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Warrior of Light – Issue no. 201 – The Magic Instant

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We have to take risks. We can only truly understand the miracle of life when we let the unexpected manifest itself.

Every day — together with the sun — God gives us a moment in which it is possible to change everything that makes us unhappy. Every day we try to pretend that we don’t realize that moment, that it doesn’t exist, that today is just the same as yesterday and will be the same as tomorrow. But if you pay attention, you can discover the magic instant. It may be hiding at the moment when we put the key in the door in the morning, in the silence right after dinner, in the thousand and one things that all seem the same to us. This moment exists — a moment when all the strength of the stars passes through us and lets us work miracles.

Happiness is at times a blessing — but usually it’s a conquest. The magic instant helps us to change, drives us forward to seek our dreams. We shall suffer and go through quite a few difficult moments and face many a disappointment — but this is all transitory and inevitable, and eventually we shall feel proud of the marks left behind by the obstacles. In the future we will be able to look back with pride and faith.

Poor are those who are afraid of running risks. Because maybe they are never disappointed, never disillusioned, never suffer like those who have a dream to pursue. But when they look back — for we always look back — they will hear their heart saying: “What did you do with the miracles that God sowed for your days? What did you do with the talent that your Master entrusted to you? You buried it deep in a grave because you were afraid to lose it. So this is your inheritance: the certainty that you have wasted your life.”

Poor are those who hear these words. For then they will believe in miracles, but the magic instants of life will have already passed.

We must listen to the child that we once were, and who still lives within us. This child understands about magic instants. We can muffle his sobbing, but we can’t hush his voice.

If we aren’t reborn, if we don’t see life again with the innocence and enthusiasm of childhood, then there is no more sense to living.

There are many ways to commit suicide. Those who try to kill their body offend God’s law. Those who try to kill their soul also offend God’s law, although their crime is less visible to the eyes of man.

Let us be heedful of what the child within us has to say. Let’s not feel ashamed of it. Let’s not allow it to feel afraid, because it’s lonely and is scarcely ever heard.

Let’s allow the child within us to take the reins of our existence a little. This child says that one day is different from another.

Let’s make the child feel loved again. Let’s please this child — even if it means acting in a way that we’re not used to, even if it seems foolish in the eyes of others.

Remember that the wisdom of men is madness before God. If we listen to the child we bear in our soul, our eyes will shine once more. If we don’t lose contact with this child, we won’t lose contact with life.

Let’s live all the magic instants of 2009!

Love

There is always someone in the world waiting for someone else, whether in the middle of the desert or in the heart of some big city. And when these two people’s paths cross and their eyes meet, the whole of the past and the whole of the future lose all importance, and there only exists that moment and that incredible certainty that everything under the Sun was written by the very same Hand. The Hand that awakens Love and creates a sister soul for everyone who works, rests and seeks treasures under the Sun. Were it not for this, the dreams of the human race would make no sense.

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Warrior of Light – Issue no. 200 – Animal Promiscuity

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Recently I read an interesting polemic article in the American newspaper New York Times (25/03/2008). Written by Natalie Angier, the text is based on the research of prominent biologists and psychologists concerning monogamy. The conclusion that they reach is impressive: conjugal infidelity is present throughout the animal kingdom.

And that’s not all: studies have shown that certain species “pay” for sex, while others reward their “lovers” with presents and affection. To complete the picture, jealousy and machismo are also to be found there: females are violently attacked if they copulate with another partner.

Of course we are not animals, but the similarities mentioned above are very revealing. Some of the more interesting parts of the article are worth transcribing.

1] Many species are raised from a very tender age to marry someone chosen by the family. They fly and play together, they sing and dance together. In other words, they are raised to impress the community with proof that they were born for one another.

2] Nevertheless, social monogamy is rarely accompanied by sexual monogamy. DNA tests carried out on monkeys, birds and wild animals, when their descendency is examined in the light of modern science, show that between 10% and 70% of the offspring was fathered by someone other than the resident male.

3] Professor David Barash of the University of Washington in Seattle states that: “in the infantile world, infancy. In the adult world, adultery”. For a long time, swans were believed to be a model of fidelity. Through such DNA tests, it has been concluded that not even swans are immune to temptation.

4] The only completely monogamous species is an amoeba – Diplozoon Paradoxum — which is found in organisms of certain fish. Barash explains: “male and female meet while still young, and their bodies literally merge as one. From then on, they are faithful until death do them part”. In this case, death coincides with that of the fish that shelters them.

