Paulo Coelho

The Zahir: A Novel of Obsession


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      The Zahir

      A Novel of Obsession

      Paulo

       Coelho

      Author of the alchemist

      Translated from the Portuguese by Margaret Jull Costa

      

      Dedication

      In the car, I mentioned that I had finished the first draft of my book. Later, as we set out together to climb a mountain in the Pyrenees which we both consider to be sacred and where we have already shared some extraordinary moments, I asked if she wanted to know the main theme of the book or its title; she would love to, she said, but, out of respect for my work, she had, until then, asked nothing, she had simply felt glad – very glad.

      So I told her the title and the main theme. We continued walking in silence and, on the way back, we heard a noise; the wind was getting up, passing above the leafless trees and coming down towards us, causing the mountain once more to reveal its magic and its power.

      Suddenly the snow began to fall. I stopped and stood contemplating that moment: the snowflakes falling, the grey sky, the forest, the woman by my side. The woman who has always been by my side.

      I felt like telling her then, but decided to let her find out when she read these pages for the first time. This book is dedicated to you, Christina, my wife.

      

      The author

      O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who turn to you.

      Amen

      What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?

      

      Luke 15:4

      Table of Contents

       Title Page

       Dedication

       Epigraph

       The following morning…

       People are waiting patiently for someone to…

       ‘Their eyes really are different…

       I had been a regular customer at…

       There are two kinds of world:…

       ‘I assume that…

       The owner of the Armenian restaurant had…

       ‘When I was fifteen…

       I had arranged to meet the American…

       When I regained consciousness…

       Two days later…

       Ariadne’s thread

       I am born in a small village…

       ‘Right…

       Zagreb, Croatia. 6.30 a.m.

       I have to write an important article…

       ‘Last week…

       I hear the applause…

       I arrived in a gloomy part of…

       ‘You seem strange’…

       Ah…

       Later that afternoon…

       It