The Dreamseller_ The Calling - Augusto Cury [33]
But this charlatan we saw at the wake had mixed intentions. At certain times he wanted to contribute to the good of his fellow man and was sincere and caring. At other times he seemed swollen with pridefulness.
But this Miracle Worker, though ambitious, was no fool. He wanted to create a spectacle but not a scene. He wanted to resurrect the old woman but tried to guard against insulting anyone. Many thoughts swirled in his brain. “What if she doesn’t come to life? What if I tell her to rise and she just lies there? My reputation will be lost.”
The dreamseller watched him closely, like a leopard scrutinizing the landscape. We knew the dreamseller took pleasure in dealing with extremely complicated people, but we didn’t understand his true intention that day. Little by little we began to see the kind of show the Miracle Worker was hoping to put on.
After a moment of reverence, the Miracle Worker approached the dead woman and whispered in an almost inaudible voice, “Rise.” He hoped not to be heard in case his faith failed him.
The old woman showed no sign of life. Immediately, he repeated in that low voice, “Rise.”
If she were to have moved in the slightest, Edson would have shouted to the heavens and proclaimed himself a true miracle worker. It would be his most glorious moment. Countless people hungering for supernatural acts would follow him.
But nothing happened. The deceased remained motionless. Bartholomew, Dimas and I, who were far from saints, were indignant with the Miracle Worker’s trickery. What an arrogant jerk, we thought.
But he didn’t give up. He filled his lungs and in a louder voice, but speaking between his teeth so no one could understand clearly what he was saying, he declared, “Rise, woman. I command you!”
The unimaginable happened. The woman moved. But not because of the Miracle Worker. An older man, reeking of alcohol the way Bartholomew did the day I met him, bumped the coffin. But the Miracle Worker, wrapped up in himself and in looking for any signs of life from the old woman, didn’t notice when the deceased’s nephew came staggering in and smacked the coffin, causing the old woman’s hands, gently resting on her chest, to change position.
The Miracle Worker’s heart leaped with emotion. He thought his moment of glory had arrived, that his supernatural abilities had finally revealed themselves. Overcome with joy, and desperate to take credit for his “miracle,” he yelled out and proclaimed to the mourners:
“Rise, woman! I command you!”
This time, everyone heard and was startled by his command. He expected the woman to sit up in her coffin and the crowd to acknowledge his tremendous power. But the old woman showed no further signs of life.
He figured all he needed was just a little more faith to make the coffin move again. And this time, he gave the order to the body again, glancing at the crowd: “Rise, woman!” he begged the corpse, which would not respond to his appeal.
The longer the woman remained motionless, the weaker his knees became. He broke into a cold sweat, his mouth dried out and his heart raced. Half dazed, he finally saw the drunk trying to regain his balance by steadying himself on the coffin. The Miracle Worker knew he had made a fool of himself. He felt like a wounded deer amid a pride of lions. But this Miracle Worker still had a few tricks up his sleeve. He raised his voice again and said firmly:
“Woman! If you won’t rise to live in this evil world, then rest in peace!”
Several “normals” answered in chorus, “Amen!”
The Miracle Worker ended his performance by taking out a handkerchief to dry invisible tears and said solemnly, “Poor, poor woman. She was such a good person.