How To Be Rich

Small brass discs. Five of them to be precise. This is how much Sam’s existence was currently valued at. Rarely more, often less.

Regardless, the coins shone against the tired, mud-imbued wood of the kitchen table as Sam stared into their engraved faces, willing them to multiply. How did people do it? For some, making money happened so effortlessly. These families were like ships; gliding seamlessly through the tranquil waters of life. Sam, however, was alone. Making every effort just to stay afloat against a strong and unrelenting downwards current.

It had not always felt this way. When Nanna-Bea and Grandpa Joe had been alive they had weathered it together. As soon as Sam was strong enough, it had felt right to work in the fields and bring home brass for their little family. Nanna-Bea had urged… commanded, more like, that they “invest’’ what they could into Sam’s schooling. But this made no sense! Why waste their hard-earned coin just to have a teacher drone on about… well, whatever they droned on about? Sam couldn’t afford to go every day, therefore had rapidly fallen behind. Struggling to understand what was being taught, combined with the ridicule of the smarter kids, Sam came away feeling even more stupid. What was the point? Surely it was much better to use this time to work? At least then it would contribute towards putting bread in their bellies.

These arguments would never sway Nanna-Bea though, and she continued to make Sam attend, right up until her untimely death, four months ago. That broke Grandpa Joe. He did his best to be Sam’s rock but, inevitably, the Bea-shaped void was too much for his heart to bare. Sam was left alone. Scarcely able to breathe under the suffocating weight of it all. Too young to earn real coin, too old for anyone to care.

As the last log burned to embers, desperation swirled like mist in the tiny cabin. Sam’s thoughts were as thick as mustard. Frustrated, willing the coins to provide answers, Sam glared at the glinting, gloating faces with an intensity to rival fire. Why was it so hard? Other people did it. How did you become rich?

Then, like a wave, an idea crashed down. Books! Teachers used books all the time to find answers! Perhaps Nanna-Bea had been onto something; maybe school had not been such a waste of time after all. Kissing one of the coins, and sending thanks into the cosmos, Sam curled into the cold, scratchy bed with a glimmer of hope for the future. Sam had a plan.

Alone atop a hill, the library looked down upon the sleeping village. The rolling hills started to glow as golden light curled through the trees and crept over fences. Sam had awoken early and decided to amble slowly up the hill. As the sun stretched, gently rousing the world around them, Sam tried to memorise every sight and sound. Tiny birds had started to twitter, the grass actually glittered, whilst animals below basked in the warmth of a new day. A fresh start. All Sam had to do was find the right book.

The library was visible to everyone from the village, but never before had Sam been within touching distance. The stones were all different shapes and colours, with vines and blossoms weaving across its mosaic surface. Sam couldn’t make out a handle amongst the elaborate carvings on the ancient, wooden door. Pushing firmly against it, Sam was pleasantly surprised as it yawned open, spilling sunlight into the corridor ahead. Following the light, Sam breathed in the smell of parchment. It was intoxicating. Inside was an entire city made of books! Resisting the temptation to call out into the stacks, Sam gazed from floor to ceiling. Sam’s excitement was palpable. Gradually though, a second emotion smothered the rest. The enormity of the task had just sunk in.

“Have you found what you’re looking for yet?”

Sam leapt up with a start, sending books tumbling to the floor.

“Who’s there” Sam gasped, spinning around, trying to locate the speaker. How long had it been? Hours could have passed!

“I am the Librarian.”

A short man, with spindly wire glasses and a moustache of considerable length, stepped out from behind a desk. He wore plain brown robes with open-toed sandals and Sam wondered whether the moustache tickled his feet.

“I’m sorry,” spluttered Sam “I must have… I lost track of… I’ll tidy…”

“No matter, no matter,” the old man cut in, “I see you have selected a great many books, but there is still a greater many more. What is it you seek?”

Sam stared at the squat, grey man for a moment. How did you ask for a book that made you rich? Then, with a sinking feeling, Sam realised it couldn’t exist. If it did, this man would not be stood here, wearing such simple attire, stacking shelves for a living. Holding back the tears, Sam croaked, “You cannot help me. Nobody can.”

“Yes!” proclaimed the Librarian, “You are quite right! Only you can help yourself. However, perhaps I can give your nose a nudge in the right direction? I’ve already lived many of your lifetimes, and I would bet five gold coins that I have the book you need.” With a flourish five gold coins appeared on the table.

Aghast, Sam stared at the shining discs. Tempting. Mocking.

“I couldn’t. I won’t take your coin. What I need doesn’t exist anyway.”

“Are you so sure?” The Librarian’s eyes twinkled. “I thought you youngsters were meant to be more daring than this! Allow an old man to have some fun, will you?”

