asked the boy what book he was reading

the names of the people involved were very difficult to pronounce. If he ever wrote a book, he thought,

he would present one person at a time, so that the reader wouldn't have to worry about memorizing a lot

of names.

When he was finally able to concentrate on what he was reading, he liked the book better; the burial

was on a snowy day, and he welcomed the feeling of being cold. As he read on, an old man sat down at

his side and tried to strike up a conversation.

"What are they doing?" the old man asked, pointing at the people in the plaza.

"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 destinies. 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