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was here that he was here. There was nothing he could teach Paulo, twenty years older than he and more experienced, and who, on his own, would surely find the way to talk with his angel. Paulo was one of J.’s disciples—and the things Gene had heard about J.! At their first meeting, Gene had tried in various ways to get the Brazilian to talk, but the woman had made it impossible. He was unable to learn anything about the techniques, the processes, or the rituals used by J.
    That first meeting had been deeply disappointing for him. He thought that the Brazilian might be using J.’s name without the master’s knowledge. Or—who knows?—perhaps J. had made a mistake for the first time in his selection of a disciple. And if that were the case, the entire Tradition would soon know about it. But that night of their meeting, he had dreamed of his guardian angel.
    And his angel had asked that he initiate the woman into the path of magic. Just initiate her: Her husband would do the rest.
    In the dream, he argued that he had already taught her about the second mind, and had asked that she look out at the horizon. The angel said that Gene should pay attention to the man, but that heshould take care of the woman. And then the angel disappeared.
    Gene was trained to be disciplined. So he was now doing what the angel had commanded—and he hoped that it was being observed up above.
    “After the disembodied spirits,” he continued, “the saints appear. These are the true masters. They lived among us at one time, and are now closer to the light. The great teachings of the saints are their lives here on earth. Contained in them are all we need to know, and all we have to do is imitate them.”
    “How do we invoke the saints?” Chris asked.
    “Through prayer,” Paulo answered, cutting Gene off.
    He wasn’t jealous—although it was clear to him that the American wanted to impress Chris.
He respects the Tradition. He’s going to use my wife as a means of reaching me. But why is he being so basic, talking about things that I already know so well?
he thought.
    “We invoke the saints through constant prayer,” Paulo continued. “And when they are near, everything changes. Miracles happen.”
    Gene couldn’t help but notice the Brazilian’s hostile, almost aggressive tone of voice. But he wasn’t going to say anything about his dream of the angel, because he didn’t owe this man anything.
    “Finally,” Gene said, “there are the angels.”
    Perhaps Paulo didn’t know about this part, even though he seemed to know many other things. Gene paused for a few moments. He sat there silently praying, and remembered his angel, and hoped that he was hearing every word. And he asked that his angel help him to be clear, because—my God!—it was so difficult to explain.
    “Angels are love in motion. They never rest, they struggle to grow, and they are beyond good and evil. Love that consumes all, that destroys all, that forgives all. Angels are made of that love, and are at the same time its messengers.
    “The love of the exterminating angel, who one day will take away our soul, and of the guardian angel, who brings our soul back. Love in motion.”
    “Love at war,” Chris said.
    “There is no love in peace. Whoever seeks peace is lost.”
    What does a boy like this know about love? He lives alone in the desert, and has never been in love,
Christhought. Meanwhile, no matter how hard she tried, she could think of not one moment when love had ever brought her peace. It was always accompanied by agony, intense joy, and deep sadness.
    Gene turned to them. “Let’s be silent for a while, so that our angels can hear the love that exists beyond our silence.”
    Chris was still thinking about love. Yes, the boy seemed to be right, although she could swear that all of his knowledge was theoretical.
Love comes to rest only when we are close to death. How strange.
How strange was everything that she was experiencing, especially the