The alchemist Part one 13

He decided to return to his friend’s stable by the longest route
possible. As he walked past the city’s castle, he interrupted his
return, and climbed the stone ramp that led to the top of the wall.
From there, he could see Africa in the distance. Someone had once
told him that it was from there that the Moors had come, to occupy
all of Spain.
He could see almost the entire city from where he sat, including
the plaza where he had talked with the old man. Curse the moment I
met that old man, he thought. He had come to the town only to find a
woman who could interpret his dream. Neither the woman nor the
old man was at all impressed by the fact that he was a shepherd.
They were solitary individuals who no longer believed in things, and
didn’t understand that shepherds become attached to their sheep.
He knew everything about each member of his flock: he knew which
ones were lame, which one was to give birth two months from now,
and which were the laziest. He knew how to shear them, and how to
slaughter them. If he ever decided to leave them, they would suffer.
The wind began to pick up. He knew that wind: people called it the
levanter, because on it the Moors had come from the Levant at the
eastern end of the Mediterranean.
The levanter increased in intensity. Here I am, between my flock
and my treasure, the boy thought. He had to choose between
something he had become accustomed to and something he wanted
to have. There was also the merchant’s daughter, but she wasn’t as
important as his flock, because she didn’t depend on him. Maybe
she didn’t even remember him. He was sure that it made no
difference to her on which day he appeared: for her, every day was
the same, and when each day is the same as the next, it’s because
people fail to recognize the good things that happen in their lives
every day that the sun rises.