Love is always within. When you try to dramatize your love, you lose the depth of the love.
Charan Singh
ePub
A4Prologue
S
omething that is of great importance to me? J. thought for a few moments before responding. Magic.No, something else, Paulo insisted.
Women, J. said. Magic and women.
Paulo laughed.
They're important to me, too, he said. Although marriage has slowed me down a bit.
It was J.'s turn to laugh.
A bit, he said. Just a bit.
Paulo filled his master's glass with wine. It had been four months since they had seen each other,
and this was a quite special night. Paulo wanted to talk for a while longer, build the suspense,
before giving J. the package he had brought.
I used to imagine the great masters as people who were far removed from the world, he said to J. If you had answered me that way a few years ago, I think I would have abandoned my apprenticeship.
You should have done that, J. said, sipping at his wine. And I would have found a beautiful woman disciple to take your place.
They drank the entire bottle of wine as they sat talking in the restaurant located on the top floor of J.'s hotel. They spoke of work, magic, and women. J. was euphoric about the huge contract he had just negotiated for the Dutch multinational for which he worked. And Paulo was excited about the package he had brought with him.
Let's have another bottle, Paulo said.
In honor of what?
Your coming to Rio de Janeiro.... The beautiful view from the window over there.... And the present I've brought you.
J. looked out the window to see Copacabana beach sparkling below. The view deserves a toast, he said, signaling to the waiter.
When they were halfway through the second bottle, Paulo placed the package on the table.
Looking at J., he said, If you were to ask me what is important to me, I would say: my master.
It was he who taught me to understand that love is the only thing that never fails. He who had the patience to lead me along the intricate paths of magic. He who had the courage and dignity,
despite his powers, to present himself always as a person with some doubts and with certain weaknesses. He who helped me to understand the forces that can transform our lives.
We've had a lot of wine, J. said. I don't want to get serious.
I'm not talking about serious things. I'm talking about joyful things. I'm talking about love.
He pushed the package to J.'s side of the table. Open it.
What is his?
A way of saying thank you. And of passing on to others all the love you taught me.
J. opened the package. It contained almost two hundred typed pages, on the first of which was written The Alchemist.
Paulo's eyes were gleaming.
It's a new book, he said. Look at the next page.
There was an inscription written in longhand: For J., the alchemist who knows and uses the secrets of the Great Work.
Paulo had anxiously awaited this moment. He had been able to keep completely secret the fact that he was writing a new book, even though he knew that J. had really liked his previous book.
This is the original manuscript, Paulo continued. I'd like you to read it before I send it to the publisher.
He tried to read the expression in his master's eyes, but they were impenetrable.
I have meetings all day tomorrow, J. said, so I'll be able to read it only at night. Let's have lunch two days from now.
Paulo had been expecting a different reaction. He thought that J. would be happy, and moved by the inscription.
Let's do that, said Paulo, hiding his disappointment. I'll be back in two days.
J. called for the check. They walked silently to the elevator. J. pushed the button for the eleventh floor.
When the elevator stopped at his floor, J. pushed the Emergency button to hold the door open.
Then he approached Paulo and said, May the Lamb of God protect you, making a sign on the forehead of his disciple.
Paulo embraced his master and said good night. Resetting the button, J. stepped out of the elevator.
Why didn't you make copies of the original? he asked, as the door began to close.
In order to give God the chance to make it disappear, if that was his will.
Wise decision, Paulo heard J. say as the door closed. I hope that the literary critics never discover where it is.
They met two days later, at the same restaurant.
J. began, There are certain secrets of alchemy described in your book. Secrets I never discussed with you. And you presented them quite correctly.
Paulo was delighted. This was just what he wanted to hear.
Well, I've been studying, he explained.
No, you haven't been studying, J. said. Yet what you've written about is correct.
I can't fool him, Paulo thought. I'd like him to think I'm dedicated, but I can't fool him.
He looked outside. The sun was glaring, and the beach was crowded.
What do you see in that immense sky? J. asked.
Clouds.
No, J. said. You see the soul of the rivers. Rivers that have just been reborn in the sea. They will rise to the sky, and remain there until, for whatever reason, they once again become rain and fall to earth.
The rivers return to the mountains, but carry with them the wisdom of the sea.
J. poured himself some mineral water. He didn't usually drink during the day.
That is how you discovered those secrets we had never discussed, J. said. You are a river.
You have already run down to the sea, and you know its wisdom. You have died and been reborn many times. All you have to do is remember.
Paulo was happy. It was a kind of praise: His master said that he had discovered secrets. But he was unable to ask openly which secrets they were.
I have a new task for you, J. said. Silently, he thought, It has to do with your book. Because I know it's very important to you, and it doesn't deserve to be destroyed. But Paulo didn't need to hear about that.
One week later, J. and Paulo walked together through the airport. Paulo wanted to know more about the task that his master had assigned him the week before, but J. carefully avoided conversation. They sat down at a table in the cafeteria.
We were able to have dinner together only twice during my stay here in Rio, J. began, and this is our third. It's in observance of the saying 'Anything that occurs once can never occur again. But, should it happen twice, it will surely happen a third time.'
