It had been some time since I last visited Loureiro, the cobbler who loved philosophy books and red wines. As usual, it was dawn when the train left me at the station. It was pleasant, though requiring caution, to walk through the narrow and winding streets of that small town. From so much use, the stones of the old pavement had become smooth. The night’s dew made them even more slippery. The dim lighting of the lamps gave way to the splendour of the stars that filled the sky with infinite points of light of varying sizes, forming patterns and sharpening the imagination. Of all the spectacles of beauty offered by nature, and there are many, this is one of the ones that most enchants me. As if that weren’t enough, an elegant waning moon appeared in the corner, just above the rooftops, as if it were the artist’s signature on the sacred canvas. The only sound came from my footsteps. I walked slowly so as not to wake the sleeping town. Turning the bend in the street, I spotted the cobbler’s legendary bicycle leaning against the post in front of the workshop, signalling that it was open. The atelier’s opening hours were unusual and as famous as Loureiro’s skill in stitching shoes and ideas. I was welcomed with a warm hug and a sincere smile, as happens with good friends. The aroma of leather mingled with the fragrance of coffee. I noticed someone else was there. Lúcia, a niece of the cobbler, had arrived a little earlier. We were introduced. She was a woman with a beauty outside the usual standards. A little over thirty, she had short red hair cut close to the nape and penetrating eyes, a brown so light it approached yellow. Physical traits that added an intense magnetism to her presence. Although her speech was firm and her gestures assured, giving the impression of someone in control of herself, from within her emanated an unmistakable sadness. Or was it agony? I didn’t know what feeling troubled her. I only knew that behind that strong-looking woman there was a suffering capable of demolishing her foundations and leading her to existential ruin, if not reversed.
The young woman needed to talk. She was looking for help and was there for that. No one better than Loureiro to offer clear, far-reaching lenses for us to observe everything and everyone from different angles and with greater clarity. We suffer when we insist on seeing who we are, the world, and life itself with cloudy lenses or at short distances. Immediately, I tried to excuse myself. I said I had only stopped by for a hug. The bakery would be opening soon, I commented. I missed the wonderful sandwich made with cold cuts and cheeses from the region. She smiled at my lack of skill in making excuses and told me to stay. It was cold outside and still a couple of hours until the bakery opened. Besides, perhaps I could offer a few nuances to the multiple colours always available in her uncle’s palette of ideas. I accepted the invitation and sat down. Soon, we had three steaming mugs of coffee on the wooden counter to help spur on our reasoning.
Lúcia had been married to Oliver for ten years. They had just finished university and were beginning their careers when they made that important decision. They were in love. Over time the relationship deteriorated for various reasons. She claimed her husband suffered from a strong emotional dependence on his parents and siblings, which prevented her from building with him a new family nucleus out of the marriage. She did not feel that her husband saw her as the main partner in a story to be written four hands together, but rather as a minor supporting role, his main attention fixed on his parents’ house. The distancing was inevitable and happened little by little. When she realized it, they shared the same house but were no longer a couple. The indispensable complicity for life projects aligned in the same direction was missing. There was no longer any trace of the original love. Though they had never spoken about it, both had extramarital relationships. A kind of tacit and destructive consent. She had decided some time ago to divorce. She was only waiting for her promotion at work to afford the expenses of living alone. She considered it a step backward to return to her parents’ home, even briefly. She managed the waiting process calmly, until she discovered she was pregnant. The chances that Oliver was not the father were considerable. They had only sporadic relations in recent months. Deep down, she was convinced the child was not his. Her husband would suspect, of course. For philosophical and humanist reasons, the possibility of ending the pregnancy was discarded. Soon her body would begin to change. She didn’t have much time. A rebellious tear revealed the fragility of that strong-looking woman. She disguised it and, even without anyone asking, murmured that she was fine.
Loureiro furrowed his white brows and corrected her: “You are not fine”. His niece retorted: “Yes, I am fine. I know how to take care of myself. It may seem strange to come to the atelier in the middle of the night to talk, but I have long had the habit of sleeping only a few hours a night”. She made a point of showing she had absolute control over herself. A behavioural vice tied to pride and immaturity, a desperate attempt to remain strong and balanced before the world, while at her core she collapsed in silent despair. The cobbler reflected: “Repeating a lie every day will never have the power to transform it into truth. Accept the suffering, it will be the beginning of healing; admit your fragility, in it you will find the seed of unknown strength. Understand that you are one step away from losing control over your own life if you do not make the right choice. The next moves must be firm, sharp, and well directed. Otherwise, you will lose yourself within, heir to fear and the lack of assertive decisions”. Lúcia swallowed hard and lowered her gaze. Those words pierced her ego to touch her soul. Loureiro continued: “To deny, deceive, or numb the suffering is a method of alienation and a grave waste of time, with no possibility of achieving a healthy result. They are mechanisms in service of the distortion of reality, convenient for those who insist on fleeing from the truth. Instead of collaborating with healing, they stretch out the pain until it becomes unbearable. The falls are abysmal. No one needs to let that happen”.
