Short Story: In Forma Pauperis

There once was a poor man who heard that there was the next town over. As the man had never been out of the village in his life, the concept of the `next town' was a indistinct, abstract distance away.

The fellow was unperturbed by his lack of knowledge, in fact, he was barely conscious of it. So he collected what meagre belongings he had - which were just the rags on his back - and journeyed forth to see his neighbours for a meal.

After a short walk, he came upon a little boy. The boy was eating a biscuit. Being a local child, this boy knew what poverty the poor man lived in and out of the kindness of his heart, offered the man a bite.

``Oh no, oh no!" said the poor fellow, honest and decent to the bone, ``I couldn't possibly intrude on your delicious meal! Besides - I'm on my way to the next town - I hear there is free food to be gotten!"

The ragged fellow passed the little boy by and continued down the unsealed path. Before long, his feet were cut and bleeding, for he owned no shoes. He looked down at his bloodied feet with disdain, shaking his head. ``A few scratches is nothing! An honest trial for an honest reward!"

He continued on, hobbling on his broken soles. Soon he came to a distant river crossing. In pain from blistered feet, he was dizzy and his senses were clouded. At this crossing, he saw a lonely hostel - a place that was clean and warm and inviting; yet empty of fellow travelers. A beautiful middle-aged lady stood by the hostel, smiling and greeting him warmly. They talked a little and the woman bade him sit and listen to her tale.

``Oh dear sir! You've come at an opportune time! My humble hostel here is closing down - I've invested much money into the place, but business is not good - the wise men I've consulted say I should retire! I am getting on in years and have plenty stashed away. I have food, drink and a roof over my head, enough money to provide for two - I lack nothing but an honest man to share it with. Will you be so kind as to marry me? My dowry shall be half of all I have; then the two of us can live as a happy couple, needing nothing but love and peace, till old age and infirmity take us; whereby we shall have the blessing of beloved children to attend to our geriatric needs."

The poor man considered the offer - indeed, he licked his lips at the very thought! But he was a determined man, set on his path and determined to achieve. ``Oh no, oh no!" he said, shaking his head. ``Alas, fair miss; I cannot oblige you. I am on my way to the next village - a long way I have come, and an uncertain way yet I still have to go. I best be off quickly. I wish you luck with your retirement - I do hope the next man along this road would be less set upon his purpose than I!" And with that, the barefoot man hobbled across the river, walking for time interminable.

He came upon a mountain - and the path led straight over it. Knowing nothing else, the simple man shrugged and climbed it, scaling the heights and following the path to the next village. Though frigid winds of unforgiving frost and biting ice did chill his skin and blacken his very fingers, the poor man climbed on. ``No objective achieved without sacrifice," he said to himself, ``and honest work makes an honest meal flavoursome."

So it came to be that he climbed the mountaintop. The journey  froze his rags to his body, turned his fingers to frostbitten stubs. The stones of the mountain paths perforated his feet with wounds. On the very peak of the mountain, he saw there a miraculous sight. A palace of wonders, a mansion among mansions, an abode worthy of the gods themselves. A hundred servants came forth from the golden gates, bearing all the treasures of the land - gold, silver, diamonds; and all the goods that could be purchased with this money. There was food of every kind, every pleasure and object of desire known to man - and quite a few that were not.

``Oh sir!" said the servants. ``We are indentured servants, here to serve our righteous master. He has now passed, but not before he foretold the coming of another in forma pauperis, a man in the form of the pauper, with nothing on him and everything to offer. We know nothing else but our master's command; and thus we fulfil his last wish to the letter. We now propose a trade - on our side, we offer ourselves, this gold, these goods, this place and all contained therein. Merely come within, give us your consent - we will make you the next master."

The poor man wept at the sight of these gold and jewels, the extravagant goods and orderly servants. He gasped and glee and awe at the soaring pinnacles of the mansion itself. His stomach growled and throbbed at the sight of the banquet laid out before him on plates of ivory and forks of gold. But he felt giddy from the light air of the mountain. Something in the clear air helped him decide.

``Kind sirs," said the poor man, ``I am but a poor man. I have naught to offer you - really! I must confess that I am much engaged to a previous goal - I am ever so very loyal to this goal, though it seems that I may have underestimated the distance somewhat - I do believe that it is within my reach, if only I walked a little ways more."

So the poor man left the mansion of wonders and the hundred servants and climbed down from the mountain that he had scaled. His rags fell off his body, his fingers were stubs, his feet were torn beyond any hope of ever healing. Yet still he walked and by and by, at last he came to the town.

He had come to the place described, not too long from when he had set out - but much had changed without him knowing. There was no free food to be had here - indeed, the opposite was the case - a swarm of pestilence had turned the food bad, and all manner of rats and insects carrying diseases scoured the land and ravaged the living. The dead, rats and man alike lay in piles, ready to be burnt as an offering to the fickle gods of fate.

The poor fellow saw all his, his heart sunk and his expectations shattered. He dropped to his knees, a small cry escaping his lips. His hopes dashed from him; the efforts of his toil all did their damage at once. His saliva frothed forth from his mouth, his belly swollen from hunger. He began to feel a sickness, one gained during his journey but ignored in pursuit of his goal. Some nameless fever worked its way to his templates, His bloody feet pumped his lifeblood into the barren ground; his fingers fell from his gangrenous hands.

He lay down upon the ground: and there, he died.

 - original short story, by SHKM.