J. was trying to avoid the subject, but Paulo persevered. He knew now that his master had liked the book's dedication, because he had overheard a conversation between J. and the receptionist at the hotel. And later, one of J.'s friends had referred to Paulo as the book's author.
He must have told a number of people about itthere was, after all, only one copy of the original. Vanity of vanities, he said to himself. He thanked God for having given him a master so human.
I want to ask you about the task, Paulo said once again. I don't want to ask 'how' or 'where,',
because I know you won't tell me.
Well, that's one thing you've learned in all this time, J. laughed.
In one of our conversations, Paulo continued, you told me about a man named Gene, who was able to do what you are now asking of me. I'm going to look for him.
Did I give you his address?
You mentioned that he lived in the United States, in the California desert. It shouldn't be too hard to get there.
No, it isn't.
As they spoke, Paulo became aware that the voice on the public address system was continually announcing flight departures. He began to feel tense, fearing there wouldn't be enough time to complete their conversation.
Even though I don't want to know 'how' or 'where,' you taught me that there is a question we should always ask as we undertake something. I'm asking you that question now: Why? Why must I do this?
Because people always kill the things they love, J. replied.
As Paulo pondered the mystery of this answer, once again he heard a departure announced.
That's my plane, J. said. I have to go.
But I don't understand your answer to my question.
Asking Paulo to pay the bill, J. quickly wrote something on a paper napkin.
Placing the napkin on the table in front of his disciple, J. said, During the last century, a man wrote about what I've just said to you. But it's been true for many generations.
Paulo picked up the napkin. For a fraction of a second, he thought it might contain a magic formula. But it was a verse from a poem.
And each man kills the thing he loves,
By all let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword.
The waiter came with the change, but Paulo didn't notice. He couldn't stop looking at those terrible words.
And so, the task, J. said after a long silence. It's needed to break that curse.
One way or another, Paulo said slowly, I have wound up destroying what I've loved. I've seen my dreams fall apart just when I seemed about to achieve them. I always thought that was just the way life was. My life and everyone else's.
The curse can be broken, J. repeated, if you complete the task.
They walked through the noisy airport in silence. J. was thinking about the books that his disciple had written. He thought about Chris, Paulo's wife. He knew that Paulo was being drawn toward the magical initiation that appears at one time or another in everyone's life.
He knew that Paulo was on the brink of seeing one of his greatest dreams realized.
And this meant danger, because J.'s disciple was like all human beings: He was going to find that he did not necessarily deserve all that he had received.
But he didn't tell Paulo any of this.
The women of your country are beautiful, J. said with a smile, as they arrived at the passport control line. I hope I can come back.
But Paulo spoke seriously.
So that's what the task is for, he said, as his master handed over his passport for stamping.
To break the curse.
And J. answered, just as seriously. It's for love. For victory. And for the glory of God.
THEY HAD BEEN DRIVING FOR ALMOST SIX HOURS. FOR THE hundredth time, he asked the woman at his side if they were on the right road.
For the hundredth time, she looked at the map. Yes, they were going the right way, even though their surroundings were green, and a river ran nearby, and there were trees along the road.
I think we should stop at a gas station and check, she said.
They drove on without speaking, listening to old songs on the radio. Chris knew that it wasn't necessary to stop at a gas station, because they were on the right roadeven if the scenery around them was completely different from what they had expected. But she knew her husband well. Paulo was nervous and uncertain, thinking that she was misreading the map. He would feel better if they stopped and asked.
What are we doing here?
I have a task to perform, he answered.
Strange task, she said.
Very strange, he thought. To speak to his guardian angel.
Okay, she said after a while, you're here to speak to your guardian angel. Meanwhile, how about talking a bit with me?
But he said nothing, concentrating on the road, thinking again that she had made a mistake about the route. No point in insisting, she thought. She was hoping they would come upon a gas station soon.
They had headed out on their journey straight from Los Angeles International Airport. She was afraid that Paulo was tired, and might fall asleep at the wheel. They didn't seem to be anywhere near their destination.
I should have married an engineer, she said to herself.
She had never gotten used to his lifetaking off suddenly, looking for sacred pathways, swords,
conversing with angels, doing everything possible to move further along the path to magic.
He has always wanted to leave everything behind.
She remembered their first date. They had slept together, and within a week she had moved her art work table into his apartment. Their friends said that Paulo was a sorcerer, and one night Chris had telephoned the minister of the Protestant church she attended, asking him to say a prayer.
But during that first year, he had said not one word about magic. He was working at a recording studio, and that seemed to be all he was concerned about.
The following year, life was the same. He quit his job and went to work at another studio.
During their third year together, he quit his job again (a mania for leaving everything behind!)
and decided to write scripts for TV. She found it strange, the way he changed jobs every yearbut he was writing, earning money, and they were living well.
Then, at the end of their third year together, he decidedonce againto quit his job. He gave no explanation, saying only that he was fed up with what he was doing, that it didn't make sense to keep quitting his jobs, changing one for another. He needed to discover what it was that he wanted. They had put some money aside, and had decided to do some traveling.
