A Warrior's Life Part 12

Dachau was the first camp built by the Third Reich and was the model for the remaining fifty-six scattered across ten European countries. It operated from 1933 until April 1945, when its gates were opened by the Allied troops. Although it was planned to house 6,000 prisoners, on the day of its liberation there were more than 30,000. During that tragic period, about 200,000 people of sixteen nationalities were taken there. Although the majority were Jews, there were also communists, socialists and others opposed to n.a.z.ism, as well as Gypsies and Jehovah's Witnesses. For reasons as yet unknown, the gas chamber in Dachau was never put to use, which meant that any prisoners who were condemned to death had to be taken by bus to Hartheim Castle, halfway between the camp and Linz, in Austria, which had been transformed into a centre of ma.s.s execution. The first surprise for Paulo and Chris as they went through the entrance gates of Dachau was that there was absolutely no one there. It was understandable that the freezing wind might have kept away the tourists, but they didn't see any porters, guards or officials who could give them any information. They wereor they appeared to bealone in that enormous 180,000-square-metre rectangle surrounded on all sides by walls and empty watch towers. Paulo had not yet gotten over the dark thoughts that had a.s.sailed him in Prague some days before, but he didn't want to miss the opportunity of visiting one of the largest n.a.z.i concentration camps. They followed the arrows and took the suggested route for visitorsthe same as that taken by the prisoners. They went into the reception area, where the newly arrived prisoners would receive their uniforms, have their heads shaved and be 'disinfected' in a collective bath of insecticide. Then they walked down the corridors lined by cells, in which they saw the hooks attached to the ceiling beams from which the prisoners were hung by their arms during torture sessions; then they went into the sheds where, until the end of the war, bunk beds were stacked three or four high and where the prisoners slept like animals, packed into wooden cages. In total silence, their horror only grew with each new revelation.

Although Paulo was clearly upset, he saw the concentration camps as a tragedy of the past, part of the n.a.z.ism that was defeated in a war that had ended even before he was born. However, in the room set aside for the relatives of the dead to pay their respects, he felt that the emotions aroused in Prague were returning. The cards pinned on bunches of fresh flowers that had been put there only a few days earlier were living proof that Dachau was still an open wound. The 30,000 dead were not meaningless names taken from books, but human beings whose cruel deaths were recent enough still to awaken the grief of widows, children, brothers and sisters.

Paulo and Chris returned to the open area of the camp feeling overwhelmed. They walked along an avenue of bare trees whose branches looked like bony claws reaching for the sky. In the north part of the camp there were three small religious buildingsCatholic, Protestant and Jewishbeside which a fourthRussian Orthodoxwas to be built in the 1990s. The couple walked straight past these buildings, following a sign indicating the most chilling place in Dachau: the crematorium. At that point, they noticed a radical change in the landscape. Unlike the barren camp itself, which is a lunar landscape of grey stones with not a hint of greenery, the path leading to the crematorium pa.s.ses through a small wood. Even in the hardest of winters this is covered by vegetation of tropical exuberance, with gardens, flowers and pathways between rows of shrubs. Planted in a clearing in the middle of the wood is a modest, rustic, red-brick building, which can only be distinguished from a traditional family house by the chimney, which seems disproportionately large. This was the crematorium oven, where the bodies of more than thirty thousand prisoners would have been burnt after their execution or death from starvation, suicide or illness, such as the typhoid epidemic that devastated the camp a few months before its liberation.

His experience in the medieval prison in Prague was still very clear in Paulo's mind. He saw all eight red-brick ovens and the metal stretchers on which the bodies would have been piled for incineration, and he stopped in front of a peeling door on which one word was written: 'Badzimmer'. This was not an old bathroom, as the name indicated, but the Dachau gas chamber. Although it was never used, Paulo wanted to feel for himself the terror experienced by millions in the n.a.z.i extermination camps. He left Chris alone for a moment, went into the chamber and shut the door. Leaning against the wall, he looked up and saw, hanging from the ceiling, the fake showerheads from which the gas would be released. His blood froze and he left that place with the stench of death in his nose.

When he stepped out of the crematorium he heard the small bell of the Catholic chapel chiming midday. He went towards that sound and as he re-entered the harsh grey of the camp, he saw an enormous modern sculpture, which recalled Pica.s.so's Guernica Guernica. On it was written in several languages 'Never again!' As he read the two words on entering the small church, a moment of peace came to him, as he was to remember many years later: 'I'm entering the church, my eye alights on that "Never Again!" and I say: Thank G.o.d for that! Never again! Never again is that going to happen! How good! Never again! Never again will there be that knock on the door at midnight, never again will people just disappear. What joy! Never again will the world experience that!'

He went into the chapel feeling full of hope and yet in the short s.p.a.ce of time between lighting a candle and saying a quick prayer, he suddenly felt overwhelmed again by his old ghosts. In a moment, he went from faith to despair. As he crossed the frozen camp, a short way behind Chris, he realized that the 'Never again!' he had just read was nothing more than a joke in several languages: I said to myself: what do they mean 'Never again!'? 'Never again', my eye! What happened in Dachau is still happening in the world, on my continent, in my country. In Brazil, opponents of the regime were thrown from helicopters into the sea. I myself, on an infinitely smaller scale, lived for several years in a state of paranoia after being the victim of that same violence! I suddenly remembered the cover of Time Time with the killings in El Salvador, the dirty war waged by the Argentine dictators.h.i.+p against the opposition. At that moment, I lost all hope in the human race. I felt that I had reached rock bottom. I decided that the world is s.h.i.+t, life is s.h.i.+t, and I'm nothing but s.h.i.+t for having done nothing about it. with the killings in El Salvador, the dirty war waged by the Argentine dictators.h.i.+p against the opposition. At that moment, I lost all hope in the human race. I felt that I had reached rock bottom. I decided that the world is s.h.i.+t, life is s.h.i.+t, and I'm nothing but s.h.i.+t for having done nothing about it.

While he was thinking these contradictory thoughts, a sentence began going round and round in his head: 'No man is an island.' Where had he read that? Slowly, he managed to rebuild and recite to himself almost the entire pa.s.sage: 'No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind...' For a moment he could not remember the rest, but when he did, it seemed to have opened all the doors of his memory: 'and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee'. It was from one of John Donne's Meditations Meditations, from which Ernest Hemingway took the t.i.tle for his novel. What happened in the following minutes is something that will remain for ever cloaked in mystery; indeed Paulo himself, on one of the few occasions when he has been urged to describe what occurred, became so emotional that he wept copiously: 'We were in the middle of a concentration camp, Chris and I, alone, absolutely alone, without another living soul around! At that moment I heard the sign: I felt that the bells of the chapel were ringing for me. That's when I had my epiphany.'