5] The “oldest profession in the world”, as prostitution is known, is also present in the animal kingdom. It is common to find males that shower their females with presents: rodents, caterpillars and insects. But when the same male decides to have, shall we say, an extracurricular affair, the lover receives better presents than the companion.

6] The law of competition also applies to the animal world: if supply is great, the price comes down. However, if there is a shortage of females, they become objects of desire that deserve the best and most sophisticated rewards.

Please understand that I have transcribed in this column the result of research conducted by scientists and psychologists specialized in studying animals. All of us can — and should — have our own opinion with respect to monogamy. We can all say that we are a highly evolved species, which is absolutely true. The only thing that we can’t do is to blame science for showing results that often contradict our way of thinking!
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Warrior of Light – Issue no. 198 – So What Do I Actually Do

Free Writing,

Sometimes readers complain that I say very little about my private life in this column. I do talk a lot — mostly about my questionings in the imaginary world. They insist: “but what’s your life like?” Well, then, for a whole week I went out with a notebook and jotted down more or less what happens in seven days:

Sunday: 1] In silence, I drive the 540 kilometers from Paris to Geneva. Six hours and no important conclusion, no extraordinary revelation. Since I love my work, I swore never to think about it on Sundays, so I try to control myself.

2] Filling station: I see a very interesting collection of metal maquettes. I think about buying them all, but then I reckon that further ahead I will have excess baggage, and many of them could break on the journey. I will use the Internet to do that.

3] Bath. Nap. Dinner with a friend. She tells me that the man she is interested in just wants to make love, nothing else. I don’t know what to answer.

Monday: 1] the alarm clock goes off at 10:15, and – Plan B (those born under Virgo always have a Plan B) – the hotel telephone operator also calls the room. I am here as a member of the board of a prestigious foundation, and hesitate whether or not to wear the cowboy boots worked in red, white and black leather. I decide to put them on — certain things are tolerated in artists.

2] A quick breakfast with a friend who works in a bank. I ask what he thinks of the current crisis — and he gives a series of answers that he himself does not believe in. I show him today’s newspaper: a bankers’ conference to resolve the crisis. One of them declares that they do not really know the “financial products” they are selling. It’s great that I have my money in savings: Virgos do not run any risks in this area.

3] Lunch with the board of directors. I asked what they thought of the situation in Georgia. Nobody wanted to talk about that, but they did love my cowboy boots.

4] The meeting is very good, without any stress at all. I learn a lot. When it’s over, I place some documents on the roof of the car.

5] When I leave, all the documents fly into the middle of the street. I spend half an hour gathering everything, with cars honking their horns and cursing me. A member of the board passes by, stops further up the street and asks if I want any help. I say no, it is enough for one of us to risk his life for something so stupid.

6] Today I can telephone using the “free hands” system while I drive. I ask Mônica, my agent, to cancel Prague and Berlin (the more I travel, the less desire I have to travel). She says that we need to get together before the Frankfurt Book Fair to “get some details right”. Paris or Barcelona? Paris, she decides. I call Paula, my assistant, to ask why my blog had few comments yesterday — she explains that they changed the configuration, and have just approved a hundred comments.

7] I reach Paris at eleven o’clock at night. I expected to have a stack of things waiting for me, but there were only two packets of books to sign, and a couple of letters. But I traveled! I was in another country! I realize that I traveled a little over 24 hours.

8] Dinner. I leave the computer turned on to download “American History X”. I go to sleep about two in the morning, after reading some pages of “My year inside radical Islam”, by Daveed Gartstenstein-Ross. The book is excellent, but I can’t really get into it.

Tuesday: 1] Breakfast at 10 with coffee and milk, orange juice, bread with oil — always the same, even when I am in hotels, which is the biggest part of the year. Three Echinacea pills, a herb that is said to fortify the organism against the flu and has proved faithful to its reputation (even if there is no scientific basis for this).

2] Internet: read readers’ e-mails. Read work e-mails (my office filters the most relevant), read clippings, visit a site in Brazil and one in the United States for the news of the day. I see that it is all more or less the same business as always: permission (always given) to quote some extract of mine in books, invitations to conferences (always refused). Today I have an interview with a Finnish newspaper that is going to publish these columns. I spend an hour in front of the computer.