In a car, Chris thought, just like we're doing now.
Chris had met J. for the first time in Amsterdam, when they were having coffee at a cafe in the Brower Hotel, looking out at the Singel canal. Paulo had turned pale when he saw the tall,
white-haired man dressed in a business suit. Despite his anxiety, he finally worked up the courage to approach the older man's table.
That night, when Paulo and Chris were alone again, he drank an entire bottle of wine. He wasn't good drinker, and became drunk. Only then did he reveal what she already knew: that for seven years he had dedicated himself to learning magic. Then, for some reasonwhich he never explained, although she asked about it a number of timeshe had given it all up.
I had a vision of J. two months ago, when we visited Dachau, Paulo said.
Chris remembered that day. Paulo had wept. He said that he was being called but didn't know how to respond.
Should I go back to magic? he had asked.
Yes, you should, she had answered, but she wasn't sure.
Since Amsterdam, everything had changed. There were rituals, exercises, practices. There were long trips with J., with no defined date of return. There were long meetings with strange women, and men who had an aura of sensuality about them. There were challenges and tests,
long nights when he didn't sleep, and long weekends when he never left the house. But Paulo was much happier, and he no longer thought about quitting his job. Together they had founded a small publishing house, and he was doing something he'd dreamed of for a long time: writing books.
Finally, a gas station. As a young Native American woman filled the tank, Paulo and Chris took a stroll.
Paulo looked at the map and confirmed the route. Yes, they were on the right road.
Now he can relax. Now he'll talk a bit, Chris thought.
Did J. say you were to meet with your angel here? she asked hesitantly.
No, he replied.
Great, he gave me an answer, she thought, as she looked out at the brilliant green vegetation, lit by the setting sun. If she hadn't checked the map so often, she too would have doubted this was the right road. The map said that they should be at their destination in another six miles or so,
but the scenery seemed to be telling them they had a long way to go.
I didn't have to come here, Paulo continued. Any place would do. But I have a contact here.
Of course. Paulo always had contacts. He referred to such people as members of the Tradition;
but when Chris described them in her diary, she referred to them as the Conspiracy. Among them were sorcerers and witch doctorsthe kind of people one has nightmares about.
Someone who speaks with angels?
I'm not sure. One time, J. referredjust in passingto a master of the Tradition who lives here,
and who knows how to communicate with the angels. But that might just be a rumor.
He might have been speaking seriously, but Chris knew that he might also have just selected a place at random, one of the many places where he had contacts. A place that was far from their daily life, and where he could concentrate better on the Extraordinary.
How are you going to speak to your angel?
I don't know, he replied.
What a strange way to live, thought Chris. She looked at her husband as he walked over to pay the bill. All she knew was that he felt he had to speak with the angels, and that was that! Drop everything, jump on a plane, fly for twelve hours from Brazil to Los Angeles, drive for six hours to this gas station, arm himself with enough patience to remain here for forty days: all of this in order to speakor rather, try to speakwith his guardian angel!
He laughed at her, and she smiled back. After all, this wasn't all that bad. They had their occasional daily irritationspaying bills, cashing checks, paying courtesy calls, accepting some tough times.
But they still believed in angels.
We'll do it, she said.
Thanks for the 'we,' he answered with a smile. But I'm the magus around here.
THE WOMAN AT THE STATION HAD SAID THEY WERE GOING in the right directionabout ten more minutes. They drove in silence. Paulo turned the radio off. There was a small elevation,
but only when they reached the top did they realize how high up they were. They had been climbing steadily for six hours, without realizing it.
But they were there.
He parked on the shoulder and turned off the motor. Chris looked back in the direction from which they had come to see if it was true: Yes, she could see green trees, plants, vegetation.
But there in front of them, extending from horizon to horizon, was the Mojave Desert: the enormous desert that spreads into many states and into Mexico, the desert she had seen so many times in Westerns when she was a child, the desert that had places with strange names like the Rainbow Forest and Death Valley.
It's pink, Chris thought, but she didn't say anything. He was staring out at its immensity, trying to determine where the angels dwelt.
If you stand in the middle of the main park, you can see where the town of Borrego Springs begins and where it ends. But there are three hotels for the winter tourists who come there for the sun.
They left their luggage in the room and went to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. The waiter stood nearby for some time, trying to determine what language they were speaking. Finally,
when he couldn't figure it out, he asked. When they said they were from Brazil, he said he had never met a Brazilian before.
Well, now you've met two, Paulo laughed.
By the next day, the entire town will have heard about it, he thought. There's not much news in Borrego Springs.
After their meal, they walked about the town, hand in hand. Paulo wanted to wander out into the desert, get the feel of it, breathe in the air of the Mojave. So they meandered over the desert's rocky floor for a half hour, at last stopping to look back at the few distant lights of Borrego Springs.
There in the desert, the heavens were clear. They sat on the ground and made their separate wishes on the falling stars. There was no moon, and the constellations stood out brilliantly.
Have you ever had the feeling, at certain moments in your life, that someone was observing what you were doing? Paulo asked Chris.
How did you know that?
I just know. There are moments when, without really knowing it, we are aware of the presence of angels.
