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<h6>Author</h6>
<h1>Paulo Coelho</h1>
<h6>Brazilian lyricist</h6>
<p id="paragraph">
The elder continued, “When the pharaoh dreamed of cows that
were thin and cows that were fat, this man I’m speaking of rescued
Egypt from famine. His name was Joseph. He, too, was a stranger in
a strange land, like you, and he was probably about your age.”
He paused, and his eyes were still unfriendly.
“We always observe the Tradition. The Tradition saved Egypt
from famine in those days, and made the Egyptians the wealthiest of
peoples. The Tradition teaches men how to cross the desert, and
how their children should marry. The Tradition says that an oasis is
neutral territory, because both sides have oases, and so both are
vulnerable.”
No one said a word as the old man continued.
“But the Tradition also says that we should believe the messages
of the desert. Everything we know was taught to us by the desert.”
The old man gave a signal, and everyone stood. The meeting was
over. The hookahs were extinguished, and the guards stood at
attention. The boy made ready to leave, but the old man spoke
again:
“Tomorrow, we are going to break the agreement that says that
no one at the oasis may carry arms. Throughout the entire day we
will be on the lookout for our enemies. When the sun sets, the men
will once again surrender their arms to me. For every ten dead men
among our enemies, you will receive a piece of gold.
“But arms cannot be drawn unless they also go into battle. Arms
are as capricious as the desert, and, if they are not used, the next
time they might not function. If at least one of them hasn’t been
used by the end of the day tomorrow, one will be used on you.”
When the boy left the tent, the oasis was illuminated only by the
light of the full moon. He was twenty minutes from his tent, and
began to make his way there.
He was alarmed by what had happened. He had succeeded in
reaching through to the Soul of the World, and now the price for
having done so might be his life. It was a frightening bet. But he had
been making risky bets ever since the day he had sold his sheep to
pursue his Personal Legend. And, as the camel driver had said, to
die tomorrow was no worse than dying on any other day. Every day
was there to be lived or to mark one’s departure from this world.
Everything depended on one word: “Maktub.”
Walking along in the silence, he had no regrets. If he died
tomorrow, it would be because God was not willing to change the
future. He would at least have died after having crossed the strait,
after having worked in a crystal shop, and after having known the
silence of the desert and Fatima’s eyes. He had lived every one of his
days intensely since he had left home so long ago. If he died
tomorrow, he would already have seen more than other shepherds,
and he was proud of that.
Suddenly he heard a thundering sound, and he was thrown to
the ground by a wind such as he had never known. The area was
swirling in dust so intense that it hid the moon from view. Before
him was an enormous white horse, rearing over him with a
frightening scream.
When the blinding dust had settled a bit, the boy trembled at
what he saw. Astride the animal was a horseman dressed
completely in black, with a falcon perched on his left shoulder. He
wore a turban and his entire face, except for his eyes, was covered
with a black kerchief. He appeared to be a messenger from the
desert, but his presence was much more powerful than that of a
mere messenger.
The strange horseman drew an enormous, curved sword from a
scabbard mounted on his saddle. The steel of its blade glittered in
the light of the moon.
“Who dares to read the meaning of the flight of the hawks?” he
demanded, so loudly that his words seemed to echo through the
fifty thousand palm trees of Al-Fayoum.
“It is I who dared to do so,” said the boy. He was reminded of the
image of Santiago Matamoros, mounted on his white horse, with the
infidels beneath his hooves. This man looked exactly the same,
except that now the roles were reversed.
“It is I who dared to do so,” he repeated, and he lowered his head
to receive a blow from the sword. “Many lives will be saved, because
I was able to see through to the Soul of the World.”
The sword didn’t fall. Instead, the stranger lowered it slowly,
until the point touched the boy’s forehead. It drew a droplet of
blood.
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<h5 class="pageNumber">Page 44</h5>
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