Paulo Coelho - Eleven Minutes BY Paulo Coelho

saw the two suitcases in the hall and she remembered everything: her promise, the prayer she had said in the church, her life, the dream that insisted on becoming reality and losing its charm, the perfect man, the love in which body and soul were one and the same and in which pleasure and orgasm were different things. She could stay; she had nothing more to lose, only an illusion. She remembered the poem: a time to weep, and a time to laugh. But there was another line too: 'a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing'. She made the coffee, shut the kitchen door and phoned for a taxi. She summoned all her willpower, which had carried her so far, and which was the source of energy for her 'light', which had told her the exact time to leave, which was pr o tecting her and making her tr easur e fo r ever the memo r y o f that nig ht. She g o t dr essed, picked up her suitcases and left, ho ping ag ainst hope that he would wake up and ask her to stay. But he didn't wake up. While she was waiting fo r the taxi o utside, a g ypsy was passing, carrying bouquets of flowers. 'Would you like to buy one?' Maria bought one; it was the sign that autumn had arrived and summer had been left behind. It would be a long time now before the cafe tables were out on the pavements in Geneva and the parks were full once more of people strolling about and sunbathing. It didn't matter; she was leaving because she had chosen to leave, and there was no reason for regrets. She g o t to the air po r t, dr ank ano ther cup o f co ffee and waited fo ur ho ur s for her flight to Paris, thinking all the time that he would arrive at any moment, because at some point before they fell asleep, she had told him the time of her flight. That's how it always happened in films: at the last moment, when the woman is just about to board the plane, the man races up to her, puts his arms around her and kisses her, and brings her back to his world, beneath the smiling, indulgent gaze of the flight staff. The words 'The End' appear on the screen, and the audience knows that, from then on, they will live happily ever after. 'Films never tell you what happens next,' she thought, trying to console her self. Mar r iag e, co o king , childr en, ever mo r e infr equent sex, the disco ver y of the first note from his mistress, the decision to confront him, his promise that it will never happen again, the second note from another mistress, another co nfr o ntatio n and this time a thr eat to leave him, this time the man r eacts less vehemently and mer ely tells her that he lo ves her. T he thir d no te fr o m a thir d mistress, and the decision to say nothing, to pretend that she knows nothing, because he might tell her that he doesn't love her any more and that she's free

to leave. No, films never show that. They finish before the real world begins. It's best not to think too much about it. She read one, two, three magazines. In the end, they anno unced her flig ht, after almo st an eter nity in that air po r t lo ung e, and she got on the plane. She still imagined the famous scene in which, as she fastens her seatbelt, she feels a hand on her shoulder, turns round and there he is, smiling at her. Nothing happened. She slept on the short flight between Geneva and Paris. She hadn't had time to think abo ut what she wo uld tell them at ho me, what sto r y she wo uld invent, but her par ents wo uld pr o bably just be happy to have their daughter back, and to have a farm and a comfortable old age ahead of them. She woke up with the jolt of the plane landing. It taxied for a long time, and the flight attendant came to tell her that she would have to change terminals, because the flig ht to Br azil left fr o m Ter minal F and she was in Ter minal C. But ther e was no need to wo r r y; ther e wer e no delays, and she still had plenty of time, and if she wasn't sure where to go, the ground staff would help her. While the passenger loading bridge was being put in place, she wondered if it wo uld be wo r th spending a day in Par is, just to take so me pho to g r aphs and be able to tell peo ple that she had been ther e. She needed time to think, to be alone with herself, to bury her memories of last night deep down inside her, so that she co uld use them whenever she needed to feel alive. Yes, a day in Par is was an excellent idea; she asked the flight attendant when the next flight to Brazil was, if she decided not to leave that day. The flight attendant asked to see her ticket and said that, unfortunately, it didn't allow for that kind of stopover. Maria consoled herself with the thought that visiting such a beautiful city all o n her o wn wo uld o nly depr ess her. She was still manag ing to cling o n to her sang -fr o id, to her willpo wer, and didn't want to ruin it all by seeing a beautiful view and missing someone intensely. She got off the plane and went through the security checks; her luggage would go straight on to the next plane, so she didn't have to bother with that. The doors opened, the passengers emerged and embraced whoever was waiting fo r them, wife, mo ther, childr en. Mar ia pr etended no t to no tice, at the same time pondering her own loneliness, except that this time she had a secret, a dream, which would make her solitude less bitter, and life would be easier. 'We'll always have Paris.' The voice didn't belong to a tourist guide or to a taxi driver. Her legs shook when she heard it.

'We'll always have Paris?' 'It's a quote from one of my favourite films. Would you like to see the Eiffel Tower?' Oh, yes, she would, she would love to. Ralf was holding a bunch of roses, and his eyes were full of light, the light she had seen on that first day, when he was painting her while the cold wind outside had made her feel awkward to be sitting there. 'How did you manage to get here before me?' she asked, merely to disguise her amazement; she wasn't in the least interested in the answer, but she needed a breathing space. 'I saw you reading a magazine at Geneva airport. I could have come over, but I'm such an incur able r o mantic that I tho ug ht it wo uld be best to catch the next shuttle to Paris, wander about the airport here for three hours, consult the arrivals screen over and over, buy some flowers, say the words that Rick says to his beloved in Casablanca and see the look of surprise on your face. And to be utterly sure that this was what you wanted, that you were expecting me, that all the determination and willpower in the world would not be enough to prevent love from changing the rules of the game from one moment to the next. It's really easy being as romantic as people in the movies, don't you think?' She had no idea whether it was easy or difficult, and she didn't honestly car e, even tho ug h she had o nly just met this man, even tho ug h they had made love for the first time only a few hours before, even though she had only been introduced to his friends the previous evening, even though he had been a regular at the nightclub where she had worked, even though he had been married twice. These were not exactly impeccable credentials. On the other hand, she no w had eno ug h mo ney to buy a far m, she had her yo uth ahead o f her, a great deal of experience of life and a great independence of soul. Nevertheless, as always happened when fate chose for her, she thought, once again, that she would take the risk. She kissed him, utterly indifferent now to what happens after the words 'The End' appear on the cinema screen. But if, one day, someone should decide to tell her story, she would ask them to begin it just as all the fairy tales begin: Once upon a time ...