Prism of Perception

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I love Morocco; every year I am coming back here for a month or so. I like the streets, people, food, colors, desert… everything. I come here to rest– this country seems have stopped in time, somewhere in 17-th century. Here there is no rush and stress, there is no being late and making up for dead line. There is only the endless desert and blue skies. And some mystique philosophical wisdom of people, like if they know something about life that we, westerners, don’t. It is in their eyes, their smiles; in their gestures – meaningful and precise and in every word – equally wise and deceiving.

Ocher colored adobe houses attached one to another, dark narrow windows designed to keep the insides cool. The markets, with their vivid bright colors of hanks of wool and distinct and jaw cramping aromas of food and spices. Rugs and carpets of any color and size.  Narrow streets, hidden under the arches of connected buildings, red and blue painted doors and window shatters. Ancient castles, mosques and minarets, and gardens with fig palms and flowers of breathtaking colors. And hot, tong burning tea to cool down or to worm up.

And most of all – the desert! I don’t know why, but the view of desert took my hearth away! I feel in love with it from the first look and steel seek the many thing in it. Many years passed since then but every year I come back to visit Morocco and the desert.

I will never forget my very first trip to Morocco. It was truly life changing for me… My father bought that all-inclusive tour for me. Very unusual move for him, I should say. He would rather travel with whole the family with him, you know.

I remember when we were kids, everything we did – all the travels, all the vacations we went; we did all together. Even when my sister got married and moved with her husband, still, every summer in August and winter in February my father would organize a family vacation and would take everyone with him.  And, as a matter of fact, when he first told me about that trip to Morocco, we were sitting around Christmas table discussing an upcoming trip to Venice, for a carnival.

The picture of that day is imprinted in my memory with bold lines. A big oval table. My father at its head with a glass of wine, my mom on his right side, my sister with her husband and two kids. Then my younger brother and me, finishing the circle, on my father left hand. The dinner was coming to the end. Mom and sis were about to clean up the table for fruits and desert and we were talking about costumes we would make for carnival in Venice. And suddenly my father looked at me and asked to bring an envelope from his office. And so I did.

Dad’s office always was some magical place for me. I remember being kid, 10 maybe 11 years old, knocking on his door. I would ask a permission to read in the chair. And he would grant me one, with a condition to keep quite. I would mount up into red leather chair of enormous size on front of his desk and read. Holding a book on the chair’s arm and curling my hair on my finger. All the furniture in his office was mahogany and red leather. Huge, just enormous table, with side drawers and leather inset on center, tree chair; one behind the table and another two on sides. Table lamp with green glass and bookshelves. Bookshelves full of books and references.

I walked into his office and saw the envelop he was asking for, right in the middle of empty table. I grabbed it and went back to dinner room, stopping in the corridor to look at myself in the mirror and fixing my hair.

Another attraction of our house; that mirror. It was big, 8 fit tall, in massive oak frame. Family legend said it belonged to French royal family ones, and then, trough unimaginable turns of events was gifted to my grand-grand-grand-grandfather almost 200 years ago. I don’t know how much it was actually true, but ones, somebody offered an obscene amount of money to my father for it. And of course my dad rejected the offer in a form that eliminated any further negotiations.

I returned to the room and handed that envelop to my father. “No, it’s for you “he said without taking it. “For me? What is it?” I asked and opened it.

And there it was. Air tickets, hotel reservations…. “You are leaving January second and coming back January 15. Before the school resumes” He said and smiled. “This is our present to you, from me and mom.”

The remaining week between Christmas and New Year day all the conversations in the house were about that me and my trip.

And in the evening of January second, there I was,  walking the streets of Marrakesh. And next two weeks were the most fantastic weeks of my life. Alone, with no parental control, and no certain plan of travel, I would wake up early on the morning and spend my day on the streets. Moving from town to town. Taking side trips, looking and hearing. On cars, horses, donkeys and on my own two.  Sucking up the life as if it was oxygen – greedily and anxiously. I needed to try every meal, drink every drink, ride, swim, climb, and hunt…. 24 hours a day was not enough and I was sleeping only 4 hours. I was watching people praying on the streets by day and selling spiced by night.   I would sit with them on the top of the flat roofs to see a sundown. I would hear mullahs calling for pray from the top of the minarets and would make my pray with them on the ways of my own church.

