Toxic Tales

What's in a Name? Part 2

Life passed by fairly normally after that. We continued to spin straw into gold, but not very often, as we made plenty of money from the garments that we wove. The gold was only for emergencies, or the occasional indulgence. I grew up confident in the knowledge that I shared some of my father's wisdom.

When I was twenty-one, I met the woman of my dreams. Her name was Emilia, and besides being the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, she was also brave, kind and loving. My father told me once that he wasn't surprised that I'd found her, as she reminded him very much of my mother. She and I were married a year after our courtship, and we moved to a cottage not far from my father's. Before long, Emilia was pregnant with our first child.

I remember this as being the happiest time of my life. My wife gave birth to a healthy, beautiful boy. We named him Nicholas for my father. Emilia wanted to give him my name, but I refused. "No other child should have to endure the torment of my name!" I said as she laughed.

I continued to weave clothing and split the profits with my father. I showed Emilia how to spin gold, and although she tried it herself, she eventually gave up in frustration. Cooking, she insisted, was her talent. I spun gold, but like my father, it wasn't very often, as I enjoyed the pride of earning a living for myself without any kind of magic. I wanted my son, who I loved more than anyone else in the world, to feel the same way.

One day, one of my father's neighbors, a miller, came to his house looking very distressed. I was there at the time, and heard the man's troubles. His daughter, a well-known troublemaker (and prostitute) named Bridget, had been arrested by the king for attempting to seduce his guards in order to enter the castle. He told my father that the king refused to release her unless a large bail was paid, and he had barely enough money to keep food on his table.

"Please, Nicholas," he begged my father. "I know of your talent, your magical gifts. I beseech you, please, loan my some gold. I will pay you back as soon as I possibly can. Won't you take pity on a pathetic soul like me?"

My father was always kind and generous, and agreed to supply him with the money he needed. He assured the man that he needn't hurry to pay him back. The man thanked him profusely and, gathering his gold, hurried to the castle.

I wasn't sure I trusted the man, and I didn't much care for his daughter, but my father insisted that people had to help one another in times of need. "I'm sure that if we ever requested his help, he would be more than happy to oblige." I resisted the urge to point out that the man was well-known for his gambling addiction.

Time passed, and I soon forgot about the miller, although I did hear that Bridget was brought home safely. The incident didn't enter my mind again until my father came to visit me one evening. He looked very pale and weary; he seemed to be on the verge of illness. I had him sit down and drink some water while he explained to me what was wrong.

"I have been a fool, son," he said sadly, looking ashamed.

"That is not possible!" I insisted. "No man could be farther from a fool than you. What's happened?"

My father sighed. "I have let my generosity get the better of me. That man, the miller, did pay the debt he owed me, but no sooner had he returned it that he was back again, asking for more. Without thinking, I continued to give it to him, whether or not he had paid me back. His demands have become more frequent, and I haven't had a moment's peace in two months."