The Merchant and the Fool

Once there was a merchant who kept the strictest account of his business. He did the same with anything else in his life, actually. He would always say there was an order to everything and he meant his order. He knew exactly who was important to him and who didn’t matter. He knew exactly who offended him and who earned his respect. When anyone asked him for help or a favor, he had to assess the value in relation to the risk.

    One day there was an accident and a complete stranger needed his help but it was easy for him to keep walking because it was all risk and no value, as he liked to say about almost everything that did not involve his profit.  To get involved in such an accident would only be a threat to his well being as he saw it.  This sort of thing happened before and would happen again and it was of no concern to him.  Who was he to try and change the order of things?

    And once there was a fool who kept no account of anything.  If somebody needed something like the codpiece off his crotch, he’d give it.  He had no real business to speak of except the business of life.  It might’ve been a poor life but it was rich with friends who he made wherever he went.  

One day, the merchant was busy running numbers in his head while he was crossing the road and a team of horses pulling a carriage galloped straight for him. And the fool saw what was about to happen and without a care pushed the merchant out of the way but was trampled to death instead. The merchant stood up and brushed himself off and cursed the man who pushed him as a downright fool who should’ve looked where he was going

The Soup Maker’s Broth

Once there was a soup maker who woke up before dawn everyday to make the broth upon which his whole village depended.  Every villager thought he was the best person amongst them because who else wakes up so early everyday to work without a complaint and a smile on his face.  Since they had never seen him in a bad mood, they assumed he clearly held some inner truth that sustained him in his service to them.

That was until they found out what his inner truth really was when a little girl who could not sleep one night wandered over to watch him make the broth and saw him pissing into the pot.  At first, the villagers did not believe her but then they snuck over and saw it for themselves the next day.

Some of them had grown up on his broth and everyone was not only having it daily but raising their kids on the stuff.  And when they confronted him about it, the soup maker argued that some put wine in their broth and others beer, and so he thought he’d do the same but use himself as a filter so that none ever went to waste.  

The villagers detested nothing more than waste and so they punished the girl for making them assume the worst and enjoyed the broth more than ever knowing that their soup maker had made it with the utmost efficiency in mind and spirit and in full dedication to his craft.