A few, when they heard the news, felt rather sad, especially the nurses who had been with Veronika during her time in the Intensive Care Unit, but the employees had been trained not to develop strong bonds with the patients, because some left, others died, and the great majority got steadily worse. Their sadness lasted a little longer, and then that too passed.
The vast majority of the inmates, however, heard the news, pretended to be shocked and sad, but actually felt relieved because once more the exterminating angel had passed over Villete, and they had been spared.
When the Fraternity got together after supper, one member of the group gave them a message: Mari had not gone to the movies, she had left, never to return, and had given him a note.
No one seemed to attach much importance to the matter: She had always seemed different, rather too crazy, incapable of adapting to the ideal situation in which they all lived in Villete.
“Mari never understood how happy we are here,” said one of them. “We are friends with common interests, we have a routine, sometimes we go out on trips together, invite lecturers here to talk about important matters, then we discuss their ideas. Our life has reached a perfect equilibrium, something that many people outside would love to achieve.”
“Not to mention the fact that in Villete we are protected from unemployment, the consequences of the war in Bosnia, from economic problems and violence,” said another. “We have found harmony.”
“Mari left me this note,” said the one who had given them the news, holding up a sealed envelope. “She asked me to read it out loud, as if she were saying good-bye to us all.”
The oldest member of the group opened the envelope and did as Mari had asked. He was tempted to stop halfway, but by then it was too late, and so he read to the end.
“When I was still a young lawyer, I read some poems by an English poet, and something he said impressed me greatly: ‘Be like the fountain that overflows, not like the cistern that merely contains.’ I always thought he was wrong. It was dangerous to overflow, because we might end up flooding areas occupied by our loved ones and drowning them with our love and enthusiasm. All my life I did my best to be a cistern, never going beyond the limits of my inner walls.
“Then, for some reason I will never understand, I began suffering from panic attacks. I became the kind of person I had fought so hard to avoid becoming: I became a fountain that overflowed and flooded everything around me. The result was my internment in Villete.
“After I was cured, I returned to the cistern and I met all of you. Thank you for your friendship, for your affection, and for many happy moments. We lived together like fish in an aquarium, contented because someone threw us food when we needed it, and we could, whenever we wanted to, see the world outside through the glass.
“But yesterday, because of a piano and a young woman who is probably dead by now, I learned something very important: Life inside is exactly the same as life outside. Both there and here, people gather together in groups; they build their walls and allow nothing strange to trouble their mediocre existences. They do things because they’re used to doing them, they study useless subjects, they have fun because they’re supposed to have fun, and the rest of the world can go hang—let them sort themselves out. At the very most, they watch the news on television—as we often did—as confirmation of their happiness in a world full of problems and injustices.
“What I’m saying is that the life of the Fraternity is exactly the same as the lives of almost everyone outside Villete, carefully avoiding all knowledge of what lies beyond the glass walls of the aquarium. For a long time it was comforting and useful, but people change, and now I’m off in search of adventure, even though I’m sixty-five and fully aware of all the limitations that age can bring. I’m going to Bosnia. There are people waiting for me there. Although they don’t yet know me, and I don’t know them. But I’m sure I can be useful, and the danger of an adventure is worth a thousand days of ease and comfort.”
When he had finished reading the note, the members of the Fraternity all went to their rooms and wards, telling themselves that Mari had finally gone insane.
Eduard and Veronika chose the most expensive restaurant in Ljubljana, ordered the finest dishes, and got drunk on three bottles of 1988 wine, one of the best vintages of the century. During supper they did not once mention Villete or the past or the future.
“I like that story about the snake,” he said, filling her glass for then th time. “But your grandmother was too old to be able to interpret the story correctly.”
“Have a little respect for my grandmother, please!” roared Veronika drunkenly, making everyone in the restaurant turn around.
“A toast to this young woman’s grandmother!” said Eduard, jumping to his feet. “A toast to the grandmother of this madwoman sitting here before me, who is doubtless some escapee from Villete!”
People turned their attention back to their food, pretending that nothing was happening.
“A toast to my grandmother!” insisted Veronika.
The owner of the restaurant came to their table.
“Will you please behave!”
They became quiet for a few moments but soon resumed their loud talking, their nonsensical remarks, and inappropriate behavior. The owner of the restaurant went back to their table, told them they didn’t need to pay the bill, but they had to leave that instant.
“Think of the money we’ll save on that exorbitantly expensive wine,” said Eduard. “Let’s leave before this gentleman changes his mind.”
But the man wasn’t about to change his mind. He was already pulling at Veronika’s chair, an apparently courteous gesture intended to get her out of the restaurant as quickly as possible.
They walked to the middle of the small square in the center of the city. Veronika looked up at her convent room and her drunkenness vanished. She remembered that soon she would die.
“Let’s buy some more wine!” said Eduard.
There was a bar nearby. Eduard bought two bottles, and the two of them sat down and continued drinking.
“What’s wrong with my grandmother’s interpretation of the painting?” said Veronika.
Eduard was so drunk that he had to make an immense effort to remember what he had said in the restaurant, but he managed it.
“Your grandmother said that the woman was standing on the snake because love must master good and evil.
