The Dreamseller_ The Calling - Augusto Cury [61]
“When women are in front of the mirror, they say a famous phrase, even unconsciously. What is it?” The women present answered in unison, “Mirror, mirror on the wall: Who’s the fairest of them all?”
“No,” the dreamseller said. “They all say, ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who’s got the most defects of them all?’”
The crowd smiled. Monica laughed a beautiful laugh; it had been five years since she laughed like that. That was what he wanted: to sell her the dream of happiness. It was an admirable sociological experiment. It was the first time I’d ever seen humor grow out of such despair.
Bartholomew told the dreamseller, “Chief, I don’t see any defects when I look in the mirror. Have I got a problem?”
“No, Bartholomew. You’re simply beautiful. Look at your friends. Aren’t they marvelous?”
Honeymouth took a long look at the group of disciples.
“Don’t push it, chief. The family’s kinda shabby.”
We broke into laughter and headed for the door. We’d never felt so beautiful.
Calling a Model and a Revolutionary
WHEN WE LEFT, MONICA CAME OUTSIDE TO EXPRESS HER profound gratitude. She hugged the dreamseller affectionately and gave him a kiss on the cheek. The rest of us were green with envy.
The dreamseller looked at her and suddenly took the most extraordinary attitude:
“Monica, you shone on the fashion runways, but I want to invite you to parade down a different runway, one harder to cross, one tougher to keep your balance on, but definitely more interesting to experience. Come sell dreams with us.”
Monica didn’t know how to answer. She had read several stories about the dreamseller but had no idea where this would lead. When we heard the call to the enchanting model, we, who had rejected letting women into the team, changed our position immediately. We agreed with the dreamseller that women were not only more intelligent than men, they were also much better to look at.
Noting our enthusiasm, the dreamseller moved on to talk to another person. He left it up to us to explain to the newcomer the fascinating world of selling dreams. We’ll surely convince her, we thought. We tried to explain, then explain our explanations. But we stumbled over one another and over our words. We were like a pack of stray dogs in mating season.
Seeing that Monica looked far from convinced, the Miracle Worker withdrew to pray. He didn’t want to fall into temptation. Angel Hand was euphoric, unable to articulate his words, but nevertheless he tried to invent a poem to attract the model:
“A life without . . . dreams, is . . . is . . . like a winter without . . . snow, an ocean without . . . waves . . .”
Monica had never seen such a band of lunatics—dirty, poorly dressed, weird—trying to win her over at all costs. She grew more doubtful. After all, we were like a swarm of bees around the queen. While we were speaking, Monica glanced to the side and several times saw the dreamseller listening attentively to the person with whom he was talking. After half an hour, the model looked like she wanted to get out of there. Unfortunately, that was when Honeymouth went into action.
“Monica, hon, selling dreams is the craziest experience I’ve ever had. Not even when I was soaked in vodka was I so delirious,” he said, scaring the girl.
“Pretend you’re normal, Bartholomew!” we all said again.
But he didn’t know how to pretend; he was what he was. Then something unexpected happened. When Bartholomew spoke of the craziness of the project, she took heart. She wanted something more exciting than the world of fashion runways. But she was still undecided about this sociological experiment.
When the dreamseller returned, Monica asked him, “Sir, I know the man you were talking to.”
“Really? He’s a fascinating person,” he said effusively.
“He’s a deaf-mute and doesn’t know sign language,” the model replied, suspicious of the dreamseller