3] Walk non-stop for an hour — no matter where I am, I rarely miss doing this. Today I invite my assistant to join me; she has just come back from holidays in Brazil and is going to get married in October. We talk about the holidays.

4] Back to the computer. Update the blog, read an interview with the stupid actor David Thewlis, who says that his role in “Veronika decides to die” (which opens next year) was “just another two weeks of work”. This irritates me. I read the rest of the interview and see that he complains about everything he has done in his life. My irritation goes away.

5] Archery. Bath. Computer again. I ask them to check again that there is no problem with Sunday’s flight to Brazil. In principle there is none.

6] I forgot to write down where I had dinner. I watch “Welcome to Sarajevo”. I read the Herald Tribune from front to back. I pick up “My year inside radical Islam”, but don’t get beyond a few pages.

Wednesday: 1] The same as 1, 2 and 3 above, except that this time my walking companion is called Maarit, a reader whom I met in the social community Myspace. She is studying to be a nun. We talk a lot about the situation of the Catholic Church, and promise that we will keep in touch.

2] Mônica arrives. We talk from 3 in the afternoon until 2 o’clock the next morning, discussing the program for launching the new book, what I should say in Frankfurt, and where her birthday party will be held (she will be 40 in November). I suggest that she throws the party in her house in Barcelona, but she says that they have put up some scaffolding, so the view of the city is spoiled. I answer that at night all city views are alike — a bunch of lights flashing on and off. Even so, she is not convinced. She says that I must hold more interviews. We spend all this time locked inside the apartment, since Mônica simply hates to walk. Chris prepared dinner and has been asleep for some time already.

3] At 2:15 in the morning I say that I am tired, I want to sleep, but she seems as lively as if she had just woken up. And she is the one who today went through the torture chambers they call “airports”!

4] I manage to convince her to go to bed at 2:30 in the morning. We still have a whole lot of pending business to see to. No Herald Tribune today, no “My year inside radical Islam” either.

Thursday: 1] Breakfast with Mônica, my agent and friend, who spent less than a day in Paris and 10 hours talking to me (in the same place, for she hates walking, despite the beautiful autumn day). She goes off to Barcelona, and I go to the computer to check my e-mails, requests for authorization, invitations (all already duly filtered by the office). Reading the e-mails sent by my readers.

2] The idiotic part of the day is thanks to Frei Betto, a Brazilian religious man who up to a few minutes ago I considered my friend, but who is the author of a column published in a newspaper in the interior of the country, where he attacks me gratuitously — or rather, attacks everything that means “popular culture”. With the Internet, we know everything. I send an e-mail to him cutting off any bond of friendship. For the sake of precaution, I send copies to all the friends we have in common so as to be sure that it will reach him.

3] Juliette arrives to borrow a sound system I was given when I was in St. Moritz, in Switzerland. It’s for her husband’s surprise party (he’s turning 40 – everyone around me seems to be turning 40). The sound system looks like an electric toaster, but it really emits digital impulses, which allows the music to be heard with the same intensity and volume in a room filled with 200 people. I have never used it, but at least it is coming in handy for a friend.

4] Walk for an hour, as usual. Practice some archery, as usual. Write my weekly column (which you are reading right now).

5] Dinner with Chris in a Japanese restaurant. I ask for the same dish as always. I don’t know why, but whenever I go to a new restaurant and like what I eat, I end up ordering the same food the next time. Lack of imagination, I guess.

Friday: 1] Breakfast, computer, walk. Update the daily blog.

2] I take my newspaper and go for a walk in the Champ de Mars, near my apartment in Paris. I look at people getting ready for the winter: most of them are taking pictures of the Eiffel Tower or talking on the cell phone. I pass a museum (the Branly), see that there is no queue and decide to go in. An exhibit of the Indian art of several continents — I begin to imagine that there is something wrong with our civilization, for these tribes and people are capable of doing far more interesting and striking work than what we see today in the art world. But it does no good to complain or write about this — there are theses and more theses on contemporary “artistic concepts”, including a cow soaked in formol (sold for 30 million dollars) and two walls made of rusty iron (at a price of around 5 million dollars). I think that Frei Betto, in his new incarnation as an avant-garde intellectual, probably also has a thesis defending this.

