“But this payment goes well beyond my generosity,” the monk responded.
“Don’t say that again. Life might be listening, and give you less the next time.”
The alchemist turned to the boy. “This is for you. To make up for what you gave to the general.”
The boy was about to say that it was much more than he had given the general. But he kept quiet, because he had heard what the alchemist said to the monk.
“And this is for me,” said the alchemist, keeping one of the parts.
“Because I have to return to the desert, where there are tribal wars.”
He took the fourth part and handed it to the monk.
“This is for the boy. If he ever needs it.”
“But I’m going in search of my treasure,” the boy said. “I’m very close to it now.”
“And I’m certain you’ll find it,” the alchemist said.
“Then why this?”
“Because you have already lost your savings twice. Once to the thief, and once to the general. I’m an old, superstitious Arab, and I believe in our proverbs. There’s one that says, ‘Everything that happens once can never happen again. But everything that happens twice will surely happen a third time.’” They mounted their horses.
“I WANT TO TELL YOU A STORY ABOUT DREAMS,” SAID THE alchemist.
The boy brought his horse closer.
“In ancient Rome, at the time of Emperor Tiberius, there lived a good man who had two sons. One was in the military, and had been sent to the most distant regions of the empire. The other son was a poet, and delighted all of Rome with his beautiful verses.
“One night, the father had a dream. An angel appeared to him, and told him that the words of one of his sons would be learned and repeated throughout the world for all generations to come. The father woke from his dream grateful and crying, because life was generous, and had revealed to him something any father would be proud to know.
“Shortly thereafter, the father died as he tried to save a child who was about to be crushed by the wheels of a chariot. Since he had lived his entire life in a manner that was correct and fair, he went directly to heaven, where he met the angel that had appeared in his dream.
“‘You were always a good man,’ the angel said to him. ‘You lived your life in a loving way, and died with dignity. I can now grant you any wish you desire.’
“‘Life was good to me,’ the man said. ‘When you appeared in my dream, I felt that all my efforts had been rewarded, because my son’s poems will be read by men for generations to come. I don’t want anything for myself. But any father would be proud of the fame achieved by one whom he had cared for as a child, and educated as he grew up. Sometime in the distant future, I would like to see my son’s words.’
“The angel touched the man’s shoulder, and they were both projected far into the future. They were in an immense setting, surrounded by thousands of people speaking a strange language.
“The man wept with happiness.
“‘I knew that my son’s poems were immortal,’ he said to the angel through his tears. ‘Can you please tell me which of my son’s poems these people are repeating?’
“The angel came closer to the man, and, with tenderness, led him to a bench nearby, where they sat down.
“‘The verses of your son who was the poet were very popular in Rome,’ the angel said. ‘Everyone loved them and enjoyed them. But when the reign of Tiberius ended, his poems were forgotten. The words you’re hearing now are those of your son in the military.’
“The man looked at the angel in surprise.
“‘Your son went to serve at a distant place, and became a centurion. He was just and good. One afternoon, one of his servants fell ill, and it appeared that he would die. Your son had heard of a rabbi who was able to cure illnesses, and he rode out for days and days in search of this man. Along the way, he learned that the man he was seeking was the Son of God. He met others who had been cured by him, and they instructed your son in the man’s teachings.
And so, despite the fact that he was a Roman centurion, he converted to their faith. Shortly thereafter, he reached the place where the man he was looking for was visiting.’
“‘He told the man that one of his servants was gravely ill, and the rabbi made ready to go to his house with him. But the centurion was a man of faith, and, looking into the eyes of the rabbi, he knew that he was surely in the presence of the Son of God.’
“‘And this is what your son said,’ the angel told the man. ‘These are the words he said to the rabbi at that point, and they have never
been forgotten: “My Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under my roof. But only speak a word and my servant will be healed.””’
The alchemist said, “No matter what he does, every person on earth plays a central role in the history of the world. And normally he doesn’t know it.”
The boy smiled. He had never imagined that questions about life would be of such importance to a shepherd.
“Good-bye,” the alchemist said.
“Good-bye,” said the boy.
THE BOY RODE ALONG THROUGH THE DESERT FOR SEVERAL hours, listening avidly to what his heart had to say. It was his heart that would tell him where his treasure was hidden.
“Where your treasure is, there also will be your heart,” the alchemist had told him.
But his heart was speaking of other things. With pride, it told the story of a shepherd who had left his flock to follow a dream he had on two different occasions. It told of Personal Legend, and of the many men who had wandered in search of distant lands or beautiful women, confronting the people of their times with their preconceived notions. It spoke of journeys, discoveries, books, and change.
As he was about to climb yet another dune, his heart whispered,
“Be aware of the place where you are brought to tears. That’s where I am, and that’s where your treasure is.”
The boy climbed the dune slowly. A full moon rose again in the starry sky: it had been a month since he had set forth from the oasis.
