The Valkyries

Paulo was thinking about the woman who had left, but that wasn't what made him disconsolate. Time was passing, and soon he would have to return to his own country. He would meet again with the man who had taught him that angels exist.

That man, Paulo imagined, will tell me that I did enough. That I broke a pact that needed to be broken, that I accepted forgiveness that I should have accepted long ago. Yes, that man will continue to teach me about the path to wisdom and love, and I will get closer and closer to my angel. I'll speak with my angel every day, giving thanks for protection and asking for help. And that man will tell me

that it is sufficient.

Yes, because J. had taught him from the beginning that there are frontiers. That it was necessary to go as far as possible--but that there were certain times when one had to accept the mystery, and understand that each person had his own gift. Some knew how to cure, others possessed words of wisdom, while others conversed with spirits. It was through the sum of such gifts that God could demonstrate his glory, using humankind as his instrument. The gates to paradise would be open to those who had resolved that they would pass through them. The world was in the hands of those who had the courage to dream--and to realize their dreams.

Each to their own talent. Each to their own gift.

But none of that consoled Paulo. He knew that Gene had seen his angel. That Valhalla had seen her angel. That many others had written books and stories and reports telling of their meetings with their angels.

And he had not been able to see his own.

IN SIX MORE DAYS, THEY WOULD HAVE TO LEAVE THE desert. They stopped in a small city called Ajo, where most of the inhabitants were elderly. It was a place that had known its moments of glory--when the mine there had brought jobs, prosperity, and hope to the inhabitants. But, for some reason--unknown to any of them--the company had sold its houses to the employees and closed the mine.

Paulo and Chris sat in a restaurant, drinking coffee and waiting for the cool evening to arrive. An old woman asked if she could sit with them.

"All of our children have gone away," she told them. "No one is left except the old-timers. Some day, the entire city will disappear, and all our work, everything we built, will no longer mean a thing."

It had been a long time since anyone had even passed through the place. The old woman was happy to have someone to talk to.

"People come here, build, and hope that what they are doing is important," she continued. "But overnight, they find that they are demanding more of the Earth than it has to give. So, they abandon everything and move on, without thinking about the fact that they have involved others in their dream--others who, weaker than they, have to stay behind. Like with the ghost towns out there in the desert."

Maybe that's what's happening to me, Paulo thought. I brought myself here, and I've abandoned myself.

He recalled that once an animal trainer had told him how he was able to keep his elephants under control. The animals, as infants, were bound by chains to a log. They would try to escape, but could not. They tried throughout their entire infancy, but the log was stronger than they were.

So they became accustomed to captivity. And when they were huge and strong, all the trainer had to do was place the chain around one of their legs and anchor it anywhere--even to a twig--and they would not attempt to escape. They were prisoners of their past.

The long hours of daylight seemed to have no end. The sky caught fire, the Earth baked, and they had to wait, wait, wait--until the color of the desert changed again to softer tones of pink. That was when he could leave the city, try his channeling, and once again await the appearance of his angel.

"Someone once said that the earth produces enough to satisfy needs, but not enough to satisfy greed," the old woman continued.

"Do you believe in angels?" Paulo asked her.

The woman was astonished at the question. But that was all that Paulo wanted to talk about.

"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."