Witch of Portobello

by Paulo Coelho

  “Great. So if that ever happens to you…”

  “What?”

  “If your man gets himself another woman, don’t forget to laugh.”

  “I’m not a goddess. I’d be much more vengeful. Anyway, why is it I’ve never seen your boyfriend?”

  “Because he’s always busy.”

  “Where did you meet him?”

  “At the bank where I used to work. He had an account there. And now, if you don’t mind, my son’s waiting for me. You’re right, if I don’t keep my eye on him, he could get lost among all these people. By the way, we’re having a meeting at my place next week. You’re invited, of course.”

  “Yes, and I know who organized it.”

  Athena kissed me lightly on both cheeks and left. At least she’d got the message.

  That afternoon, at the theater, the director made a point of telling me that he was annoyed because, he said, I’d arranged for a group of actors to go and visit “that woman.” I explained that it hadn’t been my idea. Heron had become obsessed with the subject of navels and had asked me if some of the other actors would be prepared to continue the interrupted “lecture.”

  “That said,” I added, “it was my choice to ask them.”

  Of course it was, but the last thing I wanted was for him to go to Athena’s house alone.

  The actors had all arrived, but instead of another read-through of the new play, the director decided to change the program.

  “Today we’ll do another exercise in psychodrama.” [Editor’s note: a therapeutic technique that involves people acting out their personal experiences.]

  There was no need. We all knew how the characters would behave in the situations described by the playwright.

  “Can I suggest a subject?”

  Everyone turned to look at me. The director seemed surprised.

  “What’s this, a revolt?”

  “No, listen. We create a situation where a man, after great difficulty, manages to get a group of people together to celebrate an important ritual in the community, something, let’s say, like the autumn harvest. Meanwhile, a strange woman arrives, and because of her beauty and the various rumors circulating—about her being a goddess in disguise, for example—the group the man has formed in order to keep alive the traditions in his village breaks up, and its members all go off to see the woman instead.”

  “But that’s got nothing to do with the play we’re rehearsing!” said one of the actresses.

  The director, however, had understood what I was driving at.

  “That’s an excellent idea. Let’s begin.”

  And turning to me, he said, “Andrea, you can be the new arrival. That way you can get a better understanding of the situation in the village. And I’ll be the decent man trying to preserve the old ways. The group will be made up of couples who go to church, get together on Saturdays to do work in the community, and generally help one another.”

  We lay down on the floor, did some relaxation, and then began the exercise proper, which was really very simple. The main character (in this case, me) created various situations, and the others reacted to them.

  When the relaxation was over, I transformed myself into Athena. In my fantasy, she roamed the world like Satan in search of subjects for her realm, but she disguised herself as Gaia, the goddess who knows everything and created everything. For fifteen minutes, the other actors paired up into “couples,” got to know each other, and invented a common history involving children, farms, understanding, and friendship. When I felt this little universe was ready, I sat at one corner of the stage and began to speak about love.

  “Here we are in this little village, and you think I’m a stranger, which is why you’re interested in what I have to tell you. You’ve never traveled and don’t know what goes on beyond the mountains, but I can tell you: there’s no need to praise the earth. The earth will always be generous with this community. The important thing is to praise human beings. You say you’d love to travel, but you misuse the word love. Love is a relationship between people.

  “Your one desire is for the harvest to be a good one, and that’s why you’ve decided to love the earth. More nonsense: love isn’t desire or knowledge or admiration. It’s a challenge, it’s an invisible fire. That’s why, if you think I’m a stranger on this earth, you’re wrong. Everything is familiar to me because I come in strength and in fire, and when I leave, no one will be the same. I bring true love, not the love they write about in books or in fairy tales.”

  The “husband” of one of the “couples” began looking at me. His “wife” became distraught.

  During the rest of the exercise, the director—or, rather, the decent man—did all he could to explain the importance of maintaining traditions, praising the earth, and asking the earth to be as generous this year as it had been last year. I spoke only of love.

  “He says the earth needs rituals, well, I can guarantee that if there’s love enough among you, you’ll have an abundant harvest, because love is the feeling that transforms everything. But what do I see? Friendship. Passion died out a long time ago, because you’ve all got used to one another. That’s why the earth gives only what it gave last year, neither more nor less. And that’s why, in the darkness of your souls, you silently complain that nothing in your lives changes. Why? Because you’ve always tried to control the force that transforms everything so that your lives can carry on without being faced by any major challenges.”

  The decent man explained, “Our community has survived because we’ve always respected the laws by which even love itself is guided. Anyone who falls in love without taking into account the common good will be condemned to live in constant fear of hurting his partner, of irritating his new love, of losing everything he built. A stranger with no ties and no history can say what she likes, but she doesn’t know how hard it was to get where we are now. She doesn’t know the sacrifices we made for our children. She doesn’t know that we work tirelessly so that the earth will be generous with us, so that we will be at peace, and so that we can store away provisions for the future.”

