Hippie

A dream is something unpredictable and dangerous for those who lack the courage to dream.

Right. This was what the system did not tolerate, but the dream would win out in the end, and before the Americans were defeated in Vietnam.

He believed. He had chosen his madness and now intended to live it fully, staying there until he heard his calling to do something that helped to change the world. His dream was to be a writer, but it was still early, and he had his doubts whether books had this power, but he would do his best to show others what they could not see.

One thing was certain: there was no turning back. Now, there was only the path of light.

* * *

—

He met a Brazilian couple, Tiago and Tabita, who had noticed the flag on his coat and introduced themselves.

“We’re Children of God,” they said and invited him to visit the place where they lived.

We’re all Children of God, aren’t we?

Yes, but they were part of a cult whose founder had experienced a revelation. Would he like to know more?

Paulo assured them he would; when Karla decided to leave him before the day was out, he’d already have new friends.

* * *

—

But, as soon as they parted, Karla grabbed the patch on his jacket and tore it straight off.

“You already bought what you were looking for—stars are much more beautiful than flags. If you want, I can help you put them on in the shape of an Egyptian cross or the peace sign.”

“You didn’t need to do that. All you had to do was ask and let me decide if I wanted to go on wearing the patch on my sleeve or not. I love and hate my country, but that’s my problem. I just met you, and if you think that you can tell me what to do—to give me orders—because you think I’m somehow dependent on the only person I’ve actually met here, better we go our separate ways now. It can’t be all that hard to find an affordable restaurant around here.”

His tone had hardened, and caught off guard, Karla considered his reaction a good thing. He wasn’t some dimwit who simply did what others told him, even when he was in a city he did not know. He must have been through quite a bit in his life.

She handed him the patch.

“Put it somewhere else. It’s rude to speak in a language I don’t understand, and it takes a lack of imagination to come so far only to meet up with people you can find back home. If you start in with the Portuguese again, I’ll switch to Dutch, and that, I think, will be the end of our conversation.”

The restaurant wasn’t simply cheap—it was free, this magic word that tends to make everything taste much better.

“Who pays for all this? The Dutch government?”

“The Dutch government doesn’t let a single one of its citizens go hungry, but in this case the money comes from George Harrison, who’s adopted our religion.”

Karla listened with a mix of feigned interest and clear boredom. The silence they’d maintained as they walked had confirmed what the clairvoyant had told her the day before: the young man was the perfect companion for a trip to Nepal—he didn’t speak much, never sought to force his opinions on others, but he knew exactly how to fight for what was his, as she’d seen with the flag patch. She needed only to find the right moment to broach the subject.

They walked over to the buffet and filled their plates with several tasty vegetarian dishes while they listened to one of the people dressed in orange explain who they were to those who had just arrived. There must have been many of them, and converting someone at that time was ridiculously simple since Westerners worshiped everything that came from the exotic East.

“You must have met some of the people from our group on your way here,” said a man who looked a bit older, with a white beard and the saintly air of someone who had never sinned in his entire life. “The original name of our religion is quite difficult, so you can just call us Hare Krishna—that’s how we’ve been known for centuries, since we believe that repeating ‘Hare Krishna, Hare Rama’ empties our minds, leaving room for energy to enter. We believe that everything is one, we share a single soul, and each drop of light in this soul spreads to the dark spots that surround it. That’s it. Whoever wants to can grab a Bhagavad Gita on their way out and fill out a form requesting to join our group. You shall lack nothing—that was our Enlightened Lord’s promise before the great battle, when one of the warriors was racked with guilt for taking part in a civil war. The Enlightened Lord responded that no one kills and no one dies—his only responsibility is to fulfill his duty and do as he has been told.”

The man grabbed one of the books in question: Paulo stared intently at the guru, and Karla stared intently at Paulo—though she doubted he hadn’t heard all this before.

“O son of Kunti, either you will be killed on the battlefield and attain the heavenly planets, or you will conquer and enjoy the earthly kingdom. Therefore, get up with determination and fight.”

The guru closed the book.

“This is what we have to do. Instead of wasting our time saying ‘This is good’ or ‘This is bad,’ we need to fulfill our destiny. It was destiny that brought the two of you here today. Whoever wishes can come with us to dance and sing in the streets soon after we’ve finished eating.”

Paulo’s eyes lit up, and there was no need for him to say a thing. Karla had understood everything.