According to him, the revelation in Dachau took the form of a beam of light, under which a being of human appearance apparently told him something about possibly meeting again in two months' time. This message was given not in a human voice but, as Paulo himself put it, 'in a communication of souls'. Even the most sceptical would perhaps agree that something took place in Dachau, so radical was the change in Paulo's life from that day on. When he reached the car park, he wept as he told Chris what he had just experienced, and the first, horrifying suspicion fell on the OTO. What if what he had seen minutes earlier were the reincarnation of the Beast? Had the ghosts of Crowley and Marcelo Motta returned to frighten him eight years on? When they reached Bonn, six hours later, Paulo settled on the most rational explanation: he would consider the vision as a delirium, a brief hallucination provoked by the fear and tension he was feeling.

The couple planned to stay in Bonn just long enough to sort out the paperwork for the car and to meet Paula, a niece who had been born a few months earlier. Since they were staying at the home of Chris's sister, Tania, and so were free of hotel expenses, they decided to extend their stay to a week. In early March, the couple set off once again, this time to cover the 250 kilometres between them and the liberal city of Amsterdam, which had so enchanted Paulo ten years earlier.

They stayed in the Hotel Brouwer, on the edge of the Singel Ca.n.a.l, where they paid US$17 a day for bed and breakfast. In a letter to his parents Paulo talked of the pot shops, 'cafes where you can freely buy and smoke drugs that are considered soft, like has.h.i.+sh and cannabis, although cocaine, heroin, opium and amphetamines, including LSD, are prohibited', and he took the opportunity to add a subtle apology for the liberalization of the drugs: 'This doesn't mean that the Dutch youth are drugged all the time. On the contrary, government statistics show that there are far fewer drug addicts here, proportionally speaking, than in the USA, Germany, England and France. Holland has the lowest rate of unemployment in the whole of Western Europe, and Amsterdam is the fourth largest commercial centre of the world.'

It was in this liberal atmosphere, where the two smoked cannabis until they got tired of it, that Chris tried LSD for the first and only time. Paulo was so shocked by the devastating effects of heroin on its users...o...b..es of various nationalities wandered the streets of the citythat he wrote two articles for the Brazilian magazine Fatos&Fotos Fatos&Fotos ent.i.tled 'Heroin, the Road of No Return' and 'Amsterdam, the Kiss of the Needle'. His relations.h.i.+p with this underworld, however, was strictly professional, that of an investigative reporter. Judging by the letters he sent to his father, their European tour was a hippie journey in appearance only: 'We haven't deprived ourselves of anything, lunching and dining every day. And although we have a very thirsty child to support (the 110-horse-power Mercedes), we go to cinemas, saunas, barbers, nightclubs and even casinos.' ent.i.tled 'Heroin, the Road of No Return' and 'Amsterdam, the Kiss of the Needle'. His relations.h.i.+p with this underworld, however, was strictly professional, that of an investigative reporter. Judging by the letters he sent to his father, their European tour was a hippie journey in appearance only: 'We haven't deprived ourselves of anything, lunching and dining every day. And although we have a very thirsty child to support (the 110-horse-power Mercedes), we go to cinemas, saunas, barbers, nightclubs and even casinos.'

There seemed to be no end to the good life. After several weeks in the city, Paulo became bored by so much cannabis. He had tried varieties from places as far away as the Yemen and Bolivia. He had smoked blends of every strength and experimented with plants that had won prizes in the Cannabis Cup, the marijuana world cup which was held once a year in Amsterdam. He had even tried a new product called skunkcannabis grown in a hot house and fed with fertilizers and proteins. And it was there, in that hippie paradise, that Paulo discovered that the plant had nothing more to offer him. He was, he said, 'fed up' with its repet.i.tious effects. He repeated the oath he had made eight years earlier in New York regarding cocaine: he would never again smoke cannabis.

He was explaining all this to Chris in the hotel cafe when he felt a cold s.h.i.+ver run through him, just as he had in Dachau. He glanced to one side and saw that the shape he had seen in the concentration camp had taken physical form and was there having tea at a table nearby. His first feeling was one of terror. He had heard of societies which, in order to preserve their secrets, would pursue and even kill those who had left. Was he being followed by people belonging to a satanist group from the other side of the world? He suddenly remembered the lesson he had learned during those PE cla.s.ses in Fortaleza de So Joo: to avoid unnecessary pain, confront the fear straight away.

He looked at the strangera man in his forties of European appearance, in jacket and tieand summoned up his courage to address him in English in a deliberately hostile way: 'I saw you two months ago in Dachau and I'm going to make one thing clear: I have not, nor do I wish to have, anything to do with occultism, sects or orders. If that's why you're here, then you've had a wasted journey.'

The man looked up and reacted quite calmly and, to Paulo's surprise, he replied in fluent Portuguese, albeit with a strong accent: 'Don't worry. Come and join me so that we can talk.'

'May I bring my partner?'

'No, I want to talk to you alone.'

Paulo made a sign to Chris to rea.s.sure her that everything was all right. Then he went and sat at the other man's table and asked: 'Talk about what?'

'What's all this about a concentration camp?'

'I thought I saw you there two months ago.'

The man said that there must be some confusion. Paulo insisted: 'I'm sorry, but I think that we met in February in the concentration camp at Dachau. You don't remember?'

The man then admitted that Paulo might have seen him, but that it could also have been a phenomenon known as 'astral projection', something Paulo knew about and to which he had referred many times in his diary. The man said: 'I wasn't at the concentration camp, but I understand what you're saying. Let me look at the palm of your hand.' Paulo cannot remember whether he showed him his left or his right hand, but the mysterious man studied it hard and then began to speak very slowly. He did not seem to be reading the lines on his hand; it was more as if he were seeing a vision: 'There is some unfinished business here. Something fell apart around 1974 or 1975. In magical terms, you grew up in the Tradition of the Serpent, and you may not even know what the Tradition of the Dove is.'

As a voracious reader of everything to do with magic, Paulo knew that these traditions were two different routes leading to the same place: magical knowledge, understood as the ability to use gifts that not all humans succeed in developing. The Tradition of the Dove (also known as the Tradition of the Sun) is a system of gradual, continuous learning, during which any disciple or novice will always depend on a Master, with a capital 'M'. On the other hand, the Tradition of the Serpent (or Tradition of the Moon) is usually chosen by intuitive individuals and, according to its initiates, by those who, in a previous existence, had some connection with or commitment to magic. The two routes are not mutually exclusive, and candidates to the so-called magical education are recommended to follow the Tradition of the Dove once they have followed that of the Serpent.

