The_Greatest_Salesman_in_the_World

Hello. . . This is Og Mandino.

Some memories of my long-ago childhood are still

very vivid, especially when I think of that

special little red-headed Irish lady who was my

loving mother. She had a special dream for her

son.

again,

writer but a great writer!

Well. . . I bought her dream. Most kids resent

having their parents plan their future but I

liked the idea. A famous writer.

Yes! Mother had me reading grown-up books from

the library long before I entered the first

grade and I was always writing short stories for

her approval.

In my senior year of high school I was editor of

the school paper and our plans were that in the

fall I would attend the University of Missouri

because we believed that they had the best

journalism school in the country.

And, then. . . six weeks after I graduated from

high school, my mother dropped dead in our

kitchen while she was making lunch for me.

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I had a terrible time trying to deal with her

passing. Instead of going on to college in the

fall of 1940, I went to work in a paper factory

and, in 1942, I joined the Army Air Corps. In

1943 I received my officer's commission and my

silver wings as a bombardier. I was an

and a gentleman

legally vote. I flew thirty bombing missions

over Germany in a B-24 Liberator. Jimmy Stewart

also flew in the same heavy bombardment

group. . . the 445th. Nice man.

I returned to the United States, after the war

had ended, and discovered quickly that there

wasn't much of an employment market for

bombardiers with only a high school education.

After many months of unemployment checks and

painful searching, I finally secured a job

selling life insurance and married the lady I

had been dating before I went to war.

The following ten years were a living hell. . .

for me, for her, and even for the lovely

daughter we had been blessed with.

It seemed that no matter how many hours of the

day and night I worked, struggling to sell

insurance, we drifted deeper and deeper into

2

debt and I began to do what so many frustrated

individuals still do today, to hide from their

problems.

On the way home, after a long day of sales calls

and canvassing for business, I would stop at a

barroom for a drink. After all, I deserved it,

didn't I, following such a tough day? Well, soon

one drink became two, two became four, four

became six and finally my wife and daughter,

when they could no longer endure my behavior,

left me.

The following two years are no more than a hazy

memory. I traveled the country in my old Ford,

doing any kind of odd jobs in order to earn

enough for another bottle of cheap wine and I

spent countless drunken nights in gutters, a

sorry wretch of a human being, in a living hell.

Then, one cold wintry morning in Cleveland, one

I shall never forget, I almost took my life. I

had passed the window of a dingy pawn shop and

paused when I saw, inside on a shelf, a small

handgun. Attached to its barrel was a yellow

tag. . . $$29. I reached into my pocket and

removed three ten dollar bills. . . all I had in

the world and I thought. . .

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to all my problems. I'll buy that gun, get a

couple of bullets and take them back to that

dingy room where I'm

staying. Then I'll put the bullets in the gun,

put the gun to my head. . . and pull the

trigger. . . and I'll never have to face that

miserable failure in the mirror again.

I don't know what happened next. I joke about it

now and say that I was such a spineless

individual at that time that I couldn't even

muster enough courage to do away with myself. In

any event, I didn't buy that gun. As the snow

was falling

I turned away from the pawn shop and commenced

walking until I eventually found myself inside a

public library. It was so warm after the outside

chills of November.

I began wandering among the thousands of books

until I found myself standing in front of the

shelves containing scores of volumes on self-

help, success, and motivation. I selected

several of them, went to a nearby table and

commenced reading, searching for some answers.

Where had I gone wrong? Could I make it with

just a high school education? Was there any hope

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for me? What about my drinking problem? Was it

too late for me? Was I doomed now to a life of

frustration, failure, and tears?

That library visit was the first of many library

visits I began making as I wandered across the

country, searching for Og Mandino. I must have

read hundreds of books dealing with success and

gradually my drinking subsided. Then, in a

library in Concord, New Hampshire, I discovered

W. Clement Stone's great classic, Success

Through a Positive Mental Attitude. . . and my

life has never been the same since then.

I was so impressed with Stone's philosophy of

success, that one must be prepared to pay a

price in order to achieve any worthwhile goals,

that I wanted to work for the man. His book

jacket indicated that he was president of

Combined Insurance Company of America and I

searched until I found a subsidiary of that

company in Boston and applied for a salesman's

job. At about that same time, I met a lovely

lady who had a lot more faith in me than I had

in myself and when Mr. Stone's insurance company

hired this thirty-two year old loser, I married

the lady. Bette and I have now been together for

forty years.

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Within a year I was promoted to sales manager in

the wide-open, and cold, territory of Northern

Maine. I hired several young potato farmers,

taught them how to sell, applying Stone's

philosophy of a positive mental attitude, and we

were soon breaking company records.

Then I took a week off from work and rented a

typewriter. You see, the dream of writing had

never really faded from my heart. I wrote a

sales manual on how one sells insurance in the

rural areas, typed it as neatly as I could and

sent it to Combined Insurance's home office in

Chicago. . . just praying that someone there

would recognize the great talent they had buried

in Northern Maine.

Well, someone did! The next thing I knew, Bette

and I and our new young son, Dana, were moving

to Chicago, with all our possessions tied to the

roof of our car and I was assigned to the sales

promotion department, writing company bulletins.

At last I was finally writing!

Mr. Stone also published a small book titled

Success Unlimited which was circulated to all

his employees and shareholders. I had been

working at the home office for several months

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and had become a friend of Mr. Stone's when the

editor of his magazine retired. I boldly applied

for the position, although I knew nothing about

magazine editing, and he not only gave me the

job but also entrusted me with a mission.

