The Dreamseller_ The Calling - Augusto Cury [76]
Jurema whispered in my ear, “I taught for more than thirty years. But I have to admit that I produced many aggressive, vengeful, heartless students.”
And I thought to myself, “So did I. Without realizing it, in the structured confines of universities, we produced dictators in the making.”
A commotion broke out as I was deep in thought. Bartholomew and Barnabas had finally appeared—completely drunk. Bartholomew had been so happy at finding his old friend that he let down his guard. He knocked back a few drinks to celebrate and got drunk on vodka again.
They had their arms around each other. Their legs got tangled up as they walked, and to keep from falling down, each clung to the other. They showed up singing a Nelson Gonçalves song:
Bohemia, I’m back again, begging to rejoin you.
Crying for joy, I’ve come to see the friends I left behind.
As if his bingeing weren’t enough, Bartholomew looked at the group and yelled out his favorite phrase: “Oh, how I love this life!”
“Shut up, Bartholomew!” we called out in chorus, laughing.
But he didn’t shut up. Instead, almost falling over, he called out the dreamseller and questioned his project. His face flushed, and emboldened by everyone watching him, he said:
“Listen, chief, this whole deal about being ‘humans without border,’ that’s old news. Real old, you know?” He tried, and failed, to snap his fingers to emphasize his point. He continued, “Alcoholics have known about that for years and years and years . . . No alcoholic is better than any other. They all kiss each other, they all hug, they all sing together. We don’t have a country or a flag. You get what I’m saying?”
I watched the dreamseller. He had invested so much of his time in training us. He had had the patience of Job, and now, as his dream was becoming a reality, he had to deal with this mess. But the dreamseller just walked up to them and hugged them. And jokingly, he said, “Some people can live outside the cocoon forever. Others need to come home now and then.”
And instead of being disappointed, he seconded Honeymouth’s idea.
“It’s true, alcoholics are human beings without borders, especially when they’re not aggressive. Why? Because in certain cases the effect of alcohol blocks the memories that hold our prejudices and our cultural, national and social barriers. But it’s better and safer to achieve that goal while sober, through the difficult art of thinking and choosing.”
And he began to dance among us, filled with energy. He understood that one person could not change another; it has to come from within. He knew, better than any of us, that the dangers of living outside the cocoon were many and unforeseeable.
Watching the dreamseller lovingly coach his “students” who had strayed completely, I was convinced that the greatness of a teacher lies not in how he teaches his perfect students, but in how he teaches the most difficult ones. How many crimes against teaching had I committed? I had never encouraged a rebellious student or helped one who was struggling.
I took Jurema aside and told her, “I’ve buried students in the basement of the educational system.”
Jurema, examining her own history, had the courage to confess:
“Unfortunately, so have I. Instead of encouraging creative rebellion, intuition and thoughtful reasoning, I demanded only the ‘right’ answers. We molded paranoid young predators, desperate to be number one, and not peacemakers, tolerant individuals who feel worthy of being number nine or ten.”
It felt like we were leaving behind our sociological infancy and entering into childhood. The celebration lasted till the early hours. We were drunk with joy. Barnabas was invited to join our team of dreamsellers, and he and Bartholomew became the most eccentric pair in the bunch. We didn’t know whether they had been reformed or whether they would make us even crazier than we already were. But it doesn’t matter. We, too, were learning to love this life.
The Living Dead
THE DREAMSELLER’S FAME WAS GROWING EACH DAY AND was starting to seep into