Midas didn’t realize that the price had already co due.
He still went to the olive grove every day, pretending nothing was wrong. He greeted his neighbors as usual and ca ho on ti for dinner.
Everything was perfectly normal. At least, that’s what he thought.
He was also very careful to control the amount of gold he sold to avoid drawing attention.
He always found different buyers.
Sotis, he would even sell to discerning tourists visiting the island, claiming his family had fallen on hard tis and offering it at a low price.
At ho, he told his family the money was from tips he earned doing part-ti equipnt repairs for people, and he gradually used it to supplent their household inco.
Of course, the easiest way was to spend the money directly. He replaced all the equipnt in his olive grove and even put a new engine in his old clunker.
He often felt proud of his caution, but this only caused the price to compound...
One day, the Midas family’s old dog, Jones, passed away. The whole family was heartbroken, overco with grief.
The old dog, Jones, had been a gift from Midas to his wife back when they were still dating, and had been with them for many years.
Jones was a very smart dog; he had even saved Midas’s daughter once. Before he died, he was a constant companion to Midas’s elderly mother.
It was safe to say that old Jones was an inseparable part of the Midas family.
They even held a small funeral for old Jones, burying him deep in the olive grove.
During this ti, Midas diligently handled all the arrangents, comforted his family, and thoughtfully put away all of Jones’s things.
But on this day, as Midas was putting a frad photo of Jones into a box, a question suddenly surfaced in his mind:
’What’s the point of doing this?’
’Why am I putting this picture fra away?’ Midas suddenly couldn’t understand his own actions.
He put the fra down, sat in a chair, and stared into space.
When his wife saw him staring blankly, she thought he was simply overco by the mories. She ca over, held his head in her arms, and tried to comfort him.
But Midas found his wife’s behavior a bit lodramatic.
He pushed his rambling wife away. Her words were of no use to him.
Grabbing his car keys, he left the house. He had plans to watch the ga and drink with friends at a bar that night.
In the bar, Midas watched the people around him erupt in cheers when a goal was scored and groan in disappointnt when a point was lost.
He sat in his chair, sipping a strange-tasting "beverage," feeling a little lost.
After a last-second, ga-winning coback, his friends threw their arms around him and jumped for joy. He was like a puppet, hoisted in the air, completely limp.
When the ga ended and the bar emptied, Midas got into his car in a daze and started driving ho.
However.
CRASH!
A violent impact suddenly jolted him.
Midas was terrified. He didn’t investigate the noise or get out of the car. He just drove straight ho, fell into bed, and went to sleep.
The next morning, a knock on the door woke Midas from a deep sleep.
His wife, her eyes ringed with dark circles, anxiously opened the door.
"Lady Midas? We’ve found your daughter."
A police officer in uniform stood at the door, an apologetic look on his face. Midas’s wife pushed past the officer and rushed out of the house.
The next ti Midas saw his daughter was in the hospital morgue. His wife was clinging to his arm, sobbing uncontrollably.
"We’ll catch the hit-and-run driver as soon as possible," the officer promised Midas.
But Midas, after taking his wife ho, went to his garage and calmly began to wash his car.
With a bit of banging and hamring, the subtle dent disappeared.
From selling gold, Midas had gotten to know many shady characters. The next day, he sold his old clunker for a cheap price.
Then he began to diligently arrange his daughter’s funeral, exactly as he had for the old dog, Jones.
He chanically consoled his wife, then packed everything that belonged to his daughter into a box.
’A person and a dog,’ he thought, ’there doesn’t seem to be much of a difference.’
A few days later, Midas’s elderly mother hanged herself in her room. She had been blaming herself constantly.
She blad herself for not watching her granddaughter while making a late-night snack. For not warning her not to run outside so late. For not calling the police right away. For looking in the wrong direction during the search...
Another funeral. But this ti, Midas could only comfort his wife. There were only two of them left in the family.
Midas followed his new routine, packing away everything that belonged to his mother into a box.
Then, the next morning, he greeted his neighbors, left for the olive grove, and returned ho in the evening, telling his wife he had to go do so equipnt maintenance.
Midas didn’t feel any different.
Finally, one day, Midas’s wife burst into the garage and demanded to know what on earth he was doing.
His wife saw the piles of gold. She saw the emotionless expression on Midas’s face.
And she saw the picture fra that was in the process of turning to gold.
The color of the gold was dazzling, shimring. Even in the dim light of the garage, its beauty couldn’t be concealed. This tal, a symbol of nobility since ancient tis, was slowly replacing the entire fra.
But the photograph itself was unremarkable. It showed a happy couple, a kind-faced old woman, a cute little girl, and a simple, honest-looking dog.
"Is sothing wrong?"
"What in God’s na are you doing, Midas?!"
Midas stared blankly at the picture fra and murmured:
"I’m turning sothing useless into sothing useful."
His wife, tears streaming down her face, rushed toward Midas, trying to snatch the transforming photo fra from his hands.
But as she reached for it, Midas caught her hand in his own...
The next morning, after calmly greeting his neighbors, Midas walked toward the olive grove.
When he returned ho that evening, Midas sat on the sofa. He didn’t speak to his family.
Everything was so normal.
When the weekend ca, Midas, as usual, took so gold fragnts and found one of the local thugs.
There were only so many thugs in town, after all. This one had already helped Midas sell gold many tis and recognized him.
The thug, who knew better than to ask about the source of the goods, couldn’t contain his curiosity. "Where the hell are you getting all this stuff?" he asked Midas.
Midas just shook his head, and the thug took the hint and didn’t ask again.
After counting the goods, the thug joked, "This haul should bring in a lot. What are you planning to spend it on? I’ve got plenty of ways to help you do that, if you’re interested."
Midas shook his head again and answered calmly:
"I need it to support my family. We’re not doing well financially. The big corporations have been driving down the price of olives lately, so it’s hard to make a profit."
"The olive grove is expensive to maintain, and there are four mouths to feed in my family. Everyone needs to eat, and there are a lot of expenses."
"My daughter’s starting junior high soon, and school supplies cost a lot. Kids grow so fast, last year’s clothes don’t fit anymore, so I have to buy her a few new outfits."
"My old mother’s back pain is getting worse. She doesn’t want to go to the hospital because she’s worried about the cost, and she’s still trying to earn money by doing handicrafts every day. But you can’t just let an illness like that go."
"My wife has been wanting to replace our worn-out furniture, but she can never bring herself to spend the money. It’s getting cold, and a while back she kept saying she wanted to buy a thick wool sweater. She even tried one on at the store but then decided against it."
"She talked about it all the ti for a while, but she also kept finding fault with that sweater. Heh, you know how it is."
It was as if he had just recited a set of lines, completely devoid of emotion.
And yet, a single tear traced a path down Midas’s face...
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