asked the shepherd to come back the following year

would never understand. He went on telling stories about his travels, and her bright, Moorish eyes went

wide with fear and surprise. As the time passed, the boy found himself wishing that the day would never

end, that her father would stay busy and keep him waiting for three days. He recognized that he was

feeling something he had never experienced before: the desire to live in one place forever. With the girl

with the raven hair, his days would never be the same again.

But finally the merchant appeared, and asked the boy to shear four sheep. He paid for the wool and

asked the shepherd to come back the following year.

And now it was only four days before he would be back in that same village. He was excited, and at the

same time uneasy: maybe the girl had already forgotten him. Lots of shepherds passed through, selling

their wool.

"It doesn't matter," he said to his sheep. "I know other girls in other places."

But in his heart he knew that it did matter. And he knew that shepherds, like seamen and like traveling

salesmen, always found a town where there was someone who could make them forget the joys of

carefree wandering.

The day was dawning, and the shepherd urged his sheep in the direction of the sun. They never have to

make any decisions, he thought. Maybe that's why they always stay close to me.

The only things that concerned the sheep were food and water. As long as the boy knew how to find the

best pastures inAndalusia , they would be his friends. Yes, their days were all the same, with the

seemingly endless hours between sunrise and dusk; and they had never read a book in their young lives,

and didn't understand when the boy told them about the sights of the cities. They were content with just

food and water, and, in exchange, they generously gave of their wool, their company, and—once in a

while—their meat.

If I became a monster today, and decided to kill them, one by one, they would become aware only after

most of the flock had been slaughtered, thought the boy. They trust me, and they've forgotten how to rely

on their own instincts, because I lead them to nourishment.

The boy was surprised at his thoughts. Maybe the church, with the sycamore growing from within, had

been haunted. It had caused him to have the same dream for a second time, and it was causing him to

feel anger toward his faithful companions. He drank a bit from the wine that remained from his dinner of

the night before, and he gathered his jacket closer to his body. He knew that a few hours from now, with

the sun at its zenith, the heat would be so great that he would not be able to lead his flock across the

fields. It was the time of day when all ofSpain slept during the summer. The heat lasted until nightfall, and

all that time he had to carry his jacket. But when he thought to complain about the burden of its weight,

he remembered that, because he had the jacket, he had withstood the cold of the dawn.

We have to be prepared for change, he thought, and he was grateful for the jacket's weight and warmth.

The jacket had a purpose, and so did the boy. His purpose in life was to travel, and, after two years of

walking the Andalusian terrain, he knew all the cities of the region. He was planning, on this visit, to

explain to the girl how it was that a simple shepherd knew how to read. That he had attended a seminary

until he was sixteen. His parents had wanted him to become a priest, and thereby a source of pride for a

simple farm family. They worked hard just to have food and water, like the sheep. He had studied Latin,

Spanish, and theology. But ever since he had been a child, he had wanted to know the world, and this

was much more important to him than knowing God and learning about man's sins. One afternoon, on a

visit to his family, he had summoned up the courage to tell his father that he didn't want to become a

priest. That he wanted to travel.

"People from all over the world have passed through this village, son," said his father. "They come in

search of new things, but when they leave they are basically the same people they were when they

arrived. They climb the mountain to see the castle, and they wind up thinking that the past was better than

what we have now. They have blond hair, or dark skin, but basically they're the same as the people who

live right here."

"But I'd like to see the castles in the towns where they live," the boy explained.

"Those people, when they see our land, say that they would like to live here forever," his father

continued.

"Well, I'd like to see their land, and see how they live," said his son.