“And where is the place of understanding?
Thus it is hidden from the eyes of all living.” (Job 28: 20-21)

We battle the silence of absence. Like Jacob, wrestling the angel, we end up limping. Jacob was renamed Israel, etymologized as "contends-with-G/d.” Man struggles to understand, to penetrate the mystery, to slice the veil.

Raymond Fisher had a gentle soul, the humility and generosity that without preaching reminded me of a faith well-lived without “a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.” Friends for decades, I never told him of my secret admiration for his righteousness. Virtue, so rare needs to be celebrated. Familiar with Scripture, he was not one to preach, he lived the commandments to be meek, to love the poor, to be hospitable.

I met Ray through our friend and classmate Ed Davis. We were an inseparable trio blessed by Tom Philips (Ed’s husband) and Juan Carlos. Soon after meeting, Ray was already part of the Miami scene. He saw firsthand the transformation of South Beach. Ray met all the artists, developers; he lived the political controversies and the bomb scares. Ray spoke to everyone and, obviously, somehow, without gaining an ounce was moved between burgeoning food scene and traditional Cuban cuisine. I would travel to New York and stay with him and his cat Sophia. He became part of my family. He shared with my father the Pennsylvania connection. My father had lived and gone to school in Pennsylvania. His uncle had married a Quaker.

It was in Miami that he met Juan Carlos, another very important reason to travel. The arrival of Juan Carlos was, at least for me, an explosion of fun. My mother would often travel to Sloan Kettering for cancer treatments. Ray and Juan Carlos would meet with her, my aunt, always terrified of New York City driving and anything outside the Upper East Side. Those things one never forgets. Ray left everything on his desk and took the first flight to Miami when my mother passed. Both of them came to Miami for my father’s funeral.

It was shortly thereafter that I moved to New York and we kept a fairly regular brunch schedule: Ray and Juan Carlos with Ed and Tom. They were my family living alone in New York. I keep a beautiful memory of going to a Maria Joao Pires all-Chopin recital at City Center. That afternoon was as if a muse touched the reclusive pianist with magic inspiration. I remember crying sitting next to Ray and Juan Carlos. I also remember -- talking about crying -- calling Ray from the Sony Building in tears after a screening of Before Night Falls. I had met Reinaldo Arenas and had organized a lecture for him in Cambridge. Ray understood.

I was awake watching the news the morning of 9/11. I remember calling him to ask him to skip work when the first plane hit the World Trade Center. He said he would walk to the office. I let it go. With the second impact I called back, cursing in Spanish: “tienes que irte, vete. ¡Ni se te ocurra ir al trabajo!” (“You have to leave. Go! Don’t even think about going to work”) Looking out the window he saw ashes and papers flying around. He offered coming to pick me up as the bridges were closing. I begged him to leave, I would find a way out.

How Ray handled Juan Carlos and me together without medications is a testament to inner strength. The two of us must have been Latin American magic realism without García Márquez. I keep this mind along with the long hours I spent meditating by the brook, in the farm. It was my little corner for prayer and praising the Lord.

We shared a love for Bach. Ray had performed the St Matthew Passion (Matthäus-Passion). I had a chance to visit Thomaskirche in Leipzig where it was first performed. I had Ray on my mind. There is a moving aria I will forever associate with him:


Erbarme dich, mein Gott,
Um meiner Zähren willen!
Schaue hier, Herz und Auge
Weint vor dir bitterlich.
Erbarme dich, mein Gott.

Have mercy, my God,
For the sake of my tears!
See here, before you
Heart and eyes weep bitterly.
Have mercy, my God.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aPAiH9XhTHc

There are moments that live in memory, moments where everything makes sense, where nothing can go wrong, when life sparkles and is worth living. Ray and Juan Carlos’ wedding is one of those moments in my life. I keep the pictures with me. “The people I'm most fond of in the world were with me. I could hear them …around me; I felt their presence, the warmth of their hands. [that afternoon I experienced] perfection.” (Bergman, Cries and Whispers) Those moments of “perfection” when one is given a blink of the beauty of the mystery revealed make the darkness of pain bearable.