Paulo began to relax when the man finally introduced himself. He was French, of Jewish origin, worked in Paris as an executive for the Dutch multinational Philips and was an active member of an old, mysterious Catholic religious order called RAM which stood for Regnus Agnus MundiLamb of the Kingdom of the Worldor 'Rigour, Adoration and Mercy'. He had gained his knowledge of Portuguese from long periods spent in Brazil and Portugal working for Philips. His real namewhich could be 'Chaim', 'Jayme' or 'Jacques'has never been revealed by Paulo, who began to refer to him publicly as 'the Master', 'Jean' or simply 'J'.

In measured tones, Jean said that he knew Paulo had started out along the road towards black magic, but had interrupted that journey. He said: 'If you want to take up the road to magic again and if you would like to do so within our order, then I can guide you. But, once you have made the decision, you will have to do whatever I tell you without argument.'

Astonished by what he was hearing, Paulo asked for time to reflect. Jean was uncompromising: 'You have a day to make your decision. I shall wait for you here tomorrow at the same time.'

Paulo could think of nothing else. While he had felt great relief at leaving the OTO and rejecting the ideas of Crowley, the world of magic, as opposed to black magic, continued to hold an enormous fascination for him. He recalled later: 'Emotionally I was still connected to it. It's like falling in love with a woman, and sending her away because she really doesn't fit in with your life. But you go on loving her. One day she turns up in a bar, as J did, and you say: "Please, go away. I don't want to see you again, I don't want to suffer again."'

Unable to sleep, he spent all night talking to Chris, and it was dawn when he finally made up his mind. Something was telling him that this was an important moment and he decided to accept the challenge, for good or ill. Some hours later, he met for the second (or was it the third?) time the mysterious man who from that moment was to be his Masteralways with a capital M. Jean explained to Paulo what the first steps towards his initiation would be: on the Tuesday of the following week he was to go to the Vikingskipshuset, the Viking s.h.i.+p Museum in Oslo.

'Go to the room where you will find three s.h.i.+ps called the Gokstad Gokstad, Oseberg Oseberg and and Borre Borre on display. There someone will hand you something.' on display. There someone will hand you something.'

Not quite understanding what he was being asked to do, Paulo wanted to know more. 'But what time should I be at the museum? How will I recognize the person? Is it a man or a woman? What will they give me?'

As Jean stood up, leaving a few coins on the table in payment for the cup of tea he had drunk, he satisfied only a part of Paulo's curiosity: 'Be in the room when the museum opens its doors. The other questions need no answer. You will be told when we are to see each other again.' And then he vanished, as if he had never existedif indeed he ever did exist. Whether real or supernatural, one thing was certain: he had left his new disciple a task that would begin with a journey of almost 1,000 kilometres to the capital of Norway, a city Paulo had never been to before. They drove there through the snow via Holland, Germany and Denmark. On the appointed day, Paulo woke early, worried that he might arrive late and fearing that any queues and groups of tourists at the museum might delay him. The publicity leaflet from the museum, which he had picked up in the lobby of the hotel, informed him that the doors opened at nine in the morning, but he set off a whole hour earlier. Situated on the Bygdy Peninsula, ten minutes' drive from the centre of the city, the Vikingskipshuset is a large yellow building in the shape of a cross, with no windows and a pointed roof. It was only when he arrived that Paulo realized he had misunderstood the opening hours. The museum was open from nine in the morning until six in the evening during the high season, but from October to April, the doors only opened at eleven. He spent the time reflecting on the decision he had just taken. 'I had tried everything in order to realize my dream to be a writer, but I was still a n.o.body,' Paulo was to recall later. 'I had abandoned black magic and the occult sciences when I discovered that they were of no help to me at all, so why not try the route Jean was suggesting?'

At eleven on the dot, he joined the half-dozen j.a.panese tourists who were also waiting and followed the arrows to the room with high, curved walls like a church nave, where the Gokstad Gokstad, Oseberg Oseberg and and Borre Borre were displayed. There was only one other person therea pretty blonde woman of about forty, who seemed to be absorbed in reading a plaque on one of the walls. When she heard his footsteps, she turned, revealing that she was holding something long, like a walking stick or a sword. She said nothing, but walked towards him, took a silver ring bearing the image of an ouroborosthe snake that devours its own tailfrom the ring finger of her left hand and placed it on the middle finger of his left hand. She then traced an imaginary circle on the floor with the stick or sword, indicating that Paulo should stand inside it. Then, she made a gesture as if pouring the contents of a cup into the circle. She moved her right hand across Paulo's face without touching it, indicating that he should shut his eyes. 'At that moment I felt that someone had liberated stagnant energies,' he said years later, 'as though the spiritual floodgate of a lake had been opened, allowing fresh water to enter.' When he opened his eyes again, the only sign left by the mysterious woman was the strange ring, which he would wear for the rest of his life. were displayed. There was only one other person therea pretty blonde woman of about forty, who seemed to be absorbed in reading a plaque on one of the walls. When she heard his footsteps, she turned, revealing that she was holding something long, like a walking stick or a sword. She said nothing, but walked towards him, took a silver ring bearing the image of an ouroborosthe snake that devours its own tailfrom the ring finger of her left hand and placed it on the middle finger of his left hand. She then traced an imaginary circle on the floor with the stick or sword, indicating that Paulo should stand inside it. Then, she made a gesture as if pouring the contents of a cup into the circle. She moved her right hand across Paulo's face without touching it, indicating that he should shut his eyes. 'At that moment I felt that someone had liberated stagnant energies,' he said years later, 'as though the spiritual floodgate of a lake had been opened, allowing fresh water to enter.' When he opened his eyes again, the only sign left by the mysterious woman was the strange ring, which he would wear for the rest of his life.

Paulo would only be in contact with Jean again much later, when he returned to Brazil. At the end of April 1982, he was supposed to return to his job with TV Globo, but after discussing it at length with Chris, he decided not to return to work but to remain in Europe. They had more than enough money to allow them to stay for another three months in Amsterdam.

And so it wasn't until the middle of July that they drove the 1,900 kilometres from Amsterdam to Lisbona journey of three daysfrom where they would take a plane to Brazil. However, the first visible change in Paulo Coelho's behaviour following his meeting with his Master took place on European soil. Only some supernatural force could have persuaded someone as careful with money as he was to donate the Mercedes to a charitable inst.i.tution, the Sisterhood of the Infant Jesus for the Blind, rather than selling it and pocketing the thousand dollars.

CHAPTER 22.

Paulo and Christinapublishers.

