“At two o’clock precisely an assistant of Nasrudin’s came in, saying that, for unavoidable reasons, the lecture would begin late. Some got up indignantly asked for their money back, and left. Even so a lot of people remained both inside and outside the lecture hall.
“By four in the afternoon, the Sufi master had still not appeared, and people gradually began to leave the place, picking up their money at the box office. The working day was coming to an end; it was time to go home. By six o’clock, the original seventeen hundred spectators had dwindled to less than a hundred.
“At that moment Nasrudin came in. He appeared to be extremely drunk and began to flirt with a beautiful young woman sitting in the front row.
“Astonished, the people who had remained began to feel indignant. How could the man behave like that after making them wait four solid hours? There were some disapproving murmurs, but the Sufi master ignored them. He went on, in a loud voice, to say how sexy the young woman was, and invited her to go with him to France.”
Some teacher! thought Veronika. Just as well I’ve never believed in such things.
“After cursing the people who were complaining, Nasrudin tried to get up but fell heavily to the floor. Disgusted, more people decided to leave, saying it was pure charlatanism, that they would denounce the degrading spectacle to the press.
Only nine people remained. As soon as the final group of outraged spectators had left, Nasrudin got up; he was completely sober, his eyes glowed, and he had about him an air of great authority and wisdom. “Those of you who stayed are the ones who will hear me.” he said. “You have passed through the two hardest tests on the spiritual road: the patience to wait for the right moment and the courage not to be disappointed with what you encounter. It is you I will teach.”
“And Nasrudin shared with them some of the Sufi techniques.”
The man paused and took a strange flute out of his pocket.
“Let’s take a short break now, and then we’ll do our meditation.”
The members of the group stood up. Veronika didn’t know what to do.
“You get up too,” said Mari, grabbing her hand. “We’ve got a five-minute break.”
“I’ll leave, I don’t want to be in the way.”
Mari led her to one corner.
“Haven’t you learned anything, not even with the approach of death? Stop thinking all the time that you’re in the way, that you’re bothering the person next to you. If people don’t like it, they can complain. And if they don’t have the courage to complain, that’s their problem.”
“That day, when I came over to you, I was doing something I’d never dared to do before.”
“And you allowed yourself to be cowed by a joke made by a lunatic. Why didn’t you just stick to your guns? What did you have to lose?”
“My dignity, by being where I wasn’t welcome.”
“What’s dignity? It’s wanting everyone to think you’re good, well-behaved, full of love for your fellow man. Have some respect for nature, watch a few films about animals, and see how they fight for their own space. We all heartily approved of that slap of yours.”
Veronika did not have any more time to spend fighting for space, and so she changed the subject and asked who the man in the suit was.
“You’re improving.” Mari laughed. “You now ask questions without worrying about whether you’re being indiscreet or not. He’s a Sufi master.”
“What does ‘Sufi’ mean?”
“Wool”
Veronika didn’t understand. Wool?
“Sufism is the spiritual tradition of the dervishes. Its teachers never strive to show how wise they are, and their disciples go into a trance by performing a kind of whirling dance.”
“What’s the point of that?”
“I’m not quite sure, but our group has resolved to investigate all prohibited experiences. All my life, the government taught us that the only purpose of searching for a spiritual meaning to life was to make people forget about their real problems. Now tell me this: Wouldn’t you say that trying to understand life was a real problem?”
Yes, it was, although Veronika wasn’t sure any more what the word “real” meant.
The man in the suit—a Sufi master, according to Mari—asked them all to sit in a circle. From a vase he removed all the flowers but one, a single red rose, and this he placed in the center of the group.
“You see how far we’ve come?” said Veronika to Mari. “Some madman decided it was possible to grow flowers in winter, and nowadays, throughout Europe, we have roses all year round. Do you think even a Sufi master, with all his knowledge, could do that?”
Mari seemed to guess her thoughts.
“Save your criticisms for later.”
“I’ll try to, although all I have is the present, and a very brief one too, it seems.”
“That’s all anyone has, and it’s always very brief, although, of course, some people believe they have a past where they can accumulate things and a future where they will accumulate still more. By the way, speaking of the present moment, do you masturbate a lot?”
Although still under the effects of the sedative she had been given, Veronika was immediately reminded of the first words she had heard in Villete.
“When I was first brought here and was still full of tubes from the artificial respirator, I clearly heard someone asking me if I wanted to be masturbated. What is all that about? Why do you people spend your time thinking about such things?”
“It’s the same outside; it’s just that here we don’t need to hide the fact.”
“Was it you who asked me?”
“No, but I think that, as far as pleasure is concerned, you do need to discover how far you can go. Next time, with a little patience, you might be able to take your partner there too, instead of waiting to be guided by him. Even if you have only two days to live, I don’t think you should leave this life without knowing how far you can go.”
“Only if my partner is the schizophrenic who’s right now waiting to hear me play the piano again.”
“He’s certainly nice looking.”
The man in the suit interrupted their conversation with a call for silence. He told everyone to concentrate on the rose and to empty their minds.
“The thoughts will come back, but try to push them to one side. You have two choices: to control your mind or to let your mind control you. You’re already familiar with the latter experience, allowing yourself to be swept along by fears, neuroses, insecurity, for we all have self-destructive tendencies.
“Don’t confuse insanity with a loss of control. Remember that in the Sufi tradition, the master—Nasrudin—is the one everyone calls the madman. And it is precisely because his fellow citizens consider him insane that Nasrudin can say whatever he thinks and do whatever he wants. So it was with court jesters in the Middle Ages; they could alert the king to dangers that the ministers would not dare to comment on because they were afraid of losing their positions.
“That’s how it should be with you; stay insane, but behave like normal people. Run the risk of being different, but learn to do so without attracting attention. Concentrate on this flower and allow the real “I” to reveal itself.”
“What is the real “I”?” asked Veronika. Perhaps everyone else there knew, but what did it matter. She must learn to care less about annoying others.
The man seemed surprised by the interruption, but he answered her question.
“It’s what you are, not what others make of you.”
Veronika decided to do the exercise, concentrating as hard as she could on discovering who she was. During those days in Villete, she had felt things she had never before felt with such intensity—hatred, love, fear, curiosity, a desire to live. Perhaps Mari was right: Did she really know what it meant to have an orgasm? Or had she only gone as far as men had wanted to take her?