I was to convert his publication from a house

organ to a national magazine and I had a blank

check from him to take all the steps that were

necessary to accomplish our goal. In the

following ten years our magazine staff grew from

two to sixty- two and we attained a paid

circulation of close to a quarter of a million!

Several months after I became the magazine's

editor I realized that I needed one more article

to fill the next issue that was going to press

in just a few days. . . and there was nothing

suitable in our files. Well, I'm a golf nut and

so I went home and worked all night, writing a

piece about Ben Hogan and his terrible

automobile accident when they told him he would

never walk again. The great man not only walked

again, he won the National Open again!

I ran the article in Success Unlimited and then

fate took over. A letter arrived on my desk from

a New York publisher. . . the kind of letter all

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writers dream about receiving. He had enjoyed

the Hogan article and believed I had much talent

and if I ever decided to write a book his

company would be interested in considering it

for publication.

Eighteen months later we published a tiny book

entitled The Greatest Salesman in the World. Of

course, since no one had ever heard of Og

Mandino, the first printing was rather small,

5,000 as I remember. But here's where fate

stepped in again. Rich DeVos, co- founder of

Amway Corp., was addressing an Amway Convention

and he told his people that there was a new book

just published that he believed would help all

of them, The Greatest Salesman In the World,

written by a man with a funny name, he said, Og

Mandino.

Rich DeVos's testimonial triggered an

unbelievable number of book sales and many

reprintings. When total sales reached 350,000

copies within a couple of years, Bantam Books

purchased the paperback rights. . . for more

money than I believed there was in the entire

world. The book's sales have never abated. Even

now, thirty years after initial publication, it

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still continues to sell more than 100,000 copies

each month in paperback!

For many years now, I have received

approximately 80 to 120 letters each week from

grateful readers thanking me for The Greatest

Salesman in the World and relating examples of

how the book saved or changed the writer's life.

Most amazing to me is how many of these letters

are lovingly sent by individuals we would

categorize as celebrities in the world of

business, entertainment, and sports. I respond

to all of them, of course, but I respect their

privacy too much to divulge their names, ever.

What a lucky man I am!

Buy the book that has changed millions upon

millions of lives.

Og Mandino

Chapter I

Hafid lingered before the bronze mirror and

studied his reflected image in the polished

metal.

“Only the eyes have retained their youth,” he

murmured as he turned away and moved slowly

9

across the spacious marble floor. He passed

between black onyx columns rising to support

ceilings burnished with silver and gold and his

aging legs carried him past tables carved from

cyprus and ivory.

Tortoise shell gleamed from couches and divans

and the walls, inlaid with gems, shimmered with

brocades of the most painstaking design. Huge

palms grew placidly in bronze vessels framing a

fountain of alabaster nymphs while flower boxes,

encrusted with gems, competed with their

contents for attention. No visitor to Hafid’s

palace could doubt that he was, indeed, a person

of great wealth.

The old man passed through an enclosed garden

and entered his warehouse which extended beyond

the mansion for five hundred paces. Erasmus, his

chief bookkeeper, waited uncertainly just beyond

the entryway.

“Greetings, sire.”

Hafid nodded and continued on in silence.

Erasmus followed, his face unable to disguise

concern at the master’s unusual request for a

meeting in this place. Near the loading

platforms Hafid paused to watch goods being

removed from baggage wagons and counted into

separate stalls. There were wools, fine linens,

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parchment, honey, carpets, and oil from Asia

Minor; glass, figs, nuts, and balsam from his

own country; textiles and drugs from Palmyra;

ginger, cinnamon, and precious stones from

Arabia; corn, paper, granite, alabaster, and

basalt from Egypt; tapestries from Babylon;

paintings from Rome; and statues from Greece.

The smell of balsam was heavy in the air and

Hafid’s sensitive old nose detected the

presence of sweet plums, apples, cheese, and

ginger.

Finally he turned to Erasmus. “Old

friend, how much wealth is there now accumulated

in our treasury?”

Erasmus paled, “Everything,

master?”

Everything.”

“I have not studied

the numbers recently but I would estimate there

is in excess of seven million gold talents.”

“And were all the goods in all my warehouses

and emporiums converted into gold, how much

would they bring?”

“Our inventory is not yet complete for this

season, sire, but I would calculate a minimum of

another three million talents.” Hafid nodded,

“Purchase no more goods. Institute immediately

whatever plans are required to sell everything

that is mine and convert all of it to gold.”

The bookkeeper’s mouth opened but no sound came

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forth. He fell back as if struck and when

finally he could speak, the words came with

effort.

“I do not understand, sire. This has been our

most profitable year. Every emporium reports and

increase in sales over the previous season. Even

the Roman legions are now our customers for did

you not sell the Procurator in Jerusalem two

hundred Arabian stallions within the fortnight?

Forgive my boldness for seldom have I questioned

your orders but this command I cannot

comprehend. . . .”

Hafid smiled and gently grasped Erasmus’ hand.

“My trusted comrade, is your memory of

sufficient strength to recall the first command

you received from me when you entered my employ

many years ago?”

Erasmus frowned momentarily and then his face

brightened. “I was enjoined by you to remove,

each year, half the profit from our treasury and

dispense it to the poor.”

“Did you not, at that time, consider me a

foolish man of busin

ess?”

