The Valkyries. Пауло Коэльо

couldn’t even think. They sat there gazing at the desert. They would do anything so long as the stranger left them alone.

      But the man escorted them to the car, told them to get in, and started the engine. “I wonder where he’s taking us,” Paulo thought. But he wasn’t worried—the world was at peace, and the only thing he wanted to do was sleep. Surely his angel would appear before long.

       Chapter 12

      PAULO AWOKE WITH HIS STOMACH churning, and a tremendous need to vomit.

      “Lie still for a while longer.”

      Someone was speaking to him, but in his head there was only confusion. He still remembered the golden paradise where all had been serene and peaceful.

      He tried to move, and felt as if thousands of needles were sticking into his head.

      I think I’ll go back to sleep, he thought. But he couldn’t—the needles wouldn’t allow it. And his stomach was still turning over.

      “I want to throw up,” he said.

      When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was sitting in a kind of mini-market: He could see several refrigerator cabinets with soft drinks and shelves with foodstuffs. The sight of the food made him feel nauseated again. Then he noticed nearby a man he had never seen before.

      The man helped him to get up. In addition to the imaginary needles in his head, Paulo realized that he had another in his arm. Only this one was real.

      The man held the needle in place and helped Paulo to the bathroom, where he vomited some water, nothing more.

      “What’s happening? What’s this needle for?”

      It was Chris, speaking Portuguese. He returned to the store and saw that she was sitting up, too, with a needle in her arm.

      Paulo felt a little better now, and no longer needed the man’s support. He helped Chris up and to the bathroom, where she vomited.

      “I’m going to use your car to get back to mine,” the stranger said. “I’ll leave the keys in the ignition. You can get a ride to it when you’re ready.”

      Paulo was starting to remember what had happened, but the nausea had returned, and he had to vomit again.

      When he came back, the man had left, but a boy of seventeen or eighteen was there.

      “Just another hour,” the boy said. “The solution will be used up then, and you can go.”

      “What time is it?”

      The boy told them. Paulo struggled to get up—he had an appointment, and there was no way he was going to miss it.

      “I have to meet with Gene,” he said to Chris.

      “Sit down,” the boy said. “Not until the solution is used up.”

      The comment was unnecessary. Paulo no longer had either the strength or desire to walk even to the door.

      I’ve missed the meeting, he thought. But at this point, nothing mattered. The less he thought about, the better.

       Chapter 13

      “FIFTEEN MINUTES,” GENE SAID. “THAT’S all it takes, and without even realizing what’s happening, you die.”

      They were back at the old trailer. It was the afternoon of the next day, and the entire scene was bathed in pink. Nothing like the desert of the previous day—golden, peaceful, nausea, vomiting.

      They hadn’t been able to eat or sleep for twenty-four hours—they threw up everything they tried to eat. But now that strange sensation was passing.

      “It’s good that your horizon had been expanded. And that you were thinking about angels. An angel appeared.”

      Paulo thought it would be better to have said “Your soul had grown.” Besides, the guy who had appeared wasn’t an angel—he had an old truck, and he spoke English.

      “Let’s get going,” said Gene, asking Paulo to start the car. He took the passenger seat, with no show of ceremony. And Chris, grumbling in Portuguese, climbed into the back.

      Gene began to give instructions—take that road there, go for a few miles, drive fast so that the car gets cool inside, turn off the air-conditioning so the motor doesn’t overheat. Several times they drove off the narrow dirt road into the desert. But Gene knew what he was doing. He wasn’t going to make the same mistakes they had.

      “What happened yesterday?” Chris asked for the hundredth time. She knew that Gene wanted her to ask. He might already have seen his guardian angel, but he acted like any other young man his age.

      “Sunstroke,” he finally explained. “Haven’t either of you ever seen a film about the desert?”

      Of course they had. Thirsty men, dragging themselves across the sand in search of a drop of water.

      “We didn’t feel thirsty at all. The two canteens were filled with water.”

      “That’s not what I’m talking about,” the American interrupted. “I mean your clothing.”

      The clothing! The Arabs with their long robes, and several hoods—one on top of the other. Of course, how stupid we were! Paulo had already heard about that, and he’d already walked across three other deserts … and he had never felt the desire to take his clothes off. But here, that morning, after the frustration of the lake that they seemed never to reach … How could I have had such a stupid idea? he thought.

      “When you took off your clothes, the water in your bodies began to evaporate immediately. You can’t even perspire, because the climate is so dry. In fifteen minutes, you were both already dehydrated. No thirst or anything—just a slight feeling of disorientation.”

      “And the exhaustion?”

      “That exhaustion is death arriving.”

      I sure didn’t know it was death arriving, Chris said to herself. If someday she had to choose an easy way to leave the world behind, she would come back and take off her clothing in the middle of the desert.

      “Most people who die in the desert die with water in their canteen. The dehydration is so rapid that we feel as if we’ve drunk an entire bottle of whisky, or taken an overdose of some tranquilizer.” He suggested that, starting now, they drink water periodically—even if they weren’t thirsty—because their bodies needed the water.

      “But an angel did appear,” Gene said.

      Before Paulo could say what he was thinking, Gene ordered him to stop at the foot of a cliff.

      “Let’s get out here and go the rest of the way on foot.”

      They began to walk along a narrow path that led to the top of the cliff. Before they had gone far, Gene realized he had forgotten the flashlight from the car. He went back, picked it up, and sat on the hood of the car for some time, staring out at the desert.

      Chris is right; solitude does strange things to people. He’s behaving strangely, Paulo thought as he watched the youth down below.

      But, a few seconds later, Gene had climbed the narrow path again, and they pushed on.

      In forty minutes, with no great difficulty, they had reached the top. There was some sparse vegetation there, and Gene asked that they sit down facing north. His attitude, usually expansive, had changed—he seemed more distant, and looked as if he were concentrating hard.

      “You’ve both come here in search of angels,” he said, sitting down at their side.

      “That’s