WHEN THEY ARRIVED IN RIO, reinvigorated by their eight long months in Europe, Paulo and Chris settled back into the ground-floor apartment in Rua Raimundo Correia, in which her parents had been living since their departure. He began his initiation tasks. These so-called ordeals, which would lead to his being admitted to RAM, would arrive in either a letter or a phone call from Jean. The first of these, 'the ritual of the gla.s.s', involved a short ceremony that he was to perform alone each day for six months, always at the same hour. He had to fill a gla.s.s that had never been used with water, and place it on the table. He then had to open the New Testament at any page, read out loud a paragraph at random and drink the water. The pa.s.sage he had read was to be marked with the date of the reading. If, on the following days, he alighted on the same text, then he should read the following paragraph. If he had read that one too, then he was to find another that had not been previously read. Paulo chose the early morning as the best time to perform this penance, so that it would not clash with anything else. And since no specific instruction had been given as to the size or shape of the gla.s.s, he bought a small shot gla.s.s, which could, if necessary, be discreetly carried around with a copy of the New Testament. reinvigorated by their eight long months in Europe, Paulo and Chris settled back into the ground-floor apartment in Rua Raimundo Correia, in which her parents had been living since their departure. He began his initiation tasks. These so-called ordeals, which would lead to his being admitted to RAM, would arrive in either a letter or a phone call from Jean. The first of these, 'the ritual of the gla.s.s', involved a short ceremony that he was to perform alone each day for six months, always at the same hour. He had to fill a gla.s.s that had never been used with water, and place it on the table. He then had to open the New Testament at any page, read out loud a paragraph at random and drink the water. The pa.s.sage he had read was to be marked with the date of the reading. If, on the following days, he alighted on the same text, then he should read the following paragraph. If he had read that one too, then he was to find another that had not been previously read. Paulo chose the early morning as the best time to perform this penance, so that it would not clash with anything else. And since no specific instruction had been given as to the size or shape of the gla.s.s, he bought a small shot gla.s.s, which could, if necessary, be discreetly carried around with a copy of the New Testament.

Fortunately, none of the trials demanded by Jean prevented him from leading a normal life. Money continued to be no problem, but his partners.h.i.+p with Raul had clearly fallen out of fas.h.i.+on. Their records continued to sell, but royalties from the recording company were not pouring in as they had before. Although a regular income from the five apartments he rented out guaranteed a comfortable lifestyle, his lack of activity was likely to propel him once more into depression. Therefore the best thing to do would be to find some more work as soon as possible.

A year before his trip to Europe, Paulo had persuaded Chris that she should start a company, Shogun Editora e Arte Ltda, which was primarily created for tax purposes to cover the architectural work she was doing, but which also meant that they both had business cards, letterheads and envelopes stating that they were a legal ent.i.ty. In addition, as he said, when the time came for him to write his books, why not publish them himself? On returning to Brazil, he decided to put this idea into action and rented two rooms in a building on Rua Cinco de Julho in Copacabana, two blocks from the apartment where they lived. Although it managed to grow and even to bring in some income, Shogun was never more than a small family firm whose day-to-day business was handled by its two owners, with the accounts done by Paulo's father, who had just retired. They had only one paid employeean office boy.

Less than three months after their return to Brazil, in October 1982, the publis.h.i.+ng house launched its first book: Arquivos do Inferno Arquivos do Inferno [ [Archives of h.e.l.l], a collection of sixteen texts written by the proprietor, Paulo Coelho. On the cover was a picture of the author sitting cross-legged in front of a typewriter, holding a cigarette and apparently deep in thought, while beside him are two young women with bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s: one was Chris, and the other was Stella Paula, his old colleague from his Crowley witchcraft days. In the photo she had such long hair that it not only covered most of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s but fell below her waist. Although it was little more than a booklet (it was only 106 pages long), Arquivos do Inferno Arquivos do Inferno was certainly a record-breaker in terms of prefaces, forewords and notes on the inside flaps. The preface, ent.i.tled 'Preface to the Dutch Edition', was signed by the pop genius Andy Warhol (who, as Paulo confessed years later, never read the book): was certainly a record-breaker in terms of prefaces, forewords and notes on the inside flaps. The preface, ent.i.tled 'Preface to the Dutch Edition', was signed by the pop genius Andy Warhol (who, as Paulo confessed years later, never read the book): I met Paulo Coelho at an exhibition of mine in London, and discovered in him the kind of forward-looking nature one finds in very few people. Rather than being a literary man in search of clever ideas, he coolly and accurately touches on the concerns and preoccupations of the present time. Dear Paulo, you asked for a preface to your book. I would say that your book is a preface to the new era that is just beginning, before the old one has even ended. Anyone who, like you, strides forward, never runs the risk of falling into a hole, because the angels will spread their cloaks out on the ground to catch you.

The second was written by Jimmy Brouwer, the owner of the hotel where the couple had stayed in Amsterdam; the third by the journalist Artur da Tavola, Paulo's colleague at Philips; the fourth by the psychiatrist Eduardo Mascarenhas, who at the time was the presenter of a television programme and a Member of Parliament; and the fifth by Roberto Menescal, who was one of the book's two dedicatees, the other being Chris. Nothing about the book quite fits. According to the cover, it was supposedly a co-edition by Shogun with a Dutch publisher, the Brouwer Free Press, a firm that apparently never existed. A press release distributed by Shogun confused things still more by stating that the book had been published abroad, which was not true: 'After its successful launch in Holland, where it was acclaimed by critics and public alike after only two months in the shops, Arquivos do Inferno Arquivos do Inferno, by Paulo Coelho, will be in all the bookshops in Brazil this month.' The information given about the author's previous works muddied the waters still further, including as it did something ent.i.tled Lon: Diario de um Mago Lon: Diario de um Mago, which had apparently been published by Shogun in 1979, even though the firm did not exist at that time and Diario de um Mago Diario de um Mago (translated as (translated as The Pilgrimage The Pilgrimage in English) wasn't published until 1987. On one of the few occasions, years later, when he spoke about the matter, Paulo gave a strange explanation: 'It can only have been a prophecy.' On the imprint page, in tiny print, is another peculiarity: '300 copies of the first editions in Portuguese and Dutch will be numbered and signed by the author and sold at US$350 each, the money to be donated to the Order of the Golden Star.' in English) wasn't published until 1987. On one of the few occasions, years later, when he spoke about the matter, Paulo gave a strange explanation: 'It can only have been a prophecy.' On the imprint page, in tiny print, is another peculiarity: '300 copies of the first editions in Portuguese and Dutch will be numbered and signed by the author and sold at US$350 each, the money to be donated to the Order of the Golden Star.'

