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Authors: Paulo Coelho

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Igor takes a fifty-euro note out of his pocket and gives it to the waiter who has just
started laying the table.

Whos the gentleman in the faded blue T-shirt? he asks, glancing in the direction of the
other table.

Javits Wild. Hes a very important man.

Excellent. After someone as insignificant as the girl at the beach, a figure like Javits
Wild would be idealnot famous, but important. One of the people who decides who should be
in the spotlight and who feels no need to take much care over his own appearance because
he knows exactly who he is. Hes in charge of pulling the strings, and the puppets feel
themselves to be the most privileged and envied people on the planet, until one day, for
whatever reason, the puppeteer decides to cut the strings, and the puppets fall down,
lifeless and powerless.

Hes clearly a member of the Superclass, which means that he has false friends and many
enemies.

One other question. Would it be acceptable to destroy a universe in the name of a greater
love?

The waiter laughs. Are you God or just gay? Neither, but thank you for your answer. He
realizes he should not have asked that question. Firstly, because he doesnt need anyones support to justify what hes doing; hes con- vinced that since
everyone will die one day, some must do so in the name of something greater. Thats how its
been since the beginning of time, when men sacrificed themselves in order to feed their
tribe, when virgins were handed over to the priests to placate the wrath of dragons and
gods. The second reason is because he has now drawn attention to himself and indicated an
interest in the man at the next table.

The waiters sure to forget, but theres no need to take unnecessary risks. He tells himself
that at a Festival such as this, its only normal that people should want to know about
other people, and even more normal that such information should be rewarded. He himself
has done the same thing hundreds of times in restaurants all over the world, and others had doubtless done the same with him. Waiters arent just ac- customed to being
given money to supply a name or a better table or to send a discreet message, they almost
expect it.

No, the waiter wouldnt remember anything. Igor knows that his next victim is there before
him. If he succeeds, and if the waiter is ques- tioned, hell say that the only odd thing
to happen that day was a man asking him if he thought it was acceptable to destroy a
universe in the name of a greater love. He might not even remember that much. The police
will ask: What did he look like? and the waiter will reply: I didnt pay much attention, to
be honest, but I know he said he wasnt gay. The policeaccustomed to the kind of French
intellectual who sits in bars and comes up with weird theories and complicated analyses
of, for example, the sociology of film festivalswould quietly let the matter drop.

Something else was bothering Igor though. The name or names. He had killed beforewith
weapons and the blessing of his coun-

try. He didnt know how many people he had killed, but he had rarely seen their faces and
certainly never asked their names. Knowing some- ones name meant knowing that the other
person was a human being and not the enemy. Knowing someones name transformed him into a
unique and special individual, with a past and a future, with ancestors and possibly
descendants, a person who has known triumphs and fail- ures. People are their names;
theyre proud of them; they repeat them thousands of times in their lifetime and identify
with them. Its the first word they learn after Daddy and Mummy.

Olivia. Javits. Igor. Ewa.

Someones spirit, however, has no name; it is pure truth and inhabits a particular body for
a certain period of time, and will, one day, leave it, and God wont bother asking, Whats
your name? when the soul arrives at the final judgment. God will ask only: Did you love
while you were alive? For that is the essence of life: the ability to love, not the name
we carry around on our passport, business card, and identity card. The great mystics
changed their names, and sometimes aban- doned them altogether. When John the Baptist was
asked who he was, he said only: I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness. When Jesus found the man on
whom he would build his church, he ignored the fact that the man in question had spent his
entire life answering to the name of Simon and called him Peter. When Moses asked God his
name, back came the reply: I am who I am.

Perhaps he should look for another victim, one named victim was enough: Olivia. At this
precise moment, however, he feels that he cannot turn back, but he decides that he will
not ask the name of the next world he destroys. He cant turn back because he wants to do
justice to the poor, vulnerable girl on the bench by the beachsuch a sweet, easy victim.
This new challengethis sweaty, pseudo-ath- letic, henna-haired man with the bored
expression and who is clearly someone very powerfulis much more difficult. The two men in
suits are not just assistants; he notices that every now and then, they look around the
tent, watching everything thats going on nearby. If he is to be worthy of Ewa and fair to
Olivia, he must be brave.

