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<h6>Author</h6>
<h1>Paulo Coelho</h1>
<h6>Brazilian lyricist</h6>
<p id="paragraph">
“You have told me about your dreams, about the old king and
your treasure. And you’ve told me about omens. So now, I fear
nothing, because it was those omens that brought you to me. And I
am a part of your dream, a part of your Personal Legend, as you call
it.
“That’s why I want you to continue toward your goal. If you have
to wait until the war is over, then wait. But if you have to go before
then, go on in pursuit of your dream. The dunes are changed by the
wind, but the desert never changes. That’s the way it will be with
our love for each other.
“Maktub,” she said. “If I am really a part of your dream, you’ll
come back one day.”
The boy was sad as he left her that day. He thought of all the
married shepherds he had known. They had a difficult time
convincing their wives that they had to go off into distant fields.
Love required them to stay with the people they loved.
He told Fatima that, at their next meeting.
“The desert takes our men from us, and they don’t always
return,” she said. “We know that, and we are used to it. Those who
don’t return become a part of the clouds, a part of the animals that
hide in the ravines and of the water that comes from the earth. They
become a part of everything…they become the Soul of the World.
“Some do come back. And then the other women are happy
because they believe that their men may one day return, as well. I
used to look at those women and envy them their happiness. Now, I
too will be one of the women who wait.
“I’m a desert woman, and I’m proud of that. I want my husband
to wander as free as the wind that shapes the dunes. And, if I have
to, I will accept the fact that he has become a part of the clouds, and
the animals, and the water of the desert.”
The boy went to look for the Englishman. He wanted to tell him
about Fatima. He was surprised when he saw that the Englishman
had built himself a furnace outside his tent. It was a strange furnace,
fueled by firewood, with a transparent flask heating on top. As the
Englishman stared out at the desert, his eyes seemed brighter than
they had when he was reading his books.
“This is the first phase of the job,” he said. “I have to separate out
the sulfur. To do that successfully, I must have no fear of failure. It
was my fear of failure that first kept me from attempting the Master
Work. Now, I’m beginning what I could have started ten years ago.
But I’m happy at least that I didn’t wait twenty years.”
He continued to feed the fire, and the boy stayed on until the
desert turned pink in the setting sun. He felt the urge to go out into
the desert, to see if its silence held the answers to his questions.
He wandered for a while, keeping the date palms of the oasis
within sight. He listened to the wind, and felt the stones beneath his
feet. Here and there, he found a shell, and realized that the desert, in
remote times, had been a sea. He sat on a stone, and allowed himself
to become hypnotized by the horizon. He tried to deal with the
concept of love as distinct from possession, and couldn’t separate
them. But Fatima was a woman of the desert, and, if anything could
help him to understand, it was the desert.
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<h5 class="pageNumber">Page 40</h5>
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