A man sees an old woman up ahead of him on the side of a desolate path. He is surprised to come across her, as he hasn’t seen anyone for days. By the looks of it, neither has she.
She is leaning up against a tree, in the small midday shade, and even though she is beautiful in the way only old women can be, she appears to be at death’s door. He considers walking right past her, but then he thinks to himself, “Hmm. People usually don’t get that old without valuable reasons. She could be Wise. And with Wisdom, sometimes comes Riches.”
“Old Woman,” says this man, as he strides to her resting place. “I’ve heard that if one grows as old as you must be, they usually possess the knowledge of a Great Treasure that they regret they never found.”
“You are a Clever Man,” says the Old Woman, her voice thin and reedy. “Yes, there is a Great Treasure that I was on my way to retrieve; it is too late for me now, though.” Here, she reaches feebly for his water pouch, but he takes a deft sidestep; now he knows he has something to bargain with.
“Well, it would be selfish of you to keep that knowledge to yourself, now that you’re almost dead and all. You might as well tell me, then. No one else will come upon you for a fortnight, I reckon,” the Clever Man says, shading his eyes against the sun with his hand as he looks down back at the path. “And I can give you some of my water and food in exchange for your information, perhaps enough to keep you alive until the next traveler comes by, if that ever happens. And before you think of wasting my time, please spare me drivel about finding true love, or a mirror, or God, if that’s the case with your Great Treasure. By Great Treasure, I mean actual riches. Gold, diamonds, rubies; you know, the real stuff.”
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