prologue

"Something that is of great importance to me?" J. thought

for a few moments before responding. "Magic."

"No, something else," Paulo insisted.

"Women," J. said. "Magic and women."

Paulo laughed.

"They're important to me, too," he said. "Although

marriage has slowed me down a bit."

It was J.'s turn to laugh.

"A bit," he said. "Just a bit."

Paulo filled his master's glass with wine. It had been four

months since they had seen each other, and this was a quite

special night. Paulo wanted to talk for a while longer, build the

suspense, before giving J. the package he had brought.

"I used to imagine the great masters as people who were far

removed from the world," he said to J. "If you had answered

me that way a few years ago, I think I would have abandoned

my apprenticeship."

"You should have done that," J. said, sipping at his wine.

"And I would have found a beautiful woman disciple to take

your place."

They drank the entire bottle of wine as they sat talking in

the restaurant located on the top floor of J.'s hotel. They spoke

of work, magic, and women. J. was euphoric about the huge

contract he had just negotiated for the Dutch multinational for

which he worked. And Paulo was excited about the package he

had brought with him.

"Let's have another bottle," Paulo said.

"In honor of what?"

"Your coming to Rio de Janeiro…. The beautiful view from

the window over there…. And the present I've brought you."

J. looked out the window to see Copacabana beach

sparkling below. "The view deserves a toast," he said,

signaling to the waiter.

When they were halfway through the second bottle, Paulo

placed the package on the table.

Looking at J., he said, "If you were to ask me what is

important to me, I would say: my master. It was he who taught

me to understand that love is the only thing that never fails. He

who had the patience to lead me along the intricate paths of

magic. He who had the courage and dignity, despite his

powers, to present himself always as a person with some

doubts and with certain weaknesses. He who helped me to

understand the forces that can transform our lives."

"We've had a lot of wine," J. said. "I don't want to get

serious."

"I'm not talking about serious things. I'm talking about

joyful things. I'm talking about love."

He pushed the package to J.'s side of the table. "Open it."

"What is his?"

"A way of saying thank you. And of passing on to others

all the love you taught me."

J. opened the package. It contained almost two hundred

typed pages, on the first of which was written "The

Alchemist."

Paulo's eyes were gleaming.

"It's a new book," he said. "Look at the next page."

There was an inscription written in longhand: "For J., the

alchemist who knows and uses the secrets of the Great Work."

Paulo had anxiously awaited this moment. He had been

able to keep completely secret the fact that he was writing a

new book, even though he knew that J. had really liked his

previous book.

"This is the original manuscript," Paulo continued. "I'd like

you to read it before I send it to the publisher."

He tried to read the expression in his master's eyes, but

they were impenetrable.

"I have meetings all day tomorrow, J. said, "so I'll be able

to read it only at night. Let's have lunch two days from now."

Paulo had been expecting a different reaction. He thought

that J. would be happy, and moved by the inscription.

"Let's do that," said Paulo, hiding his disappointment. "I'll

be back in two days."

J. called for the check. They walked silently to the elevator.

J. pushed the button for the eleventh floor.

When the elevator stopped at his floor, J. pushed the

Emergency button to hold the door open. Then he approached

Paulo and said, "May the Lamb of God protect you," making a

sign on the forehead of his disciple.

Paulo embraced his master and said good night. Resetting

the button, J. stepped out of the elevator.

"Why didn't you make copies of the original?" he asked, as

the door began to close.

"In order to give God the chance to make it disappear, if

that was his will."

"Wise decision," Paulo heard J. say as the door closed. "I

hope that the literary critics never discover where it is."

They met two days later, at the same restaurant.

J. began, "There are certain secrets of alchemy described in

your book. Secrets I never discussed with you. And you

presented them quite correctly."

Paulo was delighted. This was just what he wanted to hear.

"Well, I've been studying," he explained.

"No, you haven't been studying," J. said. "Yet what you've

written about is correct."

"I can't fool him," Paulo thought. "I'd like him to think I'm

dedicated, but I can't fool him."

He looked outside. The sun was glaring, and the beach was

crowded.

"What do you see in that immense sky?" J. asked.

"Clouds."

"No," J. said. "You see the soul of the rivers. Rivers that

have just been reborn in the sea. They will rise to the sky, and

remain there until, for whatever reason, they once again

become rain and fall to earth.