Chris thought back to her adolescence. In those days, she had had that feeling very strongly.
At such moments, he continued, we begin to create a kind of film in which we are the main character, and we are certain that someone is observing our actions.
But then, as we get older, we begin to think that such things are ridiculous. We think of it as having been just a child's fantasy of being a movie actor. We forget that, at those moments in which we are presenting ourselves before an invisible audience, the sensation of being observed was very strong.
He paused for a moment.
When I look up at the night sky, that feeling often returns, and my question is always the same:
Who is out there watching us?
And who is it?
Angels. God's messengers.
She stared up at the heavens, wanting to believe what he had said.
All religions, and every person who has ever witnessed the Extraordinary, speak of angels,
Paulo went on. The universe is populated with angels. It's they who give us hope. Like the one who announced that the Messiah had been born. They also bring death, like the exterminating angel that traveled through Egypt destroying all those who did not display the right sign at their door. Angels with flaming swords in their hands can prevent us from entering into paradise. Or they can invite us in, as the angel did to Mary.
Angels remove the seals placed on prohibited books, and they sound the trumpets on the day of Final Judgment. They bring the light, as Michael did, or darkness, as Lucifer did.
Hesitantly, Chris asked, Do they have wings?
Well, I haven't seen an angel yet, he answered. But I wondered about that, too. I asked J.
about it.
That's good, she thought. At least I'm not the only one who has simple questions about the angels.
J. said that they take whatever form a person imagines they have. Because they are God's thoughts in live form, and they need to adapt to our wisdom and our knowledge. They know that if they don't, we'll be unable to see them.
Paulo closed his eyes.
Imagine your angel, and you will feel its presence right now, right here.
They fell quiet, lying there on the floor of the desert. There was not a sound to be heard, and Chris began once again to feel like she was in a film, playing to an invisible audience. The more intensely she concentrated, the more certain she was that all around her there was a strong presence, friendly and generous. She began to imagine her angel, dressed in blue, with golden hair and immense white wingsexactly as she had pictured her angel as a child.
Paulo was imagining his angel, as well. He had already immersed himself many times in the invisible world that surrounded them, so it was not a new experience for him. But now, since J.
had assigned him this task, he felt that his angel was much more presentas if the angels made themselves available only to those who believed in their existence. He knew, though, that whether one believed in them or not, they were always theremessengers of life, of death, of hell, and of paradise.
He dressed his angel in a long robe, embroidered in gold. And he also gave his angel wings.
THE HOTEL WATCHMAN, EATING HIS BREAKFAST, TURNED TO them as they came in.
I wouldn't go out into the desert at night again, he said.
This really is a small town, Chris thought. Everybody knows what you're doing.
It's dangerous in the desert at night, the guard explained. That's when the coyotes come out,
and the snakes. They can't stand the heat of the day, so they do their hunting after the sun goes down.
We were looking for our angels, Paulo said.
The watchman thought that the man didn't speak English very well. What he had said didn't make sense. Angels! Perhaps he'd meant something else.
The two finished their coffee quickly. Paulo's contact had set their meeting for early in the morning.
CHRIS WAS SURPRISED WHEN SHE SAW GENE FOR THE first time. He was quite young, certainly not more than twenty, and he lived in a trailer out in the desert, several miles from Borrego Springs.
This is a master of the Conspiracy? she whispered to Paulo, when the youth had gone to fetch some iced tea.
But Gene was back before Paulo could respond. They sat under an awning that extended along the side of the trailer.
They talked about the rituals of the Templars, about reincarnation, about Sufi magic, about the Catholic church in Latin America. The boy seemed to know a great deal, and it was amusing to listen to their conversationthey sounded like fans discussing a popular sport, defending certain tactics and criticizing others.
They spoke of everythingexcept angels.
The heat of the day was intensifying. They drank more tea as Gene, smiling agreeably, told them of the marvels of the desert. He warned them that novices should never go into it at night, and that it would be smart to avoid the hottest hours of the day, as well.
The desert is made of mornings and afternoons, he said. The other times are risky.
Chris listened to their conversation for as long as she could. But she had awakened early, and the sun was getting stronger and stronger. She decided she'd close her eyes and take a quick nap.
WHEN SHE AWOKE, THE SOUND OF THEIR VOICES WAS coming from a different place. The two men were at the rear of the trailer.
Why did you bring your wife? she heard Gene ask in a guarded tone.
Because I was coming to the desert, Paulo answered, also whispering.
Gene laughed.
But you're missing what's best about the desert. The solitude.
What a cheeky kid, Chris thought.
Tell me about the Valkyries you mentioned, Paulo said.
They can help you to find your angel, replied Gene. They're the ones who instructed me. But the Valkyries are jealous and tough. They try to follow the same rules as the angelsand, you know, in the kingdom of the angels, there is no good and no evil.
Not as we understand them, Paulo countered.
Chris had no idea what they meant by Valkyries. She had a vague memory of having heard the name in the title of an opera.
Was it difficult for you to see your angel?
