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<!DOCTYPE html>
<html lang="en">
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<meta http-equiv="X-UA-Compatible" content="IE=edge">
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<title>the alchemist</title>
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<body>
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<h6>Author</h6>
<h1>Paulo Coelho</h1>
<h6>Brazilian lyricist</h6>
<p id="paragraph">
The boy took them to the cliff where he had been on the
previous day. He told them all to be seated.
“It’s going to take awhile,” the boy said.
“We’re in no hurry,” the chief answered. “We are men of the
desert.”
The boy looked out at the horizon. There were mountains in the
distance. And there were dunes, rocks, and plants that insisted on
living where survival seemed impossible. There was the desert that
he had wandered for so many months; despite all that time, he knew
only a small part of it. Within that small part, he had found an
Englishman, caravans, tribal wars, and an oasis with fifty thousand
palm trees and three hundred wells.
“What do you want here today?” the desert asked him. “Didn’t
you spend enough time looking at me yesterday?”
“Somewhere you are holding the person I love,” the boy said.
“So, when I look out over your sands, I am also looking at her. I want
to return to her, and I need your help so that I can turn myself into
the wind.”
“What is love?” the desert asked.
“Love is the falcon’s flight over your sands. Because for him, you
are a green field, from which he always returns with game. He
knows your rocks, your dunes, and your mountains, and you are
generous to him.”
“The falcon’s beak carries bits of me, myself,” the desert said.
“For years, I care for his game, feeding it with the little water that I
have, and then I show him where the game is. And, one day, as I
enjoy the fact that his game thrives on my surface, the falcon dives
out of the sky, and takes away what I’ve created.”
“But that’s why you created the game in the first place,” the boy
answered. “To nourish the falcon. And the falcon then nourishes
man. And, eventually, man will nourish your sands, where the game
will once again flourish. That’s how the world goes.”
“So is that what love is?”
“Yes, that’s what love is. It’s what makes the game become the
falcon, the falcon become man, and man, in his turn, the desert. It’s
what turns lead into gold, and makes the gold return to the earth.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” the desert said.
“But you can at least understand that somewhere in your sands
there is a woman waiting for me. And that’s why I have to turn
myself into the wind.”
The desert didn’t answer him for a few moments.
Then it told him, “I’ll give you my sands to help the wind to blow,
but, alone, I can’t do anything. You have to ask for help from the
wind.”
A breeze began to blow. The tribesmen watched the boy from a
distance, talking among themselves in a language that the boy
couldn’t understand.
The alchemist smiled.
The wind approached the boy and touched his face. It knew of
the boy’s talk with the desert, because the winds know everything.
They blow across the world without a birthplace, and with no place
to die.
“Help me,” the boy said. “One day you carried the voice of my
loved one to me.”
“Who taught you to speak the language of the desert and the
wind?”
“My heart,” the boy answered.
</p>
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<h5 class="pageNumber">Page 55</h5>
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