Пауло Коэльо – Aleph (страница 4)
The words emerge naturally from me – a wisdom I didn’t know I had, which I know does not belong to me, but which appears sometimes and stops me doubting everything I have learned over the years.
My great problem is this: despite such moments, I continue to doubt.
The yellow shape is there before me. It’s my wife, wearing one of the garish capes we use when we go walking in remote parts of the mountains. If we get lost, we’ll be easy to find.
‘Have you forgotten that we’re going out to supper tonight?’
No, I haven’t forgotten. I abandon universal metaphysics, in which thunder claps are the voices of the gods, and return to the reality of a provincial town and a supper of good wine, roast lamb and the cheerful conversation of friends, who will tell us about their recent adventures on their Harley-Davidson. I go back home to change my clothes and give my wife a brief summary of my conversation with J. that afternoon.
‘Did he tell you where you should go?’ she asks.
‘He told me to make a commitment.’
‘And is that so very hard? Stop being so difficult. You’re acting like an old man.’
Hervé and Véronique have invited two other guests, a middle-aged French couple. One of them is introduced as a ‘clairvoyant’, whom they met in Morocco.
The man seems neither pleasant nor unpleasant, merely absent. Then, in the middle of supper, as if he had entered a kind of trance, he says to Véronique:
‘Be careful when driving. You’re going to have an accident.’
I find this remark in the worst possible taste, because if Véronique takes it seriously, her fear will end up attracting negative energy and then things really might turn out as predicted.
‘How interesting,’ I say, before anyone else can react. ‘You are presumably capable of travelling in time, back into the past and forward into the future. I was speaking about just that with a friend this afternoon.’
‘When God allows me to, I can see. I know who each of the people around this table was, is and will be. I don’t understand my gift, but I long ago learned to accept it.’
The conversation should be about the trip to Sicily with friends who share a passion for classic Harley-Davidsons, but suddenly it seems to have taken a dangerous turn into areas I don’t want to enter right now. A case of synchronicity.
It’s my turn to speak:
‘You also know, then, that God only allows us to see such things when he wants something to change.’
I turn to Véronique and say, ‘Just take care. When something on the astral plane is placed on the earthly plane, it loses a lot of its force. In other words, I’m almost sure there will be no accident.’
Véronique offers everyone more wine. She thinks that the Moroccan clairvoyant and I are on a collision course. This isn’t the case; the man really can ‘see’ and that frightens me. I’ll talk to Hervé about it afterwards.
The man barely looks at me; he still has the absent air of someone who has unwittingly entered another dimension and now has a duty to communicate what he is experiencing. He wants to tell me something, but chooses, instead, to turn to my wife.
‘The soul of Turkey will give your husband all the love she possesses, but she will spill his blood before she reveals what it is she is seeking.’
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