It’s a nice, romantic interpretation, but it’s nothing to do with that. I’ve seen that image before, it’s one of the visions of paradise I imagined painting. I used to wonder why they always depicted the Virgin like that.”
“And why do they?”
“Because the Virgin equals female energy and is the mistress of the snake, which signifies wisdom. If you look at the ring Dr. Igor wears, you’ll see that it bears the physician’s symbol: two serpents coiled around a stick. Love is above wisdom, just as the Virgin is above the snake. For her everything is inspiration. She doesn’t bother judging what is good and what evil.”
“Do you know something else?” said Veronika. “The Virgin never took any notice of what others might think of her. Imagine having to explain to everyone that business about the Holy Ghost. She didn’t explain anything, she just said: ‘That’s what happened.’ And do you know what the others must have said?”
“Of course. That she was insane.”
They both laughed. Veronika raised her glass.
“Congratulations. You should paint those visions of paradise rather than just talking about them.”
“I’ll begin with you,” said Eduard.
Beside the small square there is a small hill. On top of the small hill there is a small castle. Veronika and Eduard trudged up the steep path, cursing and laughing, slipping on the ice, and complaining of exhaustion.
Beside the castle there is a gigantic yellow crane. To anyone coming to Ljubljana for the first time, the crane gives the impression that the castle is being restored and that work will soon be completed. The inhabitants of Ljubljana, however, know that the crane has been there for many years, although no one knows why. Veronika told Eduard that when children in kindergarten are asked to draw the castle of Ljubljana, they always include the crane in the drawing.
“Besides, the crane is much better preserved than the castle.”
Eduard laughed.
“You should be dead by now,” he said, still under the effects of alcohol, but with a flicker of fear in his voice. “Your heart shouldn’t have survived that climb.”
Veronika gave him a long, lingering kiss.
“Look at my face,” she said. “Remember it with the eyes of your soul, so that you can reproduce it one day. If you like that can be your starting point, but you must go back to painting. That is my last request. Do you believe in God?”
“I do.”
“Then you must swear by the God you believe in that you will paint me.”
“I swear.”
“And that after painting me, you will go on painting.”
“I don’t know if I can swear that.”
“You can. And thank you for giving meaning to my life. I came into this world in order to go through everything I’ve gone through: attempted suicide, ruining my heart, meeting you, coming up to this castle, letting you engrave my face on your soul. That is the only reason I came into the world, to make you go back to the path you strayed from. Don’t make me feel my life has been in vain.”
“I don’t know if it’s too early or too late, but, just as you did with me, I want to tell you that I love you. You don’t have to believe it, maybe it’s just foolishness, a fantasy of mine.”
Veronika put her arms around him and asked the God she did not believe in to take her at that very moment.
She closed her eyes and felt him doing the same. And a deep, dreamless sleep came upon her. Death was sweet; it smelled of wine and it stroked her hair.
Eduard felt someone prodding him in the shoulder. When he opened his eyes, day was breaking.
“You can go and shelter in the town hall, if you like,” said the policeman. “You’ll freeze if you stay here.”
In a second Eduard remembered everything that had happened the previous night. There was a woman lying curled in his arms.
“She… she’s dead.”
But the woman moved and opened her eyes.
“What’s going on?” asked Veronika.
“Nothing,” said Eduard, helping her to her feet. “Or rather a miracle happened: another day of life.”
As soon as Dr. Igor went into his consulting room and turned on the light—for daylight still arrived late and winter was dragging on far too long—a nurse knocked at his door.
Things have started early today , he said to himself.
It was going to be a difficult day because of the conversation he would have to have with Veronika. He had been building up to it all week, and had hardly slept a wink the previous night.
“I’ve got some troubling news,” said the nurse. “Two of the inmates have disappeared: the ambassador’s son and the girl with the heart problem.”
“Honestly, you’re a load of incompetents, you are; not that the security in this hospital has ever been up to much.”
“It’s just that no one’s ever tried to escape before,” said the nurse, frightened. “We didn’t know it was possible.”
“Get out of here! Now I’ll have to prepare a report for the owners, notify the police, take steps. Tell everyone I’m not to be disturbed; these things take hours!”
The nurse left, looking pale, knowing that a large part of that major problem would land on his own shoulders, because that is how the powerful deal with the weak. He would doubtless be dismissed before the day was out.
Dr. Igor picked up a pad, put it on the table, and began making notes; then he changed his mind.
He switched off the light and sat in the office precariously lit by the incipient sunlight, and he smiled. It had worked.
In a while he would make the necessary notes, describing the only known cure for Vitriol: an awareness of life. And describing the medication he had used in his first major test on patients: an awareness of death.
Perhaps other forms of medication existed, but Dr. Igor had decided to center his thesis around the one he had had the opportunity to experiment with scientifically, thanks to a young woman who had, quite unwittingly, become part of his fate. She had been in a terrible state when she arrived, suffering from a severe overdose, nearly in a coma. She had hovered between life and death for nearly a week, just the amount of time he needed to come up with a brilliant idea for his experiment.
Everything depended on one thing: the girl’s capacity to survive.
And she had, with no serious consequences, no irreversible health problems; if she looked after herself, she could live as long as or longer than him.
But Dr. Igor was the only one who knew this, just as he knew that failed suicides tend to repeat the attempt sooner or later.