And from the top of the nearest pile, he plucked a small, black book. Sam hadn’t even noticed it there, which was odd as it was notably different from the rest. The supple black leather seemed to ripple in the old man’s hands, making every other book look lifeless in comparison. Elegant leather ribbons bound it shut, but Sam could sense that it wanted to be opened.

“Here it is!” smiled the Librarian. “Take it, please. And make sure to read it carefully.” With this, he pressed the book into Sam’s hand, swept up the gold and then turned to shuffle away.

“Hang on!” started Sam, “I didn’t even tell you what I was looking for.”

“Have you even read the title?” asked the Librarian without turning back around. “Read the book, follow the book. If it isn’t what you need, come back and I’ll give you those five gold coins. If it is what you need, come back anyway! That’s a library book after all and you should return it when you’re finished.” And with that, he vanished from sight.

Baffled, Sam turned the book over:

How to be Rich

The elegant, golden script winked mischievously. Eagerly Sam opened it to the first page and read:

Step One: Complete 100 good deeds

Step Two: Collect one stone from every settlement in the land

Step Three: Pass on

Slightly bemused, Sam flipped to the second page. It was blank. As was the third, and the fourth and… flipping through the pages Sam realised only the first page had any form of writing. Collapsing back into the seat, Sam threw the book down. Was this a joke!? Did that librarian think this was funny? Tears of anger fell traitorously onto the table. Head in hands, Sam fumed silently. One hundred good deeds! Seriously? How could someone possibly become rich if they were continuously giving away their time and energy? Sure, it was a lovely ideal, but only the wealthy could actually afford such charity. Then step two! Collect thousands of rocks and carry them across the land? Wonderful! How could anyone conceive of carrying such a hefty and pointless load? At least step three made sense. Pass on. Yes, if you attempted such insanity, you certainly would be passing on… to the next life. And with this thought, Sam’s anger crumpled into amusement.

Feeling bad about disregarding the book, Sam picked it up again and breathed in the soft leather. What was there to lose? Holding it close, Sam had a sudden urge to leave the library and enjoy the fresh air outside.

Reaching the local village, Sam weaved between the crowds. Finding a bench, Sam became mesmerised watching people in their daily lives: an elderly woman struggling to hang wet clothes; a child who had dropped his favourite toy; a teenager with a bloody elbow. Sam felt compelled to help. It wasn’t because of the book, after all, who wouldn’t help those in such situations?

And so, the journey began. It started with small acts of kindness, in and around the village. Soon, Sam accepted the book’s wisdom and started writing people’s stories on the blank pages. Eventually, Sam decided it was time to make the journey, so bought an enormous satchel, packing it with a stone from home, a quill with ink, and the little black book wrapped lovingly in a blanket.

Stories of bravery and compassion followed Sam throughout the land, each one captured in the blank pages. Sam collected a memorable stone from every destination, barely noticing the increase in weight, yet growing stronger every day.

Five years passed before Sam decided to return home, carrying a bag full of stones and a book full of memories. It was early evening when the village came into sight. Wanting to appreciate the view, Sam climbed a nearby hill and settled in for the sunset. Taking out the little black book, Sam studied the first page and reflected upon the journey it had taken them on. Curiously, step three had always felt the least certain. That was, until right now. The answer, it seemed, had been dormant inside of Sam this whole time. They would build a school. Right here. With these rocks. Free, for everyone.

In the months following, news spread about the project. People from across the land travelled to contribute. One morning, an envoy arrived from the Queen herself. Sam’s journey had been noticed, and the Queen, humbled by Sam’s story, sent $20,000 in gold to Sam’s cause. The atmosphere in the community was electric and when the school was finally finished, the little village had grown into a vibrant town. Despite being back for a full year, Sam had still not been up to the library. Mostly that was due to the long days of work, however, deep down, Sam knew the real reason. It was time to return the book. The book that had changed everything.

Early one morning, before the town awoke, Sam made the climb back up to the library. Even after everything she had seen, the building was still a marvel. Stepping inside, she was surprised to find the Librarian awaiting her in an armchair. Without a word he gestured to the chair opposite and then stretched out his calloused hand.

Sam’s heart lurched; this book had been her companion and confidant for years. She took a minute before parting with it, feeling the leather in her hands, listening to the stories it whispered and thanking it for the journey they had taken. With gratitude she handed it back to the old man.

Smiling, he stroked the cover fondly before flipping through the pages at an incredible speed. His brown eyes danced as her stories flashed by and she saw glimpses of the people she had met reflected in his spectacles.

“Quite a journey,” he mused, “Tell me. Did it make you rich?”

“Yes,” choked Sam, “In ways I could never have imagined,” and then, with a twinge of guilt, “I didn’t know if I was allowed to write in it, I know it is a library book but…”

The Librarian waved her apology away.

“I’m quite sure, I have no idea what you mean,” and, as he flipped through the pages, Sam saw they were once again, blank.