"i don't much like change," he said. "you and i aren't like hassan, that rich merchant. if he makes a buying mistake, it doesn't affect him much. but we two have to live with our mistakes."
that's true enough, the boy thought, ruefully.
"why did you think we should have the display?"
"i want to get back to my sheep faster. we have to take advantage when luck is on our side, and do as much to help it as it's doing to help us. it's called the principle of favorability. or beginner's luck."
the merchant was silent for a few moments. then he said, "the prophet gave us the koran, and left us just five obligations to satisfy during our lives. the most important is to believe only in the one true god. the others are to pray five times a day, fast during ramadan, and be charitable to the poor."
he stopped there. his eyes filled with tears as he spoke of the prophet. he was a devout man, and, even with all his impatience, he wanted to live his life in accordance with muslim law.
"what's the fifth obligation?" the boy asked.
"two days ago, you said that i had never dreamed of travel," the merchant answered. "the fifth obligation of every muslim is a pilgrimage. we are obliged, at least once in our lives, to visit the holy city of mecca.
"mecca is a lot farther away than the pyramids. when i was young, all i wanted to do was put together enough money to start this shop. i thought that someday i'd be rich, and could go to mecca. i began to make some money, but i could never bring myself to leave someone in charge of the shop; the crystals are delicate things. at the same time, people were passing my shop all the time, heading for mecca. some of them were rich pilgrims, traveling in caravans with servants and camels, but most of the people making the pilgrimage were poorer than i.
"all who went there were happy at having done so. they placed the symbols of the pilgrimage on the doors of their houses. one of them, a cobbler who made his living mending boots, said that he had traveled for almost a year through the desert, but that he got more tired when he had to walk through the streets of tangier buying his leather."
"well, why don't you go to mecca now?" asked the boy.
"because it's the thought of mecca that keeps me alive. that's what helps me face these days that are all the same, these mute crystals on the shelves, and lunch and dinner at that same horrible caf?. i'm afraid that if my dream is realized, i'll have no reason to go on living.
"you dream about your sheep and the pyramids, but you're different from me, because you want to realize your dreams. i just want to dream about mecca. i've already imagined a thousand times crossing the desert, arriving at the plaza of the sacred stone, the seven times i walk around it before allowing myself to touch it. i've already imagined the people who would be at my side, and those in front of me, and the conversations and prayers we would share. but i'm afraid that it would all be a disappointment, so i prefer just to dream about it."
that day, the merchant gave the boy permission to build the display. not everyone can see his dreams come true in the same way.
two more months passed, and the shelf brought many customers into the crystal shop. the boy estimated that, if he worked for six more months, he could return to spain and buy sixty sheep, and yet another sixty. in less than a year, he would have doubled his flock, and he would be able to do business with the arabs, because he was now able to speak their strange language. since that morning in the marketplace, he had never again made use of urim and thummim, because egypt was now just as distant a dream for him as was mecca for the merchant. anyway, the boy had become happy in his work, and thought all the time about the day when he would disembark at tarifa as a winner.
"you must always know what it is that you want," the old king had said. the boy knew, and was now working toward it. maybe it was his treasure to have wound up in that strange land, met up with a thief, and doubled the size of his flock without spending a cent.
he was proud of himself. he had learned some important things, like how to deal in crystal, and about the language without words… and about omens. one afternoon he had seen a man at the top of the hill, complaining that it was impossible to find a decent place to get something to drink after such a climb. the boy, accustomed to recognizing omens, spoke to the merchant.
"let's sell tea to the people who climb the hill."
"lots of places sell tea around here," the merchant said.
"but we could sell tea in crystal glasses. the people will enjoy the tea and want to buy the glasses. i have been told that beauty is the great seducer of men."
the merchant didn't respond, but that afternoon, after saying his prayers and closing the shop, he invited the boy to sit with him and share his hookah, that strange pipe used by the arabs.
"what is it you're looking for?" asked the old merchant.
"i've already told you. i need to buy my sheep back, so i have to earn the money to do so."
the merchant put some new coals in the hookah, and inhaled deeply.
"i've had this shop for thirty years. i know good crystal from bad, and everything else there is to know about crystal. i know its dimensions and how it behaves. if we serve tea in crystal, the shop is going to expand. and then i'll have to change my way of life."
"well, isn't that good?"
"i'm already used to the way things are. before you came, i was thinking about how much time i had wasted in the same place, while my friends had moved on, and either went bankrupt or did better than they had before. it made me very depressed. now, i can see that it hasn't been too bad. the shop is exactly the size i always wanted it to be. i don't want to change anything, because i don't know how to deal with change. i'm used to the way i am."
the boy didn't know what to say. the old man continued, "you have been a real blessing to me. today, i understand something i didn't see before: every blessing ignored becomes a curse. i don't want anything else in life. but you are forcing me to look at wealth and at horizons i have never known. now that i have seen them, and now that i see how immense my possibilities are, i'm going to feel worse than i did before you arrived. because i know the things i should be able to accomplish, and i don't want to do so."
it's good i refrained from saying anything to the baker in tarifa, thought the boy to himself.
they went on smoking the pipe for a while as the sun began to set. they were conversing in arabic, and the boy was proud of himself for being able to do so. there had been a time when he thought that his sheep could teach him everything he needed to know about the world. but they could never have taught him arabic.
there are probably other things in the world that the sheep can't teach me, thought the boy as he regarded the old merchant. all they ever do, really, is look for food and water. and maybe it wasn't that they were teaching me, but that i was learning from them.
"maktub," the merchant said, finally.
"what does that mean?"
"you would have to have been born an arab to understand," he answered. "but in your language it would be something like 'it is written.' "
and, as he smothered the coals in the hookah, he told the boy that he could begin to sell tea in the crystal glasses. sometimes, there's just no way to hold back the river.
