by Paulo Coelho
These women believe they are at liberty to proclaim the poison of their evil ways, to preach lust and Devil worship. They are nothing but witches! Spiritual punishments are not always enough. Most people are incapable of understanding them. The Church must—and does—have the right to denounce what is wrong and to demand radical action from the authorities.
These women have come to separate husband from wife, brother from sister, father from children. The Church is a merciful mother, always ready to forgive; our one concern is that these women should repent so that we can deliver their purified souls to the Creator and, as if by a divine art—through which one can read the inspired words of Christ—carefully mete out their punishments until they confess to their rituals and machinations and to the spells they have cast on the city, which is now plunged into chaos and anarchy.
This year, we managed to drive the Mohammedans back into Africa, guided as we were by Christ’s victorious arm. They had almost become the dominant power here, but Faith helped us win every battle. The Jews fled, too, and those who stayed will be converted, by force if necessary.
Worse than the Jews and the Moors was the treachery of those who claimed to believe in Christ but betrayed us. They, too, will be punished when they least expect it; it is only a matter of time.
Now we need to concentrate our efforts on those who, like wolves in sheep’s clothing, have so insidiously infiltrated our flock. This is your chance to show everyone that evil will never go unnoticed, because if these women succeed, the news will spread, a bad example will have been set, and the wind of sin will become a hurricane. We will be so weakened that the Moors will return, the Jews will regroup, and fifteen hundred years of struggle for the Peace of Christ will be buried.
It is said that torture was instituted by the court of the Holy Office. Nothing could be further from the truth! On the contrary, when Roman law made torture legal, the Church at first rejected it. Now, though, driven by necessity, we, too, have adopted it, but its use is strictly limited. The Pope gave his permission—not an order—declaring that in very rare cases torture could be used. That permission is restricted exclusively to heretics. In the court of the Inquisition, so unjustly discredited, our watchwords are Wisdom, Honesty, and Prudence. After any denunciation, we always allow sinners the grace of the sacrament of confession before they face the judgment of Heaven, where
secrets unknown to us will be revealed. Our greatest concern is to save these poor souls, and the Inquisitor has the right to interrogate and to prescribe the necessary methods that will make the guilty confess. That is when torture is occasionally used, but only as prescribed above.
Meanwhile, the enemies of the divine glory accuse us of being heartless executioners, unaware that the Inquisition uses torture with a moderation and leniency unknown in the civil courts! Torture can be used only once in every trial, and so I hope you will not waste the one opportunity you have. If you do not act appropriately, you will bring discredit on the court and we will be compelled to free those who came into this world only to sow the seed of sin. We are all weak; only the Lord is strong. But He makes us strong when He bestows on us the honor of fighting for the glory of His name.
You must not hesitate. If these women are guilty, they must confess before we can deliver them to the Lord’s mercy.
And even though this is your first time and your heart is full of what you judge to be compassion—but which is really nothing but weakness—remember that Christ did not flinch from whipping the money changers from the Temple. Your Superior will show you the correct procedures so that when the time comes you will be able to use the whip, the Wheel, and whatever else without your courage failing you. Remember that there is nothing more merciful than death by burning; that is the most legitimate form of purification. The fire burns the flesh but cleanses the soul, which can then rise up to the glory of God!
Your work is vital if order is to be maintained, if our country is to overcome these internal difficulties, if the Church is to regain the power under threat by these iniquitous creatures, and if the word of the Lamb is to echo once more in people’s hearts. Sometimes fear is necessary in order for the soul to find its path again. Sometimes war is necessary in order that we can finally find peace. We do not care how we are judged now, because the future will judge us and will recognize our work.
And even if the people of the future do not understand what we have done and forget that we had to be harsh in order for people to become as meek and mild as the Son of God told us we should be, we know that our reward awaits us in Heaven.
The seeds of evil must be torn from the Earth before they put down roots and grow. Help your Superior to carry out his sacred duty with no feelings of hatred for these poor creatures but with no pity for the Evil One, either.
Remember that there is another court in Heaven, and that court will demand to know how you carried out God’s wishes here on Earth.
F.T.T., O.P.
Believe Even When No One Else Believes in You
WE DO NOT MOVE ALL NIGHT. I wake with her still in my arms, exactly as we were before the ring of fire. My neck is stiff from lying in the same position.
“Let’s get up. There’s something we need to do.”
She turns over, grumbling about how the sun rises very early in Siberia at this time of year.
“Come on, let’s get up. We have to leave. Go to your room, get dressed, and meet me downstairs.”
THE MAN AT RECEPTION gives me a map and shows me where to go. A five-minute walk. Hilal complains because the breakfast buffet isn’t yet open.
We cross two streets and find the place I was looking for.
“But this is a church!”
Yes, a church.
