The Dreamseller_ The Calling - Augusto Cury [9]
“When I think about how briefly our lives pass, about all that has come before me and all that remains to come, that’s when I see how truly small I am in the grand scheme of things. When I consider that one day I will fall into eternal silence, swallowed by the passing of time, I realize my limitations. And when I see those limits, I stop trying to be a god and simply see myself as what I am: a mere human being. I go from being the center of the universe to simply a wanderer searching for answers . . .”
The stranger didn’t answer the question, but Julio drank in the words. His answer made Julio wonder the same thing as so many who would encounter the stranger: “Is this man a lunatic or a genius? Or both?” He tried to fathom the depths of the stranger’s words, but it was no easy task.
The stranger again looked toward the heavens and began to question God in a way Julio had never heard:
“God, who are you? Why do you remain silent before the insanity of some believers and do nothing to calm the doubts of skeptics? Why do you disguise your will as the laws of physics and conceal your designs as simply random events? Your silence unnerves me.”
Julio was an expert in religion—Christianity, Islam, Buddhism and others—but none of it helped him understand the stranger’s mind. He didn’t know whether these were the ramblings of a bald-faced atheist or someone who was close friends with God himself. The renowned professor again wondered: What kind of man is this? And where did he come from?
The Calling
PEOPLE ARE PREDICTABLE. LEADERS, TOO. IN MODERN society, most people don’t inspire emotion or imagination. But what was lacking in “normal” people abounded in the mysterious stranger. Julio was so curious about this man’s identity that he asked again he who was. Though, this time, he asked knowing full well that he didn’t know much about himself, either.
“I don’t know who I am. I need to find myself, I know. But please, grant me just this. Who are you?”
The man flashed a thin smile; Julio was finally beginning to speak his language. And feeling that rush of inspiration, the stranger stood up and faced the horizon, spreading his arms to the fading sun, and said confidently, “I’m a dreamseller.”
Julio was even more confused. The stranger seemed to have plunged from lucidity into lunacy. None of this made any sense to Julio, but it seemed to mean everything to the stranger.
On the street below, Bartholomew’s ramblings reached a fever pitch: “Look, it’s the alien leader! He spread his arms and changed colors.”
The dreamseller looked down on the eager masses below and felt a deep, abiding pity for them.
Julio rubbed his face. He couldn’t believe his ears.
“A dreamseller? What . . . What is that?” he asked, totally lost for words.
The stranger had seemed so intelligent. He had shown such intrepid thinking, had shattered Julio’s preconceptions and helped organize his cluttered mind. And just when he had Julio convinced, this dreamseller had shattered the image with a single word.
The psychiatrist, who was standing about twenty-five yards away, heard the stranger identify himself and quickly sized him up for the police and fire chiefs: “I knew it. They’re both crazy.”
Just then the dreamseller looked to his right and saw a sniper in a nearby building, about a hundred and fifty yards away, aiming a rifle with a silencer at him. The dreamseller quickly pushed Julio to the side and the two fell next to each other on the ledge. Julio had no idea what was going on, and rather than scare him, the dreamseller just said:
“If that fall bothered you, just imagine what would happen when you hit the ground from this building.”
The crowd below thought the stranger had held the jumper back, but they all misunderstood what had happened. The dreamseller looked