Eleven Minutes. Пауло Коэльо

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      Eleven Minutes

      TRANSLATED FROM THE PORTUGUESE BY MARGARET JULL COSTA

      Paulo Coelho

       Dedication

      On 29th May 2002, just hours before I put the finishing touches to this book, I visited the Grotto in Lourdes, in France, to fill a few bottles with miraculous water from the spring. Inside the Basilica, a gentleman in his seventies said to me: ‘You know, you look just like Paulo Coelho.’ I said that I was Paulo Coelho. The man embraced me and introduced me to his wife and grand-daughter. He spoke of the importance of my books in his life, concluding: ‘They make me dream.’ I have often heard these words before, and they always please me greatly. At that moment, however, I felt really frightened, because I knew that my new novel, Eleven Minutes, dealt with a subject that was harsh, difficult, shocking. I went over to the spring, filled my bottles, then came back and asked him where he lived (in northern France, near Belgium) and noted down his name.

      This book is dedicated to you, Maurice Gravelines. I have a duty to you, your wife and grand-daughter and to myself to talk about the things that concern me and not only about what everyone would like to hear. Some books make us dream, others bring us face to face with reality, but what matters most to the author is the honesty with which a book is written.

       Epigraph

      O, Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who turn to you. Amen.

      And, behold, a woman which was in the city, a sinner; and when she knew that Jesus was sitting at meat in the Pharisee’s house, she brought an alabaster cruse of ointment.

      And standing behind at his feet, weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears, and wiped them with the hair of her head, and kissed his feet, and anointed them with the ointment.

      Now when the Pharisee which had bidden him saw it, he spake within himself, saying, This man, if he were a prophet, would have perceived who and what manner of woman this is which toucheth him, that she is a sinner.

      And Jesus answering said unto him, Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee. And he saith, Master, say on.

      A certain lender had two debtors: the one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty.

      And when they had not wherewith to pay, he forgave them both. Which of them therefore will love him most?

      Simon answered and said, He, I suppose, to whom he forgave the most. And he said unto him, Thou hast rightly judged.

      And turning to the woman, he said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet; but she hath washed my feet with her tears, and wiped them with her hair.

      Thou gavest me no kiss: but she, since the time I came in, hath not ceased to kiss my feet.

      My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this she hath anointed my feet with ointment.

      Wherefore I say unto thee, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little.

      Luke 7: 37—47

      Table of Contents

       Title Page

Dedication

Epigraph

Poem

Once upon a time

Three years passed

And so Maria’s adolescent years

She turned nineteen

The next day, together

She arrived feeling exhausted and

Maria chose to be an adventurer

The following day

Although she was capable

So that was how it worked

The agency phoned the next

       However important Maria thought

       And so six months passed

       The men she had met

       Another three months passed

       When she arrived at the Copacabana

       She was terrified

       On the third day

       In the days that followed

       Sometimes life is very mean

       She was back in Ralf

       On average, thirty-eight

       Shortly after writing this

       It wasn’t theatre this time

       The minutes became hours

       It isn’t his house

       She started the day by

       Nyah, the only one of her work