Adultery(41)

I need something original, and he might be just the right person.

“You can’t publish my name. What I do isn’t covered by national insurance.”

I suppose that what he is really trying to say is: “What I do is illegal.”

I talk for nearly twenty minutes, trying to put him at ease, but the Cuban man spends the whole time studying me. He has tanned skin and gray hair, and he’s short and wears a suit and tie. I never imagined a shaman dressed like that.

I explain that everything he tells me will be kept secret. We’re just interested in knowing if many people seek his services. From what I hear, he has healing powers.

“That’s not true. I can’t heal people. Only God can do that.”

Okay, we agree. But every day we meet someone whose behavior suddenly changes from one moment to the next. And we wonder: What happened to this person I thought I knew? Why is he acting so aggressively? Is it stress at work?

And then the next day the person is normal again. You’re relieved, but soon after the rug is pulled out from under you when you least expect it. And this time, instead of asking what’s wrong with this person, you wonder what you did wrong.

The shaman says nothing. He still doesn’t trust me.

Is it curable?

“There’s a cure, but it belongs to God.”

Yes, I know, but how does God cure it?

“It varies. Look into my eyes.”

I obey and fall into some sort of trance, unable to control where I’m going.

“In the name of the forces that guide my work, by the power given to me, I ask the spirits who protect me to destroy your life and that of your family if you decide to turn me over to the police or report me to the immigration authorities.”

He waves his hand a few times around my head. It feels like the most surreal thing in the world, and I want to get up and leave. But when I come to, he’s already back to normal—neither friendly nor aloof.

“You may ask. I trust you now.”

I’m a little frightened. But it really isn’t my intention to harm this man. I order another cup of tea and explain exactly what I want. The doctors I “interviewed” say that healing takes a long time. The security guard suggested that—I weigh my words carefully—God was able to use the shaman as a channel to end a serious depression problem.

“We are the ones who create the messes in our heads. It does not come from outside. All you have to do is ask the aid of the guardian spirit who enters your soul and helps tidy the house. But no one believes in guardian spirits anymore. They are there watching us, dying to help, but no one calls on them. My job is to bring them closer to those in need and wait for them to do their work. That’s all.”

Let’s say, hypothetically, that during one of these moments of aggression, a person devises a Machiavellian plan to destroy another person. Like slandering someone at work, for example.

“It happens every day.”

I know, but when this aggression passes, when the person returns to normal, won’t they be consumed by guilt?

“Sure. And over the years, this merely worsens their condition.”

So Calvin’s motto—after the darkness, light—is wrong.

“What?”

Nothing. I was rambling on about the monument in the park.

“Yes, there is light at the end of the tunnel, if that’s what you mean. But sometimes, when the person crosses through the darkness and reaches the other side, he leaves an enormous path of destruction behind him.”

Perfect, back to the subject of your method.

“It’s not my method. It has been used for many years against stress, depression, irritability, suicide attempts, and the numerous other ways mankind has found to harm himself.” My God, I’ve found the right person. I need to keep my cool.

We could call it a …

“… self-induced trance. Self-hypnosis. Meditation. Every culture has a name for it. But remember that the Medical Society of Switzerland doesn’t look kindly upon these things.”

I explain that I do yoga and that I still can’t manage to reach the state where problems are sorted out and solved.

“Are we talking about you or a story for the newspaper?”

Both. I let down my guard because I know I have no secrets with this man. I was sure of it the moment he asked me to look into his eyes. I explain that his concern with anonymity is absolutely ridiculous—a lot of people know that he sees people at his house in Veyrier. And many people, including prison security guards, use his services. That’s what the guy at the paper explained to me.