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.