A mighty and a passionate heart has ceased to beat.
Edward Said died in a hospital in New York City Wednesday night
at 6.30 p.m., felled at last by complications arising from the leukemia he
fought so gamely ever since the early 1990s.
We march through life buoyed by those comrades-in-arms we know
to be marching with us, under the same banners, flying the same colors,
sustained by the same hopes and convictions. They can be a thousand miles
away; we may not have spoken to them in months; but their companionship is
burned into our souls, and we are sustained by the knowledge that they are
with us in the world.
How many times, after a week, a month or more, I have reached
him on the phone and within a second been lofted in my spirits, as we
pressed through our updates: his trips, his triumphs, the insults sustained;
the enemies rebuked and put to flight. Even in his pettiness he was
magnificent, and as I would laugh at his fury at some squalid gibe hurled at
him by an eighth-rate scrivener, he would clamber from the pedestal of
martyrdom and laugh at himself.