Once there were nine brothers of business from the West who had accumulated by deceit, embargo, and corruption a vast quantity of oil, enough to buy them anything their Western hearts desired - or so they thought.
One day, after a particularly fruitful season of robbery and devastation, the nine brothers made a plan; since there was no more oil left in the West, they must head east to the City of Salt, rumored to be built atop an enormous underground lake of this same substance. The nine brothers set out in their automobiles, heading toward the rising sun.
As the days passed, they found themselves hopelessly lost in the twists of an endless marsh. Their motorcars did not work in such inhospitably winding canals, so the brothers decided to travel on foot, hoping they might find a ferryman to take them up the river to the great city.
After days of trudging through the marsh, they had no sweet water left to drink. How thirsty were the nine brothers of business! Desperate, one of the brothers tried putting the filthy waters of the marsh to his lips - how foul it tasted as he spit it out; yet how sweet when he recognized the taste: it was oil!
Oh, how the brothers rejoiced! And yet how very lost they were in the maze of oily black canals. There seemed no way out and no ferryman in sight, until at last one of the brothers spotted a strange sight in the distance: a dark and splendid demon on the horizon!
“This must be our ferryman!” said one of the brothers who cared not to notice the demon’s many arms, each holding a bludgeon or other such weapon. They advanced upon the demon, begging him to grant them passage and some sweet water to drink.
The demon, however, made it known he had come to take the brothers’ lives away. The brothers, so used to getting their way, attempted to trick the demon into leading them onward. “Grant us passage, and we will give you half our fortune!” the brothers said, having no intention of fulfilling this promise.
But the demon refused, swinging his flail with such force that the brothers rolled in pain upon the marsh grass, oil dribbling from their deceitful mouths. Fearing for their lives, the brothers offered the demon all the oil that lay in the tanks of their refineries in the West.
Again the demon would not listen and shook his four arms with a mighty wail until their bodies wrenched in spasms, the poisonous oil eating great holes in their stomachs.
At last one of the brothers begged the demon to let him write down one last thing. This humble wish the demon granted, and so the brother wrote with his own blackened blood:
“Brothers from the West, make good use of your lives, for we who had riches of oil beyond measure could not buy ourselves even a single flask of sweet water in the marshes of this demon! Brothers, realize the true value of your days!”
One day, after a particularly fruitful season of robbery and devastation, the nine brothers made a plan; since there was no more oil left in the West, they must head east to the City of Salt, rumored to be built atop an enormous underground lake of this same substance. The nine brothers set out in their automobiles, heading toward the rising sun.
As the days passed, they found themselves hopelessly lost in the twists of an endless marsh. Their motorcars did not work in such inhospitably winding canals, so the brothers decided to travel on foot, hoping they might find a ferryman to take them up the river to the great city.
After days of trudging through the marsh, they had no sweet water left to drink. How thirsty were the nine brothers of business! Desperate, one of the brothers tried putting the filthy waters of the marsh to his lips - how foul it tasted as he spit it out; yet how sweet when he recognized the taste: it was oil!
Oh, how the brothers rejoiced! And yet how very lost they were in the maze of oily black canals. There seemed no way out and no ferryman in sight, until at last one of the brothers spotted a strange sight in the distance: a dark and splendid demon on the horizon!
“This must be our ferryman!” said one of the brothers who cared not to notice the demon’s many arms, each holding a bludgeon or other such weapon. They advanced upon the demon, begging him to grant them passage and some sweet water to drink.
The demon, however, made it known he had come to take the brothers’ lives away. The brothers, so used to getting their way, attempted to trick the demon into leading them onward. “Grant us passage, and we will give you half our fortune!” the brothers said, having no intention of fulfilling this promise.
But the demon refused, swinging his flail with such force that the brothers rolled in pain upon the marsh grass, oil dribbling from their deceitful mouths. Fearing for their lives, the brothers offered the demon all the oil that lay in the tanks of their refineries in the West.
Again the demon would not listen and shook his four arms with a mighty wail until their bodies wrenched in spasms, the poisonous oil eating great holes in their stomachs.
At last one of the brothers begged the demon to let him write down one last thing. This humble wish the demon granted, and so the brother wrote with his own blackened blood:
“Brothers from the West, make good use of your lives, for we who had riches of oil beyond measure could not buy ourselves even a single flask of sweet water in the marshes of this demon! Brothers, realize the true value of your days!”
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