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<!DOCTYPE html>
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<title>the alchemist</title>
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<h6>Author</h6>
<h1>Paulo Coelho</h1>
<h6>Brazilian lyricist</h6>
<p id="paragraph">
THE BOY WENT TO HIS ROOM AND PACKED HIS BELONGINGS. They filled three
sacks. As he was leaving, he saw, in the corner of the room, his old
shepherd’s pouch. It was bunched up, and he had hardly thought of
it for a long time. As he took his jacket out of the pouch, thinking to
give it to someone in the street, the two stones fell to the floor. Urim
and Thummim.
It made the boy think of the old king, and it startled him to
realize how long it had been since he had thought of him. For nearly
a year, he had been working incessantly, thinking only of putting
aside enough money so that he could return to Spain with pride.
“Never stop dreaming,” the old king had said. “Follow the
omens.”
The boy picked up Urim and Thummim, and, once again, had the
strange sensation that the old king was nearby. He had worked hard
for a year, and the omens were that it was time to go.
I’m going to go back to doing just what I did before, the boy
thought. Even though the sheep didn’t teach me to speak Arabic.
But the sheep had taught him something even more important:
that there was a language in the world that everyone understood, a
language the boy had used throughout the time that he was trying
to improve things at the shop. It was the language of enthusiasm, of
things accomplished with love and purpose, and as part of a search
for something believed in and desired. Tangier was no longer a
strange city, and he felt that, just as he had conquered this place, he
could conquer the world.
“When you want something, all the universe conspires to help
you achieve it,” the old king had said.
But the old king hadn’t said anything about being robbed, or
about endless deserts, or about people who know what their
dreams are but don’t want to realize them. The old king hadn’t told
him that the Pyramids were just a pile of stones, or that anyone
could build one in his backyard. And he had forgotten to mention
that, when you have enough money to buy a flock larger than the
one you had before, you should buy it.
The boy picked up his pouch and put it with his other things. He
went down the stairs and found the merchant waiting on a foreign
couple, while two other customers walked about the shop, drinking
tea from crystal glasses. It was more activity than usual for this time
of the morning. From where he stood, he saw for the first time that
the old merchant’s hair was very much like the hair of the old king.
He remembered the smile of the candy seller, on his first day in
Tangier, when he had nothing to eat and nowhere to go—that smile
had also been like the old king’s smile.
It’s almost as if he had been here and left his mark, he thought.
And yet, none of these people has ever met the old king. On the
other hand, he said that he always appeared to help those who are
trying to realize their Personal Legend.
He left without saying good-bye to the crystal merchant. He
didn’t want to cry with the other people there. He was going to miss
the place and all the good things he had learned. He was more
confident in himself, though, and felt as though he could conquer
the world.
“But I’m going back to the fields that I know, to take care of my
flock again.” He said that to himself with certainty, but he was no
longer happy with his decision. He had worked for an entire year to
make a dream come true, and that dream, minute by minute, was
becoming less important. Maybe because that wasn’t really his
dream.
Who knows…maybe it’s better to be like the crystal merchant:
never go to Mecca, and just go through life wanting to do so, he
thought, again trying to convince himself. But as he held Urim and
Thummim in his hand, they had transmitted to him the strength and
will of the old king. By coincidence—or maybe it was an omen, the
boy thought—he came to the bar he had entered on his first day
there. The thief wasn’t there, and the owner brought him a cup of
tea.
</p>
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<h5 class="pageNumber">Page 26</h5>
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