He leaves the straw in the pineapple juice. People are beginning to arrive. He has to wait
for the place to fill up, but not too long. He hadnt planned to destroy a world in broad
daylight, in the middle of the Boulevard in Cannes, and he doesnt know exactly how to
carry out this next project. Something tells him, though, that he has chosen the perfect
place.

His thoughts are no longer with the poor young woman at the beach; adrenaline is filling
his blood, his heart is beating faster, hes excited and happy.

Javits Wild wouldnt be wasting his time here just to get a free meal at one of the
thousands of parties to which he must be invited every year. He must be here for some
specific reason or to meet a particular person. That reason or person would doubtless be
Igors best alibi.

The Winnder Stands Alone
12:26
PM

Javits watches the other guests arriving. The place is getting crowded, and he thinks what
he always thinks:

What am I doing here? I dont need this. In fact, I need very little from anyoneI have all
I want. Im a big name in the movie world, I can have any woman I desire, even though I
dress badly. In fact, I make a point of being badly dressed. Long gone are the days when I
had only one suit, and, on the rare occasions when I received an invita- tion from the
Superclass (after much crawling, begging, and making promises), I would prepare myself for
a lunch like this as if it were the most important occasion of my life. Now I know that
the only thing that changes are the cities these lunches are held in; otherwise, its all
utterly boring and predictable.

People will come up to me and tell me they adore my work. Others will call me a hero and
thank me for giving movie mavericks a chance. Pretty, intelligent women, who are not taken
in by appearances, will notice the people gathering round my table and ask the waiter who
I am and immediately find some way of approaching me, certain that the only thing Im
interested in is sex. Every single one of them has some favor to ask of me. Thats why they
praise and flatter me and offer me what they think I need. But all I want is to be left
alone.

Ive been to thousands of parties like this, and Im not here in this tent for any
particular reason, except that I cant sleep, even though I flew to France in my private jet, a technological marvel capable of flying at an
altitude of over thirty-six thousand feet from California all the way to Cannes without
having to make a refueling stop. I changed the original configuration of the cabin. It can
comfortably carry eighteen passengers, but I reduced the number of seats to six and kept
the cabin separate for the four crew members. Someones always sure to ask: May I come with
you? And now I have the perfect excuse: Sorry, theres no room.

Javits had equipped his new toy, which cost around forty million dollars, with two beds, a
conference table, a shower, a Miranda sound system (Bang & Olufsen had an excellent design
and a good PR cam- paign, but they were now a thing of the past), two coffee machines, a
microwave oven for the crew and an electric oven for him (because he hates reheated food).
Javits only drinks champagne, and whoever wishes to is more than welcome to share a bottle
of Mo‘t & Chandon 1961 with him. However, the cellar on the plane had every drink any
guest might conceivably want. And then there were the two twenty- one-inch LCD screens
ready to show the most recent films, even those that hadnt yet made it into the cinemas.

The jet was one of the most advanced in the world (although the French insisted that the
Dassault Falcon was even better), but regard- less of how much money he had, he couldnt
change the clocks in Europe. It was now 3:43
a.m.
in Los Angeles, and he was just begin- ning to feel really tired. He had been awake all
night, going from one party to the next, answering the same two idiotic questions that
began every conversation:

How was your flight? To which Javits always responded with a question: Why? People didnt
know quite what to say and so they smiled awkwardly and moved on to the next question on the list: Are you staying here long? And Javits would
again ask: Why? Then he would pretend he had to answer his mobile phone, make his excuses, and move on with his two inseparable
besuited friends in tow. He met no one interesting. But then who would a man who has almost everything money can
buy find interesting? He had tried to change his friends and meet people who had nothing
to do with the world of cinema: philosophers, writers, jugglers, executives of food-
manufacturing companies. At first, it all went swimmingly, until the inevitable question:
Would you like to read a script Ive written? Or the second most inevitable question: I
have a friend who has always wanted to be an actor/actress. Would you mind meeting him/her?

