"don't think about what you've left behind," the alchemist said to the boy as they began to ride across the sands of the desert. "everything is written in the soul of the world, and there it will stay forever."
"men dream more about coming home than about leaving," the boy said. he was already reaccustomed to desert's silence.
"if what one finds is made of pure matter, it will never spoil. and one can always come back. if what you had found was only a moment of light, like the explosion of a star, you would find nothing on your return."
the man was speaking the language of alchemy. but the boy knew that he was referring to fatima.
it was difficult not to think about what he had left behind. the desert, with its endless monotony, put him to dreaming. the boy could still see the palm trees, the wells, and the face of the woman he loved. he could see the englishman at his experiments, and the camel driver who was a teacher without realizing it. maybe the alchemist has never been in love, the boy thought.
the alchemist rode in front, with the falcon on his shoulder. the bird knew the language of the desert well, and whenever they stopped, he flew off in search of game. on the first day he returned with a rabbit, and on the second with two birds.
at night, they spread their sleeping gear and kept their fires hidden. the desert nights were cold, and were becoming darker and darker as the phases of the moon passed. they went on for a week, speaking only of the precautions they needed to follow in order to avoid the battles between the tribes. the war continued, and at times the wind carried the sweet, sickly smell of blood. battles had been fought nearby, and the wind reminded the boy that there was the language of omens, always ready to show him what his eyes had failed to observe.
on the seventh day, the alchemist decided to make camp earlier than usual. the falcon flew off to find game, and the alchemist offered his water container to the boy.
"you are almost at the end of your journey," said the alchemist. "i congratulate you for having pursued your destiny."
"and you've told me nothing along the way," said the boy. "i thought you were going to teach me some of the things you know. a while ago, i rode through the desert with a man who had books on alchemy. but i wasn't able to learn anything from them."
"there is only one way to learn," the alchemist answered. "it's through action. everything you need to know you have learned through your journey. you need to learn only one thing more."
the boy wanted to know what that was, but the alchemist was searching the horizon, looking for the falcon.
"why are you called the alchemist?"
"because that's what i am."
"and what went wrong when other alchemists tried to make gold and were unable to do so?"
"they were looking only for gold," his companion answered. "they were seeking the treasure of their destiny, without wanting actually to live out the destiny."
"what is it that i still need to know?" the boy asked.
but the alchemist continued to look to the horizon. and finally the falcon returned with their meal. they dug a hole and lit their fire in it, so that the light of the flames would not be seen.