“I had great forebodings, sire.”

Hafid nodded and spread his arms toward the

loading platforms. “Will you now admit that

your concern was without ground?”

12

“Yes, sire.”

“Then let me encourage you to maintain faith in

this decision until I explain my plans. I am now

an old man and my needs are simple. Since my

beloved Lisha has been taken from me, after so

many years of happiness, it is my desire to

distribute all of my wealth among the poor of

this city. I shall keep only enough to complete

my life without discomfort. Besides disposing of

our inventory, I wish you to prepare the

necessary documents which will transfer the

ownership of every emporium to he who now

manages each for me. I also wish you to

distribute five thousand gold talents to these

managers as a reward for their years of loyalty

and so that they may restock their shelves in

any manner that they desire.”

Erasmus began to speak but Hafid’s raised hand

silenced him. “Does this assignment seem

unpleasant to you?”

The bookkeeper shook his

he

ad and attempted to smile. “No, sire, it is

only that I cannot understand your reasoning.

Your words are those of a man whose days are

numbered.”

“It is your character,

Erasmus that

your concern should be fore me instead of

yourself. Have ye no thoughts for your own

future when our trade empire is disbanded?”

13

“We have been comrades together for many years.

How can I, now, think only of myself?”

Hafid embraced his old friend and replied, “It

is not necessary. I ask that you immediately

transfer fifty thousand gold talents to your

name and I beg that you remain with me until a

promise I made long ago is fulfilled. When that

promise is kept I will then bequeath this palace

and warehouse to you for I will then be ready to

rejoin Lisha.”

The old bookkeeper stared at his

master unable to comprehend the words heard.

“Fifty thousand gold talents, the palace, the

warehouse . . . I am not deserving. . . .”

Hafid nodded. “I have always counted your

friendship as my greatest asset. What I now

bestow on you is of little measure compared to

your unending loyalty. You have mastered the art

of living not for yourself alone, but for others,

and this concern has stamped thee above all, as

a man among men. Now I urge you to hasten with

the consummation of my plans. Time is the most

precious commodity I possess and the hour glass

of my life is nearly filled.”

Erasmus turned

his face to hide his tears. His voice broke as

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he asked, “And what of your promise, yet to

keep? Although we have been as brothers never

have I heard you tal

k of such a matter.”

Hafid folded his arms and smiled. “I will meet

with you again when you have discharged my

commands of this morning. Then I will disclose a

secret which I have shared with no one, except

my beloved wife, for over thirty years.”

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Chapter II

And so it came to pass that a heavily guarded

caravan soon departed from Damascus carrying

certificates of ownership and gold for those who

managed each of Hafid’s trade emporiums. From

Obed in Joppa to Reuel at Petra, each of the ten

man

agers received word of Hafid’s retirement

and gift in stunned silence. Eventually, after

making its last stop at the emporium in

Antipatris, the caravan’s mission was complete.

The most powerful trade empire of its time was

no more.

His heart heavy with sadness, Erasmus sent word

to his master that the warehouse was now empty

and the emporiums no longer bore the proud

banner of Hafid. The messenger returned with a

request that Erasmus meet with his master by the

fountain in the peristyle, immediately.

Haf

id studied his friend’s face and asked, “Is

it done?”

“It is done.”

“Grieve not, kind

friend, and follow me.”

Only the sound of

their sandals echoed in the giant chamber as

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Hafid led Erasmus toward the marble stairway at

the rear. His steps momentarily slowed as he

neared a solitary murrhine vase on a tall stand

of citrus wood and he watched as the sunlight

changed the glass from white to purple. His old

face smiled.

Then the two old friends began to climb the

inner steps that led to the room inside the

palace dome. Erasmus took notice that the armed

guard, always present at the foot of the steps,

no longer was there. Finally they reached a

landing and paused since both were without

breath from the exertion of the climb. They

continued on to a second landing and Hafid

removed a small key from his belt. He unlocked

the heavy oak door and leaned against it until

it creaked inwards. Erasmus hesitated until his

master beckoned him inside and then he stepped

timidly into the room to which no one had been

allowed admission for over three decades.

Gray and dusty light seeped down from turrets

above and Erasmus gripped Hafid’s arm until his

eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness.

With a faint smile, Hafid watched as Erasmus

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turned slowing in a room that was bare expect

for a small cedar chest spotlighted in a shaft

of sunlight in one corner.

“Are you not disappointed, Erasmus?”

“I know not what to say, sire.”

“Are you not disappointed in the furnishings?

Certainly the contents of this room have been a

conversation piece among many. Have you not

wondered or concerned yourself with the mystery

of what is contained here which I have guarded

so zealously for so long?”

Erasmus nodded, “It is true. There has been

much talk and many rumors through the years as

to what our master kept hidden here in the

tower.”

“Yes, my friend, and most of them I have heard.

It has been said that barrels of diamonds were

here, and gold ingots, or wild animals, or rare

birds. Once a Persian rug merchant hinted that

perhaps I maintained a small harem here. Lisha

laughed at the thought of me with a collection

of concubines. But, as you can observe, there is

nothing here except a small chest. Now, come

forward.”

The two men crouched beside the chest and Hafid

carefully proceeded to unroll the leather

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strapping which encircled it. He inhaled deeply

of the cedar fragrance from the wood and finally

he pushed against the cover and it quietly

sprung open. Erasmus leaned forward and stared

over Hafid’s shoulder at the trunk’s contents.

