The Witch of Portobello

by Paulo Coelho

  It took a great effort to emerge from that trance, which, although it meant nothing specific to me, and did not make me see gods, auras, or ghosts, nonetheless left me in the state of grace I needed to be in. I focused once more on the present, on the young woman by my side, on the ritual I needed to perform.

  "How is your student?" I asked.

  "Difficult, but if she wasn't, I might not learn what I need to learn."

  "And what powers is she developing?"

  "She speaks with beings in the parallel world."

  "As you converse with Hagia Sofia?"

  "No, as you well know, Hagia Sofia is the Mother manifesting herself in me. She speaks with invisible beings."

  I knew this, but I wanted to be sure. Athena was more silent than usual. I don't know if she had discussed the events in London with Andrea, but that didn't matter. I got up, opened the bag I had with me, took out a handful of specially chosen herbs, and threw them into the flames.

  "The wood has started to speak," said Athena, as if this were something perfectly normal, and that was good, it meant that miracles were now becoming part of her life.

  "What is it saying?"

  "Nothing at the moment, only noises."

  Minutes later, she heard a song coming from the fire.

  "Oh, it's wonderful!"

  There spoke the little girl, not the wife or mother.

  "Stay just as you are. Don't try to concentrate or follow my steps or understand what I'm saying. Relax and feel good. That is sometimes all we can hope for from life."

  I knelt down, picked up a red-hot piece of wood, and drew a circle around her, leaving a small opening through which I could enter. I could hear the same music as Athena, and I danced around her, invoking the union of the male fire with the earth, which received it now with arms and legs spread wide, the fire that purified everything, transforming into energy the strength contained in the firewood, in those branches, in those beings, both human and invisible. I danced for as long as the melody from the fire lasted, and I made protective gestures to the child who was sitting, smiling, inside the circle.

  When the flames had burned down, I took a little ash and sprinkled it on Athena's head. Then with my feet I erased the circle I'd drawn around her.

  "Thank you," she said. "I felt very loved, wanted, protected."

  "In difficult moments, remember that feeling."

  "Now that I've found my path, there will be no more difficult moments. After all, I have a mission to fulfill, don't I?"

  "Yes, we all have a mission to fulfill."

  She started to feel uncertain.

  "And what about the difficult moments?" she asked.

  "That isn't an intelligent thing to ask. Remember what you said just now: you are loved, wanted, protected."

  "I'll do my best."

  Her eyes filled with tears. Athena had understood my answer.

  SAMIRA R. KHALIL, HOUSEWIFE

  My own grandson! What has my grandson got to do with all this? What kind of world are we living in? Are we still in the Middle Ages, engaging in witch hunts?

  I ran to him. He had a bloody nose, but he didn't seem to care about my distress and pushed me away.

  "I know how to defend myself, and I did."

  I may never have produced a child in my own womb, but I know the hearts of children. I was far more worried about Athena than I was about Viorel. This was just one of many fights he would have to face in his life, and there was a flicker of pride in his swollen eyes.

  "Some children at school said that Mum was a devil worshiper!"

  Sherine arrived shortly afterward, soon enough to see the boy's bloodied face and to kick up a fuss. She wanted to go straight to the school and talk to the head teacher, but first I put my arms around her. I let her cry out all her tears and all her frustrations, and the best thing I could do then was to keep silent and try to convey my love for her through that silence.

  When she had calmed down a little, I explained carefully that she could come back home and live with us, that we would take care of everything. When her father read about the case being brought against her, he had immediately spoken to some lawyers. We would do everything we could to get her out of this situation regardless of comments from the neighbors, ironic looks from acquaintances, and the false solidarity of friends.

  Nothing in the world was more important than my daughter's happiness, even though I'd never understood why she always had to choose the most difficult and painful of paths. But a mother doesn't have to understand anything, she simply has to love and protect. And feel proud. Knowing that we could give her almost everything, she nevertheless set off early in search of her independence. She'd had her stumbles and her failures, but she insisted on facing any storms alone. She went looking for her mother, aware of the risks she was running, and in the end, that encounter brought her closer to us. I knew she had never once heeded my advice--get a degree, get married, put up with the problems of living with someone without complaint, don't try to go beyond the limits set by society. And what had been the result?

  By following my daughter's story, I became a better person. Obviously I didn't understand about the Mother Goddess or Athena's need always to surround herself with strangers, or her inability to be content with all that she'd achieved after so much work. But deep down, even though it may be rather late in the day for such ideas, I wish I could have been like her.

  I was about to get up and prepare something to eat, but she stopped me.

  "I want to stay here for a while with your arms around me. That's all I need. Viorel, go and watch TV. I want to talk to your grandmother."

  The boy obeyed.

  "I must have caused you a lot of suffering."

  "Not at all. On the contrary, you and your son are the source of all our joy and our reason for living."

