The Witch of Portobello

by Paulo Coelho

  We got on the first bus that stopped, without asking where it was going, then we chose a female passenger at random and decided that we would get off wherever she did. She got off at Temple and so did we. We passed a beggar who asked us for money, but we didn't give him any and walked on, listening to the insults he hurled after us, accepting that this was merely his way of communicating with us.

  We saw someone vandalizing a telephone booth, and I wanted to call the police, but Athena stopped me; perhaps that person had just broken up with the love of his life and needed to vent his feelings. Or, who knows, perhaps he had no one to talk to and couldn't stand to see others humiliating him by using that phone to discuss business deals or love.

  She told me to close my eyes and to describe exactly the clothes we were both wearing; to my surprise, I got nearly every detail wrong.

  She asked me what was on my desk at work and said that some of the papers were only there because I was too lazy to deal with them.

  "Have you ever considered that those bits of paper have a life and feelings, have requests to make and stories to tell? I don't think you're giving life the attention it deserves."

  I promised that I'd go through them one by one when I returned to work the following day.

  A foreign couple with a map asked Athena how to get to a particular tourist spot. She gave them very precise, but totally inaccurate, directions.

  "Everything you told them was completely wrong!"

  "It doesn't matter. They'll get lost, and that's the best way to discover interesting places. Try to fill your life again with a little fantasy; above our heads is a sky about which the whole of humanity--after thousands of years spent observing it--has given various apparently reasonable explanations. Forget everything you've ever learned about the stars and they'll once more be transformed into angels, or into children, or into whatever you want to believe at that moment. It won't make you more stupid--after all, it's only a game--but it could enrich your life."

  The following day, when I went back to work, I treated each sheet of paper as if it were a message addressed to me personally and not to the organization I represent. At midday, I went to talk to the deputy editor and suggested writing an article about the Goddess worshipped by the gypsies. He thought it an excellent idea and I was commissioned to go to the celebrations in the gypsy Mecca, Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer.

  Incredible though it may seem, Athena showed no desire to go with me. She said that her boyfriend--that fictitious policeman, whom she was using to keep me at a distance--wouldn't be very happy if she went off traveling with another man.

  "Didn't you promise your mother to take the saint a new shawl?"

  "Yes, I did, but only if the town happened to be on my path, which it isn't. If I do ever pass by there, then I'll keep my promise."

  She was returning to Dubai the following Sunday, but first she traveled up to Scotland with her son to see the woman we'd both met in Bucharest. I didn't remember anyone, but perhaps the "phantom woman in Scotland," like the "phantom boyfriend," was another excuse, and I decided not to insist. But I nevertheless felt jealous, as if she were telling me that she preferred being with other people.

  I found my jealousy odd. And I decided that if I was asked to go to the Middle East to write an article about the property boom that someone on the business pages had mentioned, I would read everything I could on real estate, economics, politics, and oil, simply as a way of getting closer to Athena.

  My visit to Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer produced an excellent article. According to tradition, Sarah was a gypsy who happened to be living in the small seaside town when Jesus's aunt, Mary Salome, along with other refugees, arrived there, fleeing persecution by the Romans. Sarah helped them and, in the end, converted to Christianity.

  During the celebrations, bones from the skeletons of the two women who are buried beneath the altar are taken out of a reliquary and raised up on high to bless the multitude of gypsies who arrive in their caravans from all over Europe with their bright clothes and their music. Then the image of Sarah, decked out in splendid robes, is brought from the place near the church where it's kept--for Sarah has never been canonized by the Vatican--and carried in procession to the sea through narrow streets strewn with rose petals. Four gypsies in traditional costume place the relics in a boat full of flowers and wade into the water, reenacting the arrival of the fugitives and their meeting with Sarah. From then on, it's all music, celebration, songs, and bull running.

  A historian, Antoine Locadour, helped me flesh out the article with interesting facts about the Female Divinity. I sent Athena the two pages I'd written for the newspaper's travel section. All I received in return was a friendly reply, thanking me for sending her the article, but with no other comment.

  At least I'd confirmed that her address in Dubai existed.

  ANTOINE LOCADOUR, SEVENTY-FOUR, HISTORIAN, ICP, FRANCE

  It's easy to label Sarah as just one of the many black Virgins in the world. According to tradition, Sarah-la-Kali was of noble lineage and knew the secrets of the world. She is, I believe, one more manifestation of what people call the Great Mother, the Goddess of Creation.

  And it doesn't surprise me in the least that more and more people are becoming interested in pagan traditions. Why? Because God the Father is associated with the rigor and discipline of worship, whereas the Mother Goddess shows the importance of love above and beyond all the usual prohibitions and taboos.

  The phenomenon is hardly a new one. Whenever a religion tightens its rules, a significant number of people break away and go in search of more freedom in their search for spiritual contact. This happened during the Middle Ages when the Catholic Church did little more than impose taxes and build splendid monasteries and convents; the phenomenon known as "witchcraft" was a reaction to this, and even though it was suppressed because of its revolutionary nature, it left behind it roots and traditions that have managed to survive over the centuries.