Yes, he would. He had other things to do in life apart from work. He used to fly once a
month to Alaska, go into the first bar, get drunk, eat pizza, wander about in the wild,
and talk to the people who lived in the small towns up there. He worked out for two hours
a day at his private gym, but the doctors had warned him he could still end up with heart
problems. He didnt care that much about being physically fit, what he really wanted was to
off-load a little of the constant tension that seemed to weigh on him every second of the
day, to do some medi- tation and heal the wounds to his soul. When he was in the country,
he always asked the people he chanced to meet what normal life was like, because he had
forgotten. The answers varied, and he gradually came to realize that, even when he was
surrounded by other people, he was absolutely alone in the world.

He decided to draw up a list of what constituted normal attitudes and behavior, based on
what people did rather than on what they said. Javits glances around. Theres a man in dark
glasses drinking a fruit juice. He seems oblivious to his surroundings and is staring out to sea as if he
were somewhere far from there. Hes smartly dressed and good-looking, with graying hair. He
was one of the first to arrive and must know who Javits is, and yet hes made no effort to
come and introduce himself. It was brave of him to sit there alone like that. Being alone
in Cannes is anathema; it means that no one is interested in you, that youre unimportant
or dont know anyone.

He envies that man, who probably doesnt fit the list of normal be- havior he always keeps
in his pocket. He seems so independent and free; if Javits werent feeling so tired, he
would really like to talk to him.

He turns to one of his friends. What does being normal mean? Is your conscience troubling
you? Have you done something you shouldnt have? Javits has clearly asked the wrong question of the wrong man. His companion will perhaps assume that hes regretting what hes made of his life and that he
wants to start anew, but that isnt it at all. And if he does have regrets, its too late to
begin again; he knows the rules of the game.

I asked you what being normal means?

One of the friends looks bewildered. The other keeps surveying the tent, watching people
come and go.

Living like someone who lacks all ambition, the first friend says at last.

Javits takes his list out of his pocket and puts it on the table. I always have this with
me and I add to it all the time. The friend says that he cant look at it now because he
has to keep alert to whats going on around them. The other man, though, more relaxed and confident,
reads the list out loud:

1. Normal is anything that makes us forget who we are and what we want; that way we can
work in order to produce, reproduce, and earn money.

2. Setting out rules for waging war (the Geneva Convention). 3. Spending years studying at
university only to find at the end of it all that youre unemployable. 4. Working from nine till five every day at something that
gives you no pleasure at all just so that, after thirty years, you can retire. 5. Retiring and discovering that you no longer have enough energy to enjoy life and dying a few years later of sheer boredom. 6. Using Botox. 7. Believing
that power is much more important than money and that money is much more important than happiness.

8. Making fun of anyone who seeks happiness rather than money and accusing them of lacking
ambition.

9. Comparing objects like cars, houses, clothes, and defining life according to those
comparisons, instead of trying to discover the real reason for being alive.

10. Never talking to strangers. Saying nasty things about the neighbors.

11. Believing that your parents are always right. 12. Getting married, having children,
and staying together long after all love has died, saying that its for the good of the chil-

dren (who are, apparently, deaf to the constant rows). 12a. Criticizing anyone who tries
to be different. 14. Waking up each morning to a hysterical alarm clock on the bedside table. 15. Believing absolutely everything that appears in print. 16. Wearing a
scrap of colored cloth around your neck, even though it serves no useful purpose, but which answers to the name of tie. 17. Never asking a direct question, even though the other person can guess what it is you want to know. 18. Keeping a smile on your lips even when youre on
the verge of tears. Feeling sorry for those who show their feelings. 19. Believing that art is either
worth a fortune or worth nothing at all. 20. Despising anything that was easy to achieve because if no sac-

rifice was involved, it obviously isnt worth having. 21. Following fashion trends, however
ridiculous or uncomfort-

