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For one day, 29 November, I sat with death. Being a Christian, I believe the question the Lamb of God will ask me isn’t ‘How much have you sinned?’ but ‘How much have you loved?’ I felt immensely grateful that I’ve been able to share the last 33 years with Christina, my wife. Not many people find the love of their life; I did. (It did, though, take me four marriages to find her.) Christina and I have had the fullest experience of love, that sense of complicity and surrendering. So I feel I have loved fully.
Had I lived? I belong to the baby boom generation, and I’ve done it all — sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll. I was a hippie, a dropout, my parents’ big headache. In 1974 I was arrested by the Brazilian military government for ‘subversive’ activities. I survived those crazy years and finally decided to do what I really wanted — become a writer. I’d had many years of doubt, with people telling me: ‘Nobody makes a living out of writing.’ But I felt it was not about making a living; it was about living.
There are two types of writers: those with a dense inner life, such as Proust and Joyce, and those who have to experience things to write about them, such as Hemingway and Baudelaire. I need to experience what I write. I wrote my first book when I was 40 — when others were thinking about retiring, I started a new life. The book was called The Pilgrimage.
I’m still writing. If it had all been just for money, I would have stopped 15 years ago, with The Alchemist. Writing is my calling, something I do with all my energy and love. On 29 November this is what I was thinking: I’ve had love, I’ve done everything I wanted to do, and I have fulfilled my mission, my personal bliss. If I died tomorrow, I would be leaving this world full of joy. In the end, it has nothing to do with whether you believe in an afterlife. Everyone wants to face death with honour and dignity.
Obviously — since I am writing this — I didn’t die. The catheterisation revealed that I had three arteries that were totally blocked. The doctor opened them by angioplasty, using a balloon. He inserted three stents, metallic tubes that would keep my arteries open. When I came to, he said, ‘You can play golf in two days.’ I told him I was more of an archery man myself.
Since then, I have continued with life as normal. Now, though, I follow a diet of sorts. I also bring a GPS with me when I’m out in the mountains, just in case. My wife and I spend a lot of time walking in the highlands. Sometimes I find myself wondering: what if my friend hadn’t forced me to go to the doctor — where would I be now?
Christina and I scale the slopes as we have always done, but now I keep an eye on the co-ordinates, in case we lose our way.
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