“I hate getting up early, and I particularly hate… this,” she says, pointing up at the blue-painted onion dome topped by a gold cross.
The doors are open, and a few elderly ladies are going inside. I look around and notice that the street is deserted, not a car in sight.
“I need you to do something for me.”
She gives her first smile of the day. I am asking her for something. I need her.
“Something only I can do?”
“Yes, something only you can do. Just don’t ask me why I want you to do it.”
I TAKE HER HAND and lead her into the church. It isn’t the first time I’ve been inside an Orthodox church, but I never know quite what to do, apart from lighting one of the slender wax candles and praying to the saints and angels to protect me. Even so, I always love the beauty of these churches, which repeat the same architectural ideal: the vaulted ceiling, the bare central nave, the lateral arches, the gold icons made by artists who pray and fast, and before which some of the ladies who have just come in bow, then kiss the protective glass.
As always happens when we’re focused on what we want, things begin to slot perfectly into place. Despite everything I experienced last night, despite still not having got beyond reading the letter, there is time enough before we reach Vladivostok, and my heart is at peace.
Hilal seems equally enchanted by the surrounding beauty. She must have forgotten that we’re in a church. I go over to a lady sitting in a corner, selling candles. I buy four, light three, and place those before what seems to be an image of Saint George. I pray for myself, my family, my readers, and my work.
I light the fourth and take it to Hilal.
“Please just do as I say. Hold this candle.”
Instinctively, she glances around to see if anyone is watching. She must think that what I’m asking her to do will seem disrespectful to the church we’re in. The next moment, however, she’s her usual blasé self. After all, she hates churches and doesn’t see why she should behave like everyone else.
The flame from the candle is reflected in her eyes. I bow my head. I don’t feel guilty at all; I feel only acceptance and the ache of a remote pain happening in another dimension, a pain I must embrace.
“I betrayed you, and I want you to
forgive me.”
“Tatiana!”
I put my hand over her mouth. She may be strong and talented and a real fighter, but I have to remember that she is still only twenty-one. I should have phrased it differently.
“No, it wasn’t Tatiana. But please, forgive me.”
“I can’t forgive you when I don’t know what you’ve done.”
“Remember the Aleph. Remember what you felt at that moment. Try to bring into this sacred place something that you don’t know but that is there in your heart. If necessary, think of a favorite symphony and let it guide you to where you need to go. That’s all that matters now. Words, explanations, and questions won’t help; they’ll only confuse something that is already quite complex enough. Forgive me, but let that forgiveness come from the depths of your soul, the same soul that passes from one body to another and learns as it travels through nonexistent time and infinite space.
“We can never wound the soul, just as we can never wound God, but we can become imprisoned by our memories, and that makes our lives wretched even when we have everything we need in order to be happy. If only we could be entirely here, as if we had just woken up on planet Earth and found ourselves inside a golden temple, but we can’t.”
“I don’t see why I should forgive the man I love. Or perhaps only for one thing, for never having heard those same words on his lips.”
A smell of incense begins to waft toward us. The priests are coming in for morning prayers.
“Forget who you are now and go to the place where the person you always were is waiting. There you will find the right words, and then you can forgive me.”
Hilal seeks inspiration in the gilded walls, the pillars, the people entering the church at this early hour, the flames of the lit candles. She closes her eyes, possibly following my suggestion and imagining some music.
“You won’t believe this, but I think I can see a girl, a girl who isn’t here anymore but who wants to come back…”
I ask her to listen to what the girl has to say.
“The girl forgives you, not because she has become a saint but because she can no longer bear to carry this burden of hatred. Hating is very wearisome. I don’t know if something is changing in Heaven or on Earth, or if my soul is being damned or saved, but I feel utterly exhausted, and only now do I understand why. I forgive the man who tried to destroy me when I was ten years old. He knew what he was doing, and I did not. But I felt that it was my fault, and I hated him and myself. I hated everyone who came near me, but now my soul is being set free.”
This isn’t what I was expecting.
“Forgive everything and everyone, but forgive me, too,” I ask her. “Include me in your forgiveness.”
“I forgive everything and everyone, including you, even though I don’t know what crime you have committed. I forgive you because I love you and because you don’t love me. I forgive you because you help me to stay close to my Devil, even though I haven’t thought of him for years. I forgive you because you reject me and my powers are wasted, and I forgive you because you don’t understand who I am or what I’m doing here. I forgive you and the Devil who touched my body before I even knew what life was about. He touched my body but distorted my soul.”
She puts her hands together in prayer. I would have liked her forgiveness to have been exclusively for me, but Hilal is redeeming her whole world, and perhaps that is better.
Her body starts to tremble. Her eyes fill with tears.
“Must it be here, in a church? Let’s go outside into the open air. Please!”
