Three Blacksmiths
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“Come, now,” said the first smith. “There’s no need to be so rude.”
The second smith spoke up. “It’s true enough. There’s a time for everything. We have to do what we can while we’re alive and kicking.”
The third smith looked at his companions and then at the man who had asked the question. “You don’t want to hear it, do you?” he said. “But I’ll tell you anyway. No matter how bad things get, there’s always someone worse off than you are.”
The first smith laughed. “You’re right, my friend. It’s hard to feel sorry for yourself when you see someone else worse off than you are.”
“And it’s not like you’re the only one with something to complain about,” added the second smith. “We all have problems, don’t we?”
“And it’s not as if you’re the only one who has to work for a living,” said the third smith. “Everyone has to do that. Some of us just work harder than others.”
“But there’s more to life than working,” said the first smith. “There’s plenty of time to relax when you’re dead.”
“I agree,” said the second smith. “I’m not sure why you’re complaining about anything. You’ve got your health, haven’t you? That’s worth having, isn’t it?”
“What about the other stuff?” asked the third smith. “Your house, your clothes, your money? Your wife, your children, your friends? Don’t they mean anything to you?”
“Of course they do,” said the first smith. “But what’s the point in worrying about them when there’s nothing you can do about them?”
“What about the future?” asked the third smith. “Don’t you care about that?”
“What future?” asked the first smith. “None of us knows what will happen tomorrow. But today is a gift from God, and I intend to make the most of it.”
“What about me?” asked the third smith. “I’m the one who’s unhappy.”
“Why?” asked the second smith. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” said the third smith. “It’s just that I’ve got more to worry about than everyone else. What if I lose my job? What if I don’t find another one? What if I can’t pay the rent? What if I lose everything I own? What if I get sick? What if I die? What if I don’t get married? What if I have no children? What if I’m never happy again? What if I’m all alone forever?”
“Well, then,” said the first smith, “you should be glad you’re alive. At least you’ll have plenty of time to think about how miserable you are.”
“No thanks,” said the third smith. “I’d rather be dead.”
The first smith laughed. “That’s a good one. You should write that down.”
“Why to bother?” asked the second smith. “You’ll only use it again.”
“No, I won’t,” said the third smith. “This is the last time I’ll ever feel sorry for myself.”
“And why would you want to do that?” asked the first smith. “Feeling sorry for yourself is such a waste of time.”
“Yes, it is,” agreed the second smith. “I’ve been thinking about it. There’s always someone worse off than you are.”
“I know,” said the third smith. “But there’s always someone better off, too. And that’s the important thing.”
“Which is?” asked the first smith.
“That we should be grateful for what we have,” said the third smith. “We should be thankful for all the good things in our lives and try to ignore the bad ones.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said the second smith. “I guess we could all stand to be more like that.”
“I suppose so,” agreed the first smith. “So let’s forget this silly nonsense and get back to work.”
“Right,” said the second smith. “Let’s do it!”
They all went back to their tasks and began hammering away.
A few minutes later, however, the second smith stopped suddenly, his hands frozen on top of the anvil. His eyes were wide open, staring at nothing. The third smith noticed him, took hold of one of the smith’s arms, and pulled it away from the anvil. Then he helped the man stand up straight.
The second smith turned around slowly. He was still holding the heavy hammer in one hand; it rested gently against the anvil, which had stopped rocking back and forth.
“Is something wrong?” asked the third smith, taking a step closer.
“I don’t know,” said the second smith. “It’s just… I keep hearing a voice telling me ‘be happy.’ It sounds like it’s coming out of my ear.”
“Are you sure?” asked the first smith. “Maybe it’s just your imagination.”
“No,” said the second smith. “It really does sound like it comes from inside my head.”
“That’s strange,” said the first smith. “Doesn’t that kind of thing happen to you a lot?”
“Not usually,” admitted the second smith. “Usually the voices just tell me what to do.”
“What happens next?” asked the third smith. “Should we stop working and go see the priest?”
“No,” said the first smith. “Let’s finish this job first. If I start feeling any worse, I’ll go to Father O’Mally right away.”
“Good idea,” said the third smith. “But you might want to take care of that hammer first.”
***
Once upon a time, there lived three brothers, who were all very different. They had different mothers. They were named after different kinds of metal: copper for the eldest, silver for the middle brother, and gold for the youngest. But they shared one other trait: None of them was happy.
One day, the first copper found out about his two brothers. He thought, “If I knew what happened to my brother silver, perhaps I would learn how to be happy.” So the first copper walked through town until he came across a house where the walls were made entirely of gold and the roof of pure silver. He knocked on the door and said, “May I come in and look at you?”
There was no reply. So the first copper opened the door himself and stepped inside. He walked over to the nearest wall and tapped on it with his knuckles. No sound came from the golden surface. The first copper sighed. “I see,” he said. “This isn’t the way to find my brother.”
He closed the door and started walking away when he heard someone call out to him. “Wait! What are you doing here?” cried a young woman standing by the kitchen hearth.
She smiled at the copper as she spoke. Her cheeks glistened like molten silver under her golden hair. The first copper felt his face getting hot and looked away, embarrassed by his own foolishness.
“I’m looking for my brother silver,” said the first copper. “Do you know if he has a brother?”
“Yes,” said the young woman. “Your brother has a younger brother named gold.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the first copper. “How did you know? Where can I find him?”
“Follow me,” she said.
