The Servant and the Salary

I'll tell you what else I know about the Servant. He had a salary, like everyone who worked in that household. Every month, the Begum would give him this money. And the next day, it would be gone.

'What did you do with your salary?' she asked, again and again.

'Ai, Begum' he'd slump and shake his head, 'the world is so full of sorrows...'

She guessed.

'Did you give it away? Did you give it to people?'

'... poor people, Begum, desperate people...'

She tried.

'But why all of it? Now you have nothing for the rest of the month.'

'But Begum, they have less. If you knew some of the stories...'

She sighed.

She stopped paying him monthly. Instead, she gave him a little money every day. This way, she reckoned, he'd feel less rich, he'd have too little to give.

Or maybe he did anyway? Maybe he shed a little scrap daily, a note, a coin, a twinkle in the corner of the eye? Maybe he needed to; like a hen, like an ant, like a travelling bard; all those days, all those eggs, those grains of earth oh, all the stories...