“All in good time.”

As they walked toward the bus stop, Paulo noted that Karla held his hand as though they were something they were not—boyfriend and girlfriend. They made small talk, there was a lovely full moon that night, it wasn’t windy or rainy, it was perfect dining weather.

“I’ll pay today,” she said. “I’m dying to drink something.”

They boarded the bus and crossed the Bosphorus in reverential silence—as though having a religious experience. They got off at the first stop and walked along the edge of Asia, where there were five or six restaurants with plastic tablecloths. Seating themselves at the first one they came to, they looked out at the view before them; Istanbul’s monuments weren’t lit as in Europe, but the moon took it upon itself to cast over the city the most beautiful light they’d ever seen.

A waiter approached to take their order. They asked him to choose the best and most traditional dish. The waiter wasn’t used to this.

“But I need to know what you want. Here, everyone typically knows what they want.”

“We want the best. Isn’t that a good enough answer?”

No doubt it was. And the waiter, rather than complaining again, accepted the fact that the foreign couple was placing their trust in him. Which was an incredible responsibility, but at the same time, an incredible joy. “And what would you like to drink?”

“The best local wine. Nothing European; we’re in Asia, after all.”

They were dining in Asia, together, for the first time in their lives! “Unfortunately we don’t serve alcoholic beverages here. Strict religious regulations.”

“Turkey is a secular country, is it not?”

“Yes, but the owner is religious.” If they wanted to change restaurants, they could find what they were looking for two blocks away. Two blocks away they would have their wine but lose the magnificent view of Istanbul bathed in moonlight. Karla asked herself if she could manage to say everything she wanted to say without drinking. Paulo didn’t hesitate—this would be a dinner without wine.

The waiter brought a red candle inside a metal lantern, lit it in the center of the table, and while all this happened, neither of them said a thing. They imbibed the surrounding beauty and were soon drunk with it.

“We were telling each other about the days we had. You said you started off toward the bazaar to find me but soon changed your mind. A good thing, because I wasn’t at the bazaar. We’ll go tomorrow, together.”

She was behaving quite differently, remarkably mellow—which wasn’t typical of her. Had she found someone and needed to share her experience?

“You begin. You left there saying you were going after a religious ceremony. Did you find one?”

“Not exactly what I was looking for, but I found something.”

“I knew you would return,” said the man without a name when he saw the young man in colorful clothes walk through the door. “I think you must have had a powerful experience because this place is filled with the energy of the dancing dervishes. Although, I must stress: every place on Earth contains the presence of God in the tiniest things—insects, a grain of sand, everything.”

“I want to learn the ways of the Sufi. I need a teacher.”

“Then seek the Truth. Seek always to be on its side, even when it brings you pain. There are times when the Truth goes quiet for long stretches, or when it doesn’t tell you what you want to hear. That’s Sufism. The rest is a series of sacred rites that do nothing more than intensify this state of ecstasy. But in order to take part in them, it’s necessary to convert to Islam, something I truly cannot recommend. There’s no need to join a religion on account of its rituals alone.”

“But I need someone to lead me along the path toward truth.”

“That’s not Sufism. Thousands of books have been written about the path toward Truth, and none of them explain what it is exactly. Humanity has committed its greatest crimes in the name of the Truth. Men and women were burned alive, entire civilizations were destroyed, those who committed sins of the flesh were sent away, those who pursued a different path were cast out. One of them, in the name of ‘truth,’ was crucified. But before dying, he clarified Truth’s ultimate definition. It is not that which gives us certainty. It is not that which gives us profound thoughts. It is not that which makes us better than others. It is not that which makes us prisoners to our own prejudices. ‘The Truth is what makes us free. You will know the Truth and the Truth shall set you free,’ Jesus said.”

He paused.

“Sufism is nothing more than bringing yourself up-to-date, shifting your mind, understanding that words lack the power to describe the Absolute, the Infinite.”

The food arrived. Karla knew exactly what Paulo was saying, and everything she would tell him when her turn came would be based on his words.

“Let’s eat in silence?” she asked. Once again, Paulo found her behavior unusual—normally she would have pronounced those words with an exclamation point at the end.

Yes, they ate in silence. Gazing at the sky, the full moon, the waters of the Bosphorus glowing beneath its rays, their faces illuminated by candlelight, their hearts bursting at the meeting of two strangers who suddenly enter another dimension together. The more we allow the world in, the more we receive—be it love, be it hate.

But at that moment it was neither one nor the other. Paulo wasn’t seeking any revelations, he didn’t respect any tradition, he’d forgotten what was dictated by sacred texts, logic, philosophy, everything.

He had entered a state of complete emptiness, and this emptiness, through its inherent contradiction, filled everything.

* * *

Tags: Paulo Coelho Fiction
Source: readsnovelonline.net