by Paulo Coelho
HE WAS LYING IN A WOMAN'S LAP, CRYING. HER HAND WAS caressing his head.
"I made that pact," he said tearfully.
"No," the woman answered. "It was a trade."
Paulo clutched the archangel medallion. Yes, there had been a trade--and the punishment was severe. Two days after that morning in 1974, they were imprisoned by the Brazilian political police and accused of subversion based on the Alternative Society. He was placed in a dark cell, similar to the black hole he had seen in his living room. He was threatened with death, and he gave in, but it was a trade. When he was released, he split up with his partner and was expelled from the world of music for a long time. No one would give him a job. But it was a trade.
Other members of the group had not made the trade. They survived in the "black hole," and regarded him as a coward. He lost his friends, his security, his desire to go on living. For years, he was afraid to go out into the street--the dizziness might return, the police could appear again. And, even worse, after his release from prison he never saw his girlfriend again. At times, he regretted the trade--it would have been better to have died than to have to live that way. But now it was too late to go back.
"There was a pact," Valhalla said. "What was it?"
"I promised I would abandon my dreams."
For seven years, he paid the price for the trade. But God was generous, and allowed him to rebuild his life. The director of the recording studio, the same person he had dreamed about that May morning, gave him a job and became his only friend. He went back to composing, but every time his work brought some success, something wound up happening, and everything went down the drain.
He remembered J's words: People destroy what they love.
"I always figured it was part of the bargain," he said.
"No," Valhalla said. "God was severe, but you were more severe than he was."
"I promised that I would never grow again. I thought that I could no longer trust myself."
The Valkyrie held his head to her bare breasts.
"Tell me about the dread," she said. "The dread that I saw when we met at the luncheonette."
"The terror..." He didn't know how to begin, because he felt he would sound absurd. "The terror doesn't allow me to sleep at night, or rest during the day."
Now Chris understood her angel. She had to be here, hearing this, because he would never have told her...
"...and now I have a wife that I love, I found J., I walked the holy Road to Santiago, I've written books. I'm being faithful to my dreams again, and that's where the dread comes from. Because everything is going the way I would like it to, and I know that soon it will all be destroyed." It was terrible to say that. He had never said it to anyone--not even himself. He knew that Chris was there, hearing it all. And he was ashamed.
"That's the way it was with the songs," he said, forcing himself to go on. "That's the way it's been with everything I've done since then. Nothing has lasted more than two years."
He felt Valhalla's hands removing the medallion from around his neck. He stood. He didn't want her to light the lantern, because he lacked the courage to confront Chris.
But Valhalla lit the lantern, and the three made their way out in silence.
"We two are going out first, and you come along later," Valhalla said to Paulo as they were reaching the end of the tunnel.
Paulo was certain that, just as with his girlfriend of fourteen years earlier, Chris would never again trust him.
"Today, I believe in what I'm doing," he tried to say before the other two left. It sounded like a plea for forgiveness, like self-justification.
No one answered. After a few more steps, Valhalla extinguished the lantern. There was now sufficient light for them to see.
"From the moment that you set foot outside," the Valkyrie said, "promise, in the name of the archangel Michael, that never again--never again--will you raise your hand against yourself."
"I'm afraid to say that," he answered. "Because I don't know how to comply."
"You have no choice, if you want to see your angel."
"I didn't realize what I was doing to myself. I might continue with the same kind of self-betrayal."
"Now you know," Valhalla said. "And the truth gives you freedom."
Paulo nodded his head.
"You will still have many problems in your life, some of them normal, some of them difficult. But, from now on, only God's hand will be responsible for everything--you will interfere no more."
"I promise in the name of Saint Michael."
The women went out. He waited a moment, and then began to walk. He had been in the darkness long enough.
THE RAYS OF LIGHT, REFLECTING FROM THE STONE WALLS, showed the way. There was the grated door, a door leading to a prohibited kingdom. A door that frightened him. Because out there was the kingdom of light, and he had been living for years in the darkness. A door that appeared to be closed--but, for anyone who approached it, it was open.
The door to the light was there in front of him. He wanted to pass through. He could see the golden light of the sun outside, but he decided not to put on his sunglasses. He needed the light. And he knew that the archangel Michael was at his side, sweeping away the darkness with his lance.
For years he had believed in the implacable hand of God, in his punishment. But it was his own hand, not God's, that had wrought such destruction. Never, for the rest of his life, would he do that again.
"Break the pact," he said to the darkness of the mine and to the desert light. "God has the right to destroy me. I do not."
He thought of the books he had written, and was happy. The year would end without any problem--because the pact had been broken. There was no doubt that problems would arise in his work, in love, and along the path to magic--serious problems or passing problems, as Valhalla had said. But from now on, he would battle side by side with his guardian angel.
You must have made a tremendous effort, he said to his angel. And, in the end, I spoiled everything, and you couldn't understand it.
His angel was listening. The angel knew about the pact, too, and was happy at not having to devote efforts to keeping Paulo from destroying himself.