The book did not contain a single chapter or essay that dealt with the theme mentioned in the t.i.tleh.e.l.l. The sixteen texts are a jumble of subjects arranged in no particular order, covering such disparate matters as the proverbs of the English poet William Blake, the rudiments of h.o.m.oeopathy and astrology, and pa.s.sages from ma.n.u.scripts by a certain Pero Vaz and from Paulo's own works, such as 'The Pieces': It is very important to know that I have scattered parts of my body across the world. I cut my nails in Rome, my hair in Holland and Germany. I saw my blood moisten the asphalt of New York and often my sperm fell on French soil in a field of vines near Tours. I have expelled my faeces into rivers on three continents, watered some trees in Spain with my urine and spat in the English Channel and a fjord in Oslo. Once I grazed my face and left some cells attached to a fence in Budapest. These small thingscreated by me and which I shall never see againgive me a pleasant feeling of omnipresence. I am a small part of the places I have visited, of the landscapes I have seen and that moved me. Besides this, my scattered parts have a practical use: in my next incarnation I am not going to feel alone or unprotected because something familiara hair, a piece of nail, some old, dried spitwill always be close by. I have sown my seed in several places on this earth because I don't know where I will one day be reborn.

The most striking feature of the book is the second chapter, ent.i.tled 'The Truth about the Inquisition'. Paulo makes it clear that this was not written by him, but was dictated by the spirit of Torquemada, the Dominican friar who was in charge of the trials held by the Holy Office in Spain at the end of the fifteenth century. As though wanting to clear himself of any responsibility for its content, the author explains that not only the spelling and the underlinings but also 'some syntactical errors' were retained exactly as dictated by the spirit of the Grand Inquisitor. The eight pages of the chapter are filled with celebrations of torture and martyrdom as instruments in the defence of the faith: It is therefore most just that the death penalty be applied to those who obstinately propagate heresy and so ensure that the most precious gift of man, Faith, is lost for ever![...] Anyone who has the right to command also has the right to punis.h.!.+ And the authority that has the power to make laws also has the power to ensure that those laws are obeyed![...] Spiritual punishment is not always enough. The majority of people are incapable of understanding it. The Church should, as I did, have the right to apply physical punishment!

Apparently wanting to attribute a scientific character to this psychic writing, Paulo ends the text with a curious parenthetical observation: '[After these words, no other communication was made by what called itself the "spirit of Torquemada". As it is always important to note the conditions in which a transmission was madewith a view to future scientific investigationsI recorded the ambient temperature (29C), the atmospheric pressure (760 mmHg), weather conditions (cloudy) and the time the message was received (21h15m to 22h07m)].'

This was not the first occasion on which Paulo had shown an interest in the Holy Office of the Inquisition. In September 1971, he had thought of writing a play on the subject and during his research he came across a book by Henrique h.e.l.lo, published by Editora Vozes in 1936 and reprinted in 1951, the t.i.tle of which was The Truth about the Inquisition The Truth about the Inquisition. The ninety-page text is a long peroration in defence of the objectives and methods used by the Inquisition. Part had been quoted in the preface to O Santo Inquerito O Santo Inquerito [ [The Holy Inquisition], written in 1966 by the playwright Dias Gomes. When he finished reading it, Paulo had concluded ironically: 'I set to work on the play about the Inquisition. It's an easy play. It simply plagiarizes what someone called Henrique h.e.l.lo said about it. No, it doesn't plagiarize, it criticizes. The guy wrote a book called The Truth about the Inquisition The Truth about the Inquisition in favour of the Inquisition!' in favour of the Inquisition!'

Probably because of his imprisonment and abduction in 1974, Paulo held back from criticizing the author and simply transcribed his words. A comparison between the content of Arquivos do Inferno Arquivos do Inferno and the 1936 publication shows that if it was in fact an example of psychic writing, the spirit that dictated 'The Truth about the Inquisition' was that of Henrique h.e.l.lo and not Torquemada, since 95 per cent of the text is simply copied from h.e.l.lo's work. and the 1936 publication shows that if it was in fact an example of psychic writing, the spirit that dictated 'The Truth about the Inquisition' was that of Henrique h.e.l.lo and not Torquemada, since 95 per cent of the text is simply copied from h.e.l.lo's work.

None of this, however, surpa.s.ses the extraordinary piece of information the author gives at the beginning of 'The Truth about the Inquisition'. He states there that the automatic writing had occurred 'on the night of 28 May 1974'. The fact is that, between 21.15 and 22.07 on the night of 28 May 1974, Paulo was lying handcuffed on the floor of a car with his head covered by a hood and was being driven to the buildings of the DOI-Codi. It is hard to believe that the prison guards of one of the most violent prisons of the Brazilian dictators.h.i.+p would have allowed a prisoner to write such an essay, even though it was a treatise in praise of torture. The author seems to have realized that Arquivos do Inferno Arquivos do Inferno would not stand up to scrutiny, and once the first, modest print run had sold out, he did not publish it again. When he had become an international name, the work was mentioned discreetly on his website: 'In 1982 he published his first book, would not stand up to scrutiny, and once the first, modest print run had sold out, he did not publish it again. When he had become an international name, the work was mentioned discreetly on his website: 'In 1982 he published his first book, Arquivos do Inferno Arquivos do Inferno, which made no impact whatsoever.'

A quarter of a century after this major failure, Arquivos Arquivos became a rarity sought by collectors in auctions on the Internet with starting prices of about US$220, as though Paulo's initial fantasy were finally coming to fruition. became a rarity sought by collectors in auctions on the Internet with starting prices of about US$220, as though Paulo's initial fantasy were finally coming to fruition.

The lack of success of Shogun's debut book acted as an important lesson, since it made it clear that this was an undertaking requiring a professional approach. Determined to do things properly, Paulo took over the management of the business, and his first step was to take a seven-week correspondence course on financial planning. The course seems to have borne fruit, since in 1984, two years after it was set up, Shogun was ranked thirty-fourth among Brazilian publishers listed in the specialist magazine Leia Livros Leia Livros, rivalling traditional publis.h.i.+ng houses such as Civilizaco Brasileira and Agir, and even Rocco (which some years later would become Paulo's publisher in Brazil). Shogun rented stands at book fairs and biennials and had a backlist of more than seventy t.i.tles.

Among the authors published, besides the proprietors themselves, there were only two well-known names, neither of whom was exactly a writer: the rock singer Neusinha Brizola, the daughter of the then governor of Rio, Leonel Brizola (O Livro Negro de Neusinha Brizola [ [The Black Book of Neusinha Brizola]), and the ever-present 'close enemy', Raul Seixas (As Aventuras de Raul Seixas na Cidade de Thor [ [Raul Seixas' Adventures in the City of Thor]). Shogun's success was, in fact, due to hundreds and thousands of anonymous poets from all over Brazil who, like the owner of Shogun, had dreamed for years of one day having a book of their poetry published. In a country where hundreds of young authors were desperate to publish, Shogun came up with the perfect solution: the 'Raimundo Correia Poetry Compet.i.tion'.