Still struggling to admit the fragility and imbalance that distanced her from self-control, Lúcia claimed that suffering was the only certainty in life. An enemy impossible to defeat. All that remains is to learn how to make bearable what has no end. Her uncle corrected her again: “Suffering exists in direct proportion to the difficulty of understanding, the inefficient elaboration, and consequent error in resolving lived experiences. That is, from conscience immaturity. A sincere, serene, and courageous stance in facing suffering, examining it from its origin in all its aspects and modes of functioning, demonstrates the lucidity of those who understand that emotional pains result from the misguided directions by which one chose to conduct oneself through the days. They are often tied to immediate interests, shallow solutions, and superficial desires, giving rise to the imbalance and fragility that agonizes in the face of feelings of loss, disorientation, impotence, and incapacity. Reactions of revolt or victimhood serve only to increase the pain even further. A difficult process to face, but always open to reversal. This is the soul’s journey of healing. Available to all, taken up by few”. His niece was silent for a few moments, held the mug with both hands as a symbolic representation that she needed to cling to something so as not to collapse before the fear of future uncertainties, drank a sip of coffee, and confessed she was lost. Wherever she looked, she saw no way out. All the solutions seemed bad. The cobbler calmed her: “Difficult exits do not mean bad solutions”. The young woman said she was willing to make any sacrifice to free herself from the labyrinth she was in. Her uncle warned her: “When misunderstood, sacrifices take us away from the essence and make us lose the essential, generating even more suffering. It is a common mistake to believe that this type of effort will lead to a healthy resolution. Nothing prevents the difficult solution from also being joyful and pleasurable”. Lúcia said she did not understand how that could be possible. Loureiro explained: “You need only understand that it is about your reconstruction, the creation of a new version of yourself. More beautiful, light, and refined. With greater gentleness, balance, and strength of movement to reach where you have never been, whether in the depths of your own core or along the paths of the world”.
He drank a sip of coffee and explained: “The word sacrifice comes from Latin, meaning sacred office or sacred work. If the connotation of sacred sums up everything that makes us different and better people, in the effort of transformation we must have the sensitivity to never give up what we cannot lose, such as self-love, self-respect, and peace. True sacrifice comes down to leaving behind, no matter how difficult it may be, what no longer serves us or prevents our walk toward the light, such as selfishness, lies, pride, vanity, greed, vindictiveness, among other personal shadows still embedded in the depths of our behaviour, personality, and choices”.
The red-haired woman with amber-brown eyes shook her head in denial. Beautiful theories were unworkable; life required practicality, she claimed. The craftsman arched his lips in a gentle smile and agreed, only to counter-argue: “Theories must be lived. Otherwise, they are empty speeches without use. The difficulty of turning an idea into reality is in direct proportion to the refusal to cease being in order to become. In other words, to renounce the traits, habits, and half-truths that imprison the individual where he is, preventing him from going beyond who he has always been. A task that requires determination and dedication. Issues that dissolve pride, force the abandonment of vanity, put an end to greed, and undo selfishness shake a structure still admired by the crowds. Though archaic and obsolete, it translates the elements used for self-identification. A kind of record kept through the actions and reactions that make up and describe personality. Unconsciously, the subject fears no longer recognizing himself. He imagines he will remain incomplete, not understanding how much he will be able to add and integrate into himself. He fears rejection by those he lives with and admires; he panics at the possibility of not fitting into his new way of being and living. He fears becoming unrecognizable, without realizing that evolution demands an indispensable transformation. He believes he will lose his identity when, in truth, he will bring forth a more advanced creation of himself, yet never revealed because it waited in a place never before accessed”. He drank a sip of coffee and continued: “As you can see, impossibility does not converse with theory, but with the vice of immobility”.
Lúcia reflected on the difficulty of talking to Oliver in face of the enormous possibility that he was not the father of the child. They were married. Her own parents, as well as her husband’s family and part of their circle of friends, would disapprove of her behaviour. Using a crude and inappropriate adjective, the young woman said she was condemned to live alone with a bastard child. Loureiro was firm: “There is no room for melodramatic scenes in anyone’s life. Just like everyone else, you are where you put yourself. Be responsible for your attitudes and choices. Bear the consequences and grow with the lessons extracted from the experience lived. Be sincere with yourself so that you can see the world and life clearly. This is fundamental to maturity. If Oliver has an ounce of sense and serenity, he will understand that he contributed to this outcome. If he does not, it does not matter either. You know your motives, reasons, feelings, and needs. That is enough. Besides, no one is alone when they have themselves. Trust in your ability to overcome, forgive yourself, and move forward. The opportunities offered by life are infinite”. He gave a welcoming smile and said: “I am here. There will always be a mug of hot coffee waiting for you for a good conversation”. With tears in her eyes, the niece hugged her uncle for long minutes.
