Читать книгу Manuscript Found in Accra - Пауло Коэльо - Страница 17

And he answered:

* * *

Some people say: ‘No one loves me.’ But even in cases of unrequited love there is always the hope that one day it will be requited.

Others write in their diaries: ‘My genius goes unrecognised, my talent unappreciated, my dreams scorned.’ But for them, too, there is the hope that, after many struggles, things will change.

Others spend their days knocking at doors, explaining: ‘I’m looking for work.’ They know that, if they are patient, someone will eventually invite them in.

* * *

But there are those who wake each morning with a heavy heart. They are not seekers after love, recognition or work.

They say to themselves: ‘I’m useless. I live because I have to survive, but no one, absolutely no one, is interested in what I’m doing.’

Outside, the sun is shining, they are surrounded by their family and they try to keep up the mask of happiness because, in the eyes of others, they have everything they ever dreamed of having. But they are convinced that no one there needs them, either because they are too young and their elders appear to have other concerns, or because they are too old and the younger members of the family seem uninterested in what they have to say.

The poet writes a few lines, then throws them away, thinking: ‘Nobody’s going to be interested in that.’

The labourer arrives for work and merely repeats the same tasks he did yesterday. He believes that, if he was ever dismissed, no one would even notice his absence.

The young woman making a dress takes enormous pains over every detail, and when she wears it to a celebration she reads the message in other people’s eyes: You’re no prettier or uglier than any of the other girls. Your dress is just one among millions of dresses all over the world, where, at this very moment, similar celebrations are being held – some in great castles, others in small villages where everyone knows everyone else and passes comments on what the other girls are wearing. But no one commented on what she was wearing, which went unnoticed. It was neither pretty nor ugly; it was just another dress.

Useless.

Younger people realise that the world is full of huge problems that they dream of solving, but no one is interested in their views. ‘You don’t know what the world is really like,’ they are told. ‘Listen to your elders and then you’ll have a better idea of what to do.’

The older people have gained experience and maturity, they have learned about life’s difficulties the hard way, but when the moment comes for them to teach these things no one is interested. ‘The world has changed,’ they are told. ‘You have to keep up to date and listen to the young.’

That feeling of uselessness is no respecter of age and never asks permission, but instead corrodes people’s souls, repeating over and over: ‘No one is interested in you, you’re nothing, the world doesn’t need your presence.’

In a desperate attempt to give meaning to life, many turn to religion, because a struggle in the name of a faith is always a justification for some grand action that could transform the world. ‘We are doing God’s work,’ they tell themselves.

And they become devout followers, then evangelists and, finally, fanatics.

They don’t understand that religion was created in order to share the mystery and to worship, not to oppress or convert others. The greatest manifestation of the miracle of God is life. Tonight, I will weep for you, O Jerusalem, because that understanding of the Divine Unity is about to disappear for the next one thousand years.