The gap-toothed assayer, thin wire spectacles glued to his nose, nearly kissing its rosy tip, watches a man of similar stature approach, limping, a rough burlap pouch swinging from his leather belt. A hundred hooves, fading, scatter on the breeze, another day, another empty page in the ledger, closes.
Why are you limping?
It’s this heavy bag of mine. I have toted it for as long as I can recall. My gait has suffered. I am bruised in places even I can’t see.
Why don’t you put it down?
It’s my treasure. Look inside. You’ll understand.
I see nothing but fool’s gold. It’s worth naught.
Your eyes lie but I also perceive truth.
Why have you sought me out?
I saw you in a vision. The moon perched on my shoulder, and you appeared.
Tell me more.
I am a face in a line of faces, and all eyes are on a clip-clop parade dragging through soggy, rutted streets. A black glass hearse leads the meandering procession through the center of town, past monuments, and plaques, and the places where the dead fight. You are on the corner, alone, away from the crowd, your gaze is elsewhere. The glow of the moon brushes you.
Do you enjoy parades?
No.
Then look away now, close your eyes, open a new vein, and listen. What do you hear?
I hear jangling coins bouncing off beckoning oak. I smell healthy commerce, but for lack of clarity I cannot see it, and I am lost still. I do hear a raucous port, teeming, bustling, clamoring, and…and…flourishing but I am engulfed by a fog so thick I cannot navigate a safe mooring.
Here, take my glasses, my gift to you. Now, what do you see?
I see you, clearly, and the shimmering vista beyond.
Good. Take your pouch and run. Fill your hands to overflowing with our life.
With gold?
Yes, with a life worth living.
Is that all?
No, you’re obligated to give some back.