A better word would be anguishing. It happened all of a sudden, back in the days when the Valkyries came through here. I decided I'd learn the process just for the fun of it, because at that point, I didn't yet understand the language of the desert, and I was upset about everything that was happening to me.
My angel appeared on that third mountain peak. I was up there just wandering and listening to music on my Walkman. In those days, I had already mastered the second mind.
What the hell is the second mind? Chris wondered.
Was it your father who taught it to you?
No. And when I asked him why he had never told me about the angels, he told me that some things are so important that you have to learn about them on your own.
They were silent for a moment.
If you meet with the Valkyries, there's something that will make it easier for you to get along with them, Gene said.
What's that?
The young man laughed.
You'll find out. But it would have been a lot better if you hadn't brought your wife along.
Did your angel have wings? Paulo asked.
Before Gene could answer, Chris had arisen from her folding chair, come around the trailer, and now stood before them.
Why is he making such a big thing about your coming here alone? she asked, speaking Portuguese. Do you want me to leave?
Gene went on with what he was saying to Paulo, paying no attention whatsoever to Chris's interruption. She waited for Paulo's answerbut she might just as well have been invisible.
Give me the keys to the car, she said, at the limit of her patience.
What does your wife want? Gene finally asked.
She wants to know what the 'second mind' is.
Damn! Nine years we've been together, and this stranger already knows all about us!
Gene stood up.
Sit down, close your eyes, and I will show you what the second mind is, he said.
I didn't come here to the desert to learn about magic or converse with angels, Chris said. I came only to be with my husband.
Sit down, Gene insisted, smiling.
She looked at Paulo for a fraction of a second, but was unable to determine what he was thinking.
I respect their world, but it has nothing to do with me, she thought. Although all their friends thought that she had become completely involved in her husband's lifestyle, the fact was that she and he had spoken very little of it to one another. She was used to going with him to certain places, and had once even carried his sword for purposes of a ceremony. She knew the Road to Santiago, and hadbecause of their relationshiplearned quite a bit about sexual magic. But that was all. J. had never proposed that he teach her anything.
What should I do? she asked Paulo.
Whatever you think, he answered.
I love you, she thought. If she were to learn something about his world, there was no doubt it would bring them even closer. She went back to her chair, sat down, and closed her eyes.
What are you thinking about? Gene asked her.
About what you two were discussing. About Paulo traveling by himself. About the second mind. Whether his angel has wings. And why this should interest me at all. I mean, I don't think I've ever spoken to angels.
No, no. I want to know whether you're thinking about something else. Something beyond your control.
She felt his hands touching both sides of her head.
Relax. Relax. His voice was gentle. What are you thinking?
There were sounds. And voices. It was only now that she realized what she was thinking,
although it had been there for almost an entire day.
A melody, she answered. I've been singing this melody to myself ever since I heard it yesterday on the radio on our way here.
It was true, she had been humming the melody incessantly. To the end, and then once again, and then from start to finish again. She couldn't get it out of her mind.
Gene asked that she open her eyes.
That's the second mind, he said. It's your second mind that's humming the song. It can do that with anything. If you're in love with someone, you can have that person inside your head.
The same thing happens with someone you want to forget about. But the second mind is a tough thing to deal with. It's at work regardless of whether you want it to be or not.
He laughed.
A song! We're always impassioned about something. And it's not always a song. Have you ever had someone you loved stick in your mind? It's really terrible when that happens. You travel,
you try to forget, but your second mind keeps saying: 'Oh, he would really love that!' 'Oh, if only he were here.'
Chris was astonished. She had never thought of such a thing as a second mind.
She had two minds. Functioning at the same time.
GENE CAME TO HER SIDE.
Close your eyes again, he said. And try to remember the horizon you were looking at.
She tried to recall it. I can't, she said, her eyes still closed. I wasn't looking at the horizon. I know that it's all around me, but I wasn't looking at it.
Open your eyes and look at it.
Chris looked out at the horizon. She saw mountains, rocks, stones, and sparse and spindly vegetation. A sun that shone brighter and brighter seemed to pierce her sunglasses and burn into her eyes.
You are here, Gene said, now with a serious tone of voice. Try to understand that you are here, and that the things that surround you change youin the same way that you change them.
Chris stared at the desert.
In order to penetrate the invisible world and develop your powers, you have to live in the present, the here and now. In order to live in the present, you have to control your second mind.
And look at the horizon.
Gene asked her to concentrate on the melody that she had been humming. It was When I Fall in Love. She didn't know the words, and had been making them up, or just singing a ta-de-dum.
Chris concentrated. In a few moments, the melody disappeared. She was now completely alert,
listening only to Gene's words.
But Gene seemed to have nothing more to say.
I have to be alone now, he said. Come back in two days.
PAULO AND CHRIS LOCKED THEMSELVES INSIDE THEIR AIR-CONDITIONED hotel room,
unwilling to confront the 110 degrees of the midday desert. No books to read, nothing to do.
They tried taking a nap, but couldn't sleep.
Let's explore the desert, Paulo said.
It's too hot out there. Gene said it was even dangerous. Let's do it tomorrow.
