by Paulo Coelho
"What way?"
She thought for a minute. She didn't know exactly what he was getting at. "This way that always involves conspiracies."
"That's your word for it."
"But I know it's true. And you confirmed it."
"I said that the gates of paradise are open, for a certain time, to all who desire to enter. But I also said that each person has his or her own path--and only one's angel can say which is the correct one."
Why am I acting this way? What's going on with me? she thought. She remembered the engravings she had seen as a child, of angels leading children to the edge of an abyss. She was surprised at what she had been saying here. She had fought many times with him, but she had never spoken about magic in the way that she was now.
Yet her soul had grown during these forty days in the desert, she had learned about her second mind, she had crossed swords with a powerful woman. She had died many times, and was stronger each time she was reborn.
The hunt actually gave me great pleasure, she thought.
Yes. That's what was driving her crazy. Because, since the day she had challenged Valhalla to the duel, she had had the feeling that she had wasted her entire previous life.
No, she thought. I can't accept that. I know J. He is a farmer-type, and an enlightened person. I spoke with my angel before Paulo did. I know how to speak to my angel as well as Valhalla does--even though the language is still a bit strange.
But she was apprehensive. Perhaps she had been wrong in choosing how she wanted to live her life. I've got to keep talking, she thought. I have to convince myself that I didn't make the wrong choice.
"You need yet another miracle," she said. "And you will always need yet another. You will never be satisfied, and you will never understand that the kingdom of heaven cannot be conquered by force."
God, make his angel appear, because it's so important to him! Make me be wrong, Lord.
"You're not even giving me a chance to talk," he said.
But at that moment, the first star appeared on the horizon.
It was time for channeling.
THEY SAT DOWN, AND, AFTER A BRIEF PERIOD OF RELAXING, began to concentrate on the second mind. Chris couldn't stop thinking about Paulo's last comment--she really hadn't permitted him to talk.
Now it was too late. She had to allow her second mind to recite its boring problems. To voice the same concerns, over and over. Her second mind that night wanted to get at her heart. It was saying she had chosen the wrong path, and had found her true destiny only when she had experimented with the Valhalla character.
It was telling her that it was too late to change, that her life had been a failure, that she would spend the rest of her life following her husband--without experiencing the pleasures of the dark forest and the taking of prisoners.
It was telling her she had chosen the wrong husband--that she would have been better off marrying a farmer-type. It was telling her that Paulo had other women, and that those women were hunter-types that he met on the night of the full moon, and at secret magic rituals. It was telling her that she should leave him, so that he could be happy with a woman who was his equal.
She argued several times--saying that it wasn't important that she knew there were other women, that she wouldn't leave him on that account. Because love isn't logical or rational. But her second mind came back at her--so she decided not to argue. She would just listen quietly until the conversation went silent and died out.
Then a kind of fog began to envelop her thinking. The channeling had begun. An indescribable sensation of peace took hold of her, as if the wings of her angel were covering the entire desert, preventing anything bad from happening. Whenever she did her channeling, she felt a great love for herself and for the universe.
She kept her eyes open, so as not to lose her awareness, but the cathedrals began to appear. They emerged, enveloped in mist, immense churches she had never visited, but that existed somewhere in the world. During her early days of channeling, she'd had only confused impressions, indigenous songs blending with meaningless words; but now her angel was showing her cathedrals. That seemed to make some sort of sense, although she couldn't quite understand it.
In the beginning, they had only been trying to begin a conversation. With each day that passed, she was able to understand her angel better. Soon, there would be a level of communication as clear as the one she enjoyed with anyone who spoke her own language. It was only a matter of time.
THE ALARM ON PAULO'S WATCH SOUNDED. TWENTY MINUTES had passed. The channeling was over.
She looked at him, knowing what was going to happen now. He would sit there without saying a word, sad and disappointed. His angel hadn't appeared. They would return to the small motel in Ajo, and he would take a walk while she tried to sleep.
She waited until he stood, and then stood up, as well. But there was a strange gleam in his eye.
"I will see my angel," he said. "I know I will. I made the bet."
"The bet, you will have to make with your angel," Valhalla had said. She had never said, "The bet, you will have to make with your angel, when he appears." Yet, that's what Paulo had understood her to mean. He had waited for an entire week for his angel to appear. He was ready to make any bet, because the angel was the light, and the light was what justified human existence. He trusted in that light, in the same way that, fourteen years earlier, he had doubted the darkness. In contrast with the traitorous experience with the darkness, the light established its rules beforehand--so that whoever accepted them was knowingly committing to love and compassion.
He had already met two of the three conditions, and almost failed with regard to the third--the simplest of them! But his angel's protection had prevailed, and, during the channeling...ah, how good it was to have learned to converse with the angels! Now he knew that he would be able to see his angel, because he had met the third condition.
"I broke a pact. I accepted forgiveness. And, today, I made a bet. I have faith, and I believe," he said. "I believe that Valhalla knows the method for seeing one's angel."