Then she led him upstairs and into a room where gold lay sleeping on a bed of gold. She woke him up and told him about his brother. Gold got excited. “Tell me more!” he cried.
“Go outside,” suggested his sister. “And don’t let anyone see you. Don’t tell anyone what you’re going to do. Just go straight out to the street and yell at the top of your voice. When people see that you have gold flowing from every orifice, they won’t bother you.”
Gold hurried outside, where the sun was shining brightly on a warm summer’s day. He shouted and screamed and called out to everyone who passed by, hoping that somebody would take pity and answer him. “Come here!” he roared to the passersby. “Don’t ignore me! You should have heard how I sounded last night! I’m gold now – gold inside and out! Come here and listen to me!”
Soon enough, a group of men approached gold. Their clothes were made of cloth woven from threads of gold, their shoes were made of gold, their belts were made of gold, their swords were made of gold, and even the horses that pulled their carriages were covered from tip to tail with a layer of golden hairs.
These people had come from another place altogether, they said. They didn’t understand anything that gold was saying, but they were impressed nonetheless.
“You’re amazing!” said one of them. “Look at that gold! How long has it been since any of us saw such beauty as yours?”
“It’s not mine,” said gold. “I wish I had it.”
The man laughed. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about that, is there? We’d better get back to our work. Let me introduce myself. My name’s copper. What are your names?”
Gold told them his name. “Copper, eh?” said the stranger. “Very clever.”
“Thank you,” said gold, blushing furiously. “That means a lot coming from you.”
“I’m sure it does,” said the copper. “Now, let me ask you something: Do you have any gold?”
“Of course I do,” said gold, reaching deep down inside himself. Then he took out a handful of golden coins. “Here they are!”
“Where did you get them?” asked the copper, amazed.
“From the market,” said gold, proudly waving the money around. “I bought them today from one of those merchants who sell things by weight.”
The stranger examined the coins closely and then nodded. “Good,” he said. “But this isn’t enough for me to be convinced.” He picked up an apple from the ground and held it up so that everybody could see. “What do you think these are worth?”
There was silence for a moment while the strangers all looked at the apple. Finally one of them answered. “One apple? Two apples? Four?” he guessed.
The stranger shook his head. “Ten,” he said.
“No!” cried several others at once.
“Why ten?” asked the copper. “Because they look exactly like other apples that I’ve seen before,” said the stranger. “Nothing special about them. But I remember thinking that I would never be able to eat just one apple because they looked too good. And yet when I ate them, I found myself eating another one, and another one…”
“So?” asked gold. “Aren’t you convinced now?”
“Not completely,” admitted the copper. “But I am convinced enough for me to give you a chance.” He reached into his pocket and handed gold five more gold pieces.
“What’s this?” asked gold. “You’re really giving me money to prove that I’m gold?”
“Of course,” answered the stranger. “If I thought that gold was only half-gold, I wouldn’t have given you all this money to prove it.”
“This makes no sense!” protested gold. “Why should you care if I’m real gold or not?”
“We need to know which side you’re on,” said the copper. “Do you want to be part of our team or against us?”
“Against you?” asked gold. “Why would you do that? I thought we were friends!”
The strangers laughed loudly. “Friends?” asked one of them. “You don’t seem like very good friends.”
“Why not?” asked gold.
“How many times have we met?” asked the copper. “Have you ever tried talking to us? Have you ever invited us to join you in anything?”
“Once or twice,” said gold. “But you always rejected my invitations. You turned me down every time.”
“Yes, well, we’re busy,” said the copper, unimpressed. “We have important work to do.”
“Important?” said gold. “How can you call what you’re doing important? It’s stupid! Who cares how much metal you can make? Nobody needs it. No one will even buy it from you. What difference does it make in how thick you can make your wires? There’ll always be thicker ones! You’re wasting your time trying to create something that doesn’t exist anywhere else in the world!”
The copper looked around at the other strangers and shrugged. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “We could probably do with a little less talk. I think it’s time we got to work.” With that, the strangers grabbed hold of gold and lifted him off the ground.
“Come on,” said one of them. “Let’s show the rest of the team that there’s no such thing as gold.” The other strangers all took up their tools and followed after the first stranger, leaving gold alone in the middle of the road.
“Wait!” cried gold, but they ignored him and carried on walking, carrying him along with them. He was dragged through the streets, over the river, and past several other cities until finally, they arrived at another mountain.
They put gold down on a stone and began pounding on him again, harder than ever. Gold was screaming for help as his skin was being pounded into dust under their blows. The strangers seemed oblivious to the pain he was suffering; they simply continued to pound away at him without stopping, all day long and all night too. When the sun rose they went back to work.
Finally, at last, it stopped. The strangers stood around looking at gold, shaking their heads as if they couldn’t believe what they had just done to him.
“You can stop,” said gold, weakly. “It’s over.”
“No,” said the stranger. “You haven’t shown us enough yet.”
“Enough?” cried gold. “You beat me to a pulp, and now you want more?”
“Just give it to us,” begged one of the other strangers. “Please don’t make us go any further.”
Gold sighed and reached for his hammer. Then he paused, realizing that there was still something missing. Something he needed to complete his story: “I don’t suppose anyone brought a knife?” he asked, hopefully. None of them did. “Well then,” said gold. “In that case, I guess that’s all there is to see here today.”
And with that, he picked up his hammer and began beating gold to death.
The End