The Alchemist: the Return of the FWB

     Paulo Coehlo's The Alchemist is a beautiful, if compact, parable of a young man named Santiago on a quest to fulfill his Personal Legend. I fell in love with the book, which I read upon arrival in France two years ago, in my second language, as I figured that like coffee, the work would have to be filtered through translation no matter if I read it in English or French. The message of the book, however, is too powerful to be lost in translation. Whenever I read, I have a tendency to take the side of--or at least identify with--a certain character. My favorite character is--I must admit--not Santiago, but the young, enigmatic woman Fatima, the maiden of the desert oasis. When she and Santiago meet, Coehlo writes:

It was the pure language of the World. It required no explanation, just as the universe need none as it travels through endless time. What the boy felt at that moment was that he was in the presence of the only woman in his life, and that, with no need for words, she recognized the same thing. He was more certain of it than anything in the world...

And when two such people encounter each other, and their eyes meet, the past and the future become unimportant. There is only that moment, and the incredible certainty that everything under the sun has been written by one hand only. It is the hand that evokes love, and creates a twin soul for every person in the world. Without such love, one's dreams would have no meaning.


Fatima and Santiago fall in love, but she realizes she cannot hold Santiago from his dreams. She must let him go on his quest, and so she lets him go, knowing that if he is to return to her and it is mean to be, he will return. She says to him ¨If I am really a part of your dream, you'll come back one day.¨

     For the past year, I have been Fatima. Or at least hoped and thought I have been Fatima. It is one of my strongest held core beliefs that if you love someone, you set them free. If they really love you and are meant to return to you, they will, and if they do not, it clearly was not in the cards. It was with this mentality that I said goodbye to French Wine Baron twelve months ago, assuming that I would never see him again in my life. I said goodbye, wished him well, and told him to read The Alchemist on his eleven month Masters degree quest, that he would understand why I recommended this after reading it. I was convinced I would never, ever lay eyes on him again.

     Until last night.

*  *  * 

      I was running late and sent FWB a text to push our rendez-vous back to 8 pm. He replied ¨no problem, be there at 8 o'clock sharp!¨

      Eight o'clock sharp meant 7h30 and as I rushed to make myself pretty and put away things in my studio, I got a text from him saying he was outside that I didn't see until fifteen minutes later, at 7h45, when I burst through the front door to my building and shot a glance left and didn't see him. I panicked. Then I looked right. There he was, in the dim, setting light of autumn, looking the same as he did the first time I saw him, with his brown hair and blue eyes and vibrant smile. 

        We bise'd and he followed me to my place and I felt my heart drop. Having him there, a mere few feet from me, was surreal. He was carrying a special case to transport wine, and he culled a dark bottle from one of its six slots. He explained it had been with him all over the world as he bought wine from other countries. Then he handed me a bottle of Côtes du Rhône from Bernard Latour and two wine glasses from his village, both gifts. We opened  the wine and poured it into the glasses and started drinking and talking. He wasn't the only one with presents. In return I gave him the book on California Wine Country I'd bought him in the states in December of 2011,  a book I had brought back with me to France, and had intended to give to him before he hit the California portion of his travel master. It was finally in its rightful owner's hands. He read with a sweet smile the small message I'd scribbled on the inside of the cover. 

         ¨Thank you,¨ he kissed me softly on the cheek near my ear. 

         We ended up talking for so long and sharing photos and catching up that it was ten before I looked at him and asked if he was hungry. He--still as affectionate as I remember--followed me down into the subterranean kitchen of my studio and rubbed my back while I made an entree. We ended up just eating the baguette I'd bought fresh from Le Pain Quotidien that night about thirty minutes before he arrived and cheese--roquefort, comte, camembert. We cuddled on my couch and I put my head on his shoulder and I remembered why I had liked him so much in the first place--his generosity of heart and his sense of humor and his intelligence. 

           I felt like we'd picked up right where we left off. 

           He joked, with his quick sense of humor, he'd have to hide me in the closet. I asked why. 

           ¨So no one else on the street can see you and come steal you from me!¨ 

          I felt my heart crippled under the weight of a slick, though knowing FWB, very sincere, statement. I heard myself thinking I won't let anyone else steal me, I don't want to be stolen, I want you to steal my heart, though I know and am fully aware of how corny that sounds. Somedays I feel like I am living in an insane RomCom. 

         But the truth of it all is this: I have been searching, like many other women on this planet, for just one good guy who ¨gets me¨ so I can give my heart away to someone I trust, or feel that I can trust. 

        This is one of them, and I know in my gut this is one of them, and I don't know if I can bear to say goodbye a second time. I am already near tears at the thought of it. I kid you not. 

* *  * 

       Alchemy is an antiquated pseudoscience whose practitioners claim to be able to spin immortality from the Philosopher's Stone or the Elixir of Life, or even to turn base metals into gold. I can tell you that my Wine Baron will never be immortal, that he will never turn lead into gold, but there is something about him that brings out what is golden in me. 

       There is something very, very natural about what is between us. No fuss. Nothing complicated. Just simple and pure and truly warm. He makes me want to be affectionate with him and hug him and smell the nape of his neck. No alchemy could ever fake real chemistry. 

         He tells me that he is lucky to see a beautiful Californian, that I have beautiful hair and a gorgeous smile  and that I should come to the South this weekend. I do not know if I can, but I am tempted, so tempted. He says he could also possibly come back to Paris. But then there is the possibility he will get an internship in the States and go there to work for importers and I do not know. I am so confused right now. 

        I do not want to say goodbye to him. I want to keep him. I am begging the Heavens above right now to please let me keep him. I need to know where this will go, desperately. I do not know if they will let me keep him. I am tempted to fight. It reminds me of what he said to me last year: ¨If I were staying here, I'd ¨keep¨ you.¨

          But it speaks volumes to me that I let him go, and he came back. I do not know what this means. I am trying to figure out what it means, because I am trained to find patterns and read motifs and anticipate endings...I am literary, I am a writer, this is my craft. But I do not know the ending to this story yet. All I know is that the story is not yet over. 

         What I do know is that last night I looked him in the eye and told him a year ago, I expected to never see him again. 

           ¨Well...,¨ he paused and smiled. ¨I'm here now, aren't I?¨