Paulo's eyes were shining. There would be no nocturnal walks, no insomnia tonight. He was absolutely certain that he was going to see his angel. Half an hour ago, he had asked for a miracle--but that was no longer important.
So that night it would be Chris's turn to be sleepless, and to walk the deserted streets of Ajo, imploring God to make a miracle, because the man she loved needed to see his angel. Her heart was squeezed more tightly than ever. Perhaps she preferred a Paulo who was in doubt. A Paulo who needed a miracle. A Paulo who appeared to have lost his faith. If his angel appeared, fine; if not, he could always blame Valhalla for having erred in her teaching. That way, he would not have to learn the most bitter lesson that God taught, when he closed the gates to paradise: the lesson of disappointment.
But instead, here was a man who seemed to have bet his life against the certainty that angels could be seen. And his only guarantee was the word of a woman who rode the desert, speaking of new worlds to come.
Perhaps Valhalla had never even seen an angel. Or maybe what worked for her didn't work for others--hadn't Paulo said that? Maybe he hadn't heeded his own words.
Chris's heart grew smaller and smaller as she saw the light in Paulo's eyes.
And at that moment, his entire face began to glow.
"Light!" he screamed. "Light!"
She turned. On the horizon, near where the first star had appeared, three lights shone in the sky.
"Light!" he said again. "The angel!"
Chris had a strong desire to kneel down and give thanks, because her prayer had been answered, and God had sent his army of angels.
Paulo's eyes filled with tears. The miracle had happened. He had made the right bet.
They heard a roar to their left, and another over their heads. Now there were five, six lights gleaming in the sky; the desert was alight.
For a moment she lost her voice. She, too, was seeing his angel! The bursts o
f sound were becoming stronger and stronger, passing to the left, passing to the right, over their heads, wild thunderbursts that didn't come from the sky, but from behind, from the side--and moved toward where the lights were.
The Valkyries! The true Valkyries, daughters of Wotan, galloping across the sky, carrying their warriors! She blocked her ears in fear.
She saw that Paulo was doing the same--but his eyes appeared to have lost their brilliance.
Immense balls of fire grew on the desert horizon, and they felt the ground shake under their feet. Thunder in the sky and on the Earth.
"Let's go," she said.
"There's no danger," he answered. "They're military planes. Far from here."
But the supersonic fighters broke the sound barrier close to where they stood, with a terrifying sound.
The two clung to each other as they watched the spectacle with fascination and terror. Now there were balls of fire on the horizon, and green lights. There were more than a dozen, falling slowly from the sky, illuminating the entire desert so that no one and nothing could remain hidden.
"It's just a military exercise," he reassured her. "The Air Force. There are a lot of bases around here. I've seen them on the map." Paulo had to shout to make himself heard. "But I wanted to believe they were angels."
They're the instruments of angels, she thought. Angels of death.
The yellow brilliance of the bombs falling on the horizon blended with the bright green lights falling slowly by parachute. Everything below was visible, and the planes were unerring as they dropped their mortal loads.
The exercise lasted for half an hour. And, just as suddenly as they had arrived, the planes disappeared, and silence returned to the desert. The last of the green lights came to earth and died. The ground no longer trembled, and they could see the stars again.
Paulo took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, and concentrated: I won the bet. I'm absolutely sure I won the bet. His second mind was coming and going, saying no, that it was all in his imagination, that his angel would not show himself. But he dug the nail of his index finger into his thumb until the pain was insupportable; pain always banishes nonsensical thinking.
"I will see my angel," he repeated, as they descended the mountain.
Her heart squeezed again. But she didn't want to allow him to see how she felt. The only way to change the subject quickly was to listen to what her second mind was saying, and to ask Paulo if it made sense.
"I want to ask you something," she said.
"Don't ask me about the miracle. It will happen or it won't. Let's not waste our energy discussing it."
"No, it's not about that."
She hesitated. Paulo was her husband. He knew her better than anyone did. She was fearful of his response, because what he said carried more weight than what others said. But she resolved that she would ask the question anyway; she couldn't stand keeping it inside.
Do you think I chose wrong?" she asked. "That I've wasted my life sowing seeds, content to watch the crops flourish around me instead of experiencing the strong emotions of the hunt?"
He walked along, looking up at the sky. He was still thinking about his bet, and about the planes.
"Often I look at people like J.," he said. "People like J., who are at peace, and through that peace, find communion with God. I look at you, able to talk with your angel before I was--even though it was I who came here to do that. I watch you sleeping so soundly, while I'm standing at the window, and I ask myself why the miracle I'm waiting so desperately for doesn't happen. And I ask myself: Did I choose the wrong path?"
He turned to her. "What do you think? Did I choose the wrong path?"
Chris took his hand in hers. "No. You would be very unhappy."
"And so would you if you had chosen mine."
"That's a good thing to remember."
BEFORE THE ALARM WENT OFF, HE SAT UP IN BED WITHOUT making a sound.
He looked outside, and it was still dark.
Chris was asleep. For a moment, he thought of waking her, and telling her where he was going. That she should say a prayer for him. But he decided against it. He could tell her everything when he returned. It wasn't as if he were heading for any place dangerous.
