The Dreamseller_ The Calling - Augusto Cury [64]
She listened attentively, nodding her head. She arranged her white hair, as if wanting to massage her restless brain. We were sure we were leaving her more uncertain than before. Solomon looked to the heavens and made the sign of the cross. “I’m getting scared just thinking about the dangers that lie ahead,” he said.
He signaled to Bartholomew to keep quiet for once because we seemed to be making progress. But, not thinking twice, the bungler said in a trembling, horror-movie voice: “It’s very risky to follow this man, Jurema. We could be arrested. We could be kidnapped, beaten, tortured. We could even be killed!”
We thought, for once, he’d managed to say just the right thing. Little did we know his words would be a kind of prophecy. Jurema’s right eye widened, her left eye closed. Just when we were sure we had convinced her, it was our turn to be startled.
“Fantastic!” she said. We exchanged dumbstruck glances.
“Fantastic? What do you mean, ‘fantastic,’ Jurema?” I asked, thinking that her senile mind had somehow misunderstood everything we had said.
“Everything you’ve told me is fantastic,” she said. “I’m absolutely ready to be a wanderer and I accept the invitation to join the group! I was always a rebel in my student days, and later as a university professor. But I was punished, subjugated by the educational system. I had to follow an agenda I disagreed with, a curriculum that did nothing to form thinkers.”
Our little brotherhood was shaken. We couldn’t breathe. As if the mysterious identity of the dreamseller weren’t enough, now we had a mysterious old lady to contend with. Some of us snorted, disturbed by her. I tried to dab the beads of sweat off my face.
“I’ve always wanted to sell dreams, to stimulate minds, but I was silenced,” she said. “I get disgusted every day when I think about modern society steamrolling young people’s intellect, mashing them all together, crushing their critical thinking and turning them into tape recorders of information. What has society done to our children?”
I asked what her full name was.
“Jurema Alcantara de Mello,” she said flatly.
When I heard the name, I took a step backward, even more shocked than before. That’s when I discovered that Jurema was a renowned anthropologist who had been a university professor at the highest level. She had even done postdoctoral work at Harvard. She was internationally known and had written five books in her field of study and they had been published in various languages.
I leaned against a nearby post to steady myself. I remembered having read several journal articles of hers, as well as all her books. She had played an important role in helping me formulate my ideas. I had admired her organized power of reasoning and her boldness. And here, just minutes earlier, I had wanted to kick her out of our group. I thought to myself: “Damned prejudice! Who will free me from this intellectual cancer? I dream of being a free and open person, but I’m hopelessly stubborn.”
Her ideas were right in line with the dreamseller’s. Jurema went on to say that societies, with some exceptions, had become quagmires for conformist minds that were untroubled by the complexity of existence, devoid of great ideas, and they never questioned who they are.
“We need to stimulate people’s intelligence,” she said.
The dreamseller smiled in delight. He must have thought: “I hit the bull’s-eye.” Jurema was more of a rebel than all of us. As she aged, she became more determined. She began to challenge us the second she joined us. Since age brings an incurable courage and honesty, she was very outspoken. She started pointing out things that Monica hadn’t yet had the courage to say. She confronted the dreamseller and criticized the group’s look.
“Being a band of eccentrics that sells dreams is fine, but being a band of filthy ragamuffins is absurd,” she said.
Oh, did we get angry at that. But even after seeing us pout, Jurema didn’t back down.
“Calling a group eccentric in order to create a spirit