Пауло Коэльо - Hippie

The tie between them was being forged and strengthened.

He remembered a story from his childhood, “The Pied Piper of Hamelin,” in which the main character, to get revenge on a city that had promised to pay him and then did not, decided to hypnotize the town’s children and lead them far away with the power of his music. That’s what was happening at that moment—Paulo had become a child and was dancing in the middle of the street, everything so different from the years he’d spent deep in books about magic, performing complicated rituals and believing that he was closing in on the true avatars. Perhaps he was, perhaps he wasn’t, but dancing and singing also helped to reach the same state of mind.

After so much jumping up and down and repeating the mantra, he began to enter a state in which thought, logic, and the city streets no longer held so much importance—his mind was entirely clear, and he came back to reality only from time to time, to make sure Karla was close behind. Yes, he could see her, and it would be a very good thing if she remained in his life for a long time to come, even if he had known her for only three hours.

He was certain that the same thing had happened to her—or else she would have simply left him at the restaurant.

He was beginning to understand the words Krishna had said to the warrior Arjuna before battle. It wasn’t exactly what was written in the book but in her soul:

Fight because you need to fight, because you’re facing a battle.

Fight because you are at peace with the universe, with the planets, the suns that explode and the stars that shrink and flare out forever.

Fight to fulfill your destiny, without giving thought to gain or profit, losses or stratagems, victories or defeats.

Seek not your own gratification, but that of the Supreme Love who offers nothing beyond a glimmering contact with the Cosmos and thus demands an act of complete devotion—without doubts, without questions, love for love’s sake and nothing else.

A love that owes nothing to anyone, that has no obligations, that finds joy in simple existence and the freedom to express itself.

The procession arrived in Dam Square and began to circle the plaza. Paulo decided to stop there, allow the girl he had met to return to his side—she seemed different, more relaxed, more at ease in his presence. The sun wasn’t quite so hot as before, it was unlikely he’d see the girls with their bare breasts again, but since everything seemed to contradict his expectations, the couple noted bright lights to the left of the spot where they were seated. Having absolutely nothing to do, they decided to go see what was happening.

The reflectors cast light across the body of a completely nude model holding a tulip that covered only her crotch. The obelisk in the center of Dam Square formed the background behind her. Karla asked one of the assistants what the meaning of all that was.

“A poster for the department of tourism.”

“This is how you’re selling Holland to foreigners? A place where people go naked in the city?”

The assistant turned and walked away without answering her question. At that moment, the crew took a break and Karla turned to another assistant while the makeup artist stepped in to retouch the model’s right breast. She repeated her question. The man, a bit stressed, asked her not to interrupt his work, but Karla knew what he wanted.

“You seem tense. What’s worrying you?”

“The light. The light’s almost gone; before long the square will be dark,” the assistant responded, trying to rid himself of this impertinent girl.

“You’re not from here, are you? It’s early fall, it stays light out until seven. Not to mention, I have the power to stop the sun.”

The man gave her a look of surprise. She’d gotten what she wanted: his attention.

“Why are you making a poster with a naked woman holding a tulip over her crotch? Is this the image of Holland you want to show the rest of the world?”

He responded with a tone of thinly veiled irritation:

“What Holland? Who said you’re in Holland, a country where the houses have low-set windows that open onto the street and lace curtains that allow anyone to see what’s going on inside, because after all, there are no sinners here, each family is an open book? That’s Holland, my dear: a country overrun by Calvinists, where everyone is a sinner until proven the contrary, sin resides in the heart, mind, body, emotions. A country where only the grace of God can save anyone, but not everyone, just the chosen. You’re from here—haven’t you understood this yet?”

He lit a cigarette and watched the girl who, so arrogant before, now wore a look that betrayed intimidation.

“This isn’t Holland, my child, this is Amsterdam, with prostitutes in the windows and drugs on the streets—surrounded by an invisible cordon sanitaire. Woe to they who seek to take these ideas beyond the city. Not only are they unwelcome, they won’t even manage a hotel room if they’re not dressed properly. But you know this, don’t you? So please step aside and let us work.”

It was the man who stepped aside, leaving Karla looking as if she had just taken a sucker punch. Paulo tried to console her, but she just muttered to herself.

“It’s true. He’s right, it’s all true.”

How could it be true? The border guards wore earrings!

“There’s an invisible wall around the city,” she told him. “You want to get crazy? Well then, we’ll find a place where everyone can do almost everything they want, but don’t overstep these bounds or you’ll be arrested for drug trafficking, even if you’re merely consuming, or for public indecency, because you ought to be wearing a bra, keeping your modesty and morality intact, or else this country will never move forward.”

Paulo was a bit taken aback. He began to distance himself.

“Meet me back here at nine tonight—I promised I was going to take you to hear some real music and go dancing.”

“There’s no need…”

“Of course there is. Don’t stand me up, no man ever bailed on me and ran.”

Karla had her doubts—she regretted not having taken part in the dancing and singing through the streets, it would have brought them closer. But whatever, these are the risks any couple must run.

Couple?

“I’ve spent my life believing whatever people tell me and I always end up disappointed,” she often heard others say. “Does that ever happen to you?”

Of course it happened, but now, at twenty-three, she was better at watching out for herself. The only other option—besides trusting in others—was to transform herself into someone who was always on the defensive, incapable of loving, making decisions, always transferring the blame for everything that went wrong onto others. What was the point in living like that?

Those who trust in themselves trust others. Because they know that, when they are betrayed—and everyone is betrayed, that’s part of life—it’s possible to start all over again. Part of the fun in life is exactly this: running risks.

The nightclub Karla had invited Paulo to, which went by the suggestive name of Paradiso, was in fact a…church. A nineteenth-century church, originally built to house a local religious group that, already in the fifties, realized it had lost its power to attract new followers, despite being a sort of reform of Luther’s reform. In 1965, in light of the costs of maintaining the church, the few remaining faithful decided to abandon the building, occupied two years later by hippies who found in its nave the perfect spot for discussions, workshops, concerts, and political activities.