It was my last day in Marrakesh. I returned back to town from the far mountains of the east and was preparing to leave for home. All the bags were packed and I had only one deed to pay – souvenirs for my family. So, I went out to the best place for that king of task – to Medina quarters.

I knew exactly what to choose and where to buy. A colorful and transparent chiffon head wrap for my mom. A hand carved ivory set of chess for dad. A dagger for my brother-in-law. An Arabian scimitar for my brother. A basket full of oriental ointments and perfume for my sister and strings of chaplets for my nieces.

As any part of the Medina, streets were narrow with no skies above. The uppers levels of the buildings would arch and connect to each other creating more living space. The stores on first floors were all one after another; similar in design and united with the type of product they sell.

The aisle of spices – all the stores would have spices, same ones, set similarly on the tables on the front of the stores in big pouches with half-rolled tops. And the daggers and arms would be on the next street – also on the front of the open doors, with owners standing behind the counters. And sometimes you could see the anvil behind and two or three man pounding the iron. Another turn and you would appear on the street full of carpets and rugs. All over the walls, one over the other, of any color, shape and price…

As I walking through the streets of Medina, my list was getting shorter. Surprisingly, the most difficult purchase happened to be the jewelry for my nieces. I was passing through stores, one after the other, moving from counter to counter touching and playing with bids and strings of gems and pearl; but anything would catch my eyes, nothing that I would imagine on pretty necks of my sister’s daughters.

But then there was a store, on the corner of the street, with rich counters set outside, with gold and silver jewelry. This one was different form others because it was twice expensive.  I saw the clerk. A young man, almost a boy, was standing in between tables with his hands crossed on the chest. He caught my eyes and rushed to me. “Monsieur is looking for himself?” He asked. “No” – I answered- “For my nieces. 5 and 7 years old”. “Silver or gold?” Followed the second question. “I am not sure”, I said, “Silver, maybe, with gemstones”. “Then you are the right place, – he said with smile and bow of his head, – we have the best variety!”

“And if you need something to change, – he waved his hand toward the house behind the counters, – my father is working now, he can rework anything you wish”. “That is wonderful!” I said “Let see then! How much for that necklace with turquoise?”

He said the price and we started to bargain. I would say my number and he would say his. Back and forth, from one item to another. I was trying to make it less. And he… I don’t really know what he wanted, to sell his product or just spend the day bargaining. Twenty minutes later I was seating on comfy and soft divan and drinking tea, in the room behind the counters. There was a low standing tea table on front of me with a tray of baklava and cookies on one side and necklaces of my choice on the other. We were still bargaining, but Musha, that was the name of the boy, already ordered the purchases to be boxed and wrapped. Somehow, instead of two items, I purchased six and Musha was saying that, if I pay the price he wants he will throw in a ring that is “just made for such “faris “like me.

“Show me the ring!” I said. “Show me the money!” was the reply. But then a box appeared on the table – small jewelry box, with green and red silk upholstery. I opened and there was a ring. Man ring, not girlish.  Very simple. Silver, with thin bottom part that would come to a square on top. Not very big, just about size of a thumb nail. No ornament, no patina, just smooth silver with a square flat “base” on top. And on that “base” there was a round inset of cabochon of malachite. Green with black lines. And amazingly, those lines would form of a figure of a spider. A perfect contour of a spider; with small head, bigger belly and eight legs of different size. The front ones were the longest and the back ones the shortest.

I took the ring from the box and put it on my ring finger. It was loose a bit. I changed it to middle finger, clenched my hand to fist… I liked it. I liked the ring. It fitted like it was made for me, did not feel it at all.  And when I turn my hand under the light I noticed that, depend on the angle, the shape of the spider would change giving to it an illusion of motion. Like it the spider would run off the ring…. And then I was ready to pay.

Back in home I gave out all the presents and entertained them with stories about my trip. Everyone was excited and pleased. But most of all was my father. It seemed to me that he was not only pleased, but also proud of me. As if I proved something to him…. I am still wandering what exactly.

Next few months passed without anything exciting. I was back in school.  Going to classes and spending my time between library and swimming pull.   The ring was on my middle finger. Always. I would not even take it out in shower.

