the boy went to his room and packed his belongings. they filled three sacks. as he was leaving, he saw, in the corner of the room, his old shepherd's pouch. it was bunched up, and he had hardly thought of it for a long time. as he took his jacket out of the pouch, thinking to give it to someone in the street, the two stones fell to the floor. urim and thummim.
it made the boy think of the old king, and it startled him to realize how long it had been since he had thought of him. for nearly a year, he had been working incessantly, thinking only of putting aside enough money so that he could return to spain with pride.
"never stop dreaming," the old king had said. "follow the omens."
the boy picked up urim and thummim, and, once again, had the strange sensation that the old king was nearby. he had worked hard for a year, and the omens were that it was time to go.
i'm going to go back to doing just what i did before, the boy thought. even though the sheep didn't teach me to speak arabic.
but the sheep had taught him something even more important: that there was a language in the world that everyone understood, a language the boy had used throughout the time that he was trying to improve things at the shop. it was the language of enthusiasm, of things accomplished with love and purpose, and as part of a search for something believed in and desired. tangier was no longer a strange city, and he felt that, just as he had conquered this place, he could conquer the world.
"when you want something, all the universe conspires to help you achieve it," the old king had said.
but the old king hadn't said anything about being robbed, or about endless deserts, or about people who know what their dreams are but don't want to realize them. the old king hadn't told him that the pyramids were just a pile of stones, or that anyone could build one in his backyard. and he had forgotten to mention that, when you have enough money to buy a flock larger than the one you had before, you should buy it.
the boy picked up his pouch and put it with his other things. he went down the stairs and found the merchant waiting on a foreign couple, while two other customers walked about the shop, drinking tea from crystal glasses. it was more activity than usual for this time of the morning. from where he stood, he saw for the first time that the old merchant's hair was very much like the hair of the old king. he remembered the smile of the candy seller, on his first day in tangier, when he had nothing to eat and nowhere to go—that smile had also been like the old king's smile.
it's almost as if he had been here and left his mark, he thought. and yet, none of these people has ever met the old king. on the other hand, he said that he always appeared to help those who are trying to realize their destiny.
he left without saying good-bye to the crystal merchant. he didn't want to cry with the other people there. he was going to miss the place and all the good things he had learned. he was more confident in himself, though, and felt as though he could conquer the world.
"but i'm going back to the fields that i know, to take care of my flock again." he said that to himself with certainty, but he was no longer happy with his decision. he had worked for an entire year to make a dream come true, and that dream, minute by minute, was becoming less important. maybe because that wasn't really his dream.
who knows… maybe it's better to be like the crystal merchant: never go to mecca, and just go through life wanting to do so, he thought, again trying to convince himself. but as he held urim and thummim in his hand, they had transmitted to him the strength and will of the old king. by coincidence—or maybe it was an omen, the boy thought—he came to the bar he had entered on his first day there. the thief wasn't there, and the owner brought him a cup of tea.
i can always go back to being a shepherd, the boy thought. i learned how to care for sheep, and i haven't forgotten how that's done. but maybe i'll never have another chance to get to the pyramids in egypt. the old man wore a breastplate of gold, and he knew about my past. he really was a king, a wise king.
the hills of andalusia were only two hours away, but there was an entire desert between him and the pyramids. yet the boy felt that there was another way to regard his situation: he was actually two hours closer to his treasure… the fact that the two hours had stretched into an entire year didn't matter.
i know why i want to get back to my flock, he thought. i understand sheep; they're no longer a problem, and they can be good friends. on the other hand, i don't know if the desert can be a friend, and it's in the desert that i have to search for my treasure. if i don't find it, i can always go home. i finally have enough money, and all the time i need. why not?
he suddenly felt tremendously happy. he could always go back to being a shepherd. he could always become a crystal salesman again. maybe the world had other hidden treasures, but he had a dream, and he had met with a king. that doesn't happen to just anyone!
he was planning as he left the bar. he had remembered that one of the crystal merchant's suppliers transported his crystal by means of caravans that crossed the desert. he held urim and thummim in his hand; because of those two stones, he was once again on the way to his treasure.
