Brida. Paulo Coelho

      She chose a fairly inexpensive restaurant, because he always insisted on paying the bill, despite the fact that he earned far less as a research assistant to a physics professor at the university than she earned as a secretary. It was still summer, and they sat out at one of the tables on the pavement, by the river.

      ‘I want to know when the spirits are going to let me sleep with you again,’ said Lorens good-humouredly.

      Brida looked at him tenderly. She had asked him not to come to her apartment for two weeks, and he had agreed, protesting just warmly enough for her to know how much he loved her. In his way, he, too, was seeking to understand the mysteries of the Universe, and if, one day, he were to ask her to stay away from him for two weeks, she would have to say ‘Yes’.

      They dined unhurriedly and largely in silence, watching the boats crossing the river and the people walking past on the pavement. The bottle of white wine on the table was emptied and replaced by another. Half an hour later, they had pushed their two chairs together and were sitting, arms around each other, gazing up at the starry summer sky.

      ‘Just look at that sky,’ said Lorens, stroking her hair. ‘What we’re looking at now is how the sky would have appeared thousands of years ago.’

      He had told her the same thing on the day they first met, but Brida chose not to interrupt him – this was his way of sharing his world with her.

      ‘Many of those stars have already died, and yet their light still fills the Universe. Other stars were born far away, and their light has not yet reached us.’

      ‘So no one knows what the real sky looks like?’ She had asked that same question on their first meeting too, but it was good to repeat such delicious moments.

      ‘We don’t know. We study what we can see, but what we see is not always what exists.’

      ‘I want to ask you something. What are we made of? Where did the atoms that make up our bodies come from?’

      Lorens looked up at the ancient sky and said:

      ‘They were created along with these stars and this river. In the first second of the Universe’s existence.’

      ‘So after that first moment of Creation, nothing more was added.’

      ‘No, nothing. Everything moved and continues to move. Everything was transformed and continues to be transformed. But all the matter that exists in the Universe now is the same matter from all those billions of years ago, and not so much as a single atom has been added.’

      Brida sat studying the movement of both river and stars. It was easy to see the river flowing across the Earth, but it was hard to see the stars moving in the sky. And yet both were moving.

      ‘Lorens,’ she said at last, after a long silence during which they both watched a boat passing. ‘Let me ask what might seem an absurd question: is it physically possible that the atoms that make up my body could have been in the body of someone who lived before me?’

      Lorens stared at her in amazement.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘What I said. Is such a thing possible?’

      ‘They could be in plants or insects or they could have turned into helium molecules and be out there somewhere, millions of miles from Earth.’

      ‘But is it possible that the atoms that made up the body of someone who died could be in my body and in someone else’s body?’

      He said nothing for a moment, then said:

      ‘Yes, it is.’

      The sound of distant music reached them. It came from a barge crossing the river, and even from far away, Brida could make out the silhouette of a sailor framed in a lighted window. It was a tune that reminded her of her adolescence; it brought back memories of school dances, the smell of her bedroom, the colour of the ribbon she used to use to tie up her pony-tail. Brida realised that Lorens had never before considered the question she had asked him, and was perhaps, at that moment, wondering if his own body contained the atoms of Viking warriors, of volcanic explosions, or of prehistoric animals that had mysteriously disappeared.

      But her thoughts were elsewhere. All she wanted to know was this: had the man so tenderly embracing her once been part of herself?

      The barge came closer and the music began to fill the air around them. Conversations on the other tables stopped too, everyone eager to find out where the sound was coming from, because everyone had once been an adolescent, attended school dances and had dreams full of stories about warriors and fairies.

      ‘I love you, Lorens.’

      And Brida hoped against hope that this young man who knew so much about the light from the stars contained a little of the person she had once been.