  For an hour I defended the passion that devours everything, while the decent man spoke of the feeling that brings peace and tranquility. In the end, I was left talking to myself while the whole community gathered around him.

  I’d played my role with great gusto and with a conviction I didn’t even know I felt. Despite everything, though, the stranger left the village without having convinced anyone.

  And that made me very, very happy.

  HERON RYAN, JOURNALIST

  An old friend of mine always says: “People learn twenty-five percent from their teacher, twenty-five percent from listening to themselves, twenty-five percent from their friends, and twenty-five percent from time.” At that first meeting at Athena’s apartment, where she was trying to conclude the class she had started at the theater, we all learned from…well, I’m not quite sure from what.

  She was waiting for us, with her son, in her small living room. I noticed that the room was entirely painted in white and was completely empty apart from one item of furniture with a sound system on it, and a pile of CDs. I thought it odd that her son should be there, because he was sure to be bored by the class. I was assuming she would simply pick up from where we had stopped, giving us commands through single words. But she had other plans. She explained that she was going to play some music from Siberia and that we should all just listen.

  Nothing more.

  “I don’t get anywhere meditating,” she said. “I see people sitting there with their eyes closed, a smile on their lips or else grave-faced and arrogant, concentrating on absolutely nothing, convinced that they’re in touch with God or with the Goddess. So instead, let’s listen to some music together.”

  Again that feeling of unease, as if Athena didn’t know exactly what she was doing. But nearly all the actors from the theater were there, including the director, who, according to Andrea, had come to spy on the enemy camp.

/>   The music stopped.

  “This time I want you to dance to a rhythm that has nothing whatever to do with the melody.”

  Athena put the music on again, with the volume right up, and started to dance, making no attempt to move gracefully. Only an older man, who took the role of the drunken king in our latest play, did as he was told. No one else moved. They all seemed slightly constrained. One woman looked at her watch—only ten minutes had passed.

  Athena stopped and looked round.

  “Why are you just standing there?”

  “Well,” said one of the actresses timidly, “it seems a bit ridiculous to be doing that. We’ve been trained in harmony, not its opposite.”

  “Just do as I say. Do you need an explanation? Right, I’ll give you one. Changes only happen when we go totally against everything we’re used to doing.”

  Turning to the “drunken king,” she said, “Why did you agree to dance against the rhythm of the music?”

  “Oh, I’ve never had any sense of rhythm anyway.”

  Everyone laughed, and the dark cloud hanging over us seemed to disperse.

  “Right, I’m going to start again, and you can either follow me or leave. This time, I’m the one who decides when the class ends. One of the most aggressive things a human being can do is to go against what he or she believes is nice or pretty, and that’s what we’re going to do today. We’re all going to dance badly.”

  It was just another experiment, and in order not to embarrass our hostess, everyone obediently danced badly. I struggled with myself, because one’s natural tendency was to follow the rhythms of that marvelous, mysterious percussion. I felt as if I were insulting the musicians who were playing and the composer who created it. Every so often, my body tried to fight against that lack of harmony and I was forced to make myself behave as I’d been told to. The boy was dancing as well, laughing all the time, then at a certain point, he stopped and sat down on the sofa, as if exhausted by his efforts. The CD was switched off in midstream.

  “Wait.”

  We all waited.

  “I’m going to do something I’ve never done before.”

  She closed her eyes and held her head between her hands.

  “I’ve never danced unrhythmically before…”

  So the experiment had been worse for her than for any of us.

  “I don’t feel well…”

  Both the director and I got to our feet. Andrea shot me a furious glance, but I still went over to Athena. Before I could reach her, however, she asked us to return to our places.

  “Does anyone want to say anything?” Her voice sounded fragile, tremulous, and she had still not uncovered her face.

  “I do.”

  It was Andrea.

  “First, pick up my son and tell him that his mother’s fine. But I need to stay like this for as long as necessary.”

  Viorel looked frightened. Andrea sat him on her lap and stroked him.

  “What do you want to say?”

  “Nothing. I’ve changed my mind.”

  “The boy made you change your mind, but carry on anyway.”

  Slowly Athena removed her hands and looked up. Her face was that of a stranger.

  “No, I won’t speak.”

  “All right. You,” Athena said, pointing to the older actor. “Go to the doctor tomorrow. The fact that you can’t sleep and have to keep getting up in the night to go to the toilet is serious. It’s cancer of the prostate.”

  The man turned pale.

  “And you”—she pointed at the director—“accept your sexual identity. Don’t be afraid. Accept that you hate women and love men.”

  “Are you saying—”

  “Don’t interrupt me. I’m not saying this because of Athena. I’m merely referring to your sexuality. You love men, and there is, I believe, nothing wrong with that.”

  She wasn’t saying that because of Athena? But she was Athena!

  “And you.” She pointed to me. “Come over here. Kneel down before me.”

