+ “Working,” the boy answered dryly, making it look as if he + wanted to concentrate on his reading. + Actually, he was thinking about shearing his sheep in front of the + merchant’s daughter, so that she could see that he was someone + who was capable of doing difficult things. He had already imagined + the scene many times; every time, the girl became fascinated when + he explained that the sheep had to be sheared from back to front. He + also tried to remember some good stories to relate as he sheared + the sheep. Most of them he had read in books, but he would tell + them as if they were from his personal experience. She would never + know the difference, because she didn’t know how to read. + Meanwhile, the old man persisted in his attempt to strike up a + conversation. He said that he was tired and thirsty, and asked if he + might have a sip of the boy’s wine. The boy offered his bottle, + hoping that the old man would leave him alone. + But the old man wanted to talk, and he asked the boy what book + he was reading. The boy was tempted to be rude, and move to + another bench, but his father had taught him to be respectful of the + elderly. So he held out the book to the man—for two reasons: first, + that he, himself, wasn’t sure how to pronounce the title; and second, + that if the old man didn’t know how to read, he would probably feel + ashamed and decide of his own accord to change benches. + “Hmm…” said the old man, looking at all sides of the book, as if it + were some strange object. “This is an important book, but it’s really + irritating.” + The boy was shocked. The old man knew how to read, and had + already read the book. And if the book was irritating, as the old man + had said, the boy still had time to change it for another. + “It’s a book that says the same thing almost all the other books in + the world say,” continued the old man. “It describes people’s + inability to choose their own Personal Legends. And it ends up + saying that everyone believes the world’s greatest lie.” + “What’s the world’s greatest lie?” the boy asked, completely + surprised. + “It’s this: that at a certain point in our lives, we lose control of + what’s happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate. + That’s the world’s greatest lie.” + “That’s never happened to me,” the boy said. “They wanted me + to be a priest, but I decided to become a shepherd.” + “Much better,” said the old man. “Because you really like to + travel.” + “He knew what I was thinking,” the boy said to himself. The old + man, meanwhile, was leafing through the book, without seeming to + want to return it at all. The boy noticed that the man’s clothing was + strange. He looked like an Arab, which was not unusual in those + parts. Africa was only a few hours from Tarifa; one had only to cross + the narrow straits by boat. Arabs often appeared in the city, + shopping and chanting their strange prayers several times a day. + “Where are you from?” the boy asked. + “From many places.” +
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