-
Notifications
You must be signed in to change notification settings - Fork 1
/
alchemist43.html
111 lines (108 loc) · 5.11 KB
/
alchemist43.html
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
<!DOCTYPE html>
<html lang="en">
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<meta http-equiv="X-UA-Compatible" content="IE=edge">
<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0">
<title>the alchemist</title>
<link rel="stylesheet" href="style.css">
</head>
<body>
<div class="container" >
<div id="myHeader" class="header">
<a href="index.html"><button class="home-button">Home</button></a>
<button class="bookmark-button">Bookmark</button>
<div class="wrapper">
<input type="text" id="text-to-search" placeholder="Enter text to search...">
<button onclick="search()">Search</button>
</div>
</div>
<h6>Author</h6>
<h1>Paulo Coelho</h1>
<h6>Brazilian lyricist</h6>
<p id="paragraph">
“They are men of the desert, and the men of the desert are used
to dealing with omens.”
“Well, then, they probably already know.”
“They’re not concerned with that right now. They believe that if
they have to know about something Allah wants them to know,
someone will tell them about it. It has happened many times before.
But, this time, the person is you.”
The boy thought of Fatima. And he decided he would go to see
the chiefs of the tribes.
THE BOY APPROACHED THE GUARD AT THE FRONT OF THE huge white tent at
the center of the oasis.
“I want to see the chieftains. I’ve brought omens from the
desert.”
Without responding, the guard entered the tent, where he
remained for some time. When he emerged, it was with a young
Arab, dressed in white and gold. The boy told the younger man what
he had seen, and the man asked him to wait there. He disappeared
into the tent.
Night fell, and an assortment of fighting men and merchants
entered and exited the tent. One by one, the campfires were
extinguished, and the oasis fell as quiet as the desert. Only the lights
in the great tent remained. During all this time, the boy thought
about Fatima, and he was still unable to understand his last
conversation with her.
Finally, after hours of waiting, the guard bade the boy enter. The
boy was astonished by what he saw inside. Never could he have
imagined that, there in the middle of the desert, there existed a tent
like this one. The ground was covered with the most beautiful
carpets he had ever walked upon, and from the top of the structure
hung lamps of handwrought gold, each with a lighted candle. The
tribal chieftains were seated at the back of the tent in a semicircle,
resting upon richly embroidered silk cushions. Servants came and
went with silver trays laden with spices and tea. Other servants
maintained the fires in the hookahs. The atmosphere was suffused
with the sweet scent of smoke.
There were eight chieftains, but the boy could see immediately
which of them was the most important: an Arab dressed in white
and gold, seated at the center of the semicircle. At his side was the
young Arab the boy had spoken with earlier.
“Who is this stranger who speaks of omens?” asked one of the
chieftains, eyeing the boy.
“It is I,” the boy answered. And he told what he had seen.
“Why would the desert reveal such things to a stranger, when it
knows that we have been here for generations?” said another of the
chieftains.
“Because my eyes are not yet accustomed to the desert,” the boy
said. “I can see things that eyes habituated to the desert might not
see.”
And also because I know about the Soul of the World, he thought
to himself.
“The oasis is neutral ground. No one attacks an oasis,” said a
third chieftain.
“I can only tell you what I saw. If you don’t want to believe me,
you don’t have to do anything about it.”
The men fell into an animated discussion. They spoke in an
Arabic dialect that the boy didn’t understand, but, when he made to
leave, the guard told him to stay. The boy became fearful; the omens
told him that something was wrong. He regretted having spoken to
the camel driver about what he had seen in the desert.
Suddenly, the elder at the center smiled almost imperceptibly,
and the boy felt better. The man hadn’t participated in the
discussion, and, in fact, hadn’t said a word up to that point. But the
boy was already used to the Language of the World, and he could
feel the vibrations of peace throughout the tent. Now his intuition
was that he had been right in coming.
The discussion ended. The chieftains were silent for a few
moments as they listened to what the old man was saying. Then he
turned to the boy: this time his expression was cold and distant.
“Two thousand years ago, in a distant land, a man who believed
in dreams was thrown into a dungeon and then sold as a slave,” the
old man said, now in the dialect the boy understood. “Our
merchants bought that man, and brought him to Egypt. All of us
know that whoever believes in dreams also knows how to interpret
them.”
</p>
<div>
<h5 class="pageNumber">Page 43</h5>
<a href="alchemist42.html" class="previous">« Previous</a>
<a href="alchemist44.html" class="next">Next »</a>
</div>
</div>
<!-- script -->
<script src="script.js"></script>
</body>
</html>