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«It was the devil», says Father Xavier, turning to me, after a few moments spent in silence staring at the window. «He always tries to spoil good things, just like your Path to the Atlantic Ocean, Richardo.»
I remember that tree with a demonic shape I saw between Saint Jean Pied de Port and the Orisson refuge: even if for a short time, it had upset me.
Father Xavier sits next to me, takes my hands in his, and continues: «He is envious. Envious of that enthusiasm, of that faith that, even if I dare to call it secular, I read in your eyes and in Stefania's when you arrived here in Roncesvalles some time ago. I remember well, it was your second day on the Way. Ah! Stefania, Stefania, that poor and unfortunate girl, who knows where she is now; until a few days ago you were together and now…». He gets up and goes back to the window. «Now more than ever, your faith is the only way to overcome these terrible moments, son.»
He sighs while keeping a humble and loving gaze towards me. «Embrace her intensely and hold her close to you, it is the only thing you can do now; I hope with all my soul that peace and serenity will flourish in you.»
We hear footsteps in the next room and Father Xavier, opening a small wooden door, peeps out and calls Ahim, who joins us after a few seconds. He asks me and the Arab boy to have a few minutes of meditation with him, and then kneels at the feet of the Holy Virgin. He hears the song of the shepherds who go to the cave in the magical night and begins to pray: «Holy Virgin help our lives...». Slowly the tone of his voice is lowered until it turns into silence. Alas, on the other hand, he hears the call of the Muezzin and kneels towards Mecca, with his face on the ground and his arms forward; he recites some verses of the Koran in Arabic, among which I discern only the word Allah and, little by little, his voice also fades. I take the yoga position of the lotus by breathing deeply and, by pronouncing the Om, I soon feel enveloped in a feeling of well-being; I see myself floating in the Universe among a thousand colors and a harp sings a celestial melody, in which I recognize Albinoni's Adagio.
Thus I perceive the embrace of Life and I recite some verses written by me a few years ago: «And now that the shadows in the soul are thinning out, a serene Light makes room in me and I live.» And I am quiet too.
A sky dotted with stars has recently replaced a sunny and splendid day in mid-October, when I take leave of Father Xavier. I have to admit that our meeting made me feel better and gave me some peace. I take a tour, then sit on a bench in the square adjacent to the pilgrim's hostel, where I will sleep tonight, and then leave for Rome in the morning.
I remember the afternoon when Stefania and I, for me St, arrived here and, in particular, the Spaniard from Seville, met at the Orisson refuge the previous day, together with a group of French people, a Dutchman with his wife and a Belgian girl, the only one whose name I remember: Marin. Right in this square, the Spaniard called us aloud «Italians!» and smiled saying that he had already arrived a long time ago; then he showed us his blistered feet. We chatted about the first two days of the Way and he invited us to participate in the pilgrim function, indicating the place where it would take place shortly thereafter. We had already heard of it, it is renowned among walkers, but only he knew how to instill in us curiosity and desire such as to induce us to take part in it.
I stare at the sky for a moment, then I sigh and take my mobile phone from my backpack in which I have the photos and notes of the Way to the Ocean with St. I start to consult them and relive every moment.
