by Paulo Coelho
“When you’re old, and death isn’t too far off, you begin to believe in anything,” she said. “But I don’t know if I believe in angels.”
“They exist.”
“Have you ever seen one?” There was a mixture of incredulity and hope in her eyes.
“I talk with my guardian angel.”
“Does your angel have wings?”
It was the question everyone asked. Yet he had forgotten to ask it of Valhalla.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen my angel yet.”
The woman considered whether she should get up and leave. The solitude of the desert made some people strange. But maybe this man was joking with her, just passing the time.
She wanted to ask where the couple came from, and what they were doing in a place like Ajo. She hadn’t been able to identify their strange accent.
Maybe they’re from Mexico, she thought. But they didn’t look like Mexicans. She would ask when the opportunity arose.
“I don’t know if you two are fooling around with me,” she said, “but, as I said, I’m getting close to death. I suppose I could last another five or ten years. Maybe even twenty. But at my age, you certainly realize you’re going to die.”
“I know that I’m going to die, too,” Chris said.
“No, not like an old person does. For you, it’s a remote idea. It might happen some day. For us, it’s something that could happen tomorrow. That’s why many elderly people spend the time remaining to them looking only in one direction: the past. It’s not that they’re so fond of their memories, but they know that looking in that direction they won’t see anything to be feared.
“Very few old people look to the future, and I’m one of them. When we look into the future, we see what it holds for us: death.”
Paulo didn’t say anything. You can’t say anything new about awareness of death to those who practice magic, but he knew the woman would leave the table if she knew that he was a magus.
“That’s why I’d like to believe that you both are serious. That angels really exist.”
“Death is an angel,” Paulo said. “I have seen it twice in this incarnation, but very briefly. There wasn’t enough time to see its face. But I know people who have seen, and I know others that were oppressed by Death, and later told me about it. They said that Death has a handsome face, and a gentle touch.”
The old woman stared at Paulo. She wanted to believe him.
“Does Death have wings?”
“This angel is made of light,” he answered. “When the moment comes, Death assumes the form that is easiest for you to deal with.”
The old woman thought about that. Then she stood up.
“I’m not afraid anymore. I have prayed, and asked that the angel of death have wings when it comes to me. My heart tells me that my wish will be granted.”
She kissed them both. It was no longer important to her where they came from.
“It was my angel that sent you both. Thank you so much.”
Paulo remembered Gene. He too had been an angel’s instrument. Thinking of Gene, Paulo realized that he and Chris had also served as the instruments of an angel.
AT SUNSET, THEY WENT TO A MOUNTAIN NOT FAR FROM AJO. They sat facing the east, waiting for the first star to appear. When that occurred, they would initiate their channeling activity.
They called this process Contemplation of the Angel. It was the first ceremony they had created after the Ritual That Demolishes Rituals had swept the others away.
“I never asked,” Chris said as they waited. “Why it is that you want to see your angel?”
“Well, you’ve already explained to me a number of times that it didn’t matter at all to you.”
His voice had a sarcastic tone. She pretended not to notice.
“Okay. But it’s important for you. Can you tell me why?”
“I’ve already explained that. The day of our meeting with Valhalla.”
“You don’t need a miracle,” she insisted. “You’re just being capricious.”
“There’s nothing capricious in the spiritual world. Either you accept it, or you don’t.”
“So? Haven’t you accepted this, your world? Or was everything you said a lie?”
She must be thinking of that story in the mine, Paulo thought. It was a difficult question to answer, but he was bound to try.
“I’ve already witnessed a number of miracles,” he began. “Many miracles. You and I have even witnessed some together. We watched J. create openings in the clouds, fill the darkness with light, move objects from one place to another.
“You’ve seen me read people’s minds, cause the wind to blow, perform rituals involving power. I’ve seen magic function many times in my life—both for evil and for good. I have no doubts about it.”
He paused. “But we have also become used to miracles. And we always want to see others. Faith is a difficult conquest, and it requires daily combat in order to be maintained.”
It was time for the star to appear, and he had to end his explanation. But Chris interrupted.
“It’s been that way with our marriage, too,” she said. “And I’m exhausted.”
“I don’t understand. I’m speaking about the spiritual world.”
“The only reason I’m able to understand what you’re saying is because I know your love,” she said. “We’ve been together for a long time. But after the first two years of joy and passion, every day began to be a challenge for me. It’s been very difficult to keep the flames of our love alive.”
She regretted having brought up the subject—but now she was going to see it through.
“Once you told me that the world was divided into the farmers, who love the Earth and the harvest, and the hunters, who love the dark forests and conquest. You said I was a farmer, like J. That I walked the path of wisdom, achieved through contemplation. And you said I was married to a hunter.”
Her thoughts were pushing their way out, and she couldn’t stop herself. She was afraid the star might appear before she had finished.
“And I am married to a hunter. I know that, and its been very difficult being married to you! You’re like Valhalla, like the Valkyries. They never rest. They deal only in the strong emotions of the hunt, of taking risks. Of the darkness of night and the taking of prisoners. At the beginning, I didn’t think I’d be able to live with that. I, who was looking for a life like everybody else’s, married to a magus! A magus whose world is governed by laws I don’t even know—a person who feels he is alive only when he is facing challenges.”
She looked into his eyes.
“Isn’t J. a much more powerful magus than you are?”
“Much wiser,” Paulo answered. “Much more experienced. He follows the path of the farmer, and it is on that path that he finds his power. I’ll be able to achieve my power only by following the path of the hunter.”
“Well then, why did he accept you as a disciple?”
Paulo laughed. “For the same reason that you chose me as a husband. Because we’re different from one another.”
“Valhalla, you, and all your friends think only in terms of the Conspiracy. Nothing else is important—you’re all fixated on this business of changes, of a new world to come. I believe in that new world, too—but, God, does it have to be this way?”
“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 sayin
g 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 of 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.”