3] I go back home, the bags are packed, the driver waiting, and the car heads for Charles de Gaulle airport. The flight is scheduled for 22:15, but the modern torture chambers known as “airports” demand that we be there ages before take-off.

4] Take-off at 23:50 (a one-hour delay). I am going to spend twenty days in Brazil before going to Frankfurt. But as usual I won’t go to any of the “in” restaurants, which means that soon I’ll be hearing the same old question: “when are you coming to your country?”

As far as I can understand, if you don’t go to “in” restaurants, you just don’t exist.

http://paulocoelhoblog.com/warrioroflight

Warrior of Light – Issue no. 199 – How the City Was Pacified

Free Writing,

How the city was pacified

An old legend tells of how a certain city in the Pyrenees mountains used to be a stronghold for drug-traffickers, smugglers and exiles. The worst of them all, an Arab called Ahab, was converted by a local monk, Savin, and decided that things could not continue like that.

As he was feared by all, but did not want to use his fame as a thug to make his point, at no moment did he try to convince anyone. Knowing the nature of men as well as he did, they would only take honesty for weakness and soon his power would be put in doubt.

So what he did was call some carpenters from a neighboring town, hand them a drawing and tell them to build something on the spot where now stands the cross that dominates the town. Day and night for ten days, the inhabitants of the town heard the noise of hammers and watched men sawing bits of wood, making joints and hammering in nails.

At the end of ten days the gigantic puzzle was erected in the middle of the square, covered with a cloth. Ahab called all the inhabitants together to attend the inauguration of the monument.

Solemnly, and without making any speech, he removed the cloth.

It was a gallows. With a rope, trapdoor and all the rest. Brand-new, covered with bee’s wax to endure all sorts of weather for a long time.

Taking advantage of the multitude joined together in the square, Ahab read a series of laws to protect the farmers, stimulate cattle-raising and awarding whoever brought new business into the region, and added that from that day on they would have to find themselves an honest job or else move to another town. He never once mentioned the “monument” that he had just inaugurated; Ahab was a man who did not believe in threats.

At the end of the meeting, several groups formed, and most of them felt that Ahab had been deceived by the saint, since he lacked the courage he used to have. So he would have to be killed. For the next few days many plans were made to this end. But they were all forced to contemplate the gallows in the middle of the square, and wondered: What is that thing doing there? Was it built to kill those who did not accept the new laws? Who is on Ahab’s side, and who isn’t? Are there spies among us?

The gallows looked down on the men, and the men looked up at the gallows. Little by little the rebels’ initial courage was replaced by fear; they all knew Ahab’s reputation, they all knew he was implacable in his decisions. Some people abandoned the city, others decided to try the new jobs offered them, simply because they had nowhere to go or else because of the shadow of that instrument of death in the middle of the square. Some time later the place was at peace, it had grown into a great business center on the frontier and began to export the best wool and produce top-quality wheat.

The gallows stayed there for ten years. The wood resisted well, but now and again the rope was changed for another. It was never put to use. Ahab never said a single word about it. Its image was enough to change courage to fear, trust to suspicion, stories of bravado to whispers of acceptance. After ten years, when law finally reigned in Viscos, Ahab had it destroyed and replaced by a cross.

Read More: http://paulocoelhoblog.com/warrioroflight/27.05.2009/issue-n%C2%BA-199-how-the-city-was-pacified/

The Winner Stands Alone : Chapter VI by Paulo Coelho

Free Writing,

‘I promised I wouldn’t if you behaved in a more adult fashion and with due respect for my intelligence.’

He’s right. The adult thing to do would be to talk a little about herself. She might arouse the compassion that is always there in the mind of a madman by explaining that she’s in a similar situation, even though it isn’t true.

A boy runs past, an iPod in his ears. He doesn’t even turn to look at them.

‘I live with a man who makes my life hell, and yet I can’t leave him.’

The look in Igor’s eyes changes.

Olivia thinks she’s found a way of escaping from the trap. ‘Be intelligent. Don’t just give up; think of the woman who’s married to the man sitting next to you. Be honest.’

‘He’s cut me off from my friends. He’s always jealous even though he can get all the women he wants. He criticises everything I do and says I have no ambition. He even takes the little money I earn as commission.’

The man says nothing but stares at the sea. The pavement is filling up with people; what would happen if she just got to her feet and ran? Would he shoot her? Is it a real gun?