One thing was wrong though. With more time in college I started to realize that my decision to follow the steps of my father and become a construction engineer was not exactly right. It was good to be a kid and walk with your father over the bridge that he had helped to build. But when it came to actual math and physics that was behind that construction – I understood that it was not exactly my cup of tea. Even worse – it was not a “tea” at all! By the end of May my days were becoming gloomy.  The thought, that I am doing a big mistake, was following me everywhere, in every class, in library, even on the student gatherings. I was trying to get myself busy with sports; spending every free minute in the pool or in gym. But it just went from bad to worse; while my body was busy; my mind kept lingering all around same problem again and again.

I lost interest in most of classes, which momentarily mirrored on my mid grades.  I was preparing myself to a potentially devastating conversation with my dad about dropping the college.   And then, one night… I got a bloody nose.

It would happen to my time to time. I don’t know why – thin blood vassals in my nose or maybe the influence of chlorine in the swimming pool water. But sometimes I would get the blood dripping from my nose. Since it was a common to me, I knew what to do. I would run to freezer, take out few pieces of ice, wrap them in paper towel and press against my nose. The cold would contract the vassals. And bleeding would stop in few minutes.

And this time too. I was in my room in dormitory when it happened. I quickly grabbed my nose, rose my head up and went for ice. The freezer was outside, in the common kitchen at the end of the long corridor. The corridor was light, but empty – it was late. I opened the freezer and grabbed a handful of ice cubes. Then saw the roll of paper towels on the corner of the counter. So, with my one hand on my nose, I put the cubes down, ripped a sheet of towel, put cubes on it, folded the edges and pressed it against my face. Then ripped few more sheets of paper and went back to my room.

Thankfully, I managed to do all that without any bloody hand prints on the counters and freezer. There were some droplets on the floor and I cleaned them with towels in my hand. Back in my room I went to bath and stayed there until bleeding stopped. I was sitting on top of toilet cover checking for blood flow from my nasals when I noticed that my entire hand, including the ring are bloody. In other time it would not bother me, but now I thought that the blood will not come off the malachite so easy. I took the ring off of my finger and noticed a strange thing. The blood was covering the silver cast, but the stone itself was spotless, as If it was repellent to blood. I looked at that, amazed, and then rubbed the stone against the bloody towel I was holding. What happened next amazed me even more. Thin layer of blood, on the surface of the malachite, rolled into multiple small droplets, like a drizzle on the window glass, and squirted into the stone, disappearing. It was so unusual that I repeated that rubbing few more times. And with no failure the same process followed; the blood would turn into the droplets and sink into the stone. I would not be an engineers’ son, if I would not promised myself to go to library tomorrow and investigate this unusual property of malachite.

I woke up suddenly, jumped out of the deep well of my dreams. It was middle of the night, it was dark yet, and the alarm-clock was showing 2:43. I slept probably an hour or so…. I turned to another side intending to go back to slip again, and then I heard a soft, woman voice calling my name. I did not react, assuming that am still sleeping. But voice called me again – this time little lauder. I turned back harshly and saw a figure standing next to my bed, by my feet. I reacted faster than managed to think. In less than a spit second I jumped up in my bad, moving out and away from it. Next, I grabbed the electrical cord on my table lamp and switched the lights on…

-                     Who are you? What you doing here? – I was standing between her and the door, ready to run out in any sign of danger. I started to come back to my senses. Thoughts were racing in my head; I was holding my arms on front of me, in defensive manner. But the figure did not move.

-                     “Who are you?” – I asked again.

It was a woman.  Short, maybe just over 5 foot. From head to toe wrapped with dark brown cloth. It seemed very familiar, but at that moment I did not realized that not very long ago I saw many figures like that in Morocco. She turned to me, and pulled the cover off of her face and head.   She looked… grown up. Not young. But not old, neither. Over forty, perhaps. She had curly hairs. Light blue eyes and white skin. Her face was king and smiling. Somehow every line on her face, her lips, her eyes, her chin, even lines on her forehead were smiling. And that smile looked very…. trustworthy…. if that is a right world. All her appearance was very casual and kind.

“I mean no harm”, she said, “I am Anancy.”

“I don’t know you!” I replayed, “How did you get in here?!”

“You called me!” she said with soft voice, “And I came.”

“I did not call anybody!” I said, “Get out!”

“I am Anancy”, she said again, with patience, “You are wearing my ring.” She stretched her hand from under the cloth and showed to the ring on my finger.

“You feed the ring with blood and I came!” she was acting like if her appearance in the shut room in the middle of the night was normal.

“What the hell are you talking about?” The entire situation begun to look very weird. “Am I dreaming?” I was asking myself.

