The Man with a Sack of Gold - Short Story

Deep in the forest, in a far away land called Ostaggio, the last of the miners still prospected for gold. The gold rush had long passed, and the other miners had returned home empty-handed, but one man was determined not to leave without his fortune. Every day he slung his pix axe until the sun set. Every night, he slept in a potato sack and had vivid dreams of returning home.

Day in and day out, he repeated the same harsh routine. He had run out of food, water, money and motivation. The dispirited man took a break one afternoon and sat on the shore of the stream. He took his hat off and splashed his face with water to cool off. After he rubbed his face, he opened his eyes and jumped in fright. An old wrinkly man with no hair on his head and a long beard on his face stared back at him. He did not recognize himself as he had traveled to Ostaggio as a young man a long time ago.

Shame washed over him; since so many years have passed and he still hadn’t found a nugget of gold. He snatched his hat, covered his head and went back to what he knew best. He hoisted his reliable pickaxe over his head and slammed it into the earth. When he lifted it back up, he noticed it was much lighter and broken in two.

On his walk into town, a frail fellow dressed in rags jumped out from the bushes and frantically asked, “Have you seen a wizard around here? He has the formula for gold.”

The miner ignored the strange fellow and continued down the path. Like the crazed beggar looking for a wizard, he too dreamed of gold, but his heart yearned to give up this futile pursuit and return home. All he had was a broken pickaxe and the clothes off his back he thought as he reached the general store just outside of forest.

He asked the merchant at the counter, “Can I sell you my shirt and shoes? I must buy a ticket home.”

“Return home?” The merchant questioned. “You can’t leave Ostaggio down-and-out like this. You came for gold, am I right?”

“My pick axe is broken, and there’s no use in putting off the inevitable.”

The merchant, hoping to avoid losing his only customer for the day, said, “If you leave your hat here, I will loan you an old— retro pickaxe. There is plenty of undiscovered gold out there. You might be standing three feet away from gold— do not give up!”

He struggled to let go of his hat. It was his last possession, but failure was more terrifying and humility overcame him. He removed his hat, revealing his burnt, hairless scalp and handed it over to merchant, who gave him an antique pickaxe. By the time he returned to the campsite, the sun had set, so the man got into his sleeping sack and went to sleep.

With the sun, he rose and dug as fast as he could. Hours passed. He sweated feverishly and worked until the sun was at the highest point in the sky. Frustrated and tired, he sat under the shade of a tree. His hands were red and callused. The merchant’s words echoed: “You could be three feet away from gold.” Energy jolted through him. Newfound motivation surged within, so he leapt up and struck the ground near the stream. Water burst from the earth, flooding his shoes and pants. He continued to dig, bringing up mud and bugs.

He was known as “Bug” at home, but he had no sympathy for them and flung everything behind him. He was six feet down when he hit something hard and could not continue. The man, hopeful, wiped it off. It was only a large black stone. He was so angry that he used all of his strength and tossed it out. Water started to fill the hole.

The last miner left didn’t have the desire to escape his watery grave until the bottom of the hole started to shine. He struck gold! His weight in giant gold nuggets! He swam down to the bottom and started rescuing small boulders of gold. Every last piece of gold was recovered and filled to the brim of the man’s sack. No longer could they call him a bum because now he was a rich man. He heaved the heavy sack of gold over his shoulder and lugged it slowly into town.

Carrying the huge load made the trip twice as long. The sun had fried and dried him out. From the gift of the sun’s rays, he was no longer bug. He was now crab. The merchant saw him and smiled as he barreled through the general store’s doors. The man threw down the smallest gold nugget he had, which was the size of a grapefruit, and demanded his hat back.

“Are you going to buy a ticket home?” The merchant said as he handed over the hat.

“Heavens no! I’m buying a castle. A big one, high up in the mountains,” said the red, crabby man.”

The merchant laughed and said, “With a moat to keep the bandits away?”

The man shrunk and said, “Bandits?”

“There are bandits looking for rich men to kill and rob. Why do you think I keep such a low profile?” The merchant looked around at his nearly empty establishment.

“I’m going to find a bank to stash my gold,” the scared man said as he dragged the sack of gold to the entrance of the shop.

He wandered the town and found the local bank. The bank teller told him they could not accept his gold because anything bigger than the size of a skipping rock would make them a target.

“Then what shall I do with my gold?” The man asked.

“Do what all rich men do. You need a place to shelter it. Banks are not secure. Go somewhere where they can’t get to it,” the bank teller said. “Be like a pirate and hide it far away.”

Once again, the man dragged his heavy sack out of the bank and flung it over his shoulder, and headed east.

Outside of town was a desert with strong winds. He spun around, looking for any sign of civilization, and saw only sand. Back to what he knew best, he dug a hole, threw the sack of gold into it, and buried it. Finally, he felt relief. However, a strong wind blew him over. He got up and realized he had no idea where he had buried it! The man dug for hours to recover his sack of gold, thinking, “What a terrible idea.” His stomach started to rumble.