  According to pagan tradition, nature worship is more important than reverence for sacred books. The Goddess is in everything and everything is part of the Goddess. The world is merely an expression of her goodness. There are many philosophical systems--such as Taoism and Buddhism--that make no distinction between creator and creature. People no longer try to decipher the mystery of life but choose instead to be a part of it. There is no female figure in Taoism or Buddhism, but there too the central idea is that "everything is one."

  In the worship of the Great Mother, what we call "sin," usually a transgression of certain arbitrary moral codes, ceases to exist. Sex and customs in general are freer because they are part of nature and cannot be considered to be the fruits of evil.

  The new paganism shows that man is capable of living without an institutionalized religion, while still continuing the spiritual search in order to justify his existence. If God is Mother, then we need only gather together with other people and adore her through rituals intended to satisfy the female soul, rituals involving dance, fire, water, air, earth, songs, music, flowers, and beauty.

  This has been a growing trend over the last few years. We may be witnessing a very important moment in the history of the world, when the Spirit finally merges with the Material, and the two are united and transformed. At the same time, I imagine that there will be a very violent reaction from organized religious institutions, which are beginning to lose their followers. There will be a rise in fundamentalism.

  As a historian, I'm content to collate all the data and analyze this confrontation between the freedom to worship and the duty to obey, between the God who controls the world and the Goddess who is part of the world, between people who join together in groups where celebration is a spontaneous affair and those who close ranks and learn only what they should and should not do.

  I'd like to be optimistic and believe that human beings have at last found their path to the spiritual world, but the signs are not very positive. As so often in the past, a new conservative backlash could onc
e more stifle the cult of the Mother.

  ANDREA MC CAIN, THEATER ACTRESS

  It's very difficult to be impartial and to tell a story that began in admiration and ended in rancor, but I'm going to try, yes, I'm really going to try and describe the Athena I met for the first time in an apartment in Victoria Street.

  She'd just got back from Dubai with plenty of money and a desire to share everything she knew about the mysteries of magic. This time, she'd spent only four months in the Middle East: she sold some land for the construction of two supermarkets, earned a huge commission, and decided that she'd earned enough money to support herself and her son for the next three years, and that she could always resume work later on if she wanted. Now was the time to make the most of the present, to live what remained of her youth, and to teach others everything she had learned.

  She received me somewhat unenthusiastically.

  "What do you want?"

  "I work in the theater and we're putting on a play about the female face of God. I heard from a journalist friend that you spent time in the Balkan mountains with some gypsies and would be prepared to tell me about your experiences there."

  "You mean you only came here to learn about the Mother because of a play?"

  "Why did you learn about her?"

  Athena stopped, looked me up and down, and smiled.

  "You're right. That's my first lesson as a teacher: teach those who want to learn. The reason doesn't matter."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Nothing."

  "The origins of the theater are sacred," I went on. "It began in Greece with hymns to Dionysus, the god of wine, rebirth, and fertility. But it's believed that even from very remote times, people performed a ritual in which they would pretend to be someone else as a way of communing with the sacred."

  "Second lesson, thank you."

  "I don't understand. I came here to learn, not to teach."

  This woman was beginning to iritate me. Perhaps she was being ironic.

  "My protector--"

  "Your protector?"

  "I'll explain another time. My protector said that I would only learn what I need to learn if I were provoked into it. And since my return from Dubai, you're the first person to demonstrate that to me. What she said makes sense."

  I explained that, in researching the play, I'd gone from one teacher to the next but had never found their teachings to be in any way exceptional; despite this, however, I grew more and more interested in the matter as I went on. I also mentioned that these people had seemed confused and uncertain about what they wanted.

  "For example."

  Sex, for example. In some of the places I went to, sex was a complete no-no. In others, they not only advocated complete freedom, but even encouraged orgies. She asked for more details, and I couldn't tell if she was doing this in order to test me or because she had no idea what other people got up to.

  Athena spoke before I could answer her question.

  "When you dance, do you feel desire? Do you feel as if you were summoning up a greater energy? When you dance, are there moments when you cease to be yourself?"

  I didn't know what to say. In nightclubs or at parties in friends' houses, sensuality was definitely part of how I felt when I danced. I would start by flirting and enjoying the desire in men's eyes, but as the night wore on, I seemed to get more in touch with myself, and it was no longer important to me whether I was or wasn't seducing someone.

  Athena continued.

  "If theater is ritual, then dance is too. Moreover, it's a very ancient way of getting close to a partner. It's as if the threads connecting us to the rest of the world were washed clean of preconceptions and fears. When you dance, you can enjoy the luxury of being you."

  I started listening to her with more respect.

  "Afterward, we go back to being who we were before--frightened people trying to be more important than we actually believe we are."

  That was exactly how I felt. Or is it the same for everyone?

  "Do you have a boyfriend?"

  I remembered that in one of the places where I'd gone to learn about the Gaia tradition, a "druid" had asked me to make love in front of him. Ridiculous and frightening--how dare these people use the spiritual search to advance their own more sinister ends?

  "Do you have a boyfriend?" she asked again.

  "I do."

