Paulo Coelho - Adultery

ALSO BY PAULO COELHO

The Alchemist

The Pilgrimage

The Valkyries

By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept

The Fifth Mountain

Veronika Decides to Die

Warrior of the Light: A Manual

Eleven Minutes

The Zahir

The Devil and Miss Prym

The Witch of Portobello

Brida

The Winner Stands Alone

Aleph

Manuscript Found in Accra

THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK

PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF

Translation copyright 2014 by Margaret Jull Costa and Zo Perry

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House LLC, New York, and in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto, Penguin Random House companies.

www.aaknopf.com

Originally published in Brazil as Adultrio by Sextante,

Rio de Janeiro, in 2012. Copyright 2012 by Paulo Coelho.

Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Coelho, Paulo.

[Adultrio. English]

Adultery : a novel / by Paulo Coelho ; translated by Margaret Jull Costa and Zo Perry.First United States edition.

pages cm

Originally published in Brazil as Adultrio by Sextante,

Rio de Janeiro, in 2012Title page verso.

ISBN 978-1-101-87408-0 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-101-87409-7 (eBook)

I. Costa, Margaret Jull, translator. II. Perry, Zo, translator. III. Title.

PQ9698.13.O3546A3813 2014

869.342dc23 2014018191

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Front-of-jacket image Ingram Publishing

Jacket design by Compaa (lookatcia.com)

v3.1

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

Put out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.

LUKE 5:4

EVERY morning, when I open my eyes to the so-called new day, I feel like closing them again, staying in bed, and not getting up. But I cant do that.

I have a wonderful husband who is not only madly in love with me, but also the owner of a large investment fund. Every yearmuch to his distastehe appears in Bilan magazines list of the three hundred richest people in Switzerland.

I have two children who are (as my friends say) my reason for living. I get up early to make their breakfast and take them on the five-minute walk to school, where they spend all day, allowing me to work and fill my time. After school, a Filipino nanny looks after them until my husband and I get home.

I enjoy my work. Im a highly regarded journalist at a respectable newspaper that can be found in almost all the news kiosks in Geneva, where we live.

Once a year, I go on holiday with the whole family, usually to some far-flung paradise with marvelous beaches, where we stay in exotic cities inhabited by very poor people who make us feel richer, more privileged, and more grateful for the blessings life has bestowed upon us.

Ah, but I havent introduced myself. Pleased to meet you. My names Linda. Im in my thirties, five-foot-eight, 150 pounds, and I wear the best clothes that money can buy (thanks to my husbands limitless generosity). I arouse desire in men and envy in other women.

And yet, every morning, when I open my eyes to this ideal life that everyone dreams of having but few achieve, I know the day will be a disaster. Until the beginning of this year, I didnt question anything. I simply got on with my life, although, now and then, I did feel guilty about having more than I deserved. One day, though, while I was making everyone breakfast (it was spring, I remember, and the flowers were just beginning to open in the garden), I asked myself: Is this it?

I shouldnt have asked that question. It was all the fault of a writer Id interviewed the previous day who, at one point, said:

I havent the slightest interest in being happy. I prefer to live life passionately, which is dangerous because you never know what might happen next.

At the time, I thought: Poor man. Hes never satisfied. Hell die sad and embittered.

The following day, I realized that I never take any risks at all.

I know what lies ahead of me: another day exactly like the previous one. And passion? Well, I love my husband, which means that Ive no cause to get depressed over living with someone purely for the sake of his money, the children, or to keep up appearances.

I live in the safest country in the world, I have no problems to speak of, and Im a good wife and mother. I was brought up as a strict Protestant and intend to pass that education on to my children. I never take a false step because I know how easy it is to ruin everything. I do what I have to do efficiently and put as little of myself into it as possible. When I was younger, I experienced the pain of unrequited love, just like any other normal person.

Since I married, though, time has stopped.

Until, that is, I came across that horrible writer and his answer to my question. I mean, whats wrong with routine and boredom?

To be honest, nothing at all. Its just its just the secret fear that everything could change from one moment to the next, catching me completely unawares.

From the moment I had that ominous thought that bright, beautiful morning, I began to feel afraid. Would I be capable of facing the world alone if my husband died? Yes, I told myself, because the money he left behind would be enough to support several generations. And if I died, who would look after my children? My beloved husband. But he would surely remarry, because hes rich, charming, and intelligent. Would my children be in good hands?

The first thing I did was try to answer all my questions. And the more questions I answered, the more questions appeared. Will he take a mistress when I get old? We dont make love as often as we used todoes he already have someone else? Does he think Ive found someone else because I havent shown much interest in sex for the last three years?

We never have jealous spats, and I used to think that was great, but after that spring morning, I began to suspect that perhaps our lack of jealousy meant a complete lack of love on both sides.

I did my best not to think about the matter anymore.

For a whole week, whenever I left work, I would go and buy something in one of the expensive shops on Rue du Rhne. There was nothing I really wanted, but at least I felt that I washow should I say this?changing something, discovering something I didnt even know I needed, like some new domestic appliance, although it has to be said, novelties in the world of domestic appliances are few and far between. I avoided toy shops, because I didnt want to spoil my children by giving them a present every day. I didnt go into any mens shops, either, just in case my husband might grow suspicious of my sudden extreme generosity.

When I got home and entered the enchanted realm of my domestic world, everything would seem marvelous for a few hours, until everyone went to bed. Then, slowly, the nightmare would begin.

I think that passion is strictly for the young. Presumably, its absence is normal at my age, but that isnt what terrifies me.