She senses that she has touched on a topic of possible interest to him. It would be best not to do anything foolish, she thinks, remembering the way he spoke and looked at her minutes before.

‘And yet, you see, I can’t bring myself to leave him. Even if I were to meet the kindest, richest, most generous man in the world, I wouldn’t give my boyfriend up for anything. I’m not a masochist, I take no pleasure in these constant humiliations, I just happen to love him.’

She feels the barrel of the gun pressing into her ribs again. She has said the wrong thing.

‘I’m not like that scoundrel of a boyfriend of yours,’ he says, his voice full of loathing now. ‘I worked hard to build up what I have. I worked long and hard, and survived many a setback. I was always honest in my dealings, although there were, of course, times when I had to be hard and implacable. I was always a good Christian. I have influential friends, and I’ve always been grateful to them. In short, I did everything right.

‘I never harmed anyone who got in my way. Whenever possible, I encouraged my wife to do what she wanted to do, and the result: here I am, alone. Yes, I killed people during the idiotic war I was sent to fight, but I never lost my sense of reality. I’m not one of those traumatised war veterans who goes into a restaurant and machine-guns people. I’m not a terrorist. Of course, I could say that life has treated me unfairly and taken from me the most important thing there is: love. But there are other women, and the pain of love always passes. I need to act, I’m tired of being a frog slowly boiling to death.’

‘If you know there are other women and you know that the pain of love will pass, why are you so upset?’

Yes, she’s behaving like an adult now, surprised at the calm way in which she’s trying to deal with the madman by her side.

He seems to waver.

‘I don’t really know. Perhaps because I’ve been abandoned once too often. Perhaps because I need to prove to myself just what I’m capable of. Perhaps because I lied, and there is only one woman for me. I have a plan.’

‘What plan?’

‘I told you before. I’m going to keep destroying worlds until she realises how important she is to me and that I’m prepared to run any risk in order to get her back.’

The police!

They both notice the police car approaching.

‘I’m sorry,’ says the man. ‘I intended to talk a little more. Life hasn’t treated you very fairly either.’

Olivia realises this is the end. And since she now has nothing to lose, she again tries to get up. Then she feels the hand of that stranger on her right shoulder, as if he were fondly embracing her.

Samozashchita Bez Orujiya, or Sambo, as it is better known among Russians, is the art of killing swiftly with one’s bare hands, without the victim realising what is happening. It was developed over the centuries, when peoples or tribes had to confront invaders unarmed. It was widely used by the Soviet state apparatus to eliminate people without leaving any trace. They tried to introduce it as a martial art in the 1980 Moscow Olympics, but it was rejected as being too dangerous, despite all the efforts of the Communists of the day to include in the Games a sport which they alone practised.

Perfect. That way, only a few people know the moves.

Igor’s right thumb is pressing down on Olivia’s jugular vein, and the blood stops flowing to her brain. Meanwhile, his other hand is pressing on a particular point near her armpit, causing the muscles to seize up. There are no contractions, it’s merely a question of waiting two minutes.

Olivia appears to have gone to sleep in his arms. The police car drives by behind them, using the lane that is closed to other traffic. They don’t even notice the embracing couple; they have other things to worry about this morning, like doing their best to keep the traffic moving – an impossible task if carried out to the letter. The latest call over the radio tells them that some drunken millionaire has just crashed his car a mile or so away.

Still supporting the girl, Igor bends down and uses his other hand to pick up the cloth spread out in front of the bench and on which all those tasteless objects were to be displayed. He adroitly folds the cloth up to form an improvised pillow.

When he sees that no one else is around, he tenderly lays her inert body on the bench. She looks as if she were asleep; and in her dreams she must be remembering some particularly lovely day or else having nightmares about her violent boyfriend.

Only the elderly couple had noticed them sitting together. And if the crime were discovered — which Igor doubted, since there were no visible marks — they would describe him to the police as fairer or darker or older or younger than he really was; there wasn’t the slightest reason to be worried; people never pay much attention to what’s going on around them.

Before leaving, he plants a kiss on the brow of the sleeping beauty and murmurs:

‘As you see, I kept my promise. I didn’t shoot.’
The 7th Chapter will be posted on Tuesday 17th of February
http://paulocoelhoblog.com/the-winner-stands-alone

Release dates:
February : Arabic Countries
March 19: UK
April: France, USA, Greece, Holland, Russia, Bulgaria.
May: Australia, Iran, South Africa

The Winner Stands Alone : Chapter V by Paulo Coelho

Free Writing,

Igor points to the one free lane on the Boulevard de la Croisette.