  Athena said nothing else. She merely put her finger to her lips, indicating that I should remain silent.

  And suddenly I realized that it was extremely difficult for me to remain silent in the presence of someone I'd only just met. The norm is to talk about something, anything--the weather, the traffic, the best restaurants to go to. We were sitting on the sofa in her completely white sitting room, with a CD player and a small shelf of CDs. There were no books anywhere, and no paintings on the walls. Given that she'd traveled to the Middle East, I'd expected to find objects and souvenirs from that part of the world.

  But it was empty, and now there was this silence.

  Her gray eyes were fixed on mine, but I held firm and didn't look away. Instinct perhaps. A way of saying that I'm not frightened, but facing the challenge head-on. Except that everything--the silence and the white room, the noise of the traffic outside in the street--began to seem unreal. How long were we going to stay there, saying nothing?

  I started to track my own thoughts. Had I come there in search of material for my play or did I really want knowledge, wisdom, power? I couldn't put my finger on what it was that had led me to come and see...what? A witch?

  My adolescent dreams surfaced. Who wouldn't like to meet a real witch, learn how to perform magic, and gain the respect and fear of her friends? Who, as a young woman, hasn't been outraged by the centuries of repression suffered by women and felt that becoming a witch would be the best way of recovering her lost identity? I'd been through that phase myself; I was independent and did what I liked in the highly competitive world of the theater, but then why was I never content, why was I always testing out my curiosity?

  We must have been about the same age...or was I older? Did she too have a boyfriend?

  Athena moved closer. We were now less than an arm's length from each other, and I started to feel afraid. Was she a lesbian?

  I didn't look away, but I made a mental note of where the door was so that I could leave whenever I wished. No one had made me go to that house to meet someone I'd never seen before in my life and sit there wasting time, not saying anything and not learning anything either. What did she want?

  That silence perhaps. My muscles began to grow tense. I was alone and helpless. I desperately needed to talk or to make my mind stop telling me that I was being threatened. How could she possibly know who I was? We are what we say!

  Had she asked me anything about my life? She'd wanted to know if I had a boyfriend. I tried to say more about the theater, but couldn't. And what about the stories I'd heard about her gypsy ancestry, her stay in Transylvania, the land of vampires?

  My thoughts wouldn't stop: How much would that consultation cost? I was terrified. I should have asked before. A fortune? And if I didn't pay, would she put a spell on me that would eventually destroy me?

  I felt an impulse to get to my feet, thank her, and say that I hadn't come there just to sit in silence. If you go to a psychiatrist, you have to talk. If you go to a church, you listen to a sermon. If you go in search of magic, you find a teacher who wants to explain the world to you and who gives you a series of rituals to follow. But silence? Why did it make me feel so uncomfortable?

  One question after another kept forming in my mind, and I couldn't stop thinking or trying to find a reason for the two of us to be sitting there, saying nothing. Suddenly, perhaps after five or ten long minutes of total immobility, she smiled.

  I smiled too and relaxed.

  "Try to be different. That's all."

  "That's all? Is sitting in silence being different? I imagine that, at this very moment, there are thousands of people i
n London who are desperate for someone to talk to, and all you can say to me is that silence makes a difference?"

  "Now that you're talking and reorganizing the universe, you'll end up convincing yourself that you're right and I'm wrong. But as you experienced for yourself--being silent is different."

  "It's unpleasant. It doesn't teach you anything."

  She seemed indifferent to my reaction.

  "What theater are you working at?"

  Finally, she was taking an interest in my life! I was being restored to my human condition, with a profession and everything! I invited her to come and see the play we were putting on--it was the only way I could find to avenge myself, by showing that I was capable of things that Athena was not. That silence had left a humiliating aftertaste.

  She asked if she could bring her son, and I said no, it was for adults only.

  "Well, I could always leave him with my mother. I haven't been to the theater in ages."

  She didn't charge for the consultation. When I met up with the other members of the cast, I told them about my encounter with this mysterious creature. They were all mad keen to meet someone who, when she first met you, asked only that you sit in silence.

  Athena arrived on the appointed day. She saw the play, came to my dressing room afterward to say hello, but didn't say whether she'd enjoyed herself or not. My colleagues suggested that I invite her to the bar where we usually went after the performance. There, instead of keeping quiet, she started answering a question that had been left unanswered at our first meeting.

  "No one, not even the Mother, would ever want sex to take place purely as a celebration. Love must always be present. Didn't you say that you'd met people like that? Well, be careful."

  My friends had no idea what she was talking about, but they warmed to the subject and started bombarding her with questions. Something troubled me. Her answers were very academic, as if she didn't have much experience of what she was talking about. She spoke about the game of seduction, about fertility rites, and concluded with a Greek myth, probably because I'd mentioned during our first meeting that the theater had begun in Greece. She must have spent the whole week reading up on the subject.

  "After millennia of male domination, we are returning to the cult of the Great Mother. The Greeks called her Gaia, and according to the myth, she was born out of Chaos, the void that existed before the universe. With her came Eros, the god of love, and then she gave birth to the Sea and the Sky."