The Demon’s Tale

After the demon released the merchant, he said to the four men, “all of your stories were strange. But now that I no longer pose a threat to you, oh merchant, I will share with you how my son came to be killed by one of the stones you threw. This is the strangest story of all.” One old man looked at the other and each said, “By God, I shall not leave until I hear the story of the demon.” The merchant, weary of remaining in this place much longer, began to discreetly move away. The demon noticed this, and so he said to the merchant, “merchant, I will strike a deal with you: if you stay and listen to my story, and do not find it to be stranger than each story of these old men, then I will grant you one wish.” The merchant, now entreated by the demon’s offer, agreed to stay and hear the story.

And so the demon began, “my mortal friends, give me your ears, eyes, and minds. The absence of one detail from this tale undoes the whole.

“Years ago, I was a very rich man. I acquired my wealth through success as a trader in the market selling jewelry of only the finest kind. Traders would travel from long and far to purchase my jewels. My son would play in the market and often get into fights with the other children while they were playing. He was a fierce child—controlled by a demon. I feared one day he would engage in a fight beyond his strength.

“One day, a trader stopped by my stand in the market. With a face covered by cloth and a head wrapped in garb, he whispered in a low voice, ‘if you want to be rich, you will come with me.’ I replied to the man, ‘thank you, good man, but I am already quite rich.’ The man persisted and hissed at me, ‘that may be so, the business of trade treats you well. But the riches of which I speak are greater than anything you have ever known.’ Intrigued by his ambiguity and secrecy, I obliged to go with him. I closed up my stand, collected my son, and the three of us began walking out of the market.

“As we were leaving, I turned to the man and asked, ‘why do you hide your face?’ He turned his body to stare in my face with his dark, deep eyes—the like I had never seen before—and he said, “do not seek that for which you are not prepared to die.” Confused, again, by his statement, I retreated, and we continued to walk out of the market.

“Upon reaching the market’s end, the man said to me, ‘your son must remain here.’ I hastily explained to the man, ‘I do not go anywhere without my son.’ With a sense of malice, the man told me, ‘you must accustom yourself to his absence, for he will die before you.’

“I shuddered at his words. My intuition told me to return to my stand with my son and forget that I had ever met this man. But I felt seduced by his presence. ‘Play with your friends, son; I will return soon.’ Some inclination within me could not resist.

“We walked and walked, far from the market, until we reached the outskirts of the town. After some time, I asked the man, ‘why can you not show me your face?’ He told me as he did before: ‘I can show it to you, but you must be prepared to die.’

“We walked further until we arrived at a date tree—a lone tree in an open field. The man explained to me that the pits of these dates are sweeter than the sweetest fruit: they are made of gold. ‘Do not pick one of the dates, however. You must live here for one year—tending to every one of the tree’s needs. If you can succeed in this year, the tree will belong to you, and you will acquire all of the dates and their gold pits. But, if you fail, you will become the slave of this tree for your entire life.’

“Thoughts drifted to my son. What would he think happened to me? A whole year lost, but unbelievable riches gained. I thought back to the days of my childhood where I planted many trees with my father. I knew I would succeed and so I did not fear slavery. ‘I accept.’

“The year went by, and I succeeded in satisfying the tree. It gave itself over to me. I could now sell all these precious dates for bundles of money. The first thing I did, though, was return to the market to find my son.

“Weaving in and out of the crowds of people, I searched everywhere for him. He was nowhere to be found. I figured that perhaps he had gone home, so I went to my stand and reopened it. At midday there would be much business, and I could commence selling the dates I had with me.

“My stand had never been so popular as it was on that day. Hundreds of merchants came to inspect these remarkable fruits. The masked man was right—I had achieved a richness I never thought possible! Basking in the glory of my treasure, I saw a peasant in the corner of my eye. A feeling of generosity was aroused within me, and I decided to give him a gift. I purchased regular dates and mixed a gold-pitted date with the bunch, so he would not know that I was giving him such a kindness. He happily accepted the bit of food to eat, and I returned to my stand. As nightfall came, someone with a covered face approached my stand. It was not the same man I had met a year ago. No, no—It was my son!

“‘My son! My son, how I have missed you. Why is your face covered like this?’ He got so close to me, I extended my arms to embrace him, but he glared in my face with his dark, deep eyes—a glare I had only seen once before. He turned and ran. I left my shop and chased after him. I chased him for a far distance, until I recognized where we were. He stopped. He turned his body to face me and before I could utter a word, he turned again. And now with his back toward me a stone flew from above, hit my son’s head, and he fell to the ground—dead.”

The merchant looked at the demon, straight in the face with deep, dark eyes, and inquired, “why would you choose gold over your son?” “I did not choose.” replied the demon, as he looked down in shame. “It was the demon who did all this. And now I have become the same for my son’s death.”

Without notice, the merchant covered his face with a cloth and walked away.