He slept a few times with an introverted nun, and even once wth a pope. I leave it to you, he said, to decide if a pope is more likely to be an introvert or an extrovert. Cuál? What kind, flavor, type of temperament wants to change the very earth on its axis, the tides as they approach and recede? I learned so much about the moon, he continued. Yes, I did. I learned also about discretion, about the stories that need to be told by history, rather than by their immediate narrators.
He came from a long line of questioners, not quantifiers, and right away, that made him suspect. If you do question, if instead of counting you dance or paint, or live somehow in the world that is spun like a paint mixer or an aerialist, then the question of concrete, linear narrative will sometimes be thin and untenable, thin and burnt like sugar at the state fair, and sometimes the attempt to organize, quantify and justify only makes our aerialists dizzy. Of all the places to be dizzy, hanging from a rope over an unknown abyss is absolutely the most dizzying.
He had a spider once with a thin web and a very tall building and a day that was bright and sunny but with wind. He and spider hung suspended from the question of gravity over a tall building in a clear blue city, and they did not know what to do, only that up there in the air all was high and thin and wild, and that falling would be antithetical, would shock their little spider skeletons long before they ever touched down. Spider and he held hands, held hands and made a web of silk and longing, of silk and human hair, of silk and handprints reaching one to one to one to one down the side of the very tall building, all lit with green and violet lights, and when earth came up to meet them she was gentle as dandelions, soft as kiss, almost as imperceptible as hope itself.