“I am Anancy”, she repeated again, “You are wearing my ring. And you feed it with your blood. You called me. So, I am here, obeying to your call!”

It was surreal and absurd. Me, standing in the middle of the room in underwear, and her, wrapped into a cloth like in shroud. To say that I was scared means to say nothing. I was terrified. Unconsciously, I was desperately trying to find a rational explanation. My thoughts were jumping between “I am dreaming” and “It’s a prank”.

It took us probably 45 minutes to figure out who she was and how she was related to the ring. After dozen of my questions, and her calm and soft answered I pictured the following story. … “Long time ago, when humans were young there were five human kings, of 5 great states in North Africa. And all those five countries were in endless war with each other. And no one would either agreed to stop the fighting, neither anyone of them was able to win the war.  One would make in alliance with two others and march over the borders of third. But then treason would happen and the army would vanish in sands. And on next turn, the fourth country would go against the fifth one, but when the armies were away, the second one you break the thirty and invade to concur the lands of its neighbor. And the land was soaked with blood, and the corpses were left unburied.  The size of human carnage was behind of anything imaginable.

Generations of kids were born, grew up and died without seeing a single day without war. The sword was their favorite toy, and the dead bones on road sides were as common as fallen branches of trees. They forgot how it was – to have peace.   People of all five countries were suffering, unable to stop that madness. They fled for their lives, for their sons not to die and daughters not to be enslaved. The villages were emptied and fields got left unplowed.

And then a king was born, wise and fair.  As he grew, he saw the madness that scorched that land. He decided to finish the war, to stop the killings, to bring back peasants to their farms and fill the villages with life again. As he was looking for ways to do so, he called for Anancy, the ancient goddess of Wisdom, and she came to him in a form of spider.  She became his adviser, living in the glass ball, traveling with him. By day a spider, by night a woman.    She was the best and wisest adviser of any human king had ever had. Merciful and fair, incorruptible and unemotional. For she was a goddess of wisdom, Anancy, the niece of Mother Goddess.   Day after day she helped him in his military operation and diplomacy. Where to attack, when to retreat. When to be brave and when to send an assassin instead of army.   And sure as day, one after another all rival kingdoms failed to king’s mercy.  They swore an allegiance to him and proclaimed him The King of Kings. The war was stopped.

A time of peace and prosperity came… for all. People were farming and harvesting, trade was flourishing, ships with goods were freely swimming at seas and entering all ports of united kingdom and caravans were traveling without fear…

But, as the years past, King of kings was getting older. He started to worry, that when he dies, the sons of former kings will revolt and split the country in bloodshed.  Then he summoned Anancy again. And asked for her advice. And she told him to find a gemstone, a malachite, with a spider on it.  And to forge a ring of pure silver cast and set the malachite on it. And when the ring was ready, she performed a powerful magic and bounded herself to that ring. And it was said that the ring will pass from father to son, and if so happen that one needs an adviser, all he needs to do, is to feed the spider with his own blood… and Anancy shell answer the call.

For many generations Anancy helped ring bearers with her wisdom. In any question, in war and peace, in love or hate, in illness or health – if summoned, she would come and advise! And then the ring was lost. No one knows how, and neither anyone knows when or where was it found again. But sure, it was in jewelry store in Medina where I purchased it. And it was my blood today on the ring and so she came….

By the time she ended that story I had my jeans and shirt on. She was sitting in my chair and I was on my bed, listening. I did not believe a single word she said. Who would? “I don’t believe in Santa Clause or Anancy!” I was thinking to myself”What kind of games she is playing at? And why?”

“Well it is a good story”, I said when she finished, “But I this is a prank, there are no Gods and I don’t believe you! So, please, get out my room!”

“It is very normal not to believe in something that does not fit into a concept of your world…” – she replied.

“Listen woman, I don’t care what is normal or not! Nor I care how you got into my room”, I interrupted her again, “Please, leave my room or I will call security.”

“Also, I know… that if I don’t present any evidence of my highest power, you will not believe me.” – She continued with smile, ignoring my rudeness.

“And since you don’t have any proofs of your highest powers”, I broke her again, “Leave! Now! I have classes in few hours, I need to sleep.”