“No, it has to be in a church. One day we’ll do the same thing outside, but today it has to be in a church. Please, forgive me.”
She closes her eyes and holds her hands aloft. A woman coming into the church sees this gesture and shakes her head disapprovingly. We are in a sacred place; the rituals are different here, and we should respect the traditions. I pretend not to notice, and feel relieved because Hilal, I realize, is talking with the Spirit who dictates prayers and the true laws, and nothing in the world will distract her now.
“I free myself from hatred through forgiveness and love. I understand that suffering, when it cannot be avoided, is here to help me on my way to glory. I understand that everything is connected, that all roads meet, and that all rivers flow into the same sea. That is why I am, at this moment, an instrument of forgiveness, forgiveness for crimes that were committed; one crime I know about, the other I do not.”
Yes, a spirit was talking to her. I knew that spirit and that prayer, which I had learned many years ago in Brazil. It was spoken by a little boy then, not a girl. But Hilal was repeating the words that were in the Cosmos, waiting to be used when necessary.
Hilal is speaking softly, but the acoustics in the church are so perfect that everything she says seems to reach every corner.
“I forgive the tears I was made to shed,
I forgive the pain and the disappointments,
I forgive the betrayals and the lies,
I forgive the slanders and intrigues,
I forgive the hatred and the persecution,
I forgive the blows that hurt me,
I forgive the wrecked dreams,
I forgive the stillborn hopes,
I forgive the hostility and jealousy,
I forgive the indifference and ill will,
I forgive the injustice carried out in the name of justice,
I forgive the anger and the cruelty,
I forgive the neglect and the contempt,
I forgive the world and all its evils.”
She lowers her arms, opens her eyes, and puts her hands to her face. I go over to embrace her, but she stops me with a gesture.
“I haven’t finished yet.”
She closes her eyes again and raises her face heavenward.
“I also forgive myself. May the misfortunes of the past no longer weigh on my heart. Instead of pain and resentment, I choose understanding and compassion. Instead of rebellion, I choose the music from my violin. Instead of grief, I choose forgetting. Instead of vengeance, I choose victory.
“I will be capable of loving, regardless of whether I am loved in return,
Of giving, even when I have nothing,
Of working happily, even in the midst of difficulties,
Of holding out my hand, even when utterly alone and abandoned,
Of drying my tears, even while I weep,
Of believing, even when no one believes in me.”
She opens her eyes, places her hands on my head, and says with an authority that comes from on high, “So it is. So it will be.”
…
A COCK CROWS in the distance. That is the sign. I take her hand, and we set off back to the hotel, looking around at the city that is just beginning to wake up. She is clearly somewhat surprised by what she has said, but for me, her words of forgiveness have been the most important part of my journey so far. This is not the final step, however. I still need to know what happens after I finish reading that letter.
We arrive in time to have breakfast with the rest of the group, pack our bags, and head for the train station.
“Hilal will sleep in the empty berth in our carriage,” I say.
No one makes any comment. I can imagine what’s going through their minds, but I don’t bother explaining that it is not at all what they think.
“Korkmaz git,” says Hilal.
Given the look of surprise on everyone’s face, including that of my interpreter, the words are obviously not Russian.
“Korkmaz git,” she says again. “In Turkish that means ‘He goes and is not afraid.’ ”
Tea Leaves
EVERYONE SEEMS TO HAVE GROWN more used to being on the train. The table in the lounge is the center of the universe around which we gather every day for breakfast, lunch, and supper, and where we talk about life and our hopes for the future. Hilal is now installed in the same carriage as us; she shares our meals, uses my bathroom to take her daily shower, pra
ctices obsessively, and takes less and less part in discussions.
Today we’re talking about the shamans of Lake Baikal, our next stop. Yao explains that he would really like me to meet one of them.
“We’ll see,” I say, which translates as “I’m not really interested.”
However, I don’t think he’ll be discouraged so easily. One of the best-known principles in martial arts is that of nonresistance. Good fighters use their opponent’s energy and turn it back on them. So the more I waste my energy on words, the less convinced I will be of what I’m saying and the easier it will be to get the better of me.
“I’ve been thinking about our conversation before we arrived in Novosibirsk,” my editor says. “You said that the Aleph was a point that existed outside of us, but that when people really love each other, they can locate that point wherever they want. The shamans believe that they are endowed with special powers and that only they can see such visions.”
“If we’re talking about the magical Tradition, the answer is yes, the Aleph is outside of us. If we’re talking about the human tradition, people who are in love can, at certain very special moments, experience the Whole. In real life, we tend to see ourselves as separate beings, but the Universe is only one thing, one soul. However, to invoke the Aleph, something very powerful has to happen: a huge orgasm, a terrible loss, the climax of a great conflict, a moment of ecstasy when confronted by something of rare beauty.”