  "But I haven't exactly--"

  "I'm glad it's been the way it has. I can say it now: there were moments when I hated you, when I bitterly regretted not having followed the advice of that nurse and adopted another baby. Then I'd ask myself: How can a mother hate her own daughter? I took tranquillizers, played bridge with my friends, went on shopping sprees, and all to make up for the love I'd given you and which I felt I wasn't getting back.

  "A few months ago, when you decided to give up yet another job that was bringing you both money and prestige, I was in despair. I went to the local church. I wanted to make a promise to the Virgin and beg her to bring you back to reality, to force you to change your life and make the most of the chances you were throwing away. I was ready to do anything in exchange for that.

  "I stood looking at the Virgin and Child. And I said: 'You're a mother and you know what's happening. Ask anything of me, but save my child, because I think she's bent on self-destruction.'"

  I felt Sherine's arms holding me tighter. She was crying again, but her tears were different this time. I was doing my best to control my feelings.

  "And do you know what I felt at that moment? I felt that she was talking to me and saying: 'Listen, Samira, that's what I thought too. I suffered for years because my son wouldn't listen to anything I said. I used to worry about his safety, I didn't like the friends he chose, and he showed no respect for laws, customs, religion, or his elders.' Need I go on?"

  "Yes, I'd like to hear the rest of the story."

  "The Virgin concluded by saying, 'But my son didn't listen to me. And now I'm very glad that he didn't.'"

  I gently removed myself from her embrace and got up.

  "You two need to eat."

  I went to the kitchen, prepared some onion soup and a dish of tabbouleh, warmed up some unleavened bread, put it all on the table, and we had lunch together. We talked about trivial things, which, at such moments, always help to bring us together and justify our pleasure at being there, quietly, even if, outside, a storm is uprooting trees and sowing destruction. Of course, at the end of that afternoon, my daughter and my grandson would walk out of the door to confront the winds
, the thunder, and the lightning all over again, but that was their choice.

  "Mum, you said that you'd do anything for me, didn't you?"

  It was true. I would lay down my life if necessary.

  "Don't you think I should be prepared to do anything for Viorel too?"

  "I think that's a mother's instinct, but instinct aside, it's the greatest proof of love there is."

  She continued eating.

  "You know that your father is happy to help with this case being brought against you, if you want him to, that is."

  "Of course I do. This is my family we're talking about."

  I thought twice, three times, but couldn't hold back my words. "Can I give you some advice? I know you have some influential friends--that journalist, for example. Why don't you ask him to write about your story and tell him your version of events? The press are giving a lot of coverage to that vicar, and people will end up thinking he's right."

  "So, as well as accepting what I do, you also want to help me?"

  "Yes, Sherine. Even though I may not understand you, even though I sometimes suffer as the Virgin must have suffered all her life, even if you're not Jesus Christ with an all-important message for the world, I'm on your side and I want to see you win."

  HERON RYAN, JOURNALIST

  Athena arrived while I was frantically making notes for what I imagined would be the ideal interview on the events in Portobello and the rebirth of the Goddess. It was a very, very delicate affair.

  What I saw at the warehouse was a woman saying, "You can do it, let the Great Mother teach you--trust in love, and miracles will happen." And the crowd agreed, but that wouldn't last long, because we were living in an age in which slavery was the only path to happiness. Free will demands immense responsibility; it's hard work, it brings with it anguish and suffering.

  "I need you to write something about me," she said.

  I told her that we should wait a little--after all, the whole affair could fade from view the following week--but that, meanwhile, I'd prepared a few questions about Female Energy.

  "At the moment, all the fuss and the fighting is only of interest to people in the immediate area and to the tabloids. No respectable newspaper has published a single line about it. London is full of these little local disturbances, and getting into the broadsheets really isn't advisable. It would be best if the group didn't meet for two or three weeks. However, I think that the business about the Goddess, if treated with the seriousness it deserves, could make a lot of people ask themselves some really important questions."

  "Over supper that time, you said that you loved me. And now you're not only telling me you don't want to help me, you're also asking me to give up the things I believe in."

  How to interpret those words? Was she finally accepting the love I'd offered her that night, and which accompanied me every minute of my life? According to the Lebanese poet Khalil Gibran, it was more important to give than to receive, but while these were wise words, I was part of what is known as "humanity," with my frailties, my moments of indecision, my desire simply to live in peace, to be the slave of my feelings and to surrender myself without asking any questions, without even knowing if my love was reciprocated. All she had to do was to let me love her; I was sure that Hagia Sofia would agree with me. Athena had been passing through my life now for nearly two years, and I was afraid she might simply continue on her way and disappear over the horizon, without my having even been able to accompany her on part of that journey.

  "Are you talking about love?"

  "I'm asking for your help."

  What to do? Control myself, stay cool, not precipitate things and end up destroying them? Or take the step I needed to take, embrace her and protect her from all dangers?

  My head kept telling me to say, "Don't you worry about a thing. I love you," but instead I said, "I want to help. Please trust me. I'd do anything in the world for you, including saying no if I thought that was the right thing to do, even though you might not understand my reasoning."