“And, since it is not in my habits to prove anything to anybody, a will tell you this! If you want to know what to do with our life, call me! You know how!” she said, and with those words she disappeared. Not suddenly, No! She slowly melted in a thin air, smiling and looking straight into my eyes.  Her lines became fuzzy first, and then she became see-thru, tuned to fog and vanished…

The horror bolted through my spine like an eclectic shock, I startled so hard I hit my head to the wall behind, and started to hiccup.  I sat there motionless, for another minute, frozen with my eyes open into the empty chair, which was just occupied. Then I stretched my hand and fumble on the seat. It was warm, still holding the body heat. Warm and empty….  The world I knew was collapsed on front of my eyes. The science, the religion, the history…. The past and present… everything crumbled down creating a twister of dread in my stomach…  It grew to my throat and blasted out in a thick, yellow, smelly vomit, covering my bed sheets and floor.

Needless to say I did not slip the rest of the night. And the next day was completely in fog. Partially because of lack of sleep, but mostly because of the sense of paralyzing fear that nested in my guts. It consumed me completely. I actually pushed myself to go outside and attend the classes. And right after them I returned back to my room, crawled onto my bad and laid there facing wall till next morning.

Few of my friends came and left, I was not responding to anything, pretending to be asleep. I was thinking. I was dissolved in fear, drawn. Fear so strong and overwhelming that very core of me as a person got shattered.  At that moment I was a small frightened boy, hiding under “my blanket” and sucking on my thumb. And my brain was battling the fear; my brain was looking for a rational explanation to what happened last night. And it was doing everything without my conscious involvement.  I was not talking to myself; I was not trying to convince myself that all that never happens. It was my brain – separated from emotional part of me – that did the entire job. Little by little, it found, or  rather, created inconsistencies in the picture of what happen that day and convinced itself, along with emotional part of me, that all of it was a sickness and delusion resulting intense and stressful studies, homework and spoiled Chinese food that I eat previously…. And the emotional me?  Well, I was watching all that from underneath the blanket, still sucking on my thumb…

By the morning of second day the heavy chains of fear got loose and I began to breathe again. It was Friday; I missed the classes, fell asleep. Then there was a weekend. And by Monday I almost recovered from the shock. Almost, because there was a small part of me that was refusing to accept a comfortable lie that it had never happened. That small part of me was sitting there quiet and hidden and just sometimes, when I would accidentally look at the ring on my finger, would jump out of its hideout and yell that it was not dream, that it was real…

The summer came. I was about to finish my first year in college and was preparing to go back home for summer recess. My heart was heavy with thoughts – I was determined to drop off the school. In my head, I was constantly talking to my father explaining why I want to drop, and why I don’t want to be an engineer. I was searching for proper words and proper phrases that I would tell him. But no matter what, no matter how I would build the conversations in my head, my dad would leave the room with a deep disappointment and disapproval on his face….

And then the two days before the train it stroked me; “If you want to know what to do with our life, call me. You know how”… I don’t know how that happened. I have no idea how in few minutes I switched from denial to an acceptance. Must be my devastation, all consuming desire to find a solution.  Maybe that was that little part of me that believed… but…. Suddenly it seemed so clear. “What do you waiting for? What do you afraid of? Call her?”

She came. The very same way she disappeared before. Slowly emerged from thin air. A haze fist, then a shadow, then milky fuzzy outlines in a fog and finally she emerged from it.  This time her shroud was pearly white. She removed the cloth from her head, smiled, then with motion of her palm “dragged” the chair from 3 feet away and sat on it.

“Well?” she said

I was sitting on my bad, hugging my pillow. And I was scared again. Not a lot, like first time, but no fears free ether…

“Don’t be afraid” she said with her calm and soft voice “I am here not to harm you, but to help”

I did not replayed for a moment, then with some hesitation I asked

“What is the catch?”

“Catch?” she repeated”What catch?”

“You are going to help me, right?” she nodded; with gracious move of her head “all of my life, right?”

“No!” she replayed “Only, as long as you possess the ring”

“OK. Long enough. And for that what will I owe you? My soul?”

“Your soul? What do I need your soul for? What I am going to do with that?” her eyebrows went up bewailed.

“I don’t know… What others do?”

“Others who?” she honestly was puzzled with my conclusions. And I too had that feeling of awkward situation….

“OK”, I said ,“Forget about it. So, you are going to help me, right?”

“Yes”, she answered.

“And you don’t want anything in return, right?”

“That is not true”, she said,”Your blood is the payment. I got it in advance”

“My blood?”, now it was my turn not be lost.

“Yes. You fed the ring with your blood. That is the payment.”