Paulo placed small advertis.e.m.e.nts in newspapers and left flyers at the doors of theatres and cinemas, inviting unpublished poets from across Brazil to take part in the compet.i.tion, which had been named after the street in which Paulo and Chris lived, in turn named after an influential Brazilian poet who had died in 1911. The rules were simple. The compet.i.tion was open to poems written in Portuguese by 'authors, whether amateur or professional, published or not, and of any age'. Each person could submit up to three poems of a maximum length of two pages double-s.p.a.ced, and a 'committee of critics and experts of high standing' (whose names were never revealed) would select those to be included in an anthology to be published by Shogun. Those selected would receive a contract under which they committed themselves to paying US$175, for which they would receive ten copies. To the couple's surprise, one of the compet.i.tions received no fewer than 1,150 poems, of which 116 were selected for a book ent.i.tled Poetas Brasileiros Poetas Brasileiros. The publishers ran no financial risk at all, because the work was published only after the authors had paid up. Each contributor would receive, along with the books, a certificate produced by Shogun and signed by Chris, and a handwritten note from Paulo: Dear So and So,I have received and read your poems. Without going into the merits of the materialwhich, as you yourself know, is of the highest qualityI should like to compliment you on not having let your poems stay in a drawer. In today's world, and during this particularly exceptional period of History, it is necessary to have the courage to make one's thoughts public.Once again my congratulations, Paulo Coelho What at first sight had appeared to be an amateur enterprise turned out to be very good business indeed. When the couple sent off the last package of books in the post, Shogun had earned the equivalent of US$187,000. The success of an apparently simple idea encouraged Paulo and Chris to repeat the project on a larger scale. A few weeks later, Shogun announced compet.i.tions to select poems to be published in four new anthologies, ent.i.tled Poetas Brasileiros de Hoje Poetas Brasileiros de Hoje, A Nova Poesia Brasileira A Nova Poesia Brasileira, A Nova Literatura Brasileira A Nova Literatura Brasileira and and Antologia Poetica de Cidades Brasileiras Antologia Poetica de Cidades Brasileiras. In order to motivate those who had been rejected in the first anthology, Chris sent each of them an encouraging letter in which she explained that the number of poems to be awarded the prize of publication was to rise from 116 to 250: Rio de Janeiro, 29 August 1982Dear Poet,A large number of the works that failed to be placed in the Raimundo Correia Poetry Compet.i.tion were of very high quality. Therefore, although we are forced to restrict the number of winning poems to 250, we have decided to find a solution for those poems which, either because they did not comply with the rules or because they were not selected by the Committee of Judges, were not included in the Anthology.The book Poetas Brasileiros de Hoje Poetas Brasileiros de Hojeanother Shogun publicationis to be published this year. We would love one of your poems to be included in this anthology. Each of the authors will pay the amount stated in the attached agreement and, in exchange, will receive ten copies of the first edition. This means that, for each copy, you will be paying only a little more than you would pay for a weekly news magazine, and you will be investing in yourself, increasing the sphere of influence of your work and, eventually, opening doors to a fascinating career.As stated in the attached agreement, Shogun will send copies of Poetas Brasileiros de Hoje Poetas Brasileiros de Hoje to the best-known literary critics in the country, and publicity material will be sent to more than two hundred important newspapers and magazines. Copies of the first edition will also be donated to state and munic.i.p.al libraries, thus ensuring that thousands of readers will, over the years, have access to your poetry. to the best-known literary critics in the country, and publicity material will be sent to more than two hundred important newspapers and magazines. Copies of the first edition will also be donated to state and munic.i.p.al libraries, thus ensuring that thousands of readers will, over the years, have access to your poetry.Lord Byron, Lima Barreto, Edgar Allan Poe and other great names in Literature had to finance the publication of their own books. Now, with this system of sharing the costs, it is possible to produce the book quite cheaply and for it to be read and commented upon throughout the country. In order to take part in Poetas Brasileiros de Hoje Poetas Brasileiros de Hoje, all you have to do is fill in the attached agreement, sign it and send it with the stated amount to Shogun.If you have any questions, please write to us.Christina Oiticica The Shogun anthologies grew in popularity, and poets of every sort sprang up in every corner of the country. On the evenings when the diplomas and other awards were handed out, there were so many present that the publisher was forced to hire the Circo Voador in Lapa, one of the newest venues in Rio, to accommodate the winning bards and their guests. Chris also organized public events, usually held in busy places, where the authors would recite their prize-winning poetry to pa.s.sers-by, who would stop, genuinely interested, to listen to the poetry. There was, of course, always some problem, such as those who took a long time to pay or the poet who wrote a letter of protest to the Jornal do Brasil Jornal do Brasil: I took part in the Fifth Raimundo Correia Poetry Compet.i.tion and was awarded a prize for my poem 'Ser humano'. In order for my poem to be published, I had to pay a fee of Cr$380,000 in four instalments, for which I would receive ten copies of the book. When I paid the final instalment, I received the books. When I saw them and opened them, I was so disappointed that I didn't even want to read them. I realized, then, that I had fallen for a confidence trick.The book uses very old-fas.h.i.+oned typography, and the design itself is one of the worst I've ever seen, muddled and ugly. It is Shogun's philosophy that he who does not pay is not published. I know of several people who were excluded because they couldn't pay all the instalments. 116 poets were published. By my calculations, Shogun have made a total of Cr$44 million, and have the right to use our money as they wish from the very first instalment.Considering the amount we paid, we deserved something better. I work in the field of graphic design myself, and so feel able to make these criticisms. I wouldn't give the book away as a present or even sell it to my worst enemy.Rui Dias de CarvalhoRio de Janeiro A week later, the Jornal do Brasil Jornal do Brasil published Shogun's reply in which the director Christina Oiticica stated that the printers who produced their books were the same as those who worked for such publis.h.i.+ng giants as Record and Nova Fronteira. As for making money from the anthology, she responded by saying that this was used to finance projects that would never interest large publishers, such as published Shogun's reply in which the director Christina Oiticica stated that the printers who produced their books were the same as those who worked for such publis.h.i.+ng giants as Record and Nova Fronteira. As for making money from the anthology, she responded by saying that this was used to finance projects that would never interest large publishers, such as Poesia na Priso Poesia na Priso (a compet.i.tion held among prisoners within the Rio de Janeiro prison system), without depending upon public funds: 'We do not beg for support from the state for our cultural activities. We are independent and proud of the fact, because all of uspublishers and poetsare proving that it is possible for new artists to get their work published.' (a compet.i.tion held among prisoners within the Rio de Janeiro prison system), without depending upon public funds: 'We do not beg for support from the state for our cultural activities. We are independent and proud of the fact, because all of uspublishers and poetsare proving that it is possible for new artists to get their work published.'