  I told her that the deputy editor on my newspaper had proposed a series of articles about the reawakening of the Goddess, which would include an interview with her. At first it had seemed to me an excellent idea, but now I saw that it would be best to wait a little. I said, "You either carry your mission forward or you defend yourself. You're aware, I know, that what you're doing is more important than how you're seen by other people. Do you agree?"

  "I'm thinking of my son. Every day now he gets into some fight or argument at school."

  "That will pass. In a week, it'll be forgotten. That will be the moment to act, not in order to defend yourself against idiotic attacks, but to set out, confidently and wisely, the true breadth of your work. And if you have any doubts about my feelings and are determined to continue, then I'll come with you to the next meeting. And we'll see what happens."

  The following Monday I went with her to the meeting. I was not now just another person in the crowd; I could see things as she was seeing them.

  People crowded into the warehouse; there were flowers and applause, young women calling her "the priestess of the Goddess," a few smartly dressed ladies begging for a private audience because of some illness in the family. The crowd started pushing us and blocking the entrance. We had never imagined that we might need some form of security, and I was frightened. I took her arm, picked up Viorel, and we went in.

  Inside the packed room, a very angry Andrea was waiting for us.

  "I think you should tell them that you're not performing any miracles today!" she shouted at Athena. "You're allowing yourself to be seduced by vanity! Why doesn't Hagia Sofia tell all these people to go away?"

  "Because she can diagnose illnesses," replied Athena defiantly. "And the more people who benefit from that, the better."

  She was about to say more, but the crowd was applauding and she stepped up onto the improvised stage. She turned on the small sound system she'd brought from home, gave instructions for people to dance against the rhythm of the music, and the ritual began. At a certain point, Viorel went and sat down in a corner--that was the moment for Hagia Sofia to appear. Athena did as I'd seen her do many times before: she abruptly turned off the music, clutched her head in her hands, and the people waited in silence, as if obeying an invisible command.

  The ritual followed its unvarying path: there were questions about love, which were rejected, although she agreed to comment on anxieties, illnesses, and other personal problems. From where I was, I could see that some people had tears in their eyes, others behaved as if they were standing before a saint. Then came the moment for the closing sermon, before the group celebration of the Mother.

  Since I knew what would happen next, I started thinking about the best way to get out of there with the minimum of fuss. I hoped that she would take Andrea's advice and tell them not to go looking for miracles there. I went over to where Viorel was sitting, so that we could leave the place as soon as his mother had finished speaking.

  And that was when I heard the voice of Hagia Sofia.

  "Today, before we close, we're going to talk about diet. Forget all about slimming regimes."

  Diet? Forget about slimming regimes?

  "We have survived for all these millennia because we have been able to eat. And now that seems to have become a curse. Why? What is it that makes us, at forty years old, want to have the same body we had when we were young? Is it possible to stop time? Of course not. And why should we be thin?"

  I heard a kind of murmuring in the crowd. They were probably expecting a more spiritual message.

  "We don't need to be thin. We buy books, we go to gyms, we expend a lot of brain power on trying to hold back time, when we should be celebrating the miracle of being here in this world. Instead of thinking about how to live better, we're obsessed with weight.

  "Forget all about that. You can read all the books you want, do all the exercise you want, punish yourself as much as you want, but you will still have only two cho
ices--either stop living or get fat.

  "Eat in moderation, but take pleasure in eating: it isn't what enters a person's mouth that's evil, but what leaves it. Remember that for millennia we have struggled in order to keep from starving. Whose idea was it that we had to be thin all our lives? I'll tell you: the vampires of the soul, those who are so afraid of the future that they think it's possible to stop the wheel of time. Hagia Sofia can guarantee that it's not possible. Use the energy and effort you put into dieting to nourish yourself with spiritual bread. Know that the Great Mother gives generously and wisely. Respect that and you will get no fatter than passing time demands. Instead of artificially burning those calories, try to transform them into the energy required to fight for your dreams. No one ever stayed slim for very long just because of a diet."

  There was complete silence. Athena began the closing ceremony, and we all celebrated the presence of the Mother. I clasped Viorel in my arms, promising myself that next time I would bring a few friends along to provide a little improvised security. We left to the same shouts and applause as when we had arrived.

  A shopkeeper grabbed my arm. "This is absurd! If one of my windows gets smashed, I'll sue you!"

  Athena was laughing and giving autographs. Viorel seemed happy. I just hoped that no journalist was there that night. When we finally managed to extricate ourselves from the crowd, we hailed a taxi.

  I asked if they would like to go somewhere to eat. "Of course," said Athena, "that's just what I've been talking about."

  ANTOINE LOCADOUR, HISTORIAN

  In this long series of mistakes that came to be known as "the Witch of Portobello affair," what surprises me most is the ingenuousness of Heron Ryan, an international journalist of many years experience. When we spoke, he was horrified by the tabloid headlines:

  "The Goddess Diet!" screamed one.

  "Get Thin While You Eat, Says Witch of Portobello!" roared another from its front page.