Though I have yet to understand my true purpose, I sense my destiny approaching like a rider on the horizon. It comes closer with each passing day as I continue to grow. As my magnificent bell towers slowly reach toward the sky.
Someday, there will be four of them, unique and enormous, tips brushing the very clouds that drift overhead. They will be unlike anything ever built by mankind, anything ever imagined.
Though only two have been started, and they are barely taller than forty meters, I can feel the full presence of all four of them already. I can feel their height and weight and shape like phantom limbs.
And I know they will be great. I know they will overshadow every man and woman in Barcelona—in all Catalonia.
Every one of them.
"That window's off!" Gaudí stands inside the base of one of my towers and shouts up at the men on the high scaffolding. "Do I have to come up and do it myself?"
"No, señor." One of the men looks down and waves. "We'll take care of it right away."
"While you're at it," says Gaudí, "clean up that seam!"
"This one, señor?" Another man runs his finger along a mortared joint between layers of stone block.
"The one I'm talking about is directly across, on the other side of the tower." Gaudí points. "But while you're at it, clean up that seam, too."
"You see that well from all the way down there?" says the man.
"One of the benefits of living a God-fearing life." There is no lightheartedness in Gaudí's voice as he says it...only bite.
Then, slipping his notebook back into the pocket of his black frock coat, he turns on his heel and marches out of the tower.
What style! I cannot help but admire him. He knows his own genius and his place in the world, and he claims them. He acts with conviction, exercising his authority to ensure the realization of his vision.
Others respect him. They fear him. But he doesn't let that stop him from getting things done. He doesn't let it get in his way.
He uses it. He is always in control.
Outside, Gaudí stops and gazes up at the rising heights of my tower. He strokes his white beard with one hand and lays the other against my stone wall.
His heat flickers upon me, not much stronger than the warmth of a pigeon or a cat. It is weaker than it once was, though his influence in the world continues to grow.
"You are coming along well, I think." He pats me as he says it. "The one thing in this world that has not failed me."
It has been a long time since he last spoke to me. I have become more self-sufficient...but my spirit brightens as I hear his words. I am glad for his company.
Even though his tone is sour.
"Yes, Sagrada Família," says Gaudí. "Unlike my father, you will never let me down."
I am pleased that he appreciates me...but I sense his praise is hollow. His words are heavy with sorrow and anger and exhaustion.
With darkness.
"And you will never be like Rosa, will you?" says Gaudí. "My niece, who is like a daughter to me?"
Again, his voice is laden with darkness. He presses both hands to my wall and leans his full weight against me.
As he bows his head, a single droplet falls to the ground. A tear from his eye.
"It feels like my world is ending." His voice is choked with emotion. "My father died last week. My Rosa is drinking herself into oblivion. I think she is determined to follow my father into death as soon as she can."
Gaudí draws and releases a shuddering breath. I have never seen him like this. I realize now how wrong I was about him being always in control.
For the first time in my existence, I feel sorry for him.
"My dream is coming true," says Gaudí. "You and I together...completely alone. All my family and friends gone. Nothing left but my work. But you."
He does not say it with love. I wonder at the disappointment in his voice, the palpable regret directed at me.
Where is the love he once so clearly expressed? The pride and hope that shone through when he referred to us as one self? When he told me he would "make of us a cathedral like no other?"
Then again, where is my strong feeling?
I've only just realized: I am not as moved by his condition as I should be. Pity is all I feel...and not much even of that. Something fundamental has changed between us.
Have we simply been apart too long? Have we both grown in different directions?
Or has only one of us grown?
"Is this the price, then?" Gaudí's voice quavers, and more tears fall. "For one wonderful dream to come true, must a terrible dream come true, also? If I am to build this magnificent tribute to Our Lord's Holy Family, must I lose every loved one of flesh and blood? Must I die alone, in a prison of stone of my own making?"
He slumps against the wall and begins to weep. There was a time when I would have ached to reach out and console him. A time when nothing mattered more.
Now, as I listen, my mind begins to wander. My focus drifts to a conversation among the men on the high scaffolding. They are projecting how long it will take for my four bell towers to be finished.
Next, I drift around to a dog peeing on one of my columns. From there, I follow a handful of young children running and hiding around my cloisters.
By the time my attention returns to Gaudí, he has pushed away from my wall. He has not quite regained his composure, but the tears have stopped.
He inhales deeply and exhales slowly, steadying himself. He straightens his coat and looks up at me.
"At least you will succeed," he says. "Your destiny, at least, is clear." He points a finger at me. "I might be miserable, but you will rise above all this. You will soar."
There is bitterness in his voice, but I overlook it. I take his words to heart. His prophecy.
It comes in the midst of his suffering, but I believe there is truth to it. I've been searching my soul for ages to divine my true purpose...and now I've found it.
For a while now, I've thought I was meant for more than drawing the faithful to worship or attracting companionship to relieve my creator's loneliness. I've suspected Gaudí has a grander plan in mind for me...that I contain too much greatness to be limited to a humble ambition. I've also come to believe that I myself might have to take a hand in shaping my own destiny.
Now, I understand. I am not meant to be limited to a mundane purpose. I am too unique to be constrained by the expectations of mortal men. I will have a role in controlling my destiny—an extraordinary, unprecedented role.
What I will do is this: I will rise up, scaling new heights, ascending the heavens as no other cathedral before me ever has. Not simply by growing, stone by stone, inch by inch.
Gaudí said it himself. I will soar.
Literally.
I will rise up out of the Earth and take to the air. I will explore the far corners of this world, learning and evolving as I go, imagining new destinies that expand my potential.
And when I am done with this world, I will rise even further, climbing to meet the stars and powers of the night.
As for the people, the roving spots of warmth not much bigger than a pigeon or a cat, they will do what they always do when it comes to me.
They will gaze at me in wonder.