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Author
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Paulo Coelho

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Brazilian lyricist
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+ “No one can be from many places,” the boy said. “I’m a shepherd, + and I have been to many places, but I come from only one place— + from a city near an ancient castle. That’s where I was born.” + “Well then, we could say that I was born in Salem.” + The boy didn’t know where Salem was, but he didn’t want to ask, + fearing that he would appear ignorant. He looked at the people in + the plaza for a while; they were coming and going, and all of them + seemed to be very busy. + “So, what is Salem like?” he asked, trying to get some sort of clue. + “It’s like it always has been.” + No clue yet. But he knew that Salem wasn’t in Andalusia. If it + were, he would already have heard of it. + “And what do you do in Salem?” he insisted. + “What do I do in Salem?” The old man laughed. “Well, I’m the + king of Salem!” + People say strange things, the boy thought. Sometimes it’s better + to be with the sheep, who don’t say anything. And better still to be + alone with one’s books. They tell their incredible stories at the time + when you want to hear them. But when you’re talking to people, + they say some things that are so strange that you don’t know how to + continue the conversation. + “My name is Melchizedek,” said the old man. “How many sheep + do you have?” + “Enough,” said the boy. He could see that the old man wanted to + know more about his life. + “Well, then, we’ve got a problem. I can’t help you if you feel + you’ve got enough sheep.” + The boy was getting irritated. He wasn’t asking for help. It was + the old man who had asked for a drink of his wine, and had started + the conversation. + “Give me my book,” the boy said. “I have to go and gather my + sheep and get going.” + “Give me one-tenth of your sheep,” said the old man, “and I’ll tell + you how to find the hidden treasure.” + The boy remembered his dream, and suddenly everything was + clear to him. The old woman hadn’t charged him anything, but the + old man—maybe he was her husband—was going to find a way to + get much more money in exchange for information about something + that didn’t even exist. The old man was probably a Gypsy, too. + But before the boy could say anything, the old man leaned over, + picked up a stick, and began to write in the sand of the plaza. + Something bright reflected from his chest with such intensity that + the boy was momentarily blinded. With a movement that was too + quick for someone his age, the man covered whatever it was with + his cape. When his vision returned to normal, the boy was able to + read what the old man had written in the sand. + There, in the sand of the plaza of that small city, the boy read the + names of his father and his mother and the name of the seminary he + had attended. He read the name of the merchant’s daughter, which + he hadn’t even known, and he read things he had never told anyone. + “I’M THE KING OF SALEM,” THE OLD MAN HAD SAID. + “Why would a king be talking with a shepherd?” the boy asked, + awed and embarrassed. +

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