The Alchemist | Page 2

he would be back in that same village. He was excited, and at the
same time uneasy: maybe the girl had already forgotten him. Lots of shepherds passed through, selling
their wool.
"It doesn't matter," he said to his sheep. "I know other girls in other places."
But in his heart he knew that it did matter. And he knew that shepherds, like seamen and like traveling
salesmen, always found a town where there was someone who could make them forget the joys of
carefree wandering.

The day was dawning, and the shepherd urged his sheep in the direction of the sun. They never have to
make any decisions, he thought. Maybe that's why they always stay close to me.
The only things that concerned the sheep were food and water. As long as the boy knew how to find the
best pastures inAndalusia , they would be his friends. Yes, their days were all the same, with the
seemingly endless hours between sunrise and dusk; and they had never read a book in their young lives,
and didn't understand when the boy told them about the sights of the cities. They were content with just
food and water, and, in exchange, they generously gave of their wool, their company, and—once in a
while—their meat.
If I became a monster today, and decided to kill them, one by one, they would become aware only after
most of the flock had been slaughtered, thought the boy. They trust me, and they've forgotten how to rely
on their own instincts, because I lead them to nourishment.
The boy was surprised at his thoughts. Maybe the church, with the sycamore growing from within, had
been haunted. It had caused him to have the same dream for a second time, and it was causing him to
feel anger toward his faithful companions. He drank a bit from the wine that remained from his dinner of
the night before, and he gathered his jacket closer to his body. He knew that a few hours from now, with
the sun at its zenith, the heat would be so great that he would not be able to lead his flock across the
fields. It was the time of day when all ofSpain slept during the summer. The heat lasted until nightfall, and
all that time he had to carry his jacket. But when he thought to complain about the burden of its weight,
he remembered that, because he had the jacket, he had withstood the cold of the dawn.
We have to be prepared for change, he thought, and he was grateful for the jacket's weight and warmth.
The jacket had a purpose, and so did the boy. His purpose in life was to travel, and, after two years of
walking the Andalusian terrain, he knew all the cities of the region. He was planning, on this visit, to
explain to the girl how it was that a simple shepherd knew how to read. That he had attended a seminary
until he was sixteen. His parents had wanted him to become a priest, and thereby a source of pride for a
simple farm family. They worked hard just to have food and water, like the sheep. He had studied Latin,
Spanish, and theology. But ever since he had been a child, he had wanted to know the world, and this
was much more important to him than knowing God and learning about man's sins. One afternoon, on a
visit to his family, he had summoned up the courage to tell his father that he didn't want to become a
priest. That he wanted to travel.
*
"People from all over the world have passed through this village, son," said his father. "They come in
search of new things, but when they leave they are basically the same people they were when they
arrived. They climb the mountain to see the castle, and they wind up thinking that the past was better than
what we have now. They have blond hair, or dark skin, but basically they're the same as the people who
live right here."
"But I'd like to see the castles in the towns where they live," the boy explained.
"Those people, when they see our land, say that they would like to live here forever," his father
continued.
"Well, I'd like to see their land, and see how they live," said his son.

"The people who come here have a lot of money to spend, so they can afford to travel," his father said.
"Amongst us, the only ones who travel are the shepherds."
"Well, then I'll be a shepherd!"
His father said no more. The next day, he gave his son a pouch that held three ancient Spanish gold
coins.
"I found these one day in the fields. I wanted them to be a part of your inheritance. But use them to buy
your flock. Take to the fields, and someday you'll learn that our countryside is the best, and our