Philip and the Fortune Teller (9781619501317) Read Online Free PDF Page B

strange
language.
    “There you are,” said the gypsy. “You may
open your eyes. The three wishes are yours. But you had better
listen to Achmed. He has a story to tell you.”
    “A story?” Philip repeated.
    “I had better take the boys to my tent,” said
Achmed softly.
    “They would be safer that way,” Bela
agreed.
    “S . . . safer?” Emery sputtered.
    “Come with me.” Achmed rose, and the boys
followed him across the midway to his tent. He lifted the flap, and
the boys entered. Achmed followed them inside, dropping the flap
behind him. The tent was dark with the flap closed, so Achmed put
two tall candles on a small square table and lit them. The candle
flames sent wriggling shadows dancing across the tent walls and
along the floor.
    “Sit,” Achmed ordered. “Sit and listen
carefully.”
     
     

Chapter Seven
     
    “What do we have to listen to?” Philip asked
in a hushed voice.
    The pharaoh stared briefly at Philip with his
large, round eyes before pulling a chair up near the boys.
    “A wish is a powerful thing. It cannot be
taken lightly. You and you now have three wishes. Before you do
anything with them I must tell you of people I once knew. They,
like you, performed an important service for the gypsy. They, like
you, received three wishes in return. They were a poor couple who
could not survive without the help of their grown son, who worked
in a factory and always gave them some money to help them pay their
bills and buy food. The old couple talked for days about what they
should do with their three wishes, and do you know what they
decided?”
    The pharaoh stared at the boys, waiting for
an answer.
    “No,” Philip squeaked.
    The pharaoh’s eyes widened. “They . . . chose
. . . money! They wanted to relieve their son of the burden of
supporting them, so they wished for a lot of money. One minute
after the man spoke their wish aloud, the telephone rang. The old
man answered it. The president of the company for which his son
worked was on the line telling him that his son had fallen into the
machinery and was no more. He was gone forever.” The pharaoh’s
voice had risen steadily as he related the fate of the young man.
“Do you know what that means?” he asked.
    Emery cleared his throat. “Uh, it means he
died?”
    “Yes! But then the president of the company
said something that sent horrible chills through the heart of the
old man. He said the company’s insurance policy would pay them five
hundred thousand dollars because of the accident! They had gotten
the money they’d wished for! When the old man reported the horrible
news to his wife, his wife nearly went insane. ‘We wished our son’s
death. We killed our own son,’ she moaned. She and her husband were
torn apart by the realization that their wish for wealth came true
at the expense of the life of their only son.”
    The gypsy paused, and Philip reminded himself
to breathe.
    “What then?” Emery whispered.
    “They still had two wishes, and the old woman
knew exactly what to wish for. She wanted her son back. The old man
agreed. If the first wish came true, so would the second one. That
very night they sat in the dark at their dining room table. This
time the woman spoke the wish out loud. ‘I wish to have my son
back.’ They waited. The night was quiet; as quiet as a tomb. Only
eight minutes later they heard the sound of something being dragged
through the street toward their house. They heard a scraping sound
and then a pause. Scrape. Pause. Something approached their front
door! Louder and louder; nearer and nearer came the scraping sound.
Then it stopped. Right outside their door! Then RAP! One solitary
knock on their door. The old woman leaped up. ‘My son,’ she
screamed. RAP! Another lonely knock. The woman started to the door,
but her husband was wiser. He realized what his wife did not. Her
wish had come true! Too true. He grabbed his wife and would not let
her go near the door. The wife screamed to be let