Paulo didn't answer. He was certain he could turn the fact that he was locked into his hotel room into a learning experience. He tried to make sense of everything that happened in his life,
and used conversation only as means for discharging tension.
But it was impossible; trying to find a meaning in everything meant he had to remain alert and tense. Paulo never relaxed, and Chris had often asked herself when he would tire of his intensity.
Who is Gene?
His father is a powerful magus, and he wants Gene to maintain the family traditionlike engineers who want their children to follow in their footsteps.
He's young, but he wants to act mature, Chris commented. And he's giving up the best years of his life out here in the desert.
Everything has its price. If Gene goes through all thisand doesn't abandon the Traditionhe'll be the first in a line of young masters to be integrated into a world that the older masters,
although they understand it, no longer know how to explain.
Paulo lay down and started to read the only book available, The Guide to Lodging in the Mojave Desert. He didn't want to tell his wife that, in addition to what he had already told her, there was another reason that Gene was here: He was powerful in the paranormal processes, and had been prepared by the Tradition to be ready to act when the gates to paradise opened.
Chris wanted to talk. She felt anxious cooped up in the hotel room, and had decided not to make sense of everything, as her husband did. She was not there to seek a place within a community of the elite.
I didn't really understand what Gene was trying to teach me, she said. The solitude and the desert can increase your contact with the invisible world. But I think it causes us to lose contact with other people.
He probably has a girlfriend or two around here, Paulo said, wanting to avoid conversation.
If I have to spend another thirty-nine days locked up with Paulo, I'll commit suicide, she promised herself.
THAT AFTERNOON, THEY WENT TO A COFFEE SHOP ACROSS the street from the hotel. Paulo chose a table by the window. They ordered ice cream. Chris had spent several hours studying her second mind, and had learned to control it much better than before, but her appetite was never subject to control.
Paulo said, I want you to pay close attention to the people who pass by.
She did as Paulo had asked. In the next half hour, only five people passed by.
What did you see?
She described the people in detailtheir clothing, approximate age, what they were carrying. But A magus, though, always looks much further. We expand that 'magic space' and try to control a apparently that wasn't what he wanted to hear. He insisted on more, trying to get a better answer, but couldn't do so.
Okay, he said. I'm going to tell you what it was that I wanted you to notice: All the people who passed by in the street were looking down.
They waited for some time before another person walked by. Paulo was right.
Gene asked you to look to the horizon. Try that.
What do you mean?
All of us create a kind of 'magic space' around us. Usually it's a circle with about a fifteen-foot radius, and we pay attention to what goes on within it. It doesn't matter whether it's people,
tables, telephones, or windows; we try to maintain control over that small world that we,
ourselves, create.
great many more things. They call it 'looking at the horizon.'
Well, why should I do that?
Because you're here. If you do it, you'll see how much things change.
When they left the coffee shop, she started to pay attention to things in the distance. She noticed the mountains, the occasional cloud that appeared as the sun began to set, andin a strange wayshe seemed to be seeing the air about her.
Everything Gene told you is important, Paulo said. He has already seen and talked with his angel, and he is using you as a means of instructing me. He knows the power of his words, and he knows that advice not heeded is returned to its giver, losing its energy. He needs to be sure that you are interested in what he tells you.
Well, why doesn't he show these things directly to you?
Because there is an unwritten rule in the Tradition: A master never teaches another master's disciple. And he knows I am J.'s disciple. But since he wants to be of help to me, he is using you for that purpose.
Is that why you brought me here?
No. It was because I was afraid of being alone in the desert.
He could have said it was because he loves me, she thought. That would have been more truthful.
THEY STOPPED THE CAR ON THE SHOULDER OF THE narrow dirt road. Two days had passed,
and they were to meet Gene that nightGene, who had told her always to look to the horizon.
She was excited about their meeting.
But it was still morning. And the days in the desert were long.
She looked out at the horizon: mountains that suddenly sprang up millions of years ago, crossing the desert in a long cordillera. Although the earthquakes that created them had occurred long ago, one could still see how the earth's surface had buckledthe ground still climbed smoothly toward the mountains, and then, at a certain altitude, a kind of wound opened, out of which rocks sprang, pointing to the sky.
Between the mountains and the car was a rocky valley with sparse vegetation: thorn bushes,
cacti, and yucca. Life that insisted on surviving in an environment that didn't support it. And an immense white expanse the size of five football fields stood out in the middle of it all. It reflected the morning sun, and resembled a field of snow.
Salt. A salt lake.
Yes. This desert must once have been the bed of an ocean. Once a year, seagulls from the Pacific Ocean flew the hundreds of miles to this desert to eat the species of shrimp that appeared when the rains began. Human beings may forget their origins, but nature, never.
It must be about three miles from here, Chris said.
Paulo checked his watch. It was still early. They had looked to the horizon and it had shown them a salt lake. One hour's walk there, another to return, no risk of the midday sun.
Each placed a canteen of water on their belt. Paulo put his cigarettes and a Bible in a small bag.
When they arrived at the lake, he was going to suggest that they read a passage from it, chosen at random.
THEY BEGAN TO WALK. CHRIS KEPT HER EYES FIXED on the horizon whenever possible.
