I allow the ink to draw images and illustrate moments, and I know with absolute certainty that Marjorie will decipher my drawings and understand my words. She always places a keepsake from the beaches of Chile, a bar in Paris, or a square in Prague into the envelope. Marjorie's letters, more than letters, are poems. But I have not found this strange, since for Marjorie life is a poem, and she lives it intensely, like the passionate poems that she writes. The topics of our letters continued evolving along with the changing paths that Marjorie and I have followed.
Roads parallel and distant, narrow and dark.
Exile changed our lives, and our lives altered the words in our letters. The political situation in Chile forced us to seek the road to exile, and since that moment we have wandered another's land searching for a peaceful, tender encounter . . . Amid the confusion, Marjorie is the lighthouse that draws me near, guides me, and transports me to Chile on dark, stormy days. But she is also the soft, calm earth that affirms my roots in the dry soil of this country in the North. And so in this eternal exile we two, hand in hand across the distance, find pleasure in life, suffer its disappointments, cheat death, and win battles that we have never learned how to lose.