He looked at Hafid and shook his head in

bewilderment. There was nothing inside the trunk

but scrolls . . . Leather scrolls.

Hafid reached inside and gently removed one of

the rolls. Momentarily he clasped it to his

breast and closed his eyes. A quiet calmness

settled over his face, brushing away the lines

of age. Then he rose to his feet and pointed

toward the chest.

“Were this room filled to its beams with

diamonds, its value could not surpass what your

eyes behold in this simple wooden box. All the

success, happiness, love, peace of mind, and

wealth that I have enjoyed is directly traceable

to what is contained in these few scrolls. My

debt to them and to the wise one who entrusted

them to my care can never be repaid.”

19

Frightened by the tone in Hafid’s voice,

Era

smus stepped back and asked, “Is this the

secret to which you have referred? Is this chest

connected in some way the promise you have yet

to keep?”

“The answer is `yes’ to both of your

questions.”

Erasmus passed his hand across his perspiring

forehead and looked at Hafid with disbelief.

“What is written on these scrolls that places

their value beyond that of diamonds?”

“All but one of these scrolls contain a

principle, a law, or a fundamental truth written

in a unique style to help the reader understand

its meaning. To become a master in the art of

sales one must learn and practice the secret of

each scroll. When one masters these principles

one has the power to accumulate all the wealth

he desires.”

Erasmus stared at the old scrolls

with dismay. “As wealthy even, as you?”

“Far

wealthier, if he chooses.”

“You have stated

that all but one of these scrolls contain

selling principles. What is contained on the

last scroll?”

“The last scroll, as you call it,

is the first scroll which must be read, since

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each is numbered to be read in a special

sequence. And the first scroll contains a secret

which has been given to a mere handful of wise

men throughout history. The first scroll, in

truth, teaches the most effective way to learn

what is written on the others.”

“It

seems to

be a task that anyone can master.”

“It is, indeed, a simple task provided one is

willing to pay the price in time and

concentration until each principle becomes a

part of one’s personality; until each principle

becomes a habit in living.”

Erasmus reached into the chest and removed a

scroll. Holding it gently between his fingers

and his thumb, he shook it toward Hafid.

“Forgive me, master, but why is it that you

have not shared these principles with others,

especially those who have labored long in your

employ? You have always shown such generosity in

all other matters, how is it that all who have

sold for you did not receive the opportunity to

read these words of wisdom and thus become

wealthy too? At the very least, all would have

been better sellers of goods with such valuable

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knowledge. Why have you kept these principles to

yourself for all these years?”

“I had no choice. Many years ago when these

scrolls were entrusted to my care, I was made to

promise under oath that I would share their

contents with only one person. I do not yet

understand the reasoning behind this strange

request. However, I was commanded to apply the

principles of the scrolls to my own life, until

one day someone would appear who had need for

the help and guidance contained in these scrolls

far more than I did when I was a youth. I was

told that through some sign I would recognize

the individual to whom I was to pass the scrolls

even though it was possible that the individual

would not know that he was seeking the scrolls.

“I have waited patiently, and while I waited I

applied these principles as I was given

permission to do. With their knowledge I became

what many call the greatest salesman in the

world just as he who bequeathed these scrolls to

me was acclaimed as the greatest salesman of his

time. Now, Erasmus, perhaps you will understand,

at last, why some of my actions through the

22

years seemed peculiar and unworkable to you, yet

they proved successful. Always were my deeds and

decisions guided by these scrolls; therefore, it

was not through my wisdom that we acquired so

many gold talents. I was only the instrument of

fulfillment.”

“Do you still believe that he who is to receive

these scrolls from thee will appear after all

this time?”

“Yes.”

Hafid gently replaced the scrolls and closed the

chest. He spoke softly from his knees, “Will

you stay with me until that day, Erasmus?”

The bookkeeper reached through soft light until

their hands clasped. He nodded once and then

withdrew from the room as if from an unspoken

command from his master. Hafid replaced the

leather strapping on the chest and then stood

and walked to a small turret. He stepped through

it out onto the scaffold that surrounded the

great dome.

A wind from the East blew into the old man’s

face carrying with it the smell of the lakes and

the desert beyond. He smiled as he stood high

23

above the rooftops of Damascus and his thoughts

leaped backwards through time. . . .

24

Chapter III

It was winter and the chill was bitter on the

Mount of Olives. From Jerusalem, across the

narrow cleft of the Kidron Valley, came the

smell of smoke, incense, and burning flesh from

the Temple and its foulness mixed with the

turpentine odor of terebinth trees on the

mountain.

On an open slope, only a short descent from the

village of Bethpage, slumbered the immense trade

caravan of Pathros of Palmyra. The hour was late

and even the great merchant’s favorite stallion

had ceased munching on the low pistachio bushes

and settled down against a soft hedge of laurel.

Beyond the long row of silent tents, strands of

thick hemp curled around four ancient olive

trees. They formed a square corral enclosing

shapeless forms of camels and asses huddled

together to draw warmth from each other’s body.

Except for two guards, patrolling near the

baggage wagons, the only movement in the camp

25

was the tall and moving shadow outlined against

the goat’s hair wall of Pathros’ great tent.

Inside, Pathros paced angrily back and forth,

pausing occasionally to frown and shake his head

at the youth kneeling timidly near the tent

opening. Finally he lowered his ailing body to

the gold-woven rug and beckoned the lad to move

closer.

