The Dreamseller: The Calling (22 page)

There was no sign of any driver. She whistled again, this time more loudly. Nothing.

“I think ‘Driver’ is the name of her dog,” Bartholomew said. Jurema shot him a dirty look and wagged her cane, but instead of smacking him, she seemed amused by the joke.

“Just imagine everybody cramming into some old Ford straight out of a museum,” Edson said.

Our group always had some kind of retort. In the few months we had been together, I had enjoyed myself more than I had in my entire life, even when we were making fun of each other. The dreamseller fostered that environment. Monica felt as if she were always at a street fair. In her former life, she had been wealthy, but what she hadn’t blown on luxury items, she
lost in the stock market. But traveling with the group, she was getting something the free market couldn’t sell.

While we were joking, a beautiful white limousine pulled up in front of us, almost running over Bartholomew’s foot. An impeccably dressed chauffeur said, “Sorry, ma’am. It took me a long time because there was traffic.”

Our jaws dropped. And I’m sure we all, conveniently, had the same thought: “What a great new disciple!”

J
UREMA WAS THE WIDOW OF A MILLIONAIRE. BUT SHE
never felt a need to flaunt her wealth. Sometimes she bypassed cars, chauffeurs, designer clothes and other benefits that her fortune might have afforded her. She lived modestly. We had never been in such a luxurious vehicle. We were smitten, but the dreamseller, someone who seemed never to have driven a car, remained indifferent. He asked Jurema for the address and said he would walk. He needed to think.

He met us at her house two hours later. The millionaire widow had made a quick stop at a store and bought clothes for all of us. We looked civilized again. We had already taken a bath and were nibbling on delicious cheese and cold cuts. It was all so delicious that it made us remember there are some wonderful things about the system. Honeymouth was so hungry that he used his hands to grab the snacks instead of the metal toothpicks. Solomon didn’t talk, making time only to eat. Funny, but I noticed that his tics and quirks had diminished considerably with a filling belly. I didn’t know whether it was hunger or a lasting improvement.

Dimas stuffed his mouth with cheese, like a rat, and stared at all the expensive objects on top of a china cabinet and the beautiful paintings hanging on the walls. I think that if he
hadn’t been called by the dreamseller, he might have returned to clean the place out. Monica ate discreetly. She was so happy about being part of the group that nothing distracted her. I never imagined that such a good-looking person could live such a nightmare.

The dreamseller was led into the main area of the house, which comprised over 5,000 square feet of space, divided into five rooms. Jurema’s luxurious mansion barely fazed him and that seemed to make her happy. She was tired of people who fawned over her house but had nothing to say to her. He then went to bathe and was given new clothes.

As all of us were beginning to enjoy a delightful dinner, the dreamseller had a request for her: “Tell us about your husband.”

She was surprised, for people seldom asked about the dead, not wanting to cause any awkwardness. But she loved to talk about him and had always admired him. She told us about the time when they were young, their courtship, the marriage. Then she spoke of his tenderness, boldness and intellect. Twice, the dreamseller said, “What a great man. He was also a dreamseller.”

She mentioned that her husband had been CEO of one of the most important companies of the Megasoft Group, which was made up of more than thirty firms. We thought the business world would be of no interest to the dreamseller, but he unexpectedly asked, “How did he become wealthy?”

To tell the story of her husband’s rise, she first had to give us some background on the Megasoft Group’s president. She said that the owner of an important firm had died and left a fortune to his twenty-five-year-old son. The young man had an exceptional mind and was endowed with unusual enterprise and leadership ability. He far surpassed his father. He took the company public and, with the money from his booming shares, expanded the business and invested in the most diverse activities in the corporate world. He invested in oil, clothing store
chains, communications, computers, electronics and hotels. Within fifteen years he had put together the Megasoft Group, which became one of the ten largest corporations in the world.

She told us that when the company went public, the young president gave all the employees the chance to buy stock, and her husband became a minority stockholder in the company. With the phenomenal growth of the group, he made a lot of money. When I heard Jurema’s story, I interjected:

“When you mentioned that young millionaire’s enterprising spirit, I remembered that the largest shareholder at my university was precisely the Megasoft Group. After it became the university’s biggest booster, there was no shortage of money to underwrite research and theses.”

The dreamseller then asked Jurema a few questions:

“Did you know the young man who expanded that group so explosively? Was he free or a prisoner of the system? Was his philosophy to love money more than life or life more than money? What were his priorities? What values motivated him? Was he conscious of the brevity of life or did he position himself as a god?”

Jurema, caught by surprise, didn’t know how to answer, as she had rarely seen the young man personally. He was extremely busy, courted by kings and presidents, while she was simply a professor. But she said that her husband liked him a lot.

“Judging by the comments he made,” she said, “I believe he was a very good and well-bred person. But after my husband passed seven years ago, I heard little about him, except that some misfortune had struck his family. It appears he had mental problems. They said he passed away, but the press covered up the story. They say that if he were alive today he would have displaced the old magnates and be the richest man on earth.”