‘Let’s say that I don’t want you to go to a party, but I daren’t say so openly. If I wait for the rush hour to begin and stop my car in the middle of the road, within ten minutes, the whole of the boulevard opposite the beach will have come to a standstill. Drivers will think: “There must have been an accident” and will wait patiently. In fifteen minutes, the police will arrive with a truck to tow the car away.’

‘That kind of thing is always happening.’

‘Ah, yes, but I — very carefully and without anyone noticing – will have got out of my car and scattered nails and other sharp objects on the road in front of it. And I will have carefully painted all of these objects black, so that they blend in with the asphalt. As the tow-truck approaches, its tyres will be punctured. Now we have two problems, and the tailback of traffic will have reached the suburbs of this small city, the very suburbs where you perhaps live.’

‘You clearly have a very vivid imagination, but you would still only have managed to delay me by about an hour.’

It was Igor’s turn to smile.

‘Oh, I could come up with all kinds of ways of making the situation worse. When people started gathering round to help, for example, I would throw something like a small smoke-bomb under the truck. This would frighten everyone. I would get into my car, feigning despair, and start the engine. At the same time, though, I would empty a bit of lighter fluid on the floor of the car and it would ignite. I would then jump out of the car in time to observe the scene: the car gradually going up in flames, the flames reaching the fuel tank, the explosion that would affect the car behind as well, and so on in a chain reaction. And I could achieve all that with a car, a few nails, a smoke-bomb that you can buy in a shop, and a small amount of lighter fluid…’

Igor takes from his pocket a small flask containing some kind of liquid.

‘…about this much. I should have done that when I realised Ewa was about to leave me, to make her postpone her decision and reflect a little and consider the consequences. When people start to reflect on decisions they’re trying to make, they usually change their mind — it requires a lot of courage to take certain steps.
‘But I was too proud. I thought it was just a temporary move and that she would soon realise her mistake. I’m sure she regrets leaving me and, as I said, wants to come back. But for that to happen I need to destroy a few worlds.’

The expression on his face has changed, and Olivia is no longer amused by the story. She gets up.

‘Well, I need to do some work.’

‘But I paid you to listen to me. I paid enough to cover your whole working day.’
She puts her hand in her pocket to give him back the money, but at that moment, she sees the pistol pointing at her face.

‘Sit down.’

Her first impulse is to run. The elderly couple are still slowly approaching.
‘Don’t run away,’ he says, as if he could read her thoughts. ‘I haven’t the slightest intention of firing the gun if you’ll just sit down again and hear me out. If you don’t try anything and do as I say, then I swear I won’t shoot.’

A series of options pass rapidly through Olivia’s head, the first being to run, zigzagging her way across the street, but she realises that her legs have gone weak.

‘Sit down,’ the man says again. ‘I won’t shoot if you do as you’re told. I promise.’
Yes, it would be madness on his part to fire that gun on a sunny morning, with cars driving past outside, people going to the beach, the traffic getting heavier by the minute, and more pedestrians walking along the pavement. Best to do as the man says, even if only because she’s in no state to do anything else; she’s almost fainting.

She obeys. Now she just has to convince him that she’s not a threat, to listen to his deserted husband’s lament, to promise him that she has seen nothing, and then, as soon as a policeman appears, doing his usual round, throw herself to the ground and scream for help.

‘I know exactly what you’re feeling,’ the man says, trying to calm her. ‘The symptoms of fear have been the same since the dawn of time. They were the same when men had to face wild beasts and they continue to be so right up to the present day: blood drains away from the face and the epidermis, protecting the body and avoiding blood loss, that’s why people turn pale. The intestines relax and release everything, so that there will be no toxic matter left contaminating the organism. The body initially refuses to move, so as not to provoke the beast in question by making any sudden movement.’
‘This is all a dream,’ thinks Olivia. She remembers her parents, who should have been here with her this morning, but who had been up all night making jewellery because the day looked likely to be a busy one. A few hours ago, she had been making love with her boyfriend, whom she believed to be the man of her life, even though he sometimes hit her; they reached orgasm simultaneously, something that hadn’t happened for a long time. After breakfast, she decided not to take her usual shower because she felt free and full of energy and pleased with life.

