Love in my heart.
Nothing.

Whenever I interview artists or politicians, social workers or doctors, students or civil servants, I always ask: “What is your objective, your goal?” Some say: to start a family. Others say: to get on in my career. But when I probe deeper and ask again, the automatic response is: to make the world a better place.

I feel like going to the Mont Blanc Bridge in Geneva with a manifesto printed in letters of gold and handing it to every passing person and car. On it will be written:

I ask all those who hope to one day work for the good of humanity: never forget that even if you deliver up your body to be burned, you gain nothing if you have not Love. Nothing!

There is nothing more important we can give than the Love reflected in our own lives. That is the one universal language that allows us to speak Chinese or the dialects of India. When I was young, I traveled a lot—it was part of every student’s rite of passage. I visited countries both rich and poor. I did not usually speak the local language, but everywhere the silent eloquence of Love helped me make myself understood.

The message of Love is in the way I live my life, and not in my words or my deeds.

In the letter to the Corinthians, Paul tells us, in three short lines, that Love is made of many elements, like light. We learn at school that if we pick up a prism and allow a ray of light to pass through, that ray will divide into seven colors, those of the rainbow.

Paul shows us the rainbow of Love just as a prism reveals to us the rainbow of light.

And what are those elements? They are virtues we hear about every day and that we can practice in every moment.

Patience: Love is patient …

Kindness:… and kind.

Generosity: Love does not envy …

Humility:… or boast; it is not arrogant …

Courtesy:… or rude.

Unselfishness: It does not insist on its own way.

Good temper: It is not irritable … or resentful.

Guilelessness:
or resentful.

Sincerity: It does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth.

All these gifts concern us, our daily lives, and today and tomorrow, not with Eternity.

The problem is that people tend to relate these traits to the Love of God, but how does God’s Love manifest itself? Through the Love of man.

To find Peace in the heavens, we must find love on Earth. Without it, we are worthless.

I love and no one can take that away from me. I love my husband, who always supports me. I think I also love another man, whom I met in my youth. And while I was walking toward him, one lovely autumn afternoon, I dropped all my defenses and cannot rebuild them. I’m vulnerable, but I don’t regret that.

This morning, when I was drinking a cup of coffee, I looked at the gentle light outside and remembered that walk, asking myself for the last time: Am I trying to create a real problem to drive away my imaginary ones? Am I really in love or have I simply transformed all the last month’s unpleasant feelings into a fantasy?

No. God would never be so unfair as to allow me to fall in love like that if there were not some possibility for that love being requited.

But sometimes Love demands that you fight for it. And that’s just what I will do. In the pursuit of justice, I have to ward off evil without exasperation or impatience. When Marianne is long gone and he is with me, Jacob will thank me for the rest of our lives.

Or he will leave again, but I will be left with the feeling that I fought as hard as I could.

I’m a new woman. I am pursuing something that won’t come to me of its own free will. He is married and believes any false move might compromise his career.

So what do I need to concentrate on? On undoing his marriage without him realizing it.

I AM
going to meet my first drug dealer!

I live in a country that has decided to happily shut itself off from the world. When you decide to visit the villages around Geneva, one thing becomes immediately clear: there is nowhere to park, unless you can use an acquaintance’s garage.

The message is: don’t come here, outsiders, because the view of the lake below, the majestic Alps on the horizon, the wildflowers in the springtime, and the golden hue of the vineyards in autumn, all are the legacy of our ancestors who lived here completely undisturbed. And we want to keep it that way, outsiders, so don’t come here. Even if you were born and raised in the next city over, we are not interested in what you have to say. If you want to park your car, look for a big city, full of spaces for just that.

We are so isolated from the world that we still believe in the threat of major nuclear war. All Swiss buildings are required to have fallout shelters. A deputy recently tried to annul this law, but Parliament stood against it: Yes, there may never be a nuclear war, but what about the threat of chemical weapons? We must protect our citizens. So the costly fallout shelters continue to be built, and are used as wine cellars and storage spaces while we wait for the Apocalypse.

There are some things, however, that despite all our efforts to remain an island of peace, we cannot keep from crossing our borders.

Drugs, for example.

National governments attempt to control the suppliers and close their eyes to the buyers. We may live in paradise, but aren’t we all stressed by traffic, responsibilities, deadlines, and boredom? Drugs stimulate productivity (cocaine) and relieve
tension (hashish). So, not wanting to give a bad example to the world, we
both prohibit and tolerate them at the same time.