The tired miner dragged his sack of gold through the doors of a tavern that was on the outskirts of town and sat down in a booth, his back against the wall with the view of the entrance.

After a few moments, the owner of the tavern came out from the back and approached his table. She saw the sack of gold and said, “We can’t accept anything larger than a gold coin after eight p.m.”

He couldn’t believe it. “Why?”

“We don’t have change for it, and besides, it makes us a target for bandits.”

“I haven’t seen any bandits! You won’t accept cold, hard gold? I’ve got loads of it! I could buy your tavern,” he complained.

“We’re closing, sir,” she said as she left.

“Can I stay here just for the night?”

He could not.

When the man woke up the next morning, he found himself lying in the middle of the forest, clutching his sack of gold. He was starving, and there were no fruits or berries nearby. He sat up and looked at his shoes. What good would his clothes be if he died of starvation? he asked himself.

The man returned to town and sold his clothes, shoes, and hat for a few gold coins so that he may buy some bread and fish to eat. The only thing he owned was his underwear and the sack of riches that could buy him almost anything. Almost.

He decided to try his luck walking home, a journey that would take months. It was likely that bandits roamed the path he would take, but he had not other choice. Shortly after starting his journey, the last miner of his kind reached a giant bridge with a river hundreds of feet below.

Heights were not his specialty, but he heard gunshots in the distance — a sign to start walking. As he trekked across the bridge, he noticed a figure in the distance. He looked like an everyday man in quality clothes, with a pep in his step and a was humming a familiar tune. The desperate miner asked the passerby if he had some food to spare.

The passerby stopped and analyzed the man with his sack of gold. He let out a belly laugh and said, “Food? You could buy a buffet for life! Don’t you have enough gold?” He noticed the miner did not laugh and had a look of despair on his face. He studied the man in his underwear, hunched over, clinging to the sack of gold for dear life. The picture was clearer now. “I may have something. Let me check.” The kind gentleman checked his pants and pockets.

“I can’t use any of my gold. No one will accept it for one reason or another,” the man with the sack of gold said.

“That’s a sad story. Wait a moment,” the passerby said, rubbing his hands together. A small nugget of gold appeared! The man could not believe his eyes. “Could you use this to buy some food?”

“How did you do that? You must be a wizard!” The man dropped the sack of gold and snatched the small nugget.

“I am not a wizard, but I do know the formula for gold,” he replied as started to walk away. “Enjoy my friend!”

“Wait! Would you teach me the formula?” the man asked.

“Sure thing. Anyone can learn. You just have to throw all of that over the bridge.”

The man looked below. “But then I’ll lose all my gold.”

“Yep.”

“What do I do after?”

“You’ll know,” the passerby said. He began to hum and continued on his path.

The man stood frozen in the middle of the bridge. He looked into the abyss. There was no way he was going to throw away all of his gold. He took a few steps across the bridge, then heard more gunshots and screams of men with nothing to lose. The wind left him, and the sound of horses galloping quickly drew near.

He took the small piece of gold that he was given and shoved it into his underwear, then tossed his sack of gold off the bridge. Those large gold nuggets splashed into the water and sunk deep to the bottom, where their sparkle could not be seen. A group of bandits zoomed past him. They completely ignored him as if he were just a fixture of the bridge. He let out a breath of relief as he had just dodged death. He felt lighter and could stand up straighter and walk faster. He wasn’t sure what to do, but was still very hungry. The man with a small nugget of gold finished walking across the bridge with a hop and a skip, humming an inner song to himself.

At a small outpost, he ordered some food and ate as much as he could. No scraps were left behind. When he went to pay with his small gold nugget, he had no reservations of parting with it. Gold well spent, he thought. The barkeep had heard it was his first time eating there, so they let him eat for free and asked him to come back again soon. He was able to keep his small gold nugget, and his humming continued.

He returned to the forest where he had mined for years. On his way back, he passed the frail beggar who was still looking for the wizard with the formula for gold. The miner tossed him the small nugget of gold.

The sun was out. It was not too hot and not too cold. A light breeze tickled him, perfect for someone with no clothes. The stream ran quietly and calmly. He crouched down and saw himself in the water. Bug, crab, miner. He saw all of it. He closed his eyes, dreamt of returning home and rubbed his hands together. He opened his eyes and saw a couple gold nuggets sparkle near the shore. He gently reached down and grabbed them. It was a miracle that he never noticed them before, or maybe he really did have the formula for gold, he wondered.

Before Ostaggio was known as a boom-town for gold mining, it was a world-renowned port city where ships from all over the world traveled through, and anyone could go anywhere from there. Showered and shaven, with new clothes and a new hat, the man carrying nothing on his back stepped onto the rustling and bustling docks. The day was young, and the boats waited to be loaded. The ticket counter asked him, “Where would you like to go? Home?”

The man with the formula for gold answered, “Take me anywhere.”