"The rivers return to the mountains, but carry with them the

wisdom of the sea."

J. poured himself some mineral water. He didn't usually

drink during the day.

"That is how you discovered those secrets we had never

discussed, J. said. "You are a river. You have already run down

to the sea, and you know its wisdom. You have died and been

reborn many times. All you have to do is remember."

Paulo was happy. It was a kind of praise: His master said

that he had "discovered secrets." But he was unable to ask

openly which secrets they were.

"I have a new task for you," J. said. Silently, he thought, It

has to do with your book. Because I know it's very important

to you, and it doesn't deserve to be destroyed. But Paulo didn't

need to hear about that.

One week later, J. and Paulo walked together through the

airport. Paulo wanted to know more about the task that his

master had assigned him the week before, but J. carefully

avoided conversation. They sat down at a table in the cafeteria.

"We were able to have dinner together only twice during

my stay here in Rio," J. began, "and this is our third. It's in

observance of the saying 'Anything that occurs once can never

occur again. But, should it happen twice, it will surely happen

a third time.'"

J. was trying to avoid the subject, but Paulo persevered. He

knew now that his master had liked the book's dedication

because he had overheard a conversation between J. and the

receptionist at the hotel. And later, one of J.'s friends had

referred to Paulo as "the book's author."

He must have told a number of people about it—there was,

after all, only one copy of the original. Vanity of vanities, he

said to himself. He thanked God for having given him a master

so human.

"I want to ask you about the task," Paulo said once again.

"I don't want to ask 'how' or 'where,', because I know you

won't tell me."

"Well, that's one thing you've learned in all this time," J.

laughed.

"In one of our conversations," Paulo continued, "you told

me about a man named Gene, who was able to do what you

are now asking of me. I'm going to look for him."

"Did I give you his address?"

"You mentioned that he lived in the United States, in the

California desert. It shouldn't be too hard to get there."

"No, it isn't."

As they spoke, Paulo became aware that the voice on the

public address system was continually announcing flight

departures. He began to feel tense, fearing there wouldn't be

enough time to complete their conversation.

"Even though I don't want to know 'how' or 'where,' you

taught me that there is a question we should always ask as we

undertake something. I'm asking you that question now: Why?

Why must I do this?"

"Because people always kill the things they love," J.

replied.

As Paulo pondered the mystery of this answer, once again

he heard a departure announced.

"That's my plane," J. said. "I have to go."

"But I don't understand your answer to my question."

Asking Paulo to pay the bill, J. quickly wrote something on

a paper napkin.

Placing the napkin on the table in front of his disciple, J.

said, "During the last century, a man wrote about what I've

just said to you. But it's been true for many generations."

Paulo picked up the napkin. For a fraction of a second, he

thought it might contain a magic formula. But it was a verse

from a poem.

And each man kills the thing he loves,

By all let this be heard,

Some do it with a bitter look,

Some with a flattering word,

The coward does it with a kiss,

The brave man with a sword.

The waiter came with the change, but Paulo didn't notice.

He couldn't stop looking at those terrible words.

"And so, the task," J. said after a long silence. "It's needed

to break that curse."

"One way or another," Paulo said slowly, "I have wound up

destroying what I've loved. I've seen my dreams fall apart just

when I seemed about to achieve them. I always thought that

was just the way life was. My life and everyone else's."

"The curse can be broken," J. repeated, "if you complete

the task."

They walked through the noisy airport in silence. J. was

thinking about the books that his disciple had written. He

thought about Chris, Paulo's wife. He knew that Paulo was

being drawn toward the magical initiation that appears at one

time or another in everyone's life.

He knew that Paulo was on the brink of seeing one of his

greatest dreams realized.

And this meant danger, because J.'s disciple was like all

human beings: He was going to find that he did not necessarilydeserve all that he had received.

But he didn't tell Paulo any of this.

"The women of your country are beautiful," J. said with a

smile, as they arrived at the passport control line. "I hope I can

come back."

But Paulo spoke seriously.

"So that's what the task is for," he said, as his master

handed over his passport for stamping. "To break the curse."

And J. answered, just as seriously. "It's for love. For

victory. And for the glory of God."