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| <!DOCTYPE html> | ||
| <html lang="en"> | ||
| <head> | ||
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| <title>the alchemist</title> | ||
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| </head> | ||
| <body> | ||
| <div class="container" > | ||
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| <button class="bookmark-button">Bookmark</button> | ||
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| </div> | ||
| <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. | ||
| </p> | ||
| <div> | ||
| <h5 class="pageNumber">Page 44</h5> | ||
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