No, this can’t be happening. She must try to appear calm.

‘Let’s talk. The reason you bought all my stuff was so that we could talk. Besides, I wasn’t getting up in order to run away.’

He presses the barrel of the gun gently against the girl’s ribs. The elderly couple pass by, glance at them and notice nothing odd. There’s that Portuguese girl, they think, trying, as usual, to impress some man with her dark eyebrows and child-like smile. It’s not the first time they’ve seen her with a strange man, and this one, to judge by his clothes, has plenty of money.

Olivia fixes them with her eyes, as if trying to tell them what’s going on just by looking. The man beside her says brightly:

‘Good morning.’

The couple move off without uttering a word. They’re not in the habit of talking to strangers or of exchanging greetings with street vendors.

‘Yes, let’s talk,’ says the Russian, breaking the silence. ‘I’m not really going to try and disrupt the traffic. I was just giving that as an example. My wife will realise I’m here when she starts to receive the messages. I’m not going to take the obvious route, which would be to go and meet her. I need her to come to me.’

This was a possible way out.

‘I can deliver the messages, if you like. Just tell me which hotel she’s staying at.’
The man laughs.

‘You suffer from the youthful vice of thinking you’re cleverer than everyone else. The moment you left here, you’d go straight to the police.’

Her blood freezes. Are they going to sit on this bench all day? Is he going to shoot her after all, now that she knows his face?

‘You said you weren’t going to shoot.’
http://paulocoelhoblog.com/the-winner-stands-alone

Release dates
March: UK, Lebanon and Middle East
April: France, Greece, Holland, Russia, USA

The Winner Stands Alone : Chapter IV by Paulo Coelho

Free Writing,

He sees a young woman setting out her wares on the pavement — various bits of craftwork and jewellery of rather dubious taste.

Yes, she will be the sacrifice. She is the message he must send, a message that will be understood as soon as it reaches its destination. Before going over to her, he observes her tenderly; she doesn’t know that in a little while, if all goes well, her soul will be wandering the clouds, free for ever from an idiotic job that will never take her where her dreams would like her to go.

‘How much?’ he asks in perfect French.

‘Which piece do you want, sir?’

‘All of them.’

The young woman — who must be twenty at most — smiles.

‘This isn’t the first time someone has asked to buy everything. The next step is usually: “Would you like to go for a walk? You’re far too pretty to be here selling these things. I’m…”‘

‘No, I’m not. I don’t work in the movies, nor am I going to make you an actress and change your life. I’m not interested in the things you’re selling either. I just need to talk, and we can do that right here.’

The young woman averts her gaze.

‘My parents make these things, and I’m proud of what I do. One day, someone will come along who’ll recognise their value. Please, go away. I’m sure you can find someone else to listen to what you have to say.’

Igor takes a bundle of notes out of his pocket and puts them gently down beside her.
‘Forgive my rudeness. I only said I wasn’t interested in buying anything to see if you would lower the price. Anyway, my name is Igor Malev. I flew in from Moscow yesterday, and I’m still a little jet-lagged.’

‘My name’s Olivia,’ says the young woman, pretending to believe his lie.

Without asking her permission, he sits down on the bench beside her. She shifts up an inch or so.

‘What do you want to talk about?’

‘First, take the money.’

Olivia hesitates, then, looking around, realises that she has no reason to be afraid. Cars are now driving down the one available lane, young people are heading for the beach, and an elderly couple are coming towards them down the pavement. She puts the money in her pocket, not even bothering to count it; she has enough experience of life to know that it’s more than enough.

‘Thank you for accepting my offer,’ says the Russian. ‘You asked me what I want to talk about? Well, nothing very important.’

‘You must be here for a reason. You need a reason to visit Cannes at this time of year when the city is as unbearable for the people who live here as it is for the tourists.’
Igor is looking at the sea. He lights a cigarette.

‘Smoking’s bad for your health,’ she says.

He ignores this remark.

‘What, for you, is the meaning of life?’ he asks.

‘Love.’

Olivia smiles. This really is an excellent way to start the day, talking about deeper things than the price of each piece of handiwork or the clothes people are wearing.
‘And for you?’

‘Yes, love too. But for me it was also important to earn enough money to show my parents that I was capable of succeeding. I did that, and now they’re proud of me. I met the perfect woman, we married, and I would like to have had children, to honour and fear God. The children, alas, never came.’