“Hafid, you have always been as my own. I am

perplexed and puzzled by your strnage request.

Are you not content with your w

ork?”

The boy’s eyes were fixed on the rug. “No,

sire.”

“Perhaps the ever

-increasing size of our

caravans has made your task of tending to all

our animals too great?”

“No, sire.”

“Then kindly repeat your request. Include also,

in thy words, the reasoning behind such an

unusual request.”

“It is my desire to become a seller of your

goods instead of only your camel boy. I wish to

become as Hadad, Simon, Caleb, and the others

who depart from our baggage wagons with animals

26

barely able to crawl from the weight of your

goods and who return with gold for thee and gold

also for themselves. I desire to improve my

lowly position in life. As a camel boy I am

nothing, but as a salesman for you I can acquire

wealth and success.”

“How do you know this?”

“Often have I hear

d you say that no other trade

or profession has more opportunity for one to

rise form poverty to great wealth than that of

salesman.”

Pathros began to nod but thought better of it

and continued to question the youth. “Dost thou

believe you are capable of performing as Hadad

and the other sellers?”

Hafid stared intently at the old man and replied,

“Many times have I overheard Caleb complain to

you about misfortunes that accounted for his

lack of sales and many times have I heard you

remind him that anyone could sell all the goods

in your warehouse within a small passing of time

if he but applied himself to learn the

principles and laws of selling. If you believe

that Caleb, whom everyone calls a fool, can

learn these principles, then cannot I also

acquire th

is special knowledge?”

27

“If you should master these principles what

would be your goal in life?”

“Hafid hesitated and then said, “It has been

repeated throughout the land that you are a

great salesman. The world has never seen a trade

empire such as you have built through your

mastery of salesmanship. My ambition is to

become even greater than you, the greatest

merchant, the wealthiest man, and the greatest

salesman in all the world!”

Pathros leaned back and studied the young, dark

face. The smell from the animals was still on

his clothes but the youth displayed little

humility in his manner. “And what will you do

with all this great wealth and the fearsome

power that will surely accompany it?”

“I will do as you do. My family will be

provided with the finest of worldly goods and

the rest I will share with those in need.”

Pathros shook his head. “Wealth, my son, should

never be your goal in life. Your words are

eloquent but they are mere words. True wealth is

of the heart, not of the purse.”

Hafid persisted,

“Art thou not wealthy, sire/”

28

The old man smiled at Hafid’s boldness. “Hafid,

so far as material wealth is concerned, there is

only one difference between myself and the

lowliest beggar outside Herod’s palace. The

beggar thinks only of his next meal and I think

only of the meal that will be my last. No, my

son, do not aspire for wealth and labor not only

to be rich. Strive instead for happiness, to be

loved and to love, and most important, to

acquire peace of mind and serenity.”

Hafid continued to persist

. “But these things

are impossible without gold. Who can live in

poverty with peace of mind? How can one be happy

with an empty stomach? How can one demonstrate

love for one’s family if he is unable to feed

and clothe and house them? You, yourself, have

said that wealth is good when it brings joy to

others. Why then is my ambition to be wealthy

not a good one/ Poverty may be a privilege and

even a way of life for the monk in the desert,

for he has only himself to sustain and none but

his god to please, but I consider poverty to be

the mark of a lack of ability or a lack of

ambition. I am not deficient in either of these

qualities!”

29

Pathros frowned, “What has caused this sudden

outburst of ambition? You speak of providing for

a family yet you have no family lest it be I who

have adopted you since the pestilence removed

thy mother and father.”

Hafid’s sun

-darkened skin could not hide the

sudden flush in his cheeks. “While we encamped

in Hebron before journeying here I met the

daughter of Calneh. She . . . She.

. . .”

“Oh, ho, now the truth emergeth. Love, not

noble ideals, has changed my camel boy into a

mighty soldier ready to battle the world. Calneh

is a very wealthy man. His daughter and a camel

boy? Never! But his daughter and a rich, young,

and handsome merchant . . . ah, that is another

matter. Very well, my young soldier, I will help

you begin your career as a salesman.”

The lad fell to his knees and grasped Pathros’

robe. “Sire, sire! How can I say the words to

show my thanks?”

Pathros freed himself fro

m Hafid’s grip and

stepped back. “I would suggest you withhold thy

thanks for the present. Whatever aid I give thee

will be as a grain of sand compared to the

mountains you must move for yourself.”

Hafid’s joy immediately subsided as he asked,

30

“Will you no

t teach me the principles and laws

that will transform me into a great salesman?”

“I will not. No more than I have made your

early youth soft and easy through pampering. I

have been critized often for condemning my

adopted son to the life of a camel boy but I

believed that if the right fire was burning

inside it would eventually emerge . . . and when

it did you would be far more a man for your

years of difficult toil. Tonight, your request

has made me happy, for the fire of ambition

glows in your eyes and your face shines with

burning desire. This is good and my judgment is

vindicated but you must still prove that there

is more behind your words than air.”