able. 22. Believing that all famous people have tons of money saved up. 23. Investing a lot of time and money in external beauty and caring little about inner beauty. 24. Using every means possible to show that, although youre just an ordinary human being, youre far above other mortals. 25. Never looking anyone in the
eye when youre traveling on public transport, in case its interpreted as a sign youre trying to get off with them. 26. Standing facing the door in an elevator and pretending youre the only person there, regardless of how crowded it is. 27. Never laughing too loudly in a
restaurant however good the joke. 28. In the northern hemisphere, always dressing according to the season: bare arms in spring (however cold it is) and woolen jacket in autumn (however hot it is). 29. In the southern hemisphere, covering the
Christmas tree with fake snow even though winter has nothing to do with the birth of Christ. 30. Assuming, as you grow older, that youre the guardian of the worlds wisdom, even if you havent necessarily lived enough to know whats right and wrong. 31. Going to a charity tea party and thinking that youve
done your bit toward putting an end to social inequality in the world. 32. Eating three times a day
even if youre not hungry. 33. Believing that other people are always better than you better-looking, more capable, richer, more intelligentand that its very dangerous to step
outside your own limits, so its best to do nothing.

34. Using your car as a weapon and as impenetrable armor. 35. Swearing when in heavy
traffic. 36. Believing that everything your child does wrong is entirely down to the company he or she keeps. 37. Marrying the first person who offers you a decent
position in society. Love can wait. 38. Always saying, I tried when you didnt really try at all. 39.
Postponing doing the really interesting things in life for later, when you wont have the energy. 40. Avoiding depression with large daily doses of
television. 41. Believing that you can be sure of everything youve achieved. 42. Assuming
that women dont like football and that men arent interested in home decoration and cooking. 43. Blaming the government for all the bad things that happen. 44. Thinking that being a
good, decent, respectable person will mean that others will see you as weak, vulnerable,
and easy to manipulate. 45. Being equally convinced that aggression and rudeness are synonymous with having a powerful personality. 46. Being afraid of having an endoscopy (if
youre a man) and giving birth (if youre a woman).

The friend laughs. You should make a film on the subject, he says. Not again, Javits
thinks. They have no idea. Theyre with me all the time, but they still dont understand what I do. I dont make films.

All films start out in the mind of a so-called producer. Hes read a book, say, or had a
brilliant idea while driving along the freeways of Los Angeles (which is really a large
suburb in search of a city). Unfor- tunately, hes alone, both in the car and in his desire
to transform that brilliant idea into something that can be seen on the screen.

He finds out if the film rights to the book are still available. If the response is
negative, he goes in search of another productafter all, more than sixty thousand books
are published each year in the United States alone. If the response is positive, he phones
the author and makes the lowest possible offer, which is usually accepted because its not
only actors and actresses who like to be associated with the dream machine. Every author
feels more important when his or her words are trans- formed into images.

They arrange to have lunch. The producer says that the book is a work of art and highly
cinematographic and that the writer is a genius deserving of recognition. The writer
explains that he spent five years working on the book and asks to be allowed to help in
the writing of the script. No, really, you shouldnt do that, its an entirely different
medium, comes the reply, but I know youll love the result. Then he adds: The film will be
totally true to the book, which, as both of them know, is a complete and utter lie.

The writer decides that he should agree to the conditions, promis- ing himself that next
time will be different. He accepts. The producer now says that they have to interest one
of the big studios because they need financial backing for the project. He names a few
stars he claims to have lined up for the lead roleswhich is another complete and utter
lie, but one that is always wheeled out and always works as a se- duction technique. He
buys what is known as an option, that is, he pays around ten thousand dollars to retain
the rights for three years. And then what happens? Then well pay ten times that amount and
youll have a right to two percent of the net profits. Thats the finan- cial part of the
conversation over with, because the writer is convinced hell earn a fortune from his slice
of the profits.

If he were to ask around, hed soon find out that the Hollywood ac- countants somehow
manage it so that no film ever makes a profit.

Lunch ends with the producer handing the writer a huge contract and asking if he could
possibly sign it now, so that the studio will know that the product is definitely theirs.
With his eyes fixed on that (non- existent) percentage and on the possibility of seeing
his name in lights (which wont happen either, at most therell be a line in the credits,
saying: Based on the book by . . .), the writer signs the contract without giving the
matter much thought.

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