"i am always nearby, when someone wants to realize their destiny," the old king had told him.
what could it cost to go over to the supplier's warehouse and find out if the pyramids were really that far away?
the englishman was sitting on a bench in a structure that smelled of animals, sweat, and dust; it was part warehouse, part corral. i never thought i'd end up in a place like this, he thought, as he leafed through the pages of a chemical journal. ten years at the university, and here i am in a corral.
but he had to move on. he believed in omens. all his life and all his studies were aimed at finding the one true language of the universe. first he had studied esperanto, then the world's religions, and now it was alchemy. he knew how to speak esperanto, he understood all the major religions well, but he wasn't yet an alchemist. he had unraveled the truths behind important questions, but his studies had taken him to a point beyond which he could not seem to go. he had tried in vain to establish a relationship with an alchemist. but the alchemists were strange people, who thought only about themselves, and almost always refused to help him. who knows, maybe they had failed to discover the secret of the master work—the philosopher's stone—and for this reason kept their knowledge to themselves.
he had already spent much of the fortune left to him by his father, fruitlessly seeking the philosopher's stone. he had spent enormous amounts of time at the great libraries of the world, and had purchased all the rarest and most important volumes on alchemy. in one he had read that, many years ago, a famous arabian alchemist had visited europe. it was said that he was more than two hundred years old, and that he had discovered the philosopher's stone and the elixir of life. the englishman had been profoundly impressed by the story. but he would never have thought it more than just a myth, had not a friend of his—returning from an archaeological expedition in the desert—told him about an arab that was possessed of exceptional powers.
"he lives at the al-fayoum oasis," his friend had said. "and people say that he is two hundred years old, and is able to transform any metal into gold."
the englishman could not contain his excitement. he canceled all his commitments and pulled together the most important of his books, and now here he was, sitting inside a dusty, smelly warehouse. outside, a huge caravan was being prepared for a crossing of the sahara, and was scheduled to pass through al-fayoum.
i'm going to find that damned alchemist, the englishman thought. and the odor of the animals became a bit more tolerable.
a young arab, also loaded down with baggage, entered, and greeted the englishman.
"where are you bound?" asked the young arab.
"i'm going into the desert," the man answered, turning back to his reading. he didn't want any conversation at this point. what he needed to do was review all he had learned over the years, because the alchemist would certainly put him to the test.
the young arab took out a book and began to read. the book was written in spanish. that's good, thought the englishman. he spoke spanish better than arabic, and, if this boy was going to al-fayoum, there would be someone to talk to when there were no other important things to do.
"that's strange," said the boy, as he tried once again to read the burial scene that began the book. "i've been trying for two years to read this book, and i never get past these first few pages." even without a king to provide an interruption, he was unable to concentrate.
he still had some doubts about the decision he had made. but he was able to understand one thing: making a decision was only the beginning of things. when someone makes a decision, he is really diving into a strong current that will carry him to places he had never dreamed of when he first made the decision.
when i decided to seek out my treasure, i never imagined that i'd wind up working in a crystal shop, he thought. and joining this caravan may have been my decision, but where it goes is going to be a mystery to me.
nearby was the englishman, reading a book. he seemed unfriendly, and had looked irritated when the boy had entered. they might even have become friends, but the englishman closed off the conversation.
the boy closed his book. he felt that he didn't want to do anything that might make him look like the englishman. he took urim and thummim from his pocket, and began playing with them.
the stranger shouted, "urim and thummim!"
in a flash the boy put them back in his pocket.
"they're not for sale," he said.
"they're not worth much," the englishman answered. "they're only made of rock crystal, and there are millions of rock crystals in the earth. but those who know about such things would know that those are urim and thummim. i didn't know that they had them in this part of the world."
"they were given to me as a present by a king," the boy said.
the stranger didn't answer; instead, he put his hand in his pocket, and took out two stones that were the same as the boy's.
"did you say a king?" he asked.
