Scorpion Soup Read Online Free PDF Page A

handful of coins, could I get a selection? You know, so I can test some of them out.’
    The clerk was about to refuse, when he was overcome with goodwill. He glanced up at the jar, fearing its stopper was loose.
    ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘after all, I am about to close for the night.’
    Five minutes later, the farmer found himself clutching a sackcloth bag in which were jangling six miniature bottles.
    Just before he left the shop, the clerk gave a caution:
    ‘Although they are magical,’ he said, ‘you have only purchased samples of my wares, and in this size the effect of each bottle lasts only a single day.’
    It was dark by the time the farmer returned home. His wife was standing outside the shack and she was weeping.
    ‘We can’t go in,’ she said. ‘The landlord has thrown us out. I hope you made us enough money so that at least we can eat.’
    Her husband pulled the sackcloth bag out from behind his back.
    ‘I bought something far better than food,’ he said.
    His wife looked at him expectantly.
    ‘I bought these little bottles.’
    ‘We need more than liquid, we need food .’
    ‘But they don’t contain liquid.’
    The farmer’s eyes were wide.
    ‘Then what’s in them?’ asked the woman, snatching one and holding it up to the moon.
    ‘It’s empty!’ she scowled.
    ‘They all are,’ the farmer explained. ‘And that’s the point.’
    The next thing the farmer knew, a clenched fist had hit him between the eyes. His wife’s fury knew no bounds. As he came to his senses, he thought of something.
    Picking up the little bottle that his wife has thrown on the ground, he uncorked it, and held the rim to his pursed lips. He felt something strange enter his mouth, something intangible and warm.
    ‘You’ve ruined us,’ said his wife, as she began to weep again.
    The farmer stood up.
    ‘My dear, dear woman,’ he replied, ‘please forgive me. I can never find the words to apologise enough. You deserve a far better man than I, and so I will take leave of you and return only when I have made something of myself.’
    ‘Good riddance to you!’ barked the old woman.
    But her husband had already gone.
    On the ground where he had been standing was a tiny bottle. Squinting, and holding it to the full moon as she had done before, she read the handwritten label – Remorse .
    Within a day, the farmer had crossed the fields and reached the edge of the neighbouring town. He met a fisherman beside a stream, approached him and said:
    ‘Hello friend, do forgive me for disturbing you. Oh, how very sorry I am. Truly, I really mean it.’
    Struck by the stranger’s politeness, the fisherman offered him some grilled fish for lunch. The two men became instant friends and, before he knew it, the farmer was invited to stay in the fisherman’s home.
    That night, he reflected on the day’s events and how the course of his life had changed. His mind wandering, he opened the bag and pulled out the first bottle he could find.
    The label read, Bravery .
    ‘Hmmm,’ thought the farmer to himself. ‘I’d like to be brave.’ And, without giving it too much thought at all, he prised out the cork and sucked down the bottle’s contents.
    That night, while the fisherman and his family slept, a band of thieves broke into the house, each one armed with a scimitar. They came in over the roof, and in through the windows, moving in complete silence.
    Then they sprang.
    The fisherman and his family were roused from their beds, tied up and relieved of all that they owned.
    In the clamour of the attack, no one noticed the farmer sleeping in the kitchen beside the fire. Hearing a commotion, he crept stealthily into the sleeping quarters, armed with a cleaver. And, hardly knowing how he did it, he took the attackers by surprise.
    Within less time than it takes to tell, he fought them all at once, and disarmed them all in a feat of unbridled bravery. Minutes later, the band of thieves lay dead, their bodies dismembered on the floor