Paulo found the door and passed through it. The sun blinded him for a moment, but he kept his eyes open--he needed the light. He saw the figures of Valhalla and Chris approaching. "Put your hand on his shoulder," Valhalla said to Chris. "Be a witness."
Chris obeyed.
Valhalla took a few drops of water from her canteen and made a cross on his forehead--as if baptizing him. Then she knelt, and told them to kneel as well.
"In the name of the archangel Michael, the pact was known in heaven. In the name of the archangel Michael, the pact was broken."
She placed the medallion on his forehead, and asked that he repeat her words:
Sainted angel of the Lord,
My zealous guardian...
The prayer from childhood echoed from the walls of the mountain, and spread throughout that part of the desert.
If I trust in you,
The divine piety
Will rule me always, and guard,
Govern, and enlighten.
Amen.
"Amen," said Chris.
"Amen," he repeated.
PEOPLE WERE APPROACHING THEM CURIOUSLY.
"They're lesbians," said one.
"They're crazy," said another.
The Valkyries paid no attention, but continued with what they were doing. They had tied one kerchief to another, forming a kind of rope. They sat on the ground in a circle--their arms resting on their knees, holding the joined kerchiefs.
Valhalla was in the middle, on foot. People continued to arrive. When a small multitude had formed, the Valkyries began to chant a psalm.
By the rivers of Babylon,
There we sat down, yea, and wept.
We hung our harps upon the willows
In the midst of it.
The people watched, understanding none of i
t. It was not the first time these women had appeared in the city. They had been there before, speaking of strange things--although certain words were similar to those uttered by television preachers.
"Have courage." Valhalla's voice rang out clearly and strongly. "Open your heart, and listen to what your dreams tell you. Follow those dreams, because only a person who is not ashamed can manifest the glory of God."
"The desert's made them crazy," a woman said.
Some people left immediately. They were fed up with preaching.
"There is no sin but the lack of love," Valhalla continued. "Have courage, be capable of loving, even if love appears to be a treacherous and terrible thing. Be happy in love. Be joyful in victory. Follow the dictates of your heart."
"That's impossible," someone in the crowd said. "People have obligations."
Valhalla turned in the direction of the voice. She was doing it--people were paying attention! Different from five years earlier, when no one came near them during their appearances in the city.
"We have children. We have husbands and wives. People have to earn a living," another person said.
"Well, meet your obligations. But obligations never prevented anyone from following their dreams. Remember that you are a manifestation of the absolute, and do only those things in your lives that are worth the effort. Only those who do that will understand the great transformations that are yet to be seen."
The Conspiracy, Chris thought, as she listened. She remembered the time long ago when she had sung in the plaza with others from her church, to save people from sin. In those days, no one spoke of a New Age--they spoke of the coming of Christ, of punishment and hell. There was no Conspiracy, such as now.
She walked through the crowd and found Paulo. He was sitting on a bench, far from the gathering.
"How long are we going to travel with them?" she asked.
"Until Valhalla teaches me how to see angels."
"But we've been here for almost a month."
"She cannot refuse me. She swore on the Tradition. She has to keep her vow."
The crowd was growing in size. Chris was thinking how difficult it must be to talk to the people gathered there.
"They're not going to take the Valkyries seriously," she said. "Not with the way they're dressed, and with those motorcycles."
"They have been fighting for some very old ideas," Paulo said. "Nowadays, soldiers dress in camouflage. They disguise themselves, and they hide. But the old warriors dressed in colorful outfits, much more obvious on the field of battle.
"They wanted the enemy to see them. They took pride in battle."
"Why are they doing this? Why preach in public parks and in bars and in the middle of the desert? Why are they helping us to speak to our angels?"
He lit a cigarette. "You joke about a Conspiracy, but you're right," he said. "There is a Conspiracy."
She laughed. No, no, there was no Conspiracy. She had used that term because her husband's friends acted like secret agents, always careful not to discuss certain things when others were present, always changing the subject--although they had sworn, all of them had, that there was nothing occult in the Tradition.
But Paulo seemed to be serious.
"The gates to Paradise have been reopened," he said. "God banished the angel with the burning sword who was at the gate. For some time--no one is certain for how long--anyone could enter, since it was obvious that the gates were open."
As he was speaking to Chris, Paulo recalled the abandoned gold mine. Up until that day--a week ago--he had chosen to remain outside of paradise.
"What guarantees entry?"
"Faith. And the Tradition," he answered.
They walked over to an ice cream wagon and bought cones. Valhalla continued to speak, and her sermon appeared to be endless. Before long, she might even try to get the spectators to participate, at which point it would probably end.
"Does everyone know that the gates are open?" Chris asked.
"Some people have noticed--and they are calling the others. But there's a problem."
Paulo pointed to a monument in the middle of the square. "Let's suppose that paradise is there. And every person on earth is here in the plaza. Each of them has their own path for arriving there.
