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For many are called, by few are chosen

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  For many are called, but few are chosen .  (Translated and adapted by Leonardo Pavese)   In the long digressions of memory, which is so thick with solar images, one most lofty morning of many years ago comes to the foreground: The triumphant sun of Africa is proclaiming his lust for reflexes on the windshield of a small airplane, while I’m flying from Cameroon to Gabon with a pilot who’s wearing white silken gloves. We knew each other from other adventures. Dr. Albert Schweitzer   In my message to him I had specified: “I’d like to go to Libreville and from there to Lambaréné. I need to understand where Dr. Schweitzer ended his life and his service. I don’t have a visa. Could we get there anyway?” We fly cleanly, turning with broad elegance when very winged flocks announce themselves. We fly maybe for two hours and the landing is smooth. The Gabonese placate. The pilot slips off his white gloves and sto