He canceled all his commitments and pulled together the most important of his books,
and now here he was, sitting inside a dusty, smelly warehouse.
Outside, a huge caravan was being prepared for a crossing of the Sahara, and was scheduled to pass through Al-Fayoum.
I’m going to find that damned alchemist, the Englishman thought. And the odor of the animals became a bit more tolerable.
A young Arab, also loaded down with baggage, entered, and greeted the Englishman.
“Where are you bound?” asked the young Arab. “I’m going into the desert,” the man answered, turning back to his reading.
He didn’t want any conversation at this point. What he needed to do was review all he had learned over the years,
because the alchemist would certainly put him to the test.
The young Arab took out a book and began to read. The book was written in Spanish. That’s good, thought the Englishman.
He spoke Spanish better than Arabic, and, if this boy was going to Al- Fayoum,
there would be someone to talk to when there were no other important things to do.
“THAT’S STRANGE,” SAID THE BOY, AS HE TRIED ONCE again to read the burial scene that began the book.
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