The Devil and Miss Prym. Пауло Коэльо
Читать онлайн книгу.
what, for example?’
‘It’s not an example, it’s something very concrete. I want them to break the commandment “Thou shalt not kill”.’
‘What?’
Her question came out like a yell.
‘Exactly what I said. I want them to commit a murder.’
The stranger saw the young woman’s body go rigid and realised she might leave at any moment without hearing the rest of the story. He needed to tell her his plan quickly.
‘I’m giving them a week. If, at the end of seven days, someone in the village is found dead – it could be a useless old man, or someone with an incurable illness, or a mental defective who requires constant attention, the victim doesn’t matter – then the money will go to the other villagers, and I will conclude that we are all evil. If you steal the one gold bar but the village resists temptation, or vice versa, I will conclude that there are good people and evil people – which would put me in a difficult position because it would mean that there’s a spiritual struggle going on that could be won by either side. Don’t you believe in God and the spiritual world, in battles between devils and angels?’
The young woman said nothing, and this time he realised that he had mistimed his question and ran the risk of her simply turning on her heel and not letting him finish. He had better cut the irony and get to the heart of the matter.
‘If I leave the village with my eleven gold bars intact, then everything I wanted to believe in will have proved to be a lie. I will die having received an answer I would rather not have received, because I would find life more acceptable if I was proved right and the world is evil.
‘I would continue to suffer, but knowing that everyone else is suffering too would make the pain more bearable. But if only a few of us are condemned to suffer terrible tragedies, then there is something very wrong with Creation.’
Chantal’s eyes filled with tears, but she managed to fight them back.
‘Why are you doing this? Why did you choose my village?’
‘It’s nothing to do with you or with your village. I’m simply thinking of myself; the story of one man is the story of all men. I need to know if we are good or evil. If we are good, God is just and will forgive me for all I have done, for the harm I wished on those who tried to destroy me, for the wrong decisions I took at key moments, for the proposition I am putting to you now – for He was the one who drove me towards the dark.
‘But if we’re evil, then everything is permitted, I never took a wrong decision, we are all condemned from the start, and it doesn’t matter what we do in this life, for redemption lies beyond either human thought or deed.’
Before Chantal could leave, he added:
‘You may decide not to co-operate, in which case, I’ll tell everyone that I gave you the chance to help them, but you refused, and then I’ll put my proposition to them myself. If they do decide to kill someone, you will probably be their chosen victim.’
The inhabitants of Viscos soon grew used to the stranger’s routine: he woke early, ate a hearty breakfast and went off walking in the mountains, despite the rain that had not stopped falling since his second day in the village and which eventually turned into a near continuous snowstorm. He never ate lunch and generally returned to his hotel early in the afternoon, shut himself in his room and, so everyone supposed, went to sleep.
As soon as night fell, he resumed his walks, this time in the immediate surroundings of the village. He was always the first into the restaurant, he ordered the finest dishes and – never taken in by the prices – always ordered the best wine, which wasn’t necessarily the most expensive; then he would smoke a cigarette and go over to the bar, where he had begun to make friends with the regulars.
He enjoyed listening to stories about the region, about the previous generations who had lived in Viscos (someone told him that once it had been a far bigger village than it was today, as you could see from the ruined houses at the far end of the three surviving streets), and about the customs and superstitions that were part of rural life, and about the new techniques in agriculture and animal husbandry.
When the time came for him to talk about himself, he told various contradictory stories, sometimes saying he had been a sailor, at others mentioning the major arms industries he had been in charge of, or talking of a time when he had abandoned everything to spend time in a monastery in search of God.
When they left the bar, the locals argued over whether or not he was telling the truth. The mayor believed that a man could be many different things in his lifetime, although the people of Viscos always knew their fate from childhood onwards; the priest was of a different opinion and regarded the newcomer as someone lost and confused, who had come there to try and find himself.
The only thing they all knew for certain was that he was only going to be there for seven days; the hotel landlady reported that she had heard him phoning the airport in the capital, confirming his departure – interestingly enough, for Africa not South America. Then, after the phone call, he had pulled out a bundle of notes from his pocket to settle the bill for his room as well as to pay for the meals he had taken and those still to come, even though she assured him that she trusted him. When the stranger insisted, the woman suggested he pay by credit card, as most of her guests usually did; that way, he would have cash available for any emergency that might arise during the remainder of his trip. She thought of adding that ‘in Africa they might not accept credit cards’, but felt it would have been indelicate to reveal that she had listened in on his conversation, or to imply that certain continents were more advanced than others.
The stranger thanked her for her concern, but refused politely.
On the following three nights, he paid – again in cash – for a round of drinks for everyone. Viscos had never seen anything like it, and they soon forgot about the contradictory stories, and the man came to be viewed as friendly, generous and open-minded, prepared to treat country folk as if they were the equals of men and women from the big cities.
By now, the subject of the discussions had changed. When it was closing time in the bar, some of the late drinkers took the mayor’s side, saying that the newcomer was a man of the world, capable of understanding the true value of friendship, while others agreed with the priest, with his greater knowledge of the human soul, and said that the stranger was a lonely man in search either of new friends or of a new vision of life. Whatever the truth of the matter, he was an agreeable enough character, and the inhabitants of Viscos were convinced that they would miss him when he left on the following Monday.
Apart from anything else, he was extremely discreet, a quality everyone had noticed because of one particular detail: most travellers, especially those who arrived alone, were always very quick to try and strike up a conversation with the barmaid, Chantal Prym, possibly in hopes of a fleeting romance or whatever. This man, however, only spoke to her when he ordered drinks and never once traded seductive or lecherous looks with the young woman.
Chantal found it virtually impossible to sleep during the three nights following that meeting by the river. The storm – which came and went – shook the metal blinds, making a frightening noise. She awoke repeatedly, bathed in sweat, even though she always switched off the heating at night, due to the high price of electricity.
On the first night, she found herself in the presence of Good. Between nightmares – which she was unable to remember – she prayed to God to help her. It did not once occur to her to tell anyone what she had heard and thus become the messenger of sin and death.
At one point, it seemed to her that God was much too far away to hear her, and so she began praying instead to her grandmother, who had passed away some time ago, and who had brought her up after her mother died in childbirth. She clung with all her strength to