The Alchemist | Page 3

women
the most beautiful."
And he gave the boy his blessing. The boy could see in his father's gaze a desire to be able, himself, to
travel the world—a desire that was still alive, despite his father's having had to bury it, over dozens of
years, under the burden of struggling for water to drink, food to eat, and the same place to sleep every
night of his life.
*
The horizon was tinged with red, and suddenly the sun appeared. The boy thought back to that
conversation with his father, and felt happy; he had already seen many castles and met many women (but
none the equal of the one who awaited him several days hence). He owned a jacket, a book that he
could trade for another, and a flock of sheep. But, most important, he was able every day to live out his
dream. If he were to tire of the Andalusian fields, he could sell his sheep and go to sea. By the time he
had had enough of the sea, he would already have known other cities, other women, and other chances
to be happy. I couldn't have found God in the seminary, he thought, as he looked at the sunrise.
Whenever he could, he sought out a new road to travel. He had never been to that ruined church before,
in spite of having traveled through those parts many times. The world was huge and inexhaustible; he had
only to allow his sheep to set the route for a while, and he would discover other interesting things. The
problem is that they don't even realize that they're walking a new road every day. They don't see that the
fields are new and the seasons change. All they think about is food and water.
Maybe we're all that way, the boy mused. Even me—I haven't thought of other women since I met the
merchant's daughter. Looking at the sun, he calculated that he would reach Tarifa before midday. There,
he could exchange his book for a thicker one, fill his wine bottle, shave, and have a haircut; he had to
prepare himself for his meeting with the girl, and he didn't want to think about the possibility that some
other shepherd, with a larger flock of sheep, had arrived there before him and asked for her hand.
It's the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting, he thought, as he looked again
at the position of the sun, and hurried his pace. He had suddenly remembered that, in Tarifa, there was an
old woman who interpreted dreams.
*
The old woman led the boy to a room at the back of her house; it was separated from her living room by
a curtain of colored beads. The room's furnishings consisted of a table, an image of the Sacred Heart of
Jesus, and two chairs.
The woman sat down, and told him to be seated as well. Then she took both of his hands in hers, and
began quietly to pray.

It sounded like a Gypsy prayer. The boy had already had experience on the road with Gypsies; they
also traveled, but they had no flocks of sheep. People said that Gypsies spent their lives tricking others. It
was also said that they had a pact with the devil, and that they kidnapped children and, taking them away
to their mysterious camps, made them their slaves. As a child, the boy had always been frightened to
death that he would be captured by Gypsies, and this childhood fear returned when the old woman took
his hands in hers.
But she has the Sacred Heart of Jesus there, he thought, trying to reassure himself. He didn't want his
hand to begin trembling, showing the old woman that he was fearful. He recited an Our Father silently.
"Very interesting," said the woman, never taking her eyes from the boy's hands, and then she fell silent.
The boy was becoming nervous. His hands began to tremble, and the woman sensed it. He quickly
pulled his hands away.
"I didn't come here to have you read my palm," he said, already regretting having come. He thought for a
moment that it would be better to pay her fee and leave without learning a thing, that he was giving too
much importance to his recurrent dream.
"You came so that you could learn about your dreams," said the old woman. "And dreams are the
language of God. When he speaks in our language, I can interpret what he has said. But if he speaks in
the language of the soul, it is only you who can understand. But, whichever it is, I'm going to charge you
for the consultation."
Another trick, the boy thought. But he decided to take a chance. A shepherd always takes his chances
with wolves and with drought, and that's what makes a shepherd's life exciting.
"I have had the same dream twice," he said. "I dreamed that I was