"i guess you don't believe that a king would talk to someone like me, a shepherd," he said, wanting to end the conversation.
"not at all. it was shepherds who were the first to recognize a king that the rest of the world refused to acknowledge. so, it's not surprising that kings would talk to shepherds."
and he went on, fearing that the boy wouldn't understand what he was talking about, "it's in the bible. the same book that taught me about urim and thummim. these stones were the only form of divination permitted by god. the priests carried them in a golden breastplate."
the boy was suddenly happy to be there at the warehouse.
"maybe this is an omen," said the englishman, half aloud.
"who told you about omens?" the boy's interest was increasing by the moment.
"everything in life is an omen," said the englishman, now closing the journal he was reading. "there is a universal language, understood by everybody, but already forgotten. i am in search of that universal language, among other things. that's why i'm here. i have to find a man who knows that universal language. an alchemist."
the conversation was interrupted by the warehouse boss.
"you're in luck, you two," the fat arab said. "there's a caravan leaving today for al-fayoum."
"but i'm going to egypt," the boy said.
"al-fayoum is in egypt," said the arab. "what kind of arab are you?"
"that's a good luck omen," the englishman said, after the fat arab had gone out. "if i could, i'd write a huge encyclopedia just about the words luck and coincidence. it's with those words that the universal language is written.''
he told the boy it was no coincidence that he had met him with urim and thummim in his hand. and he asked the boy if he, too, were in search of the alchemist.
"i'm looking for a treasure," said the boy, and he immediately regretted having said it. but the englishman appeared not to attach any importance to it.
"in a way, so am i," he said.
"i don't even know what alchemy is," the boy was saying, when the warehouse boss called to them to come outside.
"i'm the leader of the caravan," said a dark-eyed, bearded man. "i hold the power of life and death for every person i take with me. the desert is a capricious lady, and sometimes she drives men crazy."
there were almost two hundred people gathered there, and four hundred animals—camels, horses, mules, and fowl. in the crowd were women, children, and a number of men with swords at their belts and rifles slung on their shoulders. the englishman had several suitcases filled with books. there was a babble of noise, and the leader had to repeat himself several times for everyone to understand what he was saying.
"there are a lot of different people here, and each has his own god. but the only god i serve is allah, and in his name i swear that i will do everything possible once again to win out over the desert. but i want each and every one of you to swear by the god you believe in that you will follow my orders no matter what. in the desert, disobedience means death."
there was a murmur from the crowd. each was swearing quietly to his or her own god. the boy swore to jesus christ. the englishman said nothing. and the murmur lasted longer than a simple vow would have. the people were also praying to heaven for protection.
a long note was sounded on a bugle, and everyone mounted up. the boy and the englishman had bought camels, and climbed uncertainly onto their backs. the boy felt sorry for the englishman's camel, loaded down as he was with the cases of books.
"there's no such thing as coincidence," said the englishman, picking up the conversation where it had been interrupted in the warehouse. "i'm here because a friend of mine heard of an arab who…"
but the caravan began to move, and it was impossible to hear what the englishman was saying. the boy knew what he was about to describe, though: the mysterious chain that links one thing to another, the same chain that had caused him to become a shepherd, that had caused his recurring dream, that had brought him to a city near africa, to find a king, and to be robbed in order to meet a crystal merchant, and…
the closer one gets to realizing his destiny, the more that destiny becomes his true reason for being, thought the boy.
the caravan moved toward the east. it traveled during the morning, halted when the sun was at its strongest, and resumed late in the afternoon. the boy spoke very little with the englishman, who spent most of his time with his books.
the boy observed in silence the progress of the animals and people across the desert. now everything was quite different from how it was that day they had set out: then, there had been confusion and shouting, the cries of children and the whinnying of animals, all mixed with the nervous orders of the guides and the merchants.
but, in the desert, there was only the sound of the eternal wind, and of the hoofbeats of the animals. even the guides spoke very little to one another.
"i've crossed these sands many times," said one of the camel drivers one night. "but the desert is so huge, and the horizons so distant, that they make a person feel small, and as if he should remain silent."
