The Valkyries

Some with a flattering word,

The coward does it with a kiss,

The brave man with a sword.

The waiter came with the change, but Paulo didn’t notice. He couldn’t stop looking at those terrible words.

“And so, the task,” J. said after a long silence. “It’s needed to break that curse.”

“One way or another,” Paulo said slowly, “I have wound up destroying what I’ve loved. I’ve seen my dreams fall apart just when I seemed about to achieve them. I always thought that was just the way life was. My life and everyone else’s.”

“The curse can be broken,” J. repeated, “if you complete the task.”

They walked through the noisy airport in silence. J. was thinking about the books that his disciple had written. He thought about Chris, Paulo’s wife. He knew that Paulo was being drawn toward the magical initiation that appears at one time or another in everyone’s life.

He knew that Paulo was on the brink of seeing one of his greatest dreams realized.

And this meant danger, because J.’s disciple was like all human beings: He was going to find that he did not necessarily deserve all that he had received.

But he didn’t tell Paulo any of this.

“The women of your country are beautiful,” J. said with a smile, as they arrived at the passport control line. “I hope I can come back.”

But Paulo spoke seriously.

“So that’s what the task is for,” he said, as his master handed over his passport for stamping. “To break the curse.”

And J. answered, just as seriously. “It’s for love. For victory. And for the glory of God.”

Chapter 01 (#ulink_bb7538b6-6edc-5fee-8c2f-2bf144f766db)

THEY HAD BEEN DRIVING FOR almost six hours. For the hundredth time, he asked the woman at his side if they were on the right road.

For the hundredth time, she looked at the map. Yes, they were going the right way, even though their surroundings were green, and a river ran nearby, and there were trees along the road.

“I think we should stop at a gas station and check,” she said.

They drove on without speaking, listening to old songs on the radio. Chris knew that it wasn’t necessary to stop at a gas station, because they were on the right road—even if the scenery around them was completely different from what they had expected. But she knew her husband well. Paulo was nervous and uncertain, thinking that she was misreading the map. He would feel better if they stopped and asked.

“What are we doing here?”

“I have a task to perform,” he answered.

“Strange task,” she said.

Very strange, he thought. To speak to his guardian angel.

“Okay,” she said after a while, “you’re here to speak to your guardian angel. Meanwhile, how about talking a bit with me?”

But he said nothing, concentrating on the road, thinking again that she had made a mistake about the route. No point in insisting, she thought. She was hoping they would come upon a gas station soon.

They had headed out on their journey straight from Los Angeles International Airport. She was afraid that Paulo was tired, and might fall asleep at the wheel. They didn’t seem to be anywhere near their destination.

I should have married an engineer, she said to herself.

She had never gotten used to his life—taking off suddenly, looking for sacred pathways, swords, conversing with angels, doing everything possible to move further along the path to magic.

He has always wanted to leave everything behind.

She remembered their first date. They had slept together, and within a week she had moved her art work table into his apartment. Their friends said that Paulo was a sorcerer, and one night Chris had telephoned the minister of the Protestant church she attended, asking him to say a prayer for her.

But during that first year, he had said not one word about magic. He was working at a recording studio, and that seemed to be all he was concerned about.

The following year, life was the same. He quit his job and went to work at another studio.

During their third year together, he quit his job again (a mania for leaving everything behind!) and decided to write scripts for TV. She found it strange, the way he changed jobs every year—but he was writing, earning money, and they were living well.

Then, at the end of their third year together, he decided—once again—to quit his job. He gave no explanation, saying only that he was fed up with what he was doing, that it didn’t make sense to keep quitting his jobs, changing one for another. He needed to discover what it was that he wanted. They had put some money aside, and had decided to do some traveling.

In a car, Chris thought, just like we’re doing now.

Chris had met J. for the first time in Amsterdam, when they were having coffee at a cafe in the Brower Hotel, looking out at the Singel canal. Paulo had turned pale when he saw the tall, white-haired man dressed in a business suit. Despite his anxiety, he finally worked up the courage to approach the older man’s table.

That night, when Paulo and Chris were alone again, he drank an entire bottle of wine. He wasn’t a good drinker, and became drunk. Only then did he reveal what she already knew: that for seven years he had dedicated himself to learning magic. Then, for some reason—which he never explained, although she asked about it a number of times—he had given it all up.

“I had a vision of J. two months ago, when we visited Dachau,” Paulo said.

Chris remembered that day. Paulo had wept. He said that he was being called but didn’t know how to respond.

“Should I go back to magic?” he had asked.

“Yes, you should,” she had answered, but she wasn’t sure.

Since Amsterdam, everything had changed. There were rituals, exercises, practices. There were long trips with J., with no defined date of return. There were long meetings with strange women, and men who had an aura of sensuality about them. There were challenges and tests, long nights when he didn’t sleep, and long weekends when he never left the house. But Paulo was much happier, and he no longer thought about quitting his job. Together they had founded a small publishing house, and he was doing something he’d dreamed of for a long time: writing books.

Finally, a gas station. As a young Native American woman filled the tank, Paulo and Chris took a stroll.

Paulo looked at the map and confirmed the route. Yes, they were on the right road.

Now he can relax. Now he’ll talk a bit, Chris thought

“Did J. say you were to meet with your angel here?” she asked hesitantly.

“No,” he replied.

Great, he gave me an answer, she thought, as she looked out at the brilliant green vegetation, lit by the setting sun. If she hadn’t checked the map so often, she too would have doubted this was the right road. The map said that they should be at their destination in another six miles or so, but the scenery seemed to be telling them they had a long way to go.

“I didn’t have to come here,” Paulo continued. “Any place would do. But I have a contact here.”