Read Online The Pilgrimage by Paulo Coelho - Free Book Online

boy.
    I looked at the small figure two meters away from me. I sensed that there was something
     familiar about him. It was the same feeling I had about the gypsy.
    The lad asked for the ball several times, and when he got no response from me, he bent
     down and picked up a stone.
    Give me the ball, or Ill throw a stone at you, he said.
    Petrus and the other boy were watching me silently. The boys aggressiveness irritated me.
    Throw the stone, I answered. If it hits me, Ill come over there and whack you one.
    I sensed that Petrus gave a sigh of relief. Something in the back of my mind told me that
     I had already lived through this scene.
    The boy was frightened by what I said. He let the stone fall and tried a different
     approach.
    Theres a relic here in Puente de la Reina. It used to belong to a rich pilgrim. I see by
     your shell and your knapsack that you are pilgrims. If you give me my ball, Ill give you
     the relic. Its hidden in the sand here along the river.
    I want to keep the ball, I answered, without much conviction. Actually, I wanted the
     relic. The boy seemed to be telling the truth. But maybe Petrus needed the ball for some
     reason, and I didnt want to disappoint him. He was my guide.
    Look, Mister, you dont need the ball, the boy said, now with tears in his eyes. Youre
     strong, and youve been around, and you know the world. All I know is the edge of this
     river, and that ball is my only toy. Please give it back.
    The boys words got to me. But the strangely familiar surroundings and my feeling that I
     had already read about or lived through the situation made me refuse again.
    No, I need the ball. Ill give you enough money to buy another one, even better than this
     one, but this one is mine.
    When I said that, time seemed to stop. The sur- roundings began to change, even without
     Petruss finger at my neck; for a fraction of a second, it seemed that we had been
     transported to a broad, terrifying, ashen desert. Neither Petrus nor the other boy was
     there, just myself and the boy in front of me. He was old, and his features were kinder
     and friendlier. But there was a light in his eyes that frightened me.
    The vision didnt last more than a second. Then I was back at Puente de la Reina, where the
     many Roads to Santiago, coming from all over Europe, became one. There in front of me, a
     boy was asking for his ball, with a sweet, sad look in his eye.
    Petrus approached me, took the ball from my hand, and gave it to the boy.
    Where is the relic hidden? he asked the boy.
    What relic? he said, as he grabbed his friends hand, jumped away, and threw himself into
     the water.
    We climbed the bank and crossed the bridge. I began to ask questions about what had
     happened, and I described my vision of the desert, but Petrus changed the subject and said
     that we should talk about it when we had traveled further from that spot.
    Half an hour later, we came to a stretch of the Road that still showed vestiges of Roman
     paving. Here was another bridge, this one in ruins, and we sat down to have the breakfast
     that had been given to us by the monks: rye bread, yogurt, and goats cheese.
    Why did you want the kids ball? Petrus asked me.
    I told him that I hadnt wanted the ball that I had acted that way because Petrus himself
     had behaved so strangely, as if the ball were very important to him.
    In fact, it was. It allowed you to win out over your personal devil.
    My personal devil? This was the most ridiculous thing I had heard during the entire trip.
     I had spent six days coming and going in the Pyrenees, I had met a sorcerer priest who had
     performed no sorcery, and my finger was raw meat because every time I had a cruel thought
     about myself from hypochondria, to feelings of guilt, to an inferiority complex I had to
     dig my fingernail into my wounded thumb. But about one thing Petrus was right: my negative
     thinking had diminished considerably. Still, this story about having a