He switched on the light in the bathroom, and filled his canteen from the faucet. Then he drank as much water as he could swallow--he had no idea how long he would be out there.
He dressed, grabbed the map, and memorized his route. Then, he got ready to leave.
But he couldn't locate the key to the car. He looked in his pockets, in his knapsack, on the bedside table. He considered lighting the lamp--but no, it might awaken her, and the light from the bathroom was enough. He couldn't spend any more time looking--every minute spent here was a minute less that he could devote to waiting for his angel. Within four hours, the heat of the desert would be unbearable.
Chris hid the key, he thought. She was a different woman now--she was speaking to her angel, and her intuition had increased considerably. Perhaps she had guessed at what his plans were and was frightened.
Why would she be frightened? That night when he had seen her at the precipice with Valhalla, he and Chris had made a sacred agreement; they had promised that never again would they risk their lives in the desert. Several times, the angel of Death had passed close to them, and it wouldn't be smart to keep testing the patience of their guardian angel. Chris knew him well enough to know that he would never fail to keep a promise. That's why he was stealing away before the first rays of the sun were to be seen--to avoid the dangers of the night, and the dangers of the day.
Nevertheless, she was concerned, and had hidden the key.
He went to the bed, having decided to awaken her. And he stopped.
Yes, there was a reason. She wasn't worried about his safety, or about the risks he might take. She was fearful, but it was a different kind of fear--that her husband might be defeated. She knew that Paulo would try something. Only two days remained before they left the desert.
It was a good idea to do what you did, Chris, he thought, laughing to himself. A defeat such as this would take two years to overcome, and for the whole time you would have to put up with me, spend sleepless nights with me, bear with my bad moods, suffer my frustration along with me. It would be much worse than these days I lived through, before I learned how to make my bet.
He looked through her things; the key was in the security belt where she kept her passport and her money. Then he remembered his promise about safety--all this may have been a reminder. He had learned that you never go out into the desert without leaving at least some indication of your destination. Even though he knew that he would be back soon, and even knowing that his destination, after all, was not that far away--and that if anything were to happen, he could even return on foot--he decided not to run the risk. After all, he had promised.
He placed the map on the bathroom sink. And he used the can of pressurized shaving foam to make a circle around a location: Glorieta Canyon.
Using the same means, he sprayed a message on the mirror:
I WON'T MAKE ANY MISTAKES.
Then he put on his sneakers, and left.
When he was about to put the key into the ignition, he found he had left his own key there.
She must have had a copy made, he thought. What did she think was going to happen? That I was going to abandon her in the middle of the desert?
Then he recalled Gene's strange behavior when he had forgotten the flashlight in the car. Thanks to the matter of the key, Paulo had marked the place where he was heading. His angel was seeing to it that he took all the necessary precautions.
The streets of Borrego Springs were deserted. Just like in the daytime, he thought to himself. He remembered their first night there, when they had stretched out on the floor of the desert, trying to imagine what their angels would be like. Back then, all he wanted to do was talk to his.
He turned to the left, out of the city, and headed for Glorieta Canyon. Th
e mountains were to his right--the mountains they had descended by car back when they had first arrived. Back then, he thought, and realized it hadn't been all that long ago. Only thirty-eight days.
But, as with Chris, his soul had died many times out there in the desert. He was pursuing a secret that he already knew, and had seen the sun turn into the eyes of death. He had met up with women who appeared to be angels and devils at the same time. He had reentered a darkness he thought he had forgotten. And he had discovered that, although he had spoken so often of Jesus, he had never completely accepted the Savior's forgiveness.
He had reencountered his wife--at the very moment when he believed he had lost her forever. Because (and Chris could never know it) he had fallen in love with Valhalla.
That was when he had learned the difference between infatuation and love. Like conversing with the angels, it was really very simple.
Valhalla was a fantasy. The warrior woman, the huntress. The woman who conversed with angels, and was ready to run any risk in order to surpass her limits. For her, Paulo was the man who wore the ring of the Tradition of the Moon, the magus who knew about the occult mysteries. The adventurer, capable of leaving everything behind to go out in search of angels. Each would always be fascinated by the other--so long as each remained exactly what the other imagined.
That's what infatuation is: the creation of an image of someone, without advising that someone as to what the image is.
But some day, when familiarity revealed the true identity of both, they would discover that behind the Magus and the Valkyrie there was a man and a woman. Each possessing powers, perhaps, each with some precious knowledge, maybe, but--they couldn't ignore the fact--each basically a man and a woman. Each with the agony and the ecstasy, the strength and the weakness of every other human being.
And when either of them demonstrated how they really were, the other would want to flee--because it would mean the end of the world they had created.
He found love on a cliff where two women had tried to stare each other down, with the full moon as a backdrop. And love meant dividing the world with someone. He knew one of the women well, and had shared his universe with her. They had seen the same mountains, and the same trees, although each had seen them differently. She knew his weaknesses, his moments of hatred, of despair. Yet she was there at his side.