"That's why people talk with their angels. Because only the angels know the best path. It does no good to seek advice about it from others."
"Follow your dreams, and take your risks," they heard Valhalla saying.
"What will this world be like?"
"It will be only for those who enter into paradise," Paulo answered. "The world of the 'Conspiracy.' The world of people who are able to see the transformations that are occurring, of people who have the courage to pursue their dreams and listen to angels. A world for all those who believe in that world."
A murmur arose from the crowd, and Chris knew that the play had begun. She wanted to move forward to observe, but what Paulo was saying was more important.
"For centuries, we wept on the banks of the rivers of Babylon," Paulo continued. "We hung up our harps, we were prohibited from singing, we were persecuted and massacred. But we never forgot that there was a promised land. The Tradition survived everything.
"We learned how to fight, and we were strengthened by the battle. People are once again speaking of the spiritual world that only a few years ago was seen as something that only ignorant, complacent people believed in. There is an invisible thread that unites all those on the side of the light--like those joined kerchiefs of the Valkyries. And this thread is becoming a strong, shining rope, anchored by the angels. A handrail that is perceived by those who are most sensitive, and that will support us. Because we are many, and we are spread all over the earth. All of us moved by the same faith."
She said, "It's a world that has so many names, isn't it? New Age, Sixth Golden Age, Seventh Beam, and so on."
"But it's all the same world. I'll guarantee you."
Chris looked at Valhalla, there in the plaza, speaking of angels.
"Well, why is she trying to convince others?"
"No, no, she's not trying to convince them of anything. We all came from Paradise, we have spread throughout the world, and now we're returning there. Valhalla is asking these people to pay the price of that return."
Chris remembered the afternoon in the mine. "Sometimes it's a very high price."
"It may be. But there are people who are willing to pay it. They know that what Valhalla is saying is true, because it brings back something they had forgotten. All of them still carry in their soul memories and visions of Paradise. Years may go by without their remembering--until something happens: the birth of a child, a serious loss, a feeling of imminent danger, a sunset, a book, a song...or a group of women dressed in leather, speaking of God. Anything. Suddenly, these people remember.
"That's what Valhalla is doing. Reminding them that a place exists. Some of them are listening, others aren't--those who aren't will pass by the gates without seeing that they're open."
"But she's talking about this new world."
"Those are just the words she uses. Actually, they have retrieved their harps from the willows, and are playing them again--and millions of people all over the world are singing of the joys of the Promised Land. No one is alone anymore."
They heard the sound of motorcycles. The play was over. Paulo began to walk toward the car.
"Why didn't you ever tell me about all this?" she asked.
"Because you already knew."
Yes, she had known. But only now did she remember.
The Valkyries rode from city to city on their motorcycles, with their trappings, their kerchiefs, and their strange outfits. And they spoke of God.
Paulo and Chris went with them. When they made camp on the outskirts of a city, the couple stayed in hotels. When they stopped in the middle of the desert, they slept in the car. They made a campfire, and the dangers of the desert receded--the animals did not approach. As they dropped off to sle
ep, they could look up at the stars and hear the howls of the coyotes in the distance.
Ever since the afternoon at the mine, Paulo had been practicing the channeling process. He was afraid that Chris might think that he hadn't really known what he had tried to teach her.
"I know J.," she said, when the subject came up. "You don't have to prove your knowledge to me."
"My girlfriend back in those days also knew the person who was teaching me," he answered.
They sat down together every afternoon, working at the destruction of their second minds; they prayed for their angels, and tried to invoke their presence.
"I believe in this new world," he said to Chris, when they had completed yet another exercise in channeling.
"I know you believe in it. Or you wouldn't have done the things you've done during your lifetime."
"But, even so, I don't know whether the things I do are really correct."
"Give yourself some credit," she answered. "You're doing the best you can--very few people would travel so far to find their angel. And don't forget, you broke the pact."
The pact he had broken in the mine: J. was going to be happy about that! Although Paulo was almost certain that he already knew everything, J. hadn't tried to argue Paulo out of this trip to the desert.
When the two had completed their channeling exercises, they talked for hours about angels. But only between themselves--Valhalla never again spoke of the matter.
ONE AFTERNOON, AFTER THEIR CONVERSATION, HE WENT TO talk with Valhalla.
"You know the Tradition," he said. "You cannot interrupt a process once you have begun it."
"I'm not interrupting anything," she answered.
"But soon I'll have to go back to Brazil. And I haven't yet accepted forgiveness, nor made a bet."
"I'm not interrupting the process," she said again.
She suggested that they take a walk out in the desert. When they reached a certain point, they sat down together and watched the sunset, and talked about rituals and ceremonies. Valhalla asked about J.'s teaching methods, and Paulo wanted to know what the results were of her preaching in the desert.
"I'm preparing the path," she said casually. "I am doing my part, and I expect to do it right through to the end. Then, I'll know what the next step is."
"How are you going to know when the time comes to stop?"