Eleven Minutes by Paulo Coelho Read Free Book Online Page A

of missing her big chance purely out of carelessness).
    Maria became a regular visitor to the library, where she
     would chat to the woman, who seemed as lonely as she was, ask her to suggest more books and discuss life and authors -
    until her money had nearly run out. Another two weeks and she would not even have enough left to buy her ticket back to Brazil.
    And, since life always waits for some crisis to occur before revealing itself at its most brilliant, the phone finally rang.
    Three months after discovering the word 'lawyer' and after two months of living on the compensation she had received, someone from a model agency asked if Senhora Maria was still at this number. The reply was a cool, long-rehearsed 'yes', so as not to appear too eager. She learned that an Arab gentleman, who worked in the fashion industry in his country, had been very taken by her photos and wanted to invite her to take part in a fashion show. Maria remembered her recent disappointments, but also the money that she so desperately needed.
    They arranged to meet in a very chic restaurant. She found herself with an elegant man, older and more charming than Roger, who asked her:
    'Do you know who painted that picture over there? It's a
     Miro. Have you heard of Joan Miro?'
    Maria said nothing, as if she were concentrating on the
     food, rather different from that in the Chinese restaurants where she normally ate. Meanwhile, she made a mental note: on her next visit to the library, she would have to ask for a
     book about Miro.
    But the Arab was saying:
    'This was the table where Fellini always sat. Do you know his films at all?'
    She said she adored them. The man began asking more
     probing questions and Maria, knowing that she would fail the test, decided to be straight with him:
    'I'm not going to spend the evening pretending to you. I
     can just about tell the difference between Coca-Cola and
     Pepsi, but that's about it. I thought we came here to discuss
     a fashion show.'
    He seemed to appreciate her frankness.
    'We'll do that when we have our after-supper drink.'
    There was a pause, while they looked at each other, each trying to imagine what the other was thinking.
    'You're very pretty,' said the man. 'If you come up and have a drink with me in my hotel room, I'll give you a thousand francs.'
    Maria understood at once. Was it the fault of the model agency? Was it her fault? Should she have found out more about the nature of this supper? It wasn't the agency's fault, or hers, or the man's: this was simply how things worked. Suddenly she missed her hometown, missed Brazil, missed her mother's arms. She remembered Mailson, on the
     beach, when he had mentioned a fee of three hundred dollars;
    at the time, she had thought it funny, much more than she
     would have expected to receive for spending the night with a man. However, at that moment, she realised that she had no one, absolutely no one in the world she could talk to; she
     was alone in a strange city, a relatively experienced
     twenty-two-year-old, but none of her experience could help her to decide what would be the best response.
    'Could you pour me some more wine, please.'
    The Arab man filled her glass, and her thoughts travelled faster than the Little Prince on his travels to all
     those planets. She had come in search of adventure, money
     and possibly a husband; she had known that she would end up getting proposals such as this, because she was no
     innocent and was used to the ways of men. She still believed in model agencies, stardom, a rich husband, a family, children, grandchildren, nice clothes, a triumphant return to the place where she was born. She dreamed of overcoming all difficulties purely by dint of her own intelligence, charm
     and willpower.
    But reality had just fallen in on her. To the man's surprise, she began to cry. He did not know what to do, caught between his fear of causing a scandal and his
     instinctive desire to protect her. He called the waiter over in