The complaints did not seem to be shared by other authors published by Shogun. Many years later, the poet Marcelino Rodriguez recalled proudly in his Internet blog seeing his 'Soneto Eterno' included in the publisher's anthology: 'My first literary venture was produced by Shogun, owned by Paulo Coelho (who is now our most important writer, although many "academics" do not recognize his worth, perhaps because they do not understand the content of his work) and Christina Oiticica, who is a highly talented artist (I still haven't forgotten the smile she gave me when I visited the office once).'

The fact is that, as well as encouraging young authors, the project proved to be a successful business enterprise. By organizing four anthologies a year, Shogun could earn some 160 million cruzeiros a year. Between 1983 and 1986, there was a boom in anthologies and poetry compet.i.tions, and so these sums may have been even greater, particularly when Shogun doubled the number of prize-winners. At the age of nearly forty, Paulo's life finally seemed to be working out. Chris was proving to be a wonderful partnertheir relations.h.i.+p grew more solid by the dayand business was flouris.h.i.+ng. All that was needed to complete his happiness was to realize his old dream of becoming a world-famous writer. He continued to receive spiritual guidance from Jean, but this did not prevent him from reading about and entering into public debates on esoteric subjects and indulging his old curiosity for vampirism. It was as a vampirologist that, in 1985, he accepted an invitation to give a talk in the largest conference centre in the city, Riocentro, which was holding the first Brazilian Esoteric Fair, an initiative by the guru Kaanda Ananda, the owner of a shop selling esoterica in the Tijuca district in Rio, who had invited Paulo to open the meeting with a talk on vampirism.

When he arrived on the afternoon of Sat.u.r.day, 19 October, Paulo was greeted by the reporter Nelson Liano, Jr, who had been selected by the Sunday magazine of the Jornal do Brasil Jornal do Brasil to interview him. Although he was only twenty-four, Liano had worked on the main Rio publications and, like Paulo, had experimented with every type of drug. If there is such a thing as love at first sight between esoterics, this is what happened between Paulo and Liano. Such was their reciprocal delight in each other's company that their conversation ended only when Kaanda Ananda told them for the third time that the auditorium was full and that an impatient public was waiting for Paulo. The two exchanged phone numbers and took their leave of each other with a warm embrace. While Paulo went into the auditorium, Liano headed off to have a coffee with his friend Ernesto Emanuelle Mandarino, the owner of the publis.h.i.+ng house Editora Eco. to interview him. Although he was only twenty-four, Liano had worked on the main Rio publications and, like Paulo, had experimented with every type of drug. If there is such a thing as love at first sight between esoterics, this is what happened between Paulo and Liano. Such was their reciprocal delight in each other's company that their conversation ended only when Kaanda Ananda told them for the third time that the auditorium was full and that an impatient public was waiting for Paulo. The two exchanged phone numbers and took their leave of each other with a warm embrace. While Paulo went into the auditorium, Liano headed off to have a coffee with his friend Ernesto Emanuelle Mandarino, the owner of the publis.h.i.+ng house Editora Eco.

Eco was a small publis.h.i.+ng house founded in the 1960s. Although it was unknown in intellectual circles, during its twenty years in existence, it had become a reference point for anyone interested in umbanda and candomble (the Brazilian forms of voodoo), magic, etc. Over coffee with Mandarino, Liano told him that he had just interviewed a vampirologist. 'The guy's called Paulo Coelho and he trained in vampirism in England. He's talking at the moment to a packed auditorium of people on the subject. Don't you think it might make a book?'

Mandarino opened his eyes wide: 'Vampirism? It sounds like something out of the movies. Would a book like that sell? When he finishes his talk bring him over here to the stand for a coffee.'

Minutes after being introduced to Paulo, Mandarino told him point-blank: 'If you write a book on vampirism, Eco will publish it.'

Paulo replied: 'I'll do it, if Nelson Liano will write it with me.'

Mandarino was astonished: 'But Nelson told me that you had only just met!'

Paulo chuckled: 'That's true, but we're already life-long friends.'

The deal was done. The two left, having agreed to write a book ent.i.tled Manual Pratico do Vampirismo Manual Pratico do Vampirismo [ [Practical Manual on Vampirism]. The work was to be arranged in five parts, the first and fifth to be written by Paulo, the second and fourth by Liano and the third divided between the two. Paulo and Chris wondered afterwards whether it wouldn't be better if Shogun published the book, but they were dissuaded from this idea by Liano, who felt that only a publisher of Eco's standing would be able to market such a book, whereas Shogun's speciality was poetry anthologies. On the a.s.sumption that it would be a best-seller, Paulo demanded changes to Eco's standard contract. Concerned about inflation, he asked to receive monthly rather than quarterly accounts. Even though Liano was going to write half the book and edit the final text, Paulo asked Mandarino's secretary to add this clause at the bottom of the contract: 'Only the name Paulo Coelho will appear on the cover, with the words "Edited by Nelson Liano, Jr." on the t.i.tle page under the t.i.tle.'

In effect, Liano was going to write half the book and edit the whole thing, but was to appear only as its coordinator (and this only on the inside pages). And, following a final addendum suggested by Paulo, he was to receive only 5 per cent of the royalties (0.5 per cent of the cover price of the book), the remaining 95 per cent going to Paulo. As though antic.i.p.ating that this was going to be the goose that laid the golden egg, Mandarino patiently accepted his new author's demands and since Liano also made no objections, they signed the contract a week after their first meeting. However, only Liano handed in his chapters on the agreed date. Saying that he had too much work at Shogun, Paulo had not written a single word of his part. Time went on, and still the text did not appear. It was only after much pressure and when he realized that all deadlines had pa.s.sed that Paulo finally handed his text to Eco. At the last minute, perhaps feeling that he had been unfair to his partner, he allowed the inclusion of Liano's name on the cover, but in small print, as though he were not the co-author but only an a.s.sistant.

The launch of the Manual Manual, with waiters serving white wine and canapes, was held in the elegant Hotel Gloria, in front of which, eleven years earlier, Paulo had been seized by the DOI-Codi. The cover, designed by Chris, bore the t.i.tle in gothic characters over a well-known photograph of the Hungarian-American actor Bela Lugosi who, in 1931, had become world-famous when he played Count Dracula in the Tod Browning film. The texts covered subjects ranging from the origins of vampirism to the great 'dynasties' of human bloodsuckers, which were divided into the Romanian, British, German, French and Spanish branches. One chapter explained how to recognize a vampire. At social gatherings this could be done by observing certain habits or gestures. For example, if you come across a person with a particular liking for raw or undercooked meat, who is also studious and rather verbose, you should be on your guard: he could be a true descendant of the Romanian Vlad Tepe. It would be even easier, the Manual Manual explained, to know whether or not you were sleeping with a dangerous bloodsucker because vampires don't move their pelvis during the s.e.xual act and the temperature of their p.e.n.i.s is many degrees below that of ordinary mortals. explained, to know whether or not you were sleeping with a dangerous bloodsucker because vampires don't move their pelvis during the s.e.xual act and the temperature of their p.e.n.i.s is many degrees below that of ordinary mortals.

