The Price of Pearls

In a village by the sea lived a fisherman who struggled each day to feed his family. One morning after a violent storm, he found a strange object half-buried in the sand. A small silver cup, ornately carved with symbols he couldn't decipher. As he held it, a tear of exhaustion slipped down his cheek and fell into the cup.

To his astonishment, the tear transformed into a perfect pearl.

The fisherman gasped, touching the pearl with trembling fingers. He blinked, forcing another tear to fall. Again, a lustrous pearl appeared. He laughed with disbelief and joy.

That evening, he showed his wife. "Our troubles are over," he declared. "This cup turns sorrow into wealth."

His wife was cautious. "Magic always demands balance," she warned. But the fisherman was already dreaming of the life they could lead.

In the beginning, the process was simple. The fisherman would think of his hardships. The years of poverty, the lost children taken by fever, the calluses on his hands. Tears would come naturally. Each tear yielded a perfect pearl, more valuable than a month's fishing.

The family moved from their humble hut to a stone house. Their remaining children wore fine clothes. Their table overflowed with food. The fisherman became known as a successful merchant, though no one knew his secret.

But as their fortunes improved, the fisherman found it harder to cry. The memories that once brought immediate tears now felt distant. He began to pinch himself when alone, then to cut his skin. He would starve himself for days to create suffering. He stopped visiting his children, afraid their joy might make it impossible to produce tears.

His wife begged him to stop. "We have enough," she pleaded.

"There is never enough," he replied, eyes red-rimmed and vacant.

Years passed. The fisherman grew skilled at manufacturing his own sorrow. He attended funerals of strangers. He read tragic tales. He isolated himself from love and beauty. His heart hardened as his wealth grew.

One day, old and alone in his mansion, his wife long gone, his children estranged, he sat surrounded by chests of pearls. He realized he could no longer remember how to feel joy. When he tried to smile, his face remained frozen. When his grandchild was born, he felt nothing. The cup had taken more than tears; it had taken his humanity.

Atop his mountain of pearls, the fisherman finally understood. The cup had not turned his tears into treasure. It had transformed his soul into something that could no longer weep for what truly mattered.