Hafid was silent and the old man continued,

“First, you must prove to me, and more

important to yourself, that you can endure the

life of a salesman for it is not an easy lot you

have chosen. Truly, many times have you heard me

say that the rewards are great if one succeeds

but the rewards are great only because so few

succeed. Many succumb to despair and fail

without realizing that they already possess all

the tools needed to acquire great wealth. Many

others face each obstacle in their path with

fear and doubt and consider them as enemies when,

31

in truth, these obstructions are friends and

helpers. Obstacles are necessary for success

because in selling, as in all careers of

importance, victory comes only after many

struggles and countless defeats. Yet each

struggle, each defeat, sharpens your skills and

strengths, your courage and your endurance, your

ability and your confidence and thus each

obstacle is a comrade-in-arms forcing you to

become better . . . or quit. Each rebuff is an

opportunity to move forward; turn away from them,

avoid them, and you throw away your future.”

The youth nodded and made as if to speak but the

old man raised his hand and continued,

“Furthermore, you are embarking on the

loneliest profession in the world. Even the

despised tax collectors return to their homes at

sundown and the legions of Rome have a barracks

to call home. But you will witness many setting

suns far from all friends and loved ones.

Nothing can bring the hurt of loneliness upon a

man so swiftly as to pass a strange house in the

dark and witness, in the lamplight from within,

a family breaking evening bread together.

32

“It is in these periods of loneliness that

temptations will confront thee,” Pathros

continued. “How you meet these temptations will

greatly affect your career. When you are on the

road with only your animal it is a strange and

often frightening sensation. Often our

perspectives and our values are temporarily

forgotten and we become like children, longing

for the safety and love of our own. What we find

as a substitute has ended the career of many

including thousands who were considered to have

great potential in the art of selling.

Furthermore, there will be no one to humor you

or console you when you have sold no goods; no

one except those who seek to separate you from

your money pouch.”

“I will be careful and heed thy words of

warning.”

“Then let us begi

n. For the present you will

receive no more advice. You stand before me as a

green fig. Until the fig is ripe it cannot be

called a fig and until you have been exposed to

knowledge and experience you cannot be called a

salesman.”

“How shall I begin?”

“In t

he morning you are to report to Silvio at

33

the baggage wagons. He will release, in your

charge, one of our finest seamless robes. It is

woven from the hair of a goat and will withstand

even the heaviest rains and it is dyed red from

the roots of the madder plant so that the color

will always hold fast. Near the hem you will

find sewn on the inside, a small star. This is

the mark of Tola whose guild makes the finest

robes in all the world. Next to the star is my

mark, a circle within a square. Both these marks

are known and respected throughout the land and

we have sold countless thousands of these robes.

I have dealt with the Jews so long that I only

know their name for such a garment as this. It

is called an abeyah.

“Take the robe and a donkey and depart at

dawn

for Bethlehem, the village which our caravan

passed through before arriving here. None of our

sellers ever visit there. They report that it is

a waste of their time because the peoples are so

poor, yet many years ago I sold hundreds of

robes among the shepherds there. Remain in

Bethlehem until you have sold the robe.”

Hafid nodded, attempting in vain to conceal his

excitement. “At what price shall I sell the

robe, master?”

34

“I will enter a charge of one silver denarius

against your name on my ledger. When you return

you will remit one silver denarius to me. Keep

all that you receive in excess of this as your

commission, so, in fact, you set the price of

the robe yourself. You may visit the market

place which is at the south entry of town or you

may wish to consider calling on each dwelling in

the town itself, of which I am certain there are

over a thousand. Certainly it is conceivable

that one robe can be sold there, do you not

agree?”

Hafid nodded again, his mind already on the

morrow.

Pathros placed h

is hand gently on the lad’s

shoulder. “I will place no one in your position

until you return. If you discover that your

stomach is not for this profession I will

understand and you must not consider yourself in

disgrace. Never feel shame for trying and

failing for he who has never failed is he who

has never tried. Upon your return I will

question you at length concerning your

experiences. Then I will decide how I shall

proceed with helping you to make your outlandish

dreams come true.”

Hafid bowed and turned to leave but the old man

35

was not finished. “Son, there is one precept

that you must remember as you begin this new

life. Keep it always in your mind and you will

overcome seemingly impossible obstacles that are

certain to confront you as they do everyone with

ambition.”

Hafid waited, “Yes, sire?”

“Failure will never overtake you if your

determination to succeed is strong enough.”

Pathros stepped close to the youth. “Do you

comprehend the full meaning of my words?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Then repeat them to me!”

“F

ailure will never overtake me if my

determination to succeed is strong enough.”

36

Chapter IV

Hafid pushed aside the half-eaten loaf of bread

and considered his unhappy fate. Tomorrow would

be his fourth day in Bethlehem and the single

37

red robe that he had carried so confidently away

from the caravan was still in the pack on the

back of his animal, now tethered to a stake in

the cave behind the inn.

He heard not the noise that surrounded him in

the overcrowded dining hall as he scowled at his

unfinished meal. Doubts that have assailed every

seller since the beginning of time passed

through his mind:

“Why will the people not

listen to my story? How does one command their

attention? Why do they close their door before I

have said five words? Why do they lose interest

in my talk and walk away? Is everyone poor in

this town? What can I say when they tell me they

like the robe but cannot afford it? Why do so

many tell me to return at a later date? How do

others sell when I cannot? What is this fear

that seizes me when I approach a closed door and

how can I overcome it? Is my price not in line

with the other sellers?”

He shook his head in disgust at his failure.

Perhaps this was not the life for him. Perhaps

he should remain a camel boy and continue

earning only coppers for each day’s labor. As a

38

seller of goods he would indeed be fortunate if

he returned to the caravan with any profit at

all. What had Pathros called him? A young

soldier? He wished, momentarily, that he were

back with his animals.

