MY MOTHER

In May my mother fell seriously ill. She died a few months later towards the end of 1989. During all that time, I hardly remembered my friends though I could have, and I'm sure I did, try to contact them. At the end of her days I was exhausted and I understood that they could have helped me a lot. Gatsby did not call me for six months, something very unusual. I resented it. "He only gets in touch with me when he needs something", I told myself.

A few days later, Gatsby called me and spoke in a joking tone. I let him know about the death of my mother. Suddenly silence fell. After a long pause Jimmy appeared.

"Gatsby is in a state of shock. Don't worry. I wanted it to be like that", he said.

I did not understand why he said that. I was not in the slightest bit concerned about him. Neither Gatsby, nor Jimmy, nor anyone.

"Your mother is well. Calm down. We'll talk again tomorrow", Jimmy told me.

I needed to hear those few words. I calmed down, my muscles relaxed. I became more serene.

From that moment onwards I started to reminisce about the death of my mother more calmly. A concern took hold of me. I thought I had noticed something in her attitude in her last days that I thought might be a problem in the spiritual world. Something that, if she maintained in her new home, might be an impediment, a barrier that would stop her extending her gaze into that reality. That was in my thoughts when I called Gatsby. It was Jimmy who picked up the phone. I did not say anything about these thoughts.

"Don't worry about your mother; you must take into account that many chains are broken at the moment of death", he said. "She is well. She is with me. She is now part of the Cause."

I never would have believed that the fact that Jimmy would tell me that my mother was with him would have the effect of giving me such peace of mind. It seemed clear that I appreciated Jimmy more than I was admitting to myself.

At the end of the conversation, Gatsby appeared. As a way of saying goodbye, he told me that from that moment onwards I had the opportunity of living life in communion with my mother. I then remembered the words that Gatsby used one day, the first year that we knew each other.

"Life does not 'go on', as people customarily say when someone dies. It changes to another form of connection."

I understood then that life does not 'go on', as they often say to the affected one, attempting to establish a direction in life in the absence of the deceased. One must follow him there, wherever it is, and reestablish that link. For the enormous heart of my friend it was unthinkable to abandon a loved one, even after death. It would almost be a despicable act to do such a thing, precisely when difficulties appeared. That was my friend. Even then he had a lion's heart.

Walking home I felt that an enormous weight had been lifted from me. I walked very quickly. I wonder how one could extend the relief that I felt to other people who found themselves in despair because of the death of a loved one. If I had experienced it, others could experience it. But how to achieve that?

On entering I met my father. I seemed to be seeing someone who was missing half of his body and doesn't know where the missing half has gone to. I could not find a way to help him. At that moment, the world appeared to me divided into those who live enclosed in themselves like my father, and a few fortunate ones like me. I did not think it was fair.

THE HAND THAT ROCKS THE CRADLE

In November I went back to work. At that time I worked in an office. I had at my disposal a telephone for personal use, and with it I used to get in touch with Gatsby. It was not long before it became very obvious that the telephone was being tapped. There was no attempt to disguise it. Sometimes one could even hear laughter in the background or the line was suddenly cut. Gatsby commented to me that Demian already knew that I was his main support. It appeared to me that Demian had too many resources compared to my friend.

In December of 1989, I asked for a new loan. Gatsby needed money for his journeys. He appeared to be continuously looking for something. One day he called me from Barcelona.