+ He fell asleep, and when he awoke the sun was already high. He +began to dig at the base of the sycamore. +“You old sorcerer,” the boy shouted up to the sky. “You knew the +whole story. You even left a bit of gold at the monastery so I could +get back to this church. The monk laughed when he saw me come +back in tatters. Couldn’t you have saved me from that?” +“No,” he heard a voice on the wind say. “If I had told you, you +wouldn’t have seen the Pyramids. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” +The boy smiled, and continued digging. Half an hour later, his +shovel hit something solid. An hour later, he had before him a chest +of Spanish gold coins. There were also precious stones, gold masks +adorned with red and white feathers, and stone statues embedded +with jewels. The spoils of a conquest that the country had long ago +forgotten, and that some conquistador had failed to tell his children +about. +The boy took out Urim and Thummim from his bag. He had used +the two stones only once, one morning when he was at a +marketplace. His life and his path had always provided him with +enough omens. +He placed Urim and Thummim in the chest. They were also a +part of his new treasure, because they were a reminder of the old +king, whom he would never see again. +It’s true; life really is generous to those who pursue their +Personal Legend, the boy thought. Then he remembered that he had +to get to Tarifa so he could give one-tenth of his treasure to the +Gypsy woman, as he had promised. Those Gypsies are really smart, +he thought. Maybe it was because they moved around so much. +The wind began to blow again. It was the levanter, the wind that +came from Africa. It didn’t bring with it the smell of the desert, nor +the threat of Moorish invasion. Instead, it brought the scent of a +perfume he knew well, and the touch of a kiss—a kiss that came +from far away, slowly, slowly, until it rested on his lips. +The boy smiled. It was the first time she had done that. +“I’m coming, Fatima,” he said. +
+ + +