Although it was a simple thing to be doing, something strange was happening: She felt better,
freer, as if her internal energy had been increased. For the first time in many years, she regretted not having taken a more intense interest in Paulo's Conspiracy. She had always imagined difficult rituals that only those who were prepared and disciplined could perform.
They walked at a leisurely pace for half an hour. The lake appeared to have shifted its location;
it always seemed to be at the same distance from them.
They walked for another hour. They must already have covered four miles or so, but the lake appeared to be only a bit closer.
It was no longer early morning, and the heat of the sun was building.
Paulo looked back. He could see the car, a tiny red point in the distance but still visibleimpossible to become lost. And when he looked at the car, he saw something else that was important.
Let's stop here, he said.
They left the path they were taking and walked to a boulder. They huddled in close to it,
because it cast only a very small shadow. In the desert, shadows appear only early in the morning or late in the afternoon, and then only near the rocks.
Our calculation was wrong, he said.
Chris had already noticed that. She was surprised, because Paulo was good at estimating distances, and he had trusted her guess of three or four miles.
I know how we went wrong, he said. There's nothing in the desert to base comparisons on.
We're used to calculating distance based on the size of things. We know the approximate size of a tree, or a telephone pole, or a house. They help us to decide whether things are near or far away.
Here, there was no point of reference. There were rocks they'd never seen, mountains whose size they could not estimate, and only the sparse vegetation. Paulo had realized this as he looked back at the car. And he could see that they had walked more than four miles.
Let's rest a while, and then we'll go back.
That's all right, Chris thought. She was fascinated with the idea of continuing to look out at the horizon. It was a completely new experience for her.
This business of looking at the horizon, Paulo... Chris paused.
He waited, knowing that she would continue. He knew that she was worried that she might say something silly, or find some esoteric meaning in things, as many do who know only a little about the path.
It seems as if...I don't know...I can't explain it...as if my soul has grown.
Yes, Paulo thought. She's on the right track.
Before, I looked in the distance, and things in the distance seemed really far, you know? They seemed not to be a part of my world. Because I was used to looking only at things that were close, the things around me.
But, two days ago, I got used to looking into the distance. And I saw that besides tables,
chairs, and objects, my world also included the mountains, clouds, the sky. And my soulmy soul seems to have eyes that it uses to touch those things.
Wow! That's a great way of saying it, Paulo thought.
My soul seems to have grown, Chris repeated.
He opened the bag, took out his cigarettes, and lit one before speaking.
Anyone can see that. But we're always looking at the things that are closest to us. Looking down and inward. So our power diminishes, and using your term, our soul shrinks.
Because our soul includes nothing but ourselves. It doesn't include oceans, mountains, other people; it doesn't even include the walls of the houses where we live.
Paulo liked the expression My soul has grown. If he had been talking with another member of the Tradition, there's no doubt that he would have heard much more complicated explanations,
such as My consciousness expanded. But the term his wife had used was more exact.
He finished his cigarette. There was no point in insisting that they make it to the lake; the temperature would soon reach 110 in the shade. The car was far away, but visible, and in an hour and a half they'd be back to it.
They started walking. Surrounded by the desert, by the huge horizon, a feeling of freedom began to grow in their souls.
Let's take off our clothes, Paulo said.
But someone might be watching, Chris said automatically.
Paulo laughed. They could see for miles around them. The day before, when they had been out walking all morning and afternoon, only two cars had passedand, even then, they had heard the sound of their approach long before the cars had appeared. The desert was the sun, the wind,
and the silence.
Only our angels are watching, he answered. And they've already seen us naked many times.
He took off his shorts and his shirt and the canteen, placing them all in the bag.
Chris struggled to keep from laughing. She took her clothes off too, and in a few moments they were two people crossing the Mojave in their sneakers, their hats, and their sunglassesone of them carrying a bag. Anyone watching would find it hilarious.
THEY WALKED FOR HALF AN HOUR. THE CAR WAS STILL just a point on the horizon, butin contrast to the lakeit was growing in size as they approached it. They would be there in a short while.
Suddenly, Chris felt tremendously tired.
Let's rest for a few minutes, she said.
Paulo stopped immediately, saying, I can't carry this bag anymore. I'm really tired.
How could be not be able to carry the bag? Even with everything it held, it couldn't weigh more than six or seven pounds.
You have to carry it. The water's in there.
Right, he had to carry it.
Well then, let's get going, he said irritably.
Everything was so romantic just a few minutes ago, thought Chris. And now he was irritated.
Well, forget it. She was tired, too.
They walked a bit farther, and their exhaustion worsened. If it were up to her, nothing more would be saidshe didn't want to make things worse.
What a dope, she thought. To get angry in the midst of such beauty, and right after they had been talking about such interesting things as..She couldn't remember, but it wasn't important. She was too tired to think now.
Paulo stopped and put the bag down in the sand.
Let's rest, he said.
He didn't seem irritated now. He must be getting tired, too. Just like her.
There was no shade. But she needed to rest.
They sat down on the hot sand. The fact that they were naked and that the ground burned their skin didn't matter. They had to stop. Just for a while.