The Manual Manual concealed some even greater mysteries. None of the guests in the lobby of the Hotel Gloria could know that, although his name appeared in larger print than Liano's on the cover, Paulo had not written a single word, a single syllable, of the 144 pages of the concealed some even greater mysteries. None of the guests in the lobby of the Hotel Gloria could know that, although his name appeared in larger print than Liano's on the cover, Paulo had not written a single word, a single syllable, of the 144 pages of the Manual Manual. The author never revealed that, under pressure of the deadline and disinclined to keep his part of the agreement, he had secretly taken on someone else to write his parts of the book.

His choice fell on a strange man from Minas Gerais, Antonio Walter Sena Junior, who was known in the esoteric world as 'Toninho Buda' or 'Tony Buddha', a somewhat inappropriate name for a very skinny man who never weighed more than 55 kilos. He had graduated in engineering at the Universidade Federal in Juiz de Fora, where he still lived, and had met Paulo in 1981 during a debate on vampirism at the Colegio Bennett in Rio. He had studied subjects such as magic and the occult, had closely followed the career of Paulo and Raul Seixas, and dreamed of resurrecting the old Sociedade Alternativa. He felt greatly honoured at the thought of seeing his name alongside that of Paulo Coelho in a book and he accepted the task in exchange, as he said later, 'for the price of lunch in a cheap restaurant in Copacabana'. He wrote all the chapters that Paulo was supposed to write.

On 25 April 1986, Toninho Buda was recovering after being run over some weeks earlier. He was shocked to read in a column in the Jornal do Brasil Jornal do Brasil that Paulo Coelho would be signing his new book, that Paulo Coelho would be signing his new book, Manual Pratico do Vampirismo Manual Pratico do Vampirismo, that evening in the Hotel Gloria. He thought it rude that he hadn't been invited to the launch, but preferred to believe that the invitation had not arrived on time. Still walking with the aid of a stick, he decided to go to the launch of a book that was, after all, also his. He went to the bus station, took the bus and, after two hours on the road, arrived in Rio de Janeiro as night was falling. He crossed the city by taxi and hobbled up the four white marble steps at the main entrance of the Hotel Gloria. It was only then that he realized that he was the first to arrive: apart from the employees of the publis.h.i.+ng house, who were stacking books on a stand, there was no one else there, not even the author.

He decided to buy a copyas well as receiving no invitation he hadn't even been sent a complimentary copyand sat in an armchair at one end of the room to enjoy his creation in peace. He admired the cover, ran his eyes over the first pages, the frontispiece, the two flaps, but his name did not appear anywhere in the book, of which half had been entirely written by him. He was about to take a taxi back to the bus station when he saw Paulo enter, smiling, with Chris, Liano and Mandarino.

At that moment, he decided that he wasn't going to waste the journey and so he gave vent to his feelings: 'Dammit, Paulo! You didn't even put my name on the book, man, and that was the only thing I asked for! The only thing I asked for, man!'

Paulo pretended not to understand, asked to see a copy of the Manual Manual, flipped quickly through it and said regretfully: 'It's true, Toninho. They didn't add your name. But I promise you: I'll ask for a special stamp to be made and we'll stamp the whole of the first edition. I'll correct it in the next edition, but with this one, we'll stamp every book. Forgive me.'

Although deeply upset, Toninho Buda didn't want to ruin Paulo's evening and felt it best to end the conversation there: 'Paulo, I'm not an idiot. Don't talk to me about a stamp, man. Go off to your launch, where there are loads of people wanting your autograph. Go on and I'll just leave.'

Toninho swallowed the insult in the name of a higher ambition: to get Paulo interested in reinst.i.tuting the Sociedade Alternativa. His strategy was a simple one: to use public debates and popular demonstrations to gain the attention of the media and public opinion. Some months earlier, he had written a long letter to Paulo from Juiz de Fora suggesting 'public actions' by the group, among which he suggested rus.h.i.+ng on to the stage of the first international rock concert in Rio on the night when stars such as Whitesnake, Ozzy Osbourne, the Scorpions and AC/DC were performing. Toninho's plan was to seize the microphone and start talking about the Sociedade Alternativa: 'This will depend almost entirely on you and your contacts in Rio. I'm prepared to go there myself. If you agree, you can start to work on things, but please don't forget to keep me informed as to how it's going.'

In January 1986, some months after the book signing, the threesome had taken part in an event in Rio. They decided to use a protest by inhabitants of the South Zone against the decision of the Prefecture to close a public park in order to announce the launch of a newspaper, Sociedade Alternativa Sociedade Alternativa, the first draft of which had been designed entirely by Toninho. It was he who enrolled with the organizers of the demonstration in order to get his message heard. As soon as his name was called, he went up to the improvised rostrum in suit and tie and in front of the television cameras began to read what he had ent.i.tled 'Manifesto Number 11'. It was an entire page of statements such as 'Free s.p.a.ce, everyone should occupy their s.p.a.ce' 'Time is free, everyone has to live in their time' and 'The artistic cla.s.s no longer exists: we are all writers, housewives, bosses and employees, radicals and conservatives, wise and mad'. It wasn't the content that mattered though, but the manner of his performance. As Toninho Buda read out each sentence, paragraph or thought, Chris carefully and silently cut off a piece of his clothing: first his tie, then a sleeve of his suit, then a leg of his trousers, then another sleeve, a collar, another sleeve...When he p.r.o.nounced the final sentence (something like 'The great miracle will no longer be being able to walk on water, but being able to walk on the earth') he was completely naked, without a square centimetre of cloth on his body.

That night, when they were all celebrating the repercussions of their 'public action' in the park, Paulo was still muttering about the need to do something even more scandalous, with greater impact. However, Chris and Paulo were flabbergasted when Toninho told them that what he hoped to do would, in his words, 'leave the Sociedade Alternativa engraved for ever in the memory of millions of Brazilians': neither more nor less than blowing the head off the statue of Christ the Redeemer. He explained the plan to explode the monument's 3.75-metre-high, 30-ton head, a monument which, in 2007, would be named one of the seven new wonders of the modern world. Any normal person would have thrown such a madman out of the house, but Paulo didn't do that. On the contrary, he simply said: 'Go ahead.'

This was what Toninho wanted to hear. 'Just imagine the population of Rio de Janeiro waking up one morning and seeing Christ there, without his head and with that great mound of twisted iron struts sti