Re-reading Canto IV of Dante's Inferno, he encounters a few former denizens of the Orient such as the philosophers Averroes and Avecinna, who by the virtue of their achievements in the field of human reason were granted a place in the citadel that stands in the first circle of Hell aka the Limbo. Being heathen and the unsaved, Heaven was, of course, out of question for these classical "others". Somewhat mitigating such "orientalistic" readings that may come up in his mind, John Cicardi, the translator, clarifies Dante's intentions by writing this in his endnotes:

"In other words, these shades represent the condition of the spirit that lacks faith; the failure of such a spirit is the failure to imagine better."

It is "the Saladin", however, whom Dante mentions in passing, almost as an afterthought towards the end of the Canto ("and, by himself apart, the Saladin."), who always makes him pause for a long moment as a shiver of recognized loneliness traverses the length of his body. And, by himself apart, the Saladin.

So he arrives after a couple of days of hard work, to a place where he can simply be even if the place is not where he would rather be, if he had any choice at the moment. But then he doesn't know where he would rather be either. But to somehow graft himself into this moment occuring in this certain locale, he puts on Sultan Khan's slow and lovely rendition of Raga Bageshree. Outside his high window, the tail end of a blizzard and the sidewalks buried under a couple of feet of snow. He places his face against the window, and his skin on contact slowly becomes cold.

He stands there with that another dichotomy, half a face cold, half a face warm, reflecting on a question that was posed, perhaps in jest, at lunch: "what would you rather be if you had a choice not to be where you currently are?" For questions like this one, these days, he doesn't have the time. And even when they do arise, such as when he reads in a scatter shot fashion before bed, he simply turns off the light, and dives off into the dark of sleep.

He pours himself a drink. He picks up an anthology of poems he has packed on this trip, and opens it random; it opens to John Berryman's "Dream Song 40". He can't help smile at certain quirky turns in Henry's speech

"I'm scared a only one thing, which is me, from othering I don't take nothin, see, for any hound dog's sake. But this is where I livin, where I rake my leaves and cop my promise, this' where we cry oursel's awake.

even as he slowly sips from his glass, whiskey mixed with this certain kind of alienation from "being in, and of the world". Outside the wind, and Valentine's Day blow unabated.