Then his thoughts turned to Lisha and to her

stern father, Calneh, and the doubts quickly

left his mind. Tonight he would again sleep in

the hills to conserve his funds and tomorrow he

would sell the robe. Furthermore, he would speak

with such eloquence that the robe would bring a

good price. He would begin early, just after

dawn, and station himself near the town well. He

would address everyone that approached and

within a short time he would be returning to the

Mount of Olives with silver in his purse.

He reached for the unfinished bread and began to

eat while he thought of his master. Pathros

would be proud of him because he had not

despaired and returned as a failure. In truth,

four days was much too long a time to consummate

the sale of but one simple robe but if he could

accomplish the deed in four days he knew he

could learn, from Pathros, how to accomplish it

in three days, then two days. In time he would

become so proficient that he would sell many

39

robes every hour! Then he would indeed be a

salesman of repute.

He departed from the noisy inn and headed toward

the cave and his animal. The chilled air had

stiffened the grass with a thin coating of frost

and each blade crackled with complaint from the

pressure of his sandals. Hafid decided not to

ride into the hills tonight. Instead, he would

rest in the cave with his animal.

Tomorrow, he knew, would be a better day

although now he understood why the others always

bypassed this unprosperous village. They had

said that no sales could be made here and he had

recalled their words every time someone had

refused to buy his robe. Yet, Pathros had sold

hundreds of robes here many years ago. Perhaps

times had been different then and, after all,

Pathros was a great salesman.

A flickering light from the cave caused him to

hasten his steps for fear that a thief was

within. He rushed through the opening in the

limestone ready to overcome the criminal and

recover his possessions. Instead, the tenseness

40

immediately left his body at the sight that

confronted him.

A small candle, forced between a cleft in the

cave wall, shone faintly on a bearded man and a

young woman huddled closely together. AT their

feet, in a hollowed-out stone that usually held

cattle fodder, slept an infant. Hafid knew

little of such things but he sensed that the

baby was newborn from the child’s wrinkled and

crimson skin. To protect the sleeping infant

from the cold, both the man’s and the woman’s

cloaks covered all but the small head.

The man nodded in Hafid’s direction while the

woman moved closer to the child. No one spoke.

Then the woman trembled and Hafid saw that her

thin garment offered little protection against

the dampness of the cave. Hafid looked again at

the infant. He watched, fascinated, as the small

mouth opened and closed, almost in a smile, and

a strange sensation passed through him. For some

unknown reason he though of Lisha. The woman

trembled again from the cold and her sudden

movement returned Hafid from his daydreaming.

41

After painful moments of indecision the would-be

seller of goods walked to his animal. He

carefully untied the knots, opened his pack, and

withdrew the robe. He unrolled it and rubbed his

hands over the material. The red dye glowed in

the candlelight and he could see the mark of

Pathros and the mark of Tola on its underside.

The circle in the square and the star. How many

times had he held this robe in his tired arms in

the past three days? It seemed as if he knew

every weave and fiber of it. This was indeed a

robe of quality. With care it would last a

lifetime.

Hafid closed his eyes and sighed. Then he walked

swiftly toward the small family, knelt on the

straw beside the infant, and gently removd first

the father’s tattered cloak and then the

mother’s from the manger. He handed each back

to its owner. Both w

ere too shocked at Hafid’s

boldness to react. Then Hafid opened his

precious red robe and wrapped it gently around

the sleeping child.

Moisture from the young mother’s kiss was still

42

on Hafid’s cheek as he led his animal out of

the cave. Directly above him was the brightest

star Hafid had ever seen. He stared up at it

until his eyes filled with tears and then he

handed his animal through the path that led

toward the main road back to Jerusalem and the

caravan on the mountain.

Chapter V

Hafid rode slowly, his head bowed so that he no

longer noticed the star spreading its path of

light before him. Why had he committed such a

foolish act? He knew not those people in the

cave. Why had he not attempted to sell the road

to them? What would he tell Pathros? And the

others? They would roll on the ground with

laughter when they learned he had given away a

robe with which he had been charged. And to a

strange baby in a cave. He searched his mind for

a tale that would deceive Pathros. Perhaps he

could say that the robe had been stolen from his

animal while he was in the dining hall. Would

Pathros believe such a tale? After all, there

were many bandits in the land. And should

Pathros believe him would he not then be

condemned for carelessness?

All too soon he reached the path that led

43

through the Garden of Gethsemane. He dismounted

and walked wearily ahead of the mule until he

arrived at the caravan. The light from above

made it seem as daylight and the confrontation

he had been dreading was quickly upon him as he

saw Pathros, outside his tent, staring into the

heavens. Hafid remained motionless but the old

man noticed him almost immediately.

There was awe in the voice of Pathros as he

approached the youth and asked, “Have you come

directly from Bethlehem?”

“Yes, master.”

“Are you not alarmed that a star should follow

you?”

I had not noticed, sire.”

“Had not noticed? I have been unable to move

from this spot since I first saw that star rise

over Bethlehem nearly two hours ago. Never have

I seen one with more color and brightness. Then

as I watched, it began to move in the heavens

and approach our caravan. Now that it is

directly overhead, you appear, and by the gods,

it moves no more.”

Pathros approached Hafid and studied the

youth’s face closely as he asked, “Did you

participate in some extraordinary event while in

44

Bethlehem?”

