No clue yet. But he knew that Salem wasn't in Andalusia

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."

"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.