Eleven Minutes

Suddenly, Maria remembered what Mailsonthe security officer had told her about "vibes". The librarian beforeher seemed a very sweet, sensitive person, someone who might be able to helpher if all else failed. She needed to win her over; her instinct was tellingher that this woman could become her friend. She quickly changed tack.

"But I'd like to read more. Could you help mechoose some books?"

The woman brought her The Little Prince. Shestarted leafing through it that same night, saw the drawings on the first pageof what seemed to be a hat, but which, according to the author, all childrenwould instantly recognize as a snake with an elephant inside it. "Well, Idon't think I can ever have been a child, then," she thought. "To me,it looks more like a hat." In the absence of any television to watch, sheaccompa­nied the prince on his journeys, feeling sad whenever the word"love" appeared, for she had forbidden herself to think about thesubject at the risk of feeling suicidal. However, apart from the painful,romantic scenes between a prince, a fox and a rose, the book was reallyinteresting, and she didn't keep checking every five minutes that the batteryin her mobile phone was still fully charged (she was terrified of missing herbig chance purely out of carelessness).

Maria became a regular visitor to the library, whereshe would chat to the woman, who seemed as lonely as she was, ask her tosuggest more books and discuss life and authors - until her money had nearlyrun out. Another two weeks and she would not even have enough left to buy herticket back to Brazil.

And, since life always waits for some crisis to occurbefore revealing itself at its most brilliant, the phone finally rang. Threemonths after discovering the word `lawyer' and after two months of living onthe compensation she had received, someone from a model agency asked if Senhora Maria was still at this number. The reply was acool, long-rehearsed `yes', so as not to appear too eager. She learned that anArab gentleman, who worked in the fashion industry in his country, had beenvery taken by her photos and wanted to invite her to take part in a fashionshow. Maria remembered her recent disappointments, but also the money that sheso desperately needed.

They arranged to meet in a very chic restaurant. Shefound herself with an elegant man, older and more charming than Roger, whoasked her:

"Do you know who painted that picture over there?It's a Miró. Have you heard of Joan Miró?"

Maria said nothing, as if she were concentrating onthe food, rather different from that in the Chinese restaurants where shenormally ate. Meanwhile, she made a mental note: on her next visit to thelibrary, she would have to ask for a book about Miró.

But the Arab was saying:

"This was the table where Fellinialways sat. Do you know his films at all?"

She said she adored them. The man began asking moreprobing questions and Maria, knowing that she would fail the test, decided tobe straight with him:

"I'm not going to spend the evening pretending toyou. I can just about tell the difference between Coca-Cola and Pepsi, butthat's about it. I thought we came here to discuss a fashion show."

He seemed to appreciate her frankness.

"We'll do that when we have our after-supperdrink."

© HarperCollinsPublishers

Übersetzung: Margaret Jull Costa

© Sant Jordi Asociados Agencia Literaria S.L., www.santjordi-asociados.com oder

Copyright @ 2003 by Paulo Coelho