The young woman sipped her coffee as if gathering courage to approach a delicate subject and admitted the possibility of waiting for her husband to voice his suspicion and request a genetic test to verify the child’s paternity. With a little luck, everything would be fine. The cobbler furrowed his thick brows again and pondered firmly: “Otherwise, if Oliver remains silent about his doubt, how will you feel before him, your child, and, most importantly, before yourself as the years go by? Why do secrets exist? Is it possible to live in peace tormented by the fear of having secrets revealed?” The questions were simple rhetoric. He added: “Lies make us lose self-mastery by separating us from dignity. No matter the size of the wall that hides us, we will remain weakened. When we abdicate control over our lives, we become hostages of events. Nothing agonizes a sailor more than being in a drifting boat, with the rudder broken, at the mercy of tides and currents, and no longer having the ability to avoid the rocks or the shipwreck. We suffer because we are sailors who insist on breaking the rudder of the vessel. The refusal to act when we have the responsibility to do so makes us slaves from the origin of omission. There is no point in complaining about the suffering we caused”. Lúcia commented that she thought of replacing one suffering with another; an exchange that might have favourable aspects. Loureiro was emphatic: “A delusion. One cannot replace one suffering with another. The facts and acts that generate them are not erased by a sequence of fallacious choices, as if lies could mitigate suffering. In such a case, mitigate would have the same connotation as numb. Disguising pain serves only to postpone healing. Painting the walls and furnishing a prison makes it a more pleasant place; nevertheless, the condition of prisoner remains unchanged. Only truth has the power to set free”.
Lúcia shook her head. She seemed not to believe. Facing the truth at that moment would be very difficult. She feared her husband’s, her family’s, and her friends’ reaction. Perhaps she was not ready; perhaps she should leave it to chance, she thought. Loureiro pointed out: “Tomorrow carries the sign of the unforeseeable. We know nothing about the unfolding of events in our lives. Dignity is the ballast of the vessel in the face of existence’s adversities, allowing balance and keeping direction. At the confluence of ethics and love, dignity consists in treating people as we would like to be treated. A simple and essential way of living in peace, regardless of the unpredictability of winds and the harshness of storms. The relationship between truth and dignity is symbiotic. One cannot exist without the other. To be dignified is to have truth as the foundation in the construction of oneself. An indestructible pillar. The deconstruction of suffering requires, among other aspects and issues, moral reconstruction through alignment with truth”. Lúcia argued that her husband also had extramarital affairs. They were even. Loureiro reminded her: “It does not matter what others have done. That is their problem. To each shall be given according to their works. Inexorably. The value we possess lies in our actions and reactions before life’s events. When I justify my attitudes on the errors of others, I distance myself from truth and reveal who I am not yet. I move away from the light. Darkness is the proper environment for suffering to gain size and power”.
In small sips and without a word, the niece drank the coffee until she emptied the mug, as if she needed time to arrange those ideas on the exact shelves of her mind and heart. Then she closed her eyes for long minutes. I broke the silence to remind her that no decision needed to be made at that moment. I said that I had learned that difficult choices are only choices not yet matured. When we are ready for the decision, the movement becomes simple. Lúcia opened her eyes and smiled. It was a beautiful smile. She said she knew exactly what to do. She would conduct herself along the tracks of respect and truth. She would invite Oliver for lunch. She would have a frank conversation with her husband. In the afternoon, she would look for a place to live within her budget. She would hide nothing from anyone. Nor was there any reason to be ashamed. She would be responsible for herself, for her child, and for the effects of her choices. She smiled again, fixed her eyes on Loureiro’s eyes, and said she was aware that she was beginning a cycle of enormous difficulties, but also of great lessons and profound transformations. It would not be easy, but she would make it worthwhile. She would not waste the opportunity for growth offered by that experience. Even if we did not believe her because of all the difficulties she would face, she was excited and in good spirits, she confessed.
Loureiro returned the smile and explained: “I have no doubt that you are walking hand in hand with happiness. Among the various possible choices, you decided to begin a process of healing concomitant with a journey of liberation. In some cases, to heal a suffering is to free oneself from immobility, fear, and lies. It is to have the courage and boldness to live the highest expression of possible transmutations. Thus, despite the enormous difficulties inherent in change, there will be joy and pleasure in every movement”. He emptied his mug of coffee and reminded his niece: “There must be selflessness to let go of what no longer belongs; humility, so there is space for change and growth; simplicity, to ward off the deceptions of convenience; and compassion, so that forgiveness never lacks. Guilt and resentment make up the most common and vulgar spring of our sufferings”. He paused and concluded: “Last, but not least, let love permeate all your attitudes and choices. Pain withdraws as love approaches”.
The woman with red hair, cut close to the nape, and brown eyes, almost yellow, said she had to go. That day, which had begun in a sad dawn, was breaking in tones of hope. She had much to do. She said goodbye to me, gave the cobbler a loud kiss on the cheek, and left. The young woman who left the workshop had just found an essential and unknown part of herself. She had also discovered the path to peace.
Translated by Cazmilian Zórdic.
