Read Online The Dreamseller: The Calling by Augusto Cury - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Augusto Cury
Tags: Fiction, General, Psychological, Psychological fiction, Philosophy, Religious, Visionary & Metaphysical, Movements, existentialism, Self-realization
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key.”
The chief tried asking for Dimas’s address and employer, but Dimas just repeated the same gesture, twiddling his lips like a monkey and slapping his forehead three times. He wanted to look like someone out of his mind, someone who couldn’t possibly have known what he was doing when he put that DVD player into his bag. The chief insisted on asking more questions and Dimas just deflected them like an imbecile. The chief cursed, banged the table, threatened, but Dimas wouldn’t break. He should’ve won an Academy Award for his acting. The lawyer was enjoying his client’s cleverness.
“There’s no use. This guy’s nuts!” the chief shouted.
The lawyer took over and told him, “Sir, I didn’t say anything about my client’s mental handicap because I knew youwouldn’t believe me. But you can see for yourself he has no idea what he’s doing.”
Not wanting to waste any more time, the chief let the crook go. Outside, the lawyer shook Angel Hand’s hand and praised his cunning.
“That was unbelievable! I’ve never seen such a clever con man,” the lawyer said, congratulating him. He quickly asked for his fee so he could be on his way to see another client.
Angel Hand stared blankly into the lawyer’s eyes and twiddled his lips, slapping his forehead three times. The lawyer laughed out loud, but said he didn’t have time to joke around. Dimas repeated the gesture. We were on the other side of the street, watching this all go on.
“OK, enough! Let’s settle up,” shouted the lawyer.
Angel Hand repeated his ritual once again. The lawyer became irritated, but Dimas just repeated his act. Nothing could dissuade that scoundrel. The lawyer threatened him in every possible way. He even threatened to call the cops. But how could he? He had told the police chief that his client was mentally ill; if he recanted, it could cause him problems with the bar. It was the first time in the history of jurisprudence that a con artist had tricked the police and his lawyer in the space of fifteen minutes.
The lawyer left fuming and Angel Hand said aloud, “One more sucker.”
The dreamseller was paying close attention to the thief. I couldn’t really understand why. But I thought maybe he wanted to sell him the dream of honesty. Maybe he wanted to reprimand him, deliver one of his sermons. Maybe he wanted to tell us to have nothing to do with a guy like this, who could ruin our path to self-discovery.
He crossed the street and approached the thief. We followed apprehensively, worried that this crookmight be armed. Dimas saw him coming and immediately asked who he was and what he wanted. To our surprise, the dreamseller pulled no punches.
“Your dream is to get rich and you don’t care how you have to do it,” the dreamseller said.
I liked how the dreamseller put him in his place. But what he said next took me by surprise and sent Bartholomew’s head spinning—without vodka. He told Angel Hand, “Those who steal for a living are terrible money managers. They run from poverty, but it always catches up with them.”
The con man was taken aback. He didn’t know how to invest what he stole and lived in poverty. He detested it, begged for the scarcity to go away, but like a faithful companion it insisted on staying. And then, the dreamseller brought the crook’s world crashing down: “The worst swindler isn’t he who deceives others but he who deceives himself.”
Angel Hand took two steps back. He wasn’t much for thinking, but what he heard rocked his mind. He began to ask himself: “Am I maybe the world’s worst swindler? I’m a pro at cheating people, but maybe I’ve cheated myself. Who is this character who’s stealing my peace of mind?”
Then the dreamseller did what we never expected.
“Come, follow me and I will show you a treasure called knowledge, much more valuable than silver and gold,” he said. The dreamseller had a pointed, seductive way of selling his dreams.
But the con man
The chief tried asking for Dimas’s address and employer, but Dimas just repeated the same gesture, twiddling his lips like a monkey and slapping his forehead three times. He wanted to look like someone out of his mind, someone who couldn’t possibly have known what he was doing when he put that DVD player into his bag. The chief insisted on asking more questions and Dimas just deflected them like an imbecile. The chief cursed, banged the table, threatened, but Dimas wouldn’t break. He should’ve won an Academy Award for his acting. The lawyer was enjoying his client’s cleverness.
“There’s no use. This guy’s nuts!” the chief shouted.
The lawyer took over and told him, “Sir, I didn’t say anything about my client’s mental handicap because I knew youwouldn’t believe me. But you can see for yourself he has no idea what he’s doing.”
Not wanting to waste any more time, the chief let the crook go. Outside, the lawyer shook Angel Hand’s hand and praised his cunning.
“That was unbelievable! I’ve never seen such a clever con man,” the lawyer said, congratulating him. He quickly asked for his fee so he could be on his way to see another client.
Angel Hand stared blankly into the lawyer’s eyes and twiddled his lips, slapping his forehead three times. The lawyer laughed out loud, but said he didn’t have time to joke around. Dimas repeated the gesture. We were on the other side of the street, watching this all go on.
“OK, enough! Let’s settle up,” shouted the lawyer.
Angel Hand repeated his ritual once again. The lawyer became irritated, but Dimas just repeated his act. Nothing could dissuade that scoundrel. The lawyer threatened him in every possible way. He even threatened to call the cops. But how could he? He had told the police chief that his client was mentally ill; if he recanted, it could cause him problems with the bar. It was the first time in the history of jurisprudence that a con artist had tricked the police and his lawyer in the space of fifteen minutes.
The lawyer left fuming and Angel Hand said aloud, “One more sucker.”
The dreamseller was paying close attention to the thief. I couldn’t really understand why. But I thought maybe he wanted to sell him the dream of honesty. Maybe he wanted to reprimand him, deliver one of his sermons. Maybe he wanted to tell us to have nothing to do with a guy like this, who could ruin our path to self-discovery.
He crossed the street and approached the thief. We followed apprehensively, worried that this crookmight be armed. Dimas saw him coming and immediately asked who he was and what he wanted. To our surprise, the dreamseller pulled no punches.
“Your dream is to get rich and you don’t care how you have to do it,” the dreamseller said.
I liked how the dreamseller put him in his place. But what he said next took me by surprise and sent Bartholomew’s head spinning—without vodka. He told Angel Hand, “Those who steal for a living are terrible money managers. They run from poverty, but it always catches up with them.”
The con man was taken aback. He didn’t know how to invest what he stole and lived in poverty. He detested it, begged for the scarcity to go away, but like a faithful companion it insisted on staying. And then, the dreamseller brought the crook’s world crashing down: “The worst swindler isn’t he who deceives others but he who deceives himself.”
Angel Hand took two steps back. He wasn’t much for thinking, but what he heard rocked his mind. He began to ask himself: “Am I maybe the world’s worst swindler? I’m a pro at cheating people, but maybe I’ve cheated myself. Who is this character who’s stealing my peace of mind?”
Then the dreamseller did what we never expected.
“Come, follow me and I will show you a treasure called knowledge, much more valuable than silver and gold,” he said. The dreamseller had a pointed, seductive way of selling his dreams.
But the con man
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