So there were times when he read them parts of his books that had made an impression on him, or when he would tell them of the loneliness or the happiness of a shepherd in the fields. He had always believed that the sheep were able to understand what he said. The boy prodded them, one by one, with his crook, calling each by name. Thinking about that for a moment, he realized that it could be the other way around: that it was he who had become accustomed to their schedule.īut there were certain of them who took a bit longer to awaken. “They are so used to me that they know my schedule,” he muttered. It was as if some mysterious energy bound his life to that of the sheep, with whom he had spent the past two years, leading them through the countryside in search of food and water. He had noticed that, as soon as he awoke, most of his animals also began to stir.

He arose and, taking up his crook, began to awaken the sheep that still slept. He had had the same dream that night as a week ago, and once again he had awakened before it ended. I wanted to sleep a little longer, he thought. It was still dark when he awoke, and, looking up, he could see the stars through the half-destroyed roof. He told himself that he would have to start reading thicker books: they lasted longer and made more comfortable pillows. He swept the floor with his jacket and lay down, using the book he had just finished reading as a pillow. There were no wolves in the region, but once an animal had strayed during the night, and the boy had had to spend the entire next day searching for it. He saw to it that all the sheep entered through the ruined gate, and then laid some planks across it to prevent the flock from wandering away during the night. The roof had fallen in long ago, and an enormous sycamore had grown on the spot where the sacristy had once stood. DUSK WAS FALLING AS the boy arrived with his herd at an abandoned church.

The alchemist book