She remembered what they had been discussing: horizons. She noticed that now, even without wanting to, she had the feeling that her soul had grown. And it seemed like her second mind had stopped working altogether. She didn't think of melodies or repetitious things, and she didn't even care if someone was watching them walk naked across the desert.
Nothing was important. She felt relaxed, unworried, free.
They sat there for a few minutes in silence. It was hot, but the sun didn't bother them. If it started to, they had plenty of water.
He stood up first.
I think we had better keep walking. It's not far to the car now. We'll rest in the air-conditioning when we get there.
She was sleepy. She just wanted to nap for a bit. But she got up, anyway.
They walked a bit farther, and now the car was getting close. Not more than ten minutes to walk.
Since we're so close, let's sleep for a while. Five minutes.
Sleep for five minutes? Why would he say that? Was he reading her mind? There couldn't be any problem with sleeping for just five minutes. They could get a good tan, as if they'd been to the beach.
They sat down again. They had been walking for half an hour, not counting their pauses. Why couldn't they just sleep for five minutes or so?
They heard the sound of a motor. Half an hour earlier, she would have leaped up and dressed in a hurry. But now, so what? It didn't matter at all. Let anyone look who wants to look. It didn't make any difference to her. She just wanted to sleep.
Paulo and Chris watched calmly as a truck drove down the road, passed their car, and stopped just beyond. A man got out and walked toward the vehicle. He looked inside, then walked around the car, examining everything.
Might be a thief, Paulo thought. He imagined the guy stealing the car, leaving them both stranded in the desert with no way to get back. The key was in the ignitionhe hadn't taken it with him for fear of losing it.
But they were in the Mojave Desert. In New York, maybe. But hereno one stole cars here.
Chris looked out at the desert. It was golden and beautiful. Golden. Different from the pinkness of the desert at sundown.
An agreeable feeling of relaxation permeated her entire body. The sun didn't bother herpeople didn't know how lovely the desert could be during the day!
The man gave up his inspection of the car, and placed his hand above his eyes. He was looking for them.
She was naked...and he would surely see that. So what? Paulo didn't seem worried, either.
The man began walking toward them. The feeling of lightness and euphoria was increasing, but exhaustion kept them from moving. The desert was golden and beautiful. Everything was serene, at peacethe angels, yes, the angels would appear before long. That was what they had come to the desert forto talk with their angels!
She was naked, and she was not ashamed.
The man stopped when he reached them. What language was he speaking? They couldn't understand what he was saying.
Paulo tried to concentrate on what he was hearing, and realized that the man was speaking English. After all, they were in the United States.
Come with me, the man said.
We want to rest, Paulo said. Five minutes.
The man picked up the bag and opened it.
Put this on, he said to Chris, handing her clothing to her.
She forced herself to get up, and did as he said. She was too tired to argue.
He ordered Paulo to do the same, and Paulo was also too tired to argue. The man saw the canteens filled with water, opened one of them, filled the cap, and ordered them to drink.
They weren't thirsty. But they did as the man said. They were quite calm, and completely at peace with the worldand they had no desire to argue.
They would do anything they were told to do, obey any order, so long as they were left in peace.
Let's walk, the man said.
They couldn't even think. They sat there gazing at the desert. They would do anything so long as the stranger left them alone.
But the man escorted them to the car, told them to get in, and started the engine. I wonder where he's taking us, Paulo thought. But he wasn't worriedthe world was at peace, and the only thing he wanted to do was sleep. Surely his angel would appear before long.
PAULO AWOKE WITH HIS STOMACH CHURNING, AND A tremendous need to vomit.
Lie still for a while longer.
Someone was speaking to him, but in his head there was only confusion. He still remembered the golden paradise where all had been serene and peaceful.
He tried to move, and felt as if thousands of needles were sticking into his head.
I think I'll go back to sleep, he thought. But he couldn'tthe needles wouldn't allow it. And his stomach was still turning over.
I want to throw up, he said.
When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was sitting in a kind of mini-market: He could see several refrigerator cabinets with soft drinks and shelves with foodstuffs. The sight of the food made him feel nauseated again. Then he noticed nearby a man he had never seen before.
The man helped him to get up. In addition to the imaginary needles in his head, Paulo realized that he had another in his arm. Only this one was real.
The man held the needle in place and helped Paulo to the bathroom, where he vomited some water, nothing more.
What's happening? What's this needle for?
It was Chris, speaking Portuguese. He returned to the store and saw that she was sitting up, too,
with a needle in her arm.
Paulo felt a little better now, and no longer needed the man's support. He helped Chris up and to the bathroom, where she vomited.
I'm going to use your car to get back to mine, the stranger said. I'll leave the keys in the ignition. You can get a ride to it when you're ready.
Paulo was starting to remember what had happened, but the nausea had returned, and he had to vomit again.
When he came back, the man had left, but a boy of seventeen or eighteen was there.
Just another hour, the boy said. The solution will be used up then, and you can go.
What time is it?
The boy told them. Paulo struggled to get uphe had an appointment, and there was no way he was going to miss it.
I have to meet with Gene, he said to Chris.
