This time I dared to reply with a kiss.

      She didn't turn away after the kiss, either, as she had done before, but kept on smiling. "Allow me to invite you to the Taj Mahal," she replied.

      "The Taj Mahal? Don't you think India is a bit far away?" I asked.

      She laughed. "There is a Taj Mahal right here in Caracas; a restaurant called the Taj Mahal."

      "Now that's what I call, an invitation well worth waiting for," I replied.



      On the way to the restaurant, that very same evening, she asked, "Did you know that the Taj Mahal was build by a powerful ruler as a temple dedicated to his love? It became one of the great wonders of the world. Isn't it amazing, what wonders love can motivate. The Taj Mahal in India is said to be a most exquisite shrine, both in architecture and workmanship, and in the fine artwork that abounds in it. The whole project was a work of love in every respect; a temple to Love. Don't you think this might be the right environment for us to continue where we left off?"



      I agreed. It was the right environment. The restaurant was cool, dark, illumined by ornate lamps that appeared to have come directly from India. Indian tapestries and paintings decorated the walls. The atmosphere was quiet. Traditional Indian music, barely audible, added to the intimate atmosphere of the place. There was probably no better place for love-bound conversation in all of Caracas. "But we can't go back to where we left off," I replied to Anton, "because we have both moved ahead, scientifically and spiritually. We can't go back to positions outgrown. Still, we can join hands and move ahead. The past is history. We were like children then, exploring the world as children do. Now we can laugh about our fears and agonies, and our terrible mistakes like my Byzantine speech. That speech was inexcusable, even if it was technically correct. It was morally inexcusable. I came barging into your life with it, and tore your house down. I told you that your house is not good enough, so I tore it down and left it at that. I didn't replace it with a better one. I didn't even know what a better one looks like. Can you forgive me for this terrible arrogance? We certainly can't go back to that. You were right not to contact me for all those years, because I had nothing to give to you to replace the house with, that I tore down. I've been stuck in a rut ever since, until just recently."

      "Yes!" she agreed, "something has happened at your end of the world, recently. Something is moving in your life. Nicolai said something to that effect, several times. We were certainly both delighted by the way you people have turned the whole conference upside down, ripping up the agenda and all that. You caused an Earthquake. We have felt the tremors all the way in Russia. Yes, I felt you had something to offer this time, that I wanted to be a part of. It appears to be something good, and noble; but what precisely is it?"

      "I think we have been waking up," I replied. "Ross' research; Nicolai's honesty; a lot of love by a lot people; some deep searching thinking; all of these had something to do with it."

      I suddenly remembered Ross' suggestion, to bring a candle along. Fortunately, the restaurant was able to supply one, but I presented my own candlelight story. "I want to be that candle," I said to her. "I want to bring light into the world. I always did, and I made many mistakes in trying to light it. But now that it is lit, I hope that a tiny bit of it, maybe even a lot of it, will brighten the light in your life too. I don't know what the footsteps will be to do that, maybe they will change every day and become lighter every day, but they will always be focused on brightening the world in which we live, which is your world too. I can also say that we have made a lot of progress in that direction. Especially I have, in rediscovering my generosity as a human person that I had almost totally lost. I hope you'll feel the light of that, too. Naturally, we also had a lot of fun when things finally began to work out."

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Stories about  Sex from novels by Rolf A. F. Witzsche