The Devil and Miss Prym (On the Seventh Day 3)

"'The only reason anyone would sell salt more cheaply than usual would be because he was desperate for money. And anyone who took advantage of that situation would be showing a lack of respect for the sweat and struggle of the man who labored to produce it.'

"'But such a small thing couldn't possibly destroy a village.'

"'In the beginning, there was only a small amount of injustice abroad in the world, but everyone who came afterwards added their portion, always thinking it was very small and unimportant, and look where we have ended up today.'"

"Like the stranger, for example," Chantal said, hoping that Berta would confirm that she too had talked to him. But Berta said nothing.

"I don't know why Ahab was so keen to save Viscos," Chantal went on. "It started out as a den of thieves and now it's a village of cowards."

Chantal was sure the old woman knew something. She only had to find out whether it was the stranger himself who had told her.

"That's true. But I'm not sure that it's cowardice exactly. I think everyone is afraid of change. They want Viscos to be as it always was: a place where you can till the soil and tend your livestock, a place that welcomes hunters and tourists, but where everyone knows exactly what is going to happen from one day to the next, and where the only unpredictable things are nature's storms. Perhaps it's a way of achieving peace, but I agree with you on one point: they all think they have everything under control, when, in fact, they control nothing."

"Absolutely," said Chantal.

"Not one jot or one tittle shall be added to what is written," the old woman said, quoting from the Gospels. "But we like to live with that illusion because it makes us feel safe. Well, it's a choice like any other, even though it's stupid to believe we can control the world and to allow ourselves to be lulled into a false sense of security that leaves us totally unprepared for life; because then, when you least expect it, an earthquake throws up a range of mountains, a bolt of lightning kills a tree that was preparing for its summer rebirth, or a hunting accident puts paid to the life of an honest man."

For the hundredth time, Berta launched

into the story of her husband's death. He had been one of the most respected guides in the region, a man who saw hunting not as a savage sport, but as a way of respecting local traditions. Thanks to him, Viscos had created a special nature reserve, the mayor had drawn up laws protecting certain near-extinct species, there was a tax per head of each animal killed, and the money collected was used for the good of the community.

Berta's husband tried to see the sport--considered cruel by some and traditional for others--as a way of teaching the hunters something about the art of living. Whenever someone with a lot of money but little hunting experience arrived in Viscos, he would take them out to a piece of waste ground. There, he would place a beer can on top of a stone.

Then he would stand about fifty yards from the can and, with a single shot, send it flying.

"I'm the best shot in the region," he would say. "And now you're going to learn how to become as good as me."

He replaced the can on the same stone, walked back to where he had stood before, took a handkerchief out of his pocket and asked the newcomer to blindfold him. Then he aimed once more in the direction of the target and fired again.

"Did I hit it?" he would ask, removing the blindfold.

"Of course not," the new arrival would say, pleased to see the proud guide humbled. "You missed it by a mile. I don't think there's anything you can teach me."

"I've just taught you the most important lesson in life," Berta's husband would reply. "Whenever you want to achieve something, keep your eyes open, concentrate and make sure you know exactly what it is you want. No one can hit their target with their eyes closed."

Then, one day, while he was replacing the can on the stone after his first shot, the would-be hunter thought it must be his turn to show how good his aim was. Without waiting for Berta's husband to rejoin him, he fired. He missed the target, but hit the guide in the neck. He did not have the chance to learn that important lesson in concentration and objectivity.

"I have to go," Chantal said. "There are a few things I need to do before I go to work."

Berta said goodbye and watched her all the way until she disappeared down the alley beside the church. The years she had spent sitting outside her door, looking up at the mountains and the clouds and holding conversations in her mind with her dead husband, had taught her to "see" people. Her vocabulary was limited, so she could find no other word to describe all the many sensations that other people aroused in her, but that was what happened: she "saw through" other people, and could tell what their feelings were.

It had all started at the funeral for her one great love. She was weeping, and a child next to her--the son of an inhabitant of Viscos, who was now a grown man and lived thousands of miles away--asked her why she was sad.

Berta did not want to frighten the child by mentioning death and final farewells, so all she said was that her husband had gone away and might not come back to Viscos for a long time.

"I think he was putting you on," the boy replied. "I've just seen him hiding behind a grave, all smiles, and with a soup spoon in his hand."

The boy's mother heard what he said and scolded him for it. "Children are always seeing things," she said, apologizing to Berta. But Berta immediately stopped crying and looked in the direction the child had indicated; her husband had always had the annoying habit of wanting to eat his soup with a special spoon, however much this irritated her--because all spoons are the same and hold the same amount of soup--yet he had always insisted on using his special spoon. Berta had never told anyone this, for fear people would think him crazy.

So the boy really had seen her husband; the spoon was the proof. Children could "see" things. From then on, Berta decided that she was going to learn to "see" as well, because she wanted to talk to her husband, to have him back--if only as a ghost.

At first, she shut herself up at home, rarely going out, waiting for him to appear to her. Then one day, something told her that she should go to the door of her house and start paying attention to other people, that her husband wanted her to have more joy in her life, for her to participate more in what was going on in the village.

She set up her chair outside her house and sat staring at the mountains; there were not many people out and about in the streets of Viscos, but on the very first day of her vigil, a neighbor returned from the next village, saying that they were selling quality cutlery very cheaply at the market there and, as proof, she produced a spoon from her bag.

Berta realized she would never see her husband again, but he was asking her to stay there, watching the village, and that was what she would do. As time went by, she began to perceive a presence beside her, to her left, and she was certain that he was there with her, keeping her company and protecting her from any danger, as well as teaching her to see things that others could not, such as the patterns made by the clouds, which always spelled out messages. She was rather sad that whenever she tried to look at him full on, the presence disappeared, but then she realized that she could talk to him using her intuition, and so they began having long conversations about all kinds of things.

Three years later, she was able to "see" people's feelings, as well as receive some very useful practical advice from her husband. That was why she refused to be fobbed off with less compensation than she deserved, and why she withdrew her money from the bank just before it crashed, taking with it many local people's hard-earned savings.