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.
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