  Afraid of what Andrea might do and embarrassed to have everyone’s eyes on me, I nevertheless did as she asked.

  “Bow your head. Let me touch the nape of your neck.”

  I felt the pressure of her fingers but nothing else. We remained like that for nearly a minute, and then she told me to get up and go back to my seat.

  “You won’t need to take sleeping pills anymore. From now on, sleep will return.”

  I glanced at Andrea. I thought she might say something, but she looked as amazed as I did.

  One of the actresses, possibly the youngest, raised her hand.

  “I’d like to say something, but I need to know who I’m speaking to.”

  “Hagia Sofia.”

  “I’d like to know if…”

  She glanced round, ashamed, but the director nodded, asking her to continue.

  “…if my mother is all right.”

  “She’s by your side. Yesterday, when you left the house, she made you forget your handbag. You went back to find it and discovered that you’d locked yourself out and couldn’t get in. You wasted a whole hour looking for a locksmith, when you could have kept the appointment you’d made, met the man who was waiting for you, and got the job you wanted. But if everything had happened as you planned that morning, in six months’ time you would have died in a car accident. Forgetting your handbag yesterday changed your life.”

  The girl began to weep.

  “Does anyone else want to ask anything?”

  Another hand went up. It was the director.

  “Does he love me?”

  So it was true. The story about the girl’s mother had stirred up a whirlwind of emotions in the room.

  “You’re asking the wrong question. What you need to know is are you in a position to give him the love he needs. And whatever happens or doesn’t happen will be equally gratifying. Knowing that you are capable of love is enough. If it isn’t him, it will be someone else. You’ve discovered a wellspring; simply allow it to flow and it will fill your world. Don’t try to keep a safe distance so as to see what happens. Don’t wait to be certain before you take a step. What you give, you will receive, although it might sometimes come from the place you least expect.”

  Those words applied to me too. Then Athena—or whoever she was—turned to Andrea.

  “You!”

  My blood froze.

  “You must be prepared to lose the universe you created.”

  “What do you mean by ‘universe’?”

  “What you think you already have. You’ve imprisoned your world, but you know that you must liberate it. I know you understand what I mean, even though you don’t want to hear it.”

  “I understand.”

  I was sure they were talking about me. Was this all a setup by Athena?

  “It’s finished,” she said. “Bring the child to me.”

  Viorel didn’t want to go; he was frightened by his mother’s transformation. But Andrea took him gently by the hand and led him to her.

  Athena—or Hagia Sofia, or Sherine, or whoever she was—did just as she had done with me, and pressed the back of the boy’s neck with her fingers.

  “Don’t be frightened by the things you see, my child. Don’t try to push them away because they’ll go away anyway. Enjoy the company of the angels while you can. You’re frightened now, but you’re not as frightened as you might be because you know there are lots of people in the room. You stopped laughing and dancing when you saw me embracing your mother and asking to speak through her mouth. But you know I wouldn’t be doing this if she hadn’t given me her permission. I’ve always appeared before in the form of light, and I still am that light, but today I decided to speak.”

  The little boy put his arms around her.

  “You can go now. Leave me alone with him.”

  One by one, we left the apartment, leaving the mother with her child. In the taxi home, I tried to talk to Andrea, but she said that we could talk about anything but what
had just happened.

  I said nothing. My soul filled with sadness. Losing Andrea was very hard. On the other hand, I felt an immense peace. The evening’s events had wrought changes in us all, and that meant I wouldn’t need to go through the pain of sitting down with a woman I loved very much and telling her that I was in love with someone else.

  In this case, I chose silence. I got home, turned on the TV, and Andrea went to have a bath. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, the room was full of light. It was morning, and I’d slept for ten hours. Beside me was a note, in which Andrea said that she hadn’t wanted to wake me, that she’d gone straight to the theater, but had left me some coffee. The note was a romantic one, decorated in lipstick and a small cutout heart.

  She had no intention of “letting go of her universe.” She was going to fight. And my life would become a nightmare.

  That evening she phoned, and her voice betrayed no particular emotion. She told me that the elderly actor had gone to see his doctor, who had examined him and found that he had an enlarged prostate. The next step was a blood test, where they had detected a significantly raised level of a type of protein called PSA. They took a sample for a biopsy, but the clinical picture indicated that there was a high chance he had a malignant tumor.

  “The doctor said he was lucky, because even if their worst fears were proved right, they can still operate, and there’s a ninety-nine percent chance of a cure.”

  DEIDRE O’NEILL, KNOWN AS EDDA

  What do you mean, Hagia Sofia! It was her, Athena, but by touching the deepest part of the river that flows through her soul, she had come into contact with the Mother.

  All she did was to see what was happening in another reality. The young actress’s mother, now that she’s dead, lives in a place outside of time and so was able to change the course of events, whereas we human beings can only know about the present. But that’s no small thing: discovering a dormant illness before it gets worse, touching nervous systems and unblocking energies are within the reach of all of us.