But whenever the problem begins to take on noticeable proportions, some celebrity or public figure gets arrested with narcotics by “coincidence.” The case winds up in the media as an example to discourage young people and show the public that the government has everything under control. Woe to those who refuse to comply with the law!

This happens, at most, once a year. But I don’t believe that it’s only once a year that someone important decides to break with routine and go to the underpass at Mont Blanc Bridge to buy something from the dealers who appear like clockwork every day. If that were the case, the dealers would be long gone for lack of clientele.

I arrive at the underpass. Families come and go while the suspicious characters stay put, not bothering one another or reacting, except when a young couple chatting in a foreign language strolls by, or when an executive in a suit walks through the underpass and turns back around immediately to look directly in their eyes.

The first time I walk through and reach the other side, where I take a sip of mineral water and complain about the cold to a person I’ve never seen before. She doesn’t reply, immersed in her own world. I return and the same men are there. We make eye contact, but for once, there are a lot of people passing by. It’s lunchtime and people should be at the overpriced restaurants that dot the neighborhood, trying to make an important business deal or wine and dine the tourist who came to the city in search of work.

I wait a bit and walk by a third time. I make eye contact again, and one man asks me to follow him with a simple nod. Never in my life did I imagine I would be doing this, but this year has been so unusual that I no longer find my behavior strange.

I feign an air of nonchalance and go after him.

We walk two or three minutes to the Jardin Anglais. We pass tourists taking photos in front of the flower clock, one of the city’s landmarks. We cross by the station of the small train that runs around the lake, as though we were in Disneyland. Finally, we arrive at the jetty and look at the water like we’re a couple gazing at the Jet d’Eau, the gigantic fountain that reaches up to one hundred forty meters high and has long been the symbol of Geneva.

He waits for me to say something, but I worry that my voice will shake in spite of my self-confident pose. I sit quietly and force him to break the silence:

“Ganja, crystal, acid, or blow?”

Okay, I’m lost. I don’t know what to answer, and the man can tell he’s dealing with a novice. I’ve been tested and I didn’t pass.

He laughs. I ask if he thinks I’m with the police.

“Of course not. The police would know immediately what I’m talking about.”

I explain that it’s my first time doing this.

“You can tell. A woman dressed like you would never bother coming down here. You could ask your nephew or a work colleague for leftovers from their personal stash. That’s why I brought you to the edge of the lake. We could have done the deal as we walked, and then I wouldn’t be wasting so much of my time. But I want to know exactly what you’re looking for, and if you need advice.”

He wasn’t wasting his time; he must have been dying of boredom just standing around in that underpass. In the three times I walked past, there hadn’t been a single interested customer.

“All right, I’ll repeat in terms you might understand: hashish, amphetamines, LSD, or cocaine?”

I ask if he has crack or heroin. He says those drugs are banned. I want to tell him that the ones he mentioned are also banned, but I bite my tongue.

It’s not for me, I explain. It’s for an enemy.

“You mean revenge? You want to kill someone with an overdose? Please, lady, find somebody else.”

He begins to walk away, but I stop him and plead for him to listen to me. I note that desperation has likely already doubled the price.

As far as I know, the person in question doesn’t do drugs, I explain. But she has seriously harmed my romantic relationship. I just want to set a trap for her.

“That’s going against the ethics of God.”

Will you look at that? Someone who sells addictive and possibly deadly products is trying to put me on the right path!

I tell him my story. I’ve been married for ten years, I have two wonderful children. My husband and I have the same kind of smartphone, and two months ago I grabbed his by accident.

“You don’t use a security code?”

Of course not. We trust each other. Or maybe his has one, but it was deactivated at that moment. What’s important is I found around four hundred texts and several photos of an attractive blond woman who is well-off, by the looks of it. I did what I shouldn’t have. I made a scene. I asked him who she was, and he didn’t deny it—he said she was the woman he loved. He was glad that I had found out before he had to tell me.

“That happens very often.”

The dealer has gone from pastor to marriage counselor! But I keep going—because I am getting excited about the story I’m telling as I invent it. I asked him to move out. He agreed, and the next day he left me with our two children to go live with the love of his life. But she didn’t take very kindly to this plan, as she thought it much more fun to be in a relationship
with a married man than to live with a husband she didn’t choose.

“Women! It’s impossible to understand you!”