Пауло Коэльо - Hippie

The man smiled, lit the blue hookah at his side, released a few puffs, offered it to Paulo, who did the same thing, and sat on the floor.

“The first was a thief. One time I was lost in the desert and only managed to make it home late into the night. I’d left my key with the neighbor, but I didn’t have the courage to wake him at that hour. Finally, I found a man, asked for help, and he opened the lock in the blink of an eye.

“I was quite impressed and begged him to teach me how to do it. He told me he’d spent his life robbing other people, but I was so grateful I invited him to sleep in my house.

“He spent a month in my home. Every night he would go out, saying: ‘I’m going to work; continue your meditation and make sure to pray.’ When he returned, I always asked whether he’d managed anything. Invariably, he responded: ‘Nothing tonight. But, God willing, I’ll try again tomorrow.’

“He was a happy man, and I never saw him looking desperate due to a lack of results. During a good part of my life, I didn’t succeed in talking to God, I meditated and meditated and nothing happened. I remembered the thief’s words—‘Nothing tonight. But, God willing, I’ll try again tomorrow.’ This gave me the strength to carry on.”

“And who was the second person?”

“A dog. I was walking to the river for a drink when the dog appeared. He, too, was thirsty. But as he neared the river, he saw another dog there—it was nothing more than his reflection.

“He was frightened, turned back, barked, did everything he could to free himself of the other dog. Nothing happened, of course. Finally, because his thirst was immense, he decided to face the situation and flew headlong into the river; at that moment, the image disappeared.”

The man without a name paused before continuing.

“Finally, my third teacher was a child. He was walking to the mosque near the village where he lived, with a burning candle in his hand. I asked him: ‘Was it you who lit this candle?’ He told me that it was. As I was worried by children playing with fire, I asked again: ‘Boy, at one moment this candle was not lit. Can you tell me where the flame that now burns came from?’

“The boy laughed, put out the candle, and asked me in return: ‘And you, sir, can you tell me where the flame has disappeared to?’

“At that moment, I understood how stupid I had always been. Who ignites the flame of wisdom? Where does it disappear to? I understood that, just like that candle, at certain moments man carries the sacred flame in his heart but never knows where it comes from. From that moment on, I began to pay closer attention to everything around me—clouds, trees, rivers, and forests, men and women. And everything gave me the knowledge I needed at the moment I needed it. I’ve had thousands of teachers throughout my life.

“I began to believe that the flame would always light the way when I most needed it; I’ve been a disciple of life and I continue to be. I was able to learn from the simplest and most unexpected things, such as the stories parents tell their children.

“That is why nearly all of the wisdom of Sufism is not to be found in sacred texts, but in stories, prayers, dance, and contemplation.”

Paulo could hear the voices once again coming from the loudspeakers of the mosques, the muezzins calling the faithful for the final prayer of the day. The man without a name kneeled facing Mecca and began to pray. When he finished, Paulo asked if he could return the next day.

“Of course,” the man said. “But you won’t learn anything more than what your heart wishes to teach you. All I have for you are stories and a place where you can always come when you’re in search of silence—as long as we’re not performing one of our religious dances.”

Paulo turned to Karla.

“Your turn.”

Yes, she knew. She paid the bill, and they walked to the edge of the strait. They could hear the cars blowing their horns on the bridge, but they were incapable of ruining the moon, the water, the view of Istanbul.

“Today I sat on the other side and spent hours watching the river flow. I thought back on how I’ve lived up until now, the men I’ve met, and my behavior, which never seemed to change. I was tired of myself.

“I asked myself: Why am I like this? Am I the only one, or are there others incapable of love? I’ve known many men in my life who were eager to do everything for me, and I never loved any of them. At times, I thought I’d finally met my Prince Charming, but this feeling didn’t last long—and soon I couldn’t stand the person anymore, no matter how caring, attentive, and loving he was. I didn’t give any explanation, I simply told them the truth—they would try everything to win me over again, but it was useless. The simple touch of their hands on my arm, in an attempt to make things all right, repulsed me.

“I’ve been with people who threatened to commit suicide—thank God it was only a threat. I’ve never felt jealousy. At a certain time in my life, when I passed the barrier of twenty, I thought I was sick. I’ve never been faithful—I always found other lovers, even when I was with someone willing to do everything for me. I met a psychiatrist, or a psychoanalyst, I’m not exactly sure which, and we went to Paris. It was the first time someone noticed this, and then he started in with his labels—I needed medical attention, my body lacked some hormones. Instead of looking for help, what I did was return to Amsterdam.

“As you’ve no doubt noticed and imagined, I seduce men rather easily. But soon thereafter, I lose interest. That’s why I had the idea of going to Nepal: I considered never returning, growing old discovering my love for God—which, I admit, until now is only something that I think I feel, but I’m not entirely sure.

“The fact is I never found an answer to my question, I didn’t want to consult doctors, I simply wanted to disappear from the world and dedicate my life to contemplation. Nothing more.

“Because a life without love isn’t worth living. What is a life without love? It’s a tree that bears no fruit. It’s sleeping without dreaming. At times, it’s even an inability to sleep. It’s living one day after another waiting for the sun to shine into a room that is completely shut up, painted black, where you know where the key is but have no desire to open the door and go out.”

Her voice began to crack, as though she were about to cry. Paulo drew near and tried to embrace her, but she pushed him away.

“I’m still not finished. I’ve always been an expert at manipulating others, and this gave me such confidence in myself, in my superiority, that subconsciously I repeated to myself: I’ll only give completely of myself the day someone appears who is capable of taming me. And to this day, that person has yet to appear.”

She turned to him, her eyes, which one might have expected to be full of tears, were filled with sparks.

“Why are you here, in this land of dreams? Because I wanted. Because I needed company and I thought you were the ideal companion, even after seeing all your shortcomings—pretending you were a free man as you followed the Hare Krishna through the streets, going to that house of the rising sun to show how brave you were, when really it was just stupid. Accepting my invitation to see a windmill— a windmill! —as if you were taking a trip to Mars.”

“You insisted.”

Karla hadn’t insisted, she’d merely made a suggestion, but apparently her suggestions were generally taken as orders. She continued, without bothering to explain further.

“And that was the day, when we came back from seeing the windmill and went after what I wanted—to buy the ticket to Nepal—that I realized I was falling for you. Not for any particular reason, nothing had changed from the day before, it wasn’t any gesture or thing that you’d said—absolutely nothing. But I was falling hard. And I knew, as I had each time before, that this feeling wouldn’t last long—you’re completely wrong for me.