know who you are,” said Melchior. His voice was melodic, and every sentence he spoke seemed as if he were beginning to recite a poem. “I recognize you from when I first saw you in Bethlehem.” “You do?” “A man’s self does not change, only his body. I see you grew out of the swaddling clothes.” “Yes, some time ago.” “Not sleeping in that manger anymore?” “No.” “Some days I could go for a nice manger, some straw, maybe a blanket. Not that I need any of those luxuries, nor does anyone who is on the spiritual path, but still.”