“No, sire.”

The old man frowned as if deep in thought, “I

have never known a night or an experience such

as this.”

Hafid flinched, “This night I shall never

forget either, master.”

“Oh, ho, then so

mething did indeed happened

this evening. How is that thou returneth at such

a late hour?”

Hafid was silent as the old man turned and

prodded at the pack on Hafid’s mule. “It is

empty! Success at last.

Come into my tent and tell me of your

experiences. Since the gods have turned night

into day I cannot sleep and perhaps your words

will furnish come clue as to why a star should

follow a camel boy.”

Pathros reclined on his cot and listened with

closed eyes to Hafid’s long tale of endless

refusuals, rebuffs, and insults which had been

encountered in Bethlehem. Occasionally he would

nod as when Hafid described the pottery merchant

who had thrown him bodily from his shop and he

smiled when told of the Roman soldier who had

45

flung the robe back in Hafid’s face wh

en the

young seller had refused to reduce his price.

Finally Hafid, his voice hoarse and muffled, was

describing all the doubts that had beset him in

the inn this very evening. Pathros interrupted

him, “Hafid, as well as you can recall, relate

to me every doubt that passed through your mind

as you sat feeling sorry for yourself.”

When Hafid had named them all to the best of his

recollection, the old man asked, “Now, what

thought finally entered your mind which drove

away the doubts and gave you new courage to

decide to try again to sell the robe on the

morrow?”

Hafid considered his reply for a moment and then

said, “I thought only of the daughter of Calneh.

Even in that foul inn I knew that I could never

face her again if I failed.” Then Hafid’s

voice broke

, “But I failed her, anyway.”

“You failed? I do not understand. The robe did

not return with thee.”

In a voice so low that Pathros found it

necessary to lean forward in order to hear,

Hafid related the incident of the cave, the

46

infant, and the robe. As the youth spoke,

Pathros glanced again and again at the open tent

flap and the brightness beyond which still

illuminated the camp grounds. A smile began to

form on his puzzled face and he did not notice

that the lad had ceased with his story and was

now sobbing.

Soon the sobs subsided and there was only

silence in the great tent. Hafid dared not look

up at his master. He had failed and proven that

he was ill-equipped to be anything more than a

camel boy. He fought back the urge to leap up

and run from the tent. Then he felt the great

salesman’s hand on his shoulder and forced

himself to look into the eyes of Pathros.

“My son, this trip has not been of much profit

to you.”

“No, sire.”

“But to me it has. The star which followed you

has cured me of a blindness that I am reluctant

to admit. I will explain this matter to you only

after we return to Palmyra. Now I make a request

of thee.”

“Yes, master.”

“Our sellers will begin returning to the

caravan before sundown tomorrow and their

animals will need your care. Are you willing to

47

return to your duties as camel boy for the

present?”

Hafid rose resignedly and bowed toward his

benefactor. “Whatever you ask of me, that I

will do . . . and I am sorry that I have failed

you.”

“Go then, and prepare for the return of our m

en

and we shall meet again when we are in

Palmyra.”

As Hafid stepped through the tent opening,

bright light from above momentarily blinded him.

He rubbed his eyes and heard Pathros call from

inside the tent.

The youth turned and stepped back inside,

waiting for the old man to speak. Pathros

pointed toward him and said, “Sleep in peace

for you have not failed.”

The bright star remained above throughout the

night.

Chapter VI

Nearly a fortnight after the caravan had

returned to its headquarters in Palmyra, Hafid

was awakened from his straw cot in the stable,

and summoned to appear before Pathros.

48

He hastened to the bed chamber of the master and

stood uncertainly before the huge bed which

dwarfed its occupant. Pathros opened his eyes

and struggled with his coverings until he was

sitting upright. His face was gaunt and blood

vessels bulged in his hands. It was difficult

for Hafid to believe that this was the same man

with whom he had spoken only twelve days ago.

Pathros motioned toward the lower half of the

bed and the youth sat carefully on its edge,

waiting for the old man to speak. Even Pathros’

voice was different in sound and pitch from

their last meeting.

“My son, ye have had many days to reconsider

your ambitions. Is it still within thee to

become a grea

t salesman?”

“Yes, sire.”

The ancient head nodded. “So be it. I had

planned to spend much time with you but as you

can see there are other plans for me. Although I

consider myself a good salesman I am unable to

sell death on departing from my door. He has

been waiting for days like a hungry dog at our

kitchen door. Like the dog, he knows that

49

eventually the door will be left unguarded. . . .

“

Coughing interrupted Pathros and Hafid sat

motionless as the old man gasped for air.

Finally the coughs ceased and Pathros smiled

weakly, “Our time together is brief so let us

begin. First, remove the small cedar chest which

is beneath this bed.”

Hafid knelt and pulled out a small leather-

strapped box. He placed it below the contour

made by Pathros’ legs on the bed.

The old man

cleared his throat, “Many years ago when I

possessed less status than even a camel boy, I

was privileged to rescue a traveler from the

East who had been set upon by two bandits. He

insisted that I had saved his life and wished to

reward me although I sought none. Since I had

neither a family nor funds he enjoined me to

return with him to his home and kin where I was

accepted as one of his own.

“One day, after I had grown accustomed to my

new life, he introduced me to this chest. Inside

were ten leather scrolls, each one numbered. The

first contained the secret of learning. The

others contained all the secrets and principles

necessary to become a great success in the art

50