Olivia doesn’t like to ask why. The man, in his forties continues in his perfect French:
‘We thought of adopting a child. Indeed, we spent two or three years thinking about it, but then life began to get too busy what with business trips and parties, meetings and deals.’

‘When you sat down here to talk, I thought you were just another eccentric millionaire in search of an adventure, but I’m enjoying talking about these things.’

‘Do you think about the future?’

‘Yes, I do, and I think my dreams are much the same as yours. Obviously, I’d like to have children as well…’

She pauses. She doesn’t want to hurt the feelings of this unexpected new companion.
‘…if, of course, I can. Sometimes, God has other plans.’

He appears not to have heard her answer.

‘Do only millionaires come to the Festival?’

‘Millionaires and people who think they’re millionaires or want to become millionaires. While the Festival is on, this part of the city is like a madhouse. Everyone behaves as if they were terribly important, apart from the people who really are important; they’re much politer; they don’t need to prove anything to anyone. They don’t always buy what I have to sell, but at least they smile, make some pleasant remark and treat me with respect. What are you doing here?’

‘God made the world in six days, but what is the world? It’s what you or I see. Whenever someone dies, a part of the universe dies too. Everything a person felt, experienced and saw dies with them, like tears in the rain.’

‘”Like tears in the rain”… I saw a film once that used that phrase. I can’t remember now what it was.’

‘I didn’t come here to cry. I came to send messages to the woman I love, and in order to do that, I need to destroy a few universes or worlds.’

Instead of feeling alarmed by this last statement, Olivia laughs. This handsome, well-dressed man, speaking fluent French, doesn’t seem like a madman at all. She was fed up with always hearing the same things: you’re very pretty, you could be doing better for yourself, how much is this, how much is that, it’s awfully expensive, I’ll go away and think about and come back later (which they never do, of course), etc. At least this Russian has a sense of humour.

‘Why do you need to destroy the world?’

‘So that I can rebuild my own world.’

Olivia would like to try and console him, but she’s afraid of hearing the famous words: ‘I think you could give meaning to my life,’ at which point the conversation would come to an abrupt halt because she has other plans for her future. Besides, it would be absurd on her part to try and teach someone older and more successful how to overcome his difficulties.

One way out would be to learn more about his life. After all, he’s paid her — and paid her well — for her time.

‘How do you intend to do that?’

‘Do you know anything about frogs?’

‘Frogs?’

‘Yes, various biological studies have shown that if a frog is placed in a container along with water from its own pond, it will remain there, utterly still, while the water is slowly heated up. The frog doesn’t react to the gradual increase in temperature, to the changes in its environment, and when the water reaches boiling point, the frog dies, fat and happy.

‘On the other hand, if a frog is thrown into a container full of already boiling water, it will jump straight out again, scalded, but alive!’

Olivia doesn’t quite see what this has to do with the destruction of the world. Igor goes on:

‘I was like that boiled frog. I didn’t notice the changes. I thought everything was fine, that the bad things would just go away, that it was just a matter of time. I was ready to die because I lost the most important thing in my life but, instead of reacting, I sat there bobbing apathetically about in water that was getting hotter by the minute.’
Olivia plucks up the courage to ask:

‘What did you lose?’

‘The truth is I didn’t lose anything. Life sometimes separates people so that they can realise how much they mean to each other. For example, last night, I saw my wife with another man. I know she wants to come back to me, that she still loves me, but she’s not brave enough to take the first step. Some boiled frogs still think it’s obedience that counts, not ability: those who can, lead, and those with any sense, obey. So where’s the truth in all this? It’s better to emerge from a situation slightly scalded, but alive and ready to act. And I think you can help me in that task.’

Olivia tries to imagine what is going through the mind of the man beside her. How could anyone leave such an interesting person, someone who can talk about things she has never even thought about? Then again, there’s no logic to love. Despite her youth, she knows that. Her boyfriend, for example, can be quite brutal and sometimes hits her for no reason, and yet she can’t bear to be apart from him even for a day.

What exactly were they talking about? About frogs and about how she could help him. She can’t help him, of course, so she’d better change the subject.

‘And how do you intend to set about destroying the world?’

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Release dates
March: UK, Lebanon and Middle East
April: France, Greece, Holland, Russia, USA
May: Australia, Iran, Bulgaria, Poland