The dreamseller looked at us and said:

“My dear Jurema, you were very generous to that
millionaire. I, too, have heard of his boldness, his story and his death. But we have the tendency to make the deceased into saints, to exalt their good qualities and conceal their defects. Someone who knew him intimately told me he was ambitious and had no time for anything except increasing his wealth. He forgot what mattered most in his life.”

Sadly, displaying the heavy air of one who disagreed with the path taken by that leader, he added some memorable observations:

“I don’t ask you to hate money or material goods. Today we sleep under bridges with the sky as our blanket; tomorrow, who can know? I ask you to understand that money itself doesn’t bring happiness, though lack of it can diminish it drastically. Money can’t make us crazy, but the love of it can destroy our serenity. The absence of money makes us poor, but its misuse makes us miserable.”

We all fell silent.

“Chief, being broke and happy is fine by me, but with money life’s a lot better,” said Bartholomew, drinking coconut water while the rest of us had French and Chilean wine.

The dreamseller smiled. It was difficult for him to have a deep conversation with those street “philosophers.”

As we moved from town to town and people recognized the dreamseller, people wanted to hug him immediately. Their eyes shone when they saw him. Some kissed him. Little by little, he was becoming more famous than society’s politicians, and that was stirring envy.

Seeing people gather around him in front of an imposing shopping mall, the dreamseller climbed a few steps leading to the main entrance and began one of his fascinating speeches. He gave a philosophical interpretation of Jesus’ most famous homily, the Sermon on the Mount.

He had told us he loved that text and agreed with Mahatma Gandhi that if all the sacred books of the world were banned and only the Sermon on the Mount survived, humanity would not be without light

“Happy are the humble of spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of wisdom,” the dreamseller shouted. “But where are the truly humble, those who have emptied themselves of themselves? Where are those who recognize their mistakes? Where are those who courageously admit their smallness and fragility to be found? Where are those who struggle daily against pride?”

After speaking these words, he stared attentively at the apprehensive, anxious faces of the crowd. He took a breath and continued:

“Happy are the patient, for they shall inherit the earth. Which earth am I referring to? The earth of tranquillity, the soil of enchantment with life, the terrain of simple love. But where are these gentle souls? Where are the open-minded? Where can we find those who are intimate friends of tolerance? Where are those who temper their irritability and anxiety? Where are those who act calmly in the face of setbacks and frustration? Most people are not gentle even to themselves. They live a pressured life of unending demands and self-inflicted punishment.”

The crowd flowed more and more around him. He raised his eyes to the sky, slowly lowered them and finished his interpretation of the second beatitude, inverting the classical motivational thoughts:

“Stop the neurotic need to change others. No one can change anyone else. Whoever demands more of others than of himself is qualified to work in finance, but not with human beings.”

And he continued:

“Happy are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. But why do we live in a world where people hide their tears?
Where are those who shed tears over the selfishness that blinds our eyes and keeps us from learning what goes on in the minds of those we love? How many hidden fears have never been revealed? How many secret conflicts have never been given voice? How many emotional wounds have we caused and never admitted to?”

As he spoke, the people reflected. Many were lamenting the pitfalls in their personal relationships.

“Happy are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God. But where are those who calm the waters of emotion? Where are the masters at solving interpersonal conflicts? Aren’t we all experts at judging others? Where are those who protect, challenge, surrender themselves, reconcile and believe in others? Every society divides its people, and every division implies a subtraction. Peacemaking is not, therefore, teaching the mathematics of addition but understanding the mathematics of subtraction. Whoever fails to understand that is qualified to live with animals and machines, but not with human beings.”

I was speechless. I was schooled in how to be an academic, but was very poorly equipped to live among people. I had owned dogs, and I had no problems with them—or at least they never complained. But dealing with human beings was a constant struggle. I was very demanding. I was qualified to work, but didn’t understand the human toll of the mathematics of subtraction. People were free to think, as long as they thought like me. Only then did I begin to comprehend that living well means learning how to lose before learning how to win.

More were congregating to hear the dreamseller speak. Traffic stopped, creating mass confusion. The chaos grew and he quickly had to bring his explanation to an end. That day, the dreamseller chose more disciples, all with particular characteristics. None of them was a saint. None had a calling to be perfect.

Many began to accompany the dreamseller wherever he went. Word had spread on the Internet, and people kept track of where he was and where he was headed. Despite being followed by many now, he was privately training only a few of us. Not because we were the most qualified, but maybe because we were his toughest cases.

T
HREE DAYS LATER, HE CALLED A SPECIAL MEETING.
Apparently, he was going to tell us about his greatest dream. I could see it burning inside him. He took us to a calm grassy clearing where there was barely any noise or people. He had us sit in a semicircle. It was seven
AM
and dew had settled on the lawn. The first rays of sunlight were glittering on the horizon and lighting the petals of the hibiscuses, forming a kind of arch of gold. Birds were chirping, celebrating the dawning of a new day.