“Just few drops, is that enough?

“I am a spider, not a lion – she replayed, – that is exactly how much I need”

“Oh”, I said,”I did not think of it that way”

“You are not too bright, are you?” – She did not change her ton for a bit, but this sounded very scurrilously.

“What makes you think so?” I blushed into red and felt poked.

“Just a wild guess”, she answered, “So, do you going to ask or not?”

“Yes!” I got mad on myself, the conversation was not going the way I planned,”As a matter of fact I will! I would not have called you otherwise, would not I?”

“So, go ahead, what are you waiting for?”

I took a deep breath and asked in one inhalation.

“I need to tell my father, that I am dropping the college and I don’t know how to tell it”

“Well” she said, “I am not going to answer that question?”

I flinched and froze speechless. My face probably was very funny, because she started to laugh…

That was first time she showed some emotion other than “goddesslly” calmness and forbearance.

I blushed in red again, from neck to tips of my ears, and she just kept laughing.  My pink face made her to go to the second wave of convulsions. She laughed and laughed, clapping his hands and wiping tears off.  She would stop for a moment then look at me and start laughing again…

“I am sorry”, she finally controlled herself  “It just was too funny! So honest, and funny! I did not laugh like this for long time… “

“Well”, I was pissed,”Now, when I amused you so brilliantly, shell we return to my question? I remember you promised to help me?”

“Help you – yes! But not to drop the college!”, she was coming back to her normal calmness, “You should learn now to see what is your problem and solve it. But not to run from the situation itself.”

“That is rubbish! I am not running from my problem! I am solving it!”

“Solving? By dropping off the college? That is not a solution!”

“Ye-a-h? Than what is?” Blood was pulsing in my head; I was ready to object any reasoning I would get from her.

“What is your problem?”, She asked, “College? Or the classes you take?”

“Well I take classes in the college, do I?”

“O yes, you do”, she was completely calm again, almost emotionless,” but college offers much more than the classes you hate.”

“What you mean?”

“If you don’t like the math and physics, it does not mean than you are not cut off for education… maybe you can learn something else. Something that does not includes algebra….”

“For example?” – Suddenly her words were making sense to me. I was still aggravated and rejecting, but I saw things from different angle.

“Think!” she said, “What other departments are in your college?

“Law”, I said first. I was passing by that big white building every time on my way to gym.

“Excellent” – she sheered, “How do you feel about being a lawyer?”

“I don’t know… I never thought about it… a lawyer? “I answered doubt, “I am not sure…”

“Well, you are sure about engineering, right? Give it a try! How bad that could be?”

“I don’t know… it’s a so sudden. I don’t like to make a decision so fast!”

“That is where you need me!” She smiled, “Here I can advise you! If, of course, you ask a right question”

I looked at her indecisively….

“Go on!” she spoke again, “I am Anancy, remember? A goddess?  My advices are going to be the best ones you ever get!”

“OK…  Then…” I went off from my bed and stood on front of her,” So…. Anancy…. Should I transfer to law school?”

It sounded pathetic, but she did not laugh. She looked at me, deep in my eyes with a faint smile on her lips and answered:

“Yes. You should. I do believe that that is the way you should go….”

My way back to home was not heavy after that. The simplicity and elegance of the solution gave me a feeling of brightness. Like if I knew, that from now on everything in my life is going to go well. I was sitting in the sit in the train, looking to the window and smiling.

My father accepted my desire to become a lawyer with enthusiasm. To my big surprise and excitement he said that he is proud and very glad for me. When I asked why, he answered that unlike to thousand of kids of my age; I am not going to blindly follow the choices that someone made for me. He said that he is proud to see me becoming a man. Free and with good head on the shoulders….

Fifty two years passed from that day.  I am a going to celebrate my eightieth birthday this year. My father had past away, and I am a grand-grandfather myself. I became a lawyer almost sixty years ago, thanks to Anancy’s advice. I worked for the best law firms in country, was on service of government, and now   I am member of Supreme Court. I have seen four presidents to come and go.

My judgments are fair and my opinions are respected. I shook hands with many of the strongest of this world.  My house is full and blossoms with happiness. My family is around me with my wife, 3 sons, and 2 daughters. I have twelve grandkids and 3 grand-grand kids.

I still work every day. I make decisions changing the life of generations to come.   And when a doubt takes place in my heart, and judgments are difficult to make – I know just a place where to seek for help.