Once Upon a Time…

One day I was chatting to the old guy who lives in the garden apartment below. Interesting. It turned out that he has two brothers who were authors of fairy tales.

“Were their stories published?” I asked.

“Sure!” he said. “And how! Their best stories made them rich. I never got any of it. I am the little piggy who got none.” He laughed.

“Like in the nursery rhyme,” I said.

“Exactly!”

“Tell me about one of their fairy tales,” I asked.

“I will. But I’ll make coffee first,” he said. “By the way my name is Elias,” he said as he went into the kitchen.

“And I’m Pete!” I called, being friendly.

“Their most famous tale was about the little girl who was kept locked up in a tower with a spinning wheel that spun straw into gold. So every day they went out and gathered straw, took it to the castle and she spun it into gold. And every morning they swept up yesterday’s gold production, took it downtown and sold it to a jewelry maker. Boy did they make money! They were filthy rich! One drove a Ferrari, the other an Aston Martin. Big playboys around town. Gambling, horses, women, all that rich man’s stuff, you know.”   

“Are they still in business?” I asked

“Nah. All good things come to an end, sonny. Especially when it’s that good.”

“What happened?” I asked. “The little girl died?”

“Nope. Nothing so dramatic. The price of gold dropped. They were producing so much that it affected the price. Eventually, it hardly paid them to sell the stuff. I have some somewhere. Next time you come I’ll give you a bucketful. Just remind me. My memory, you know.”

“So what are they doing now?” I asked.

“They are trying to melt the stuff and make coins out of it. But it’s not so easy.”

“Why not? Should be a piece of cake!”

“It seems you have to get government approval, then register it and get another approval from the World Bank. There’s all sorts of red tape to prevent private people from making their own money and flooding the world with worthless currency. The boys are working on it. It’s hard to know what to do with a daily production of gold. There are conmen and thieves on every corner. Everyone wants to get hold of gold. Even I can’t get in on their act.”

What a fascinating story, I thought, drinking my coffee. Back in my apartment I wondered if I should drop all work on my book and write articles. The first one would be about my neighbor’s brothers, the money-makers. I’m sure the papers would buy it. I could use the dollars… Being an author is some challenge!

Time passed and I greeted the old man every time I saw him. I was working on my book and having a rough time with it, so I spent most of my days hunched over the computer and muttering away to myself. I went out only when it was absolutely necessary.

One day I walked past the old man’s balcony on my way back from a trip to the bakery and deli. Bought some great sheep’s-milk cheese. I had also dropped in at the bank to cash a $100 check I had received from the Mirror that morning. They had finally bought my article on deadly plagues. The bank, of course, was closed. It always is when you need it.

“Aha! I’ve been waiting to see you,” old Elias called as he spotted me. I waved.  

“There’s news!” he shouted. “My brothers made it! They got all the necessaries to go ahead with their new money!”

That stopped me in my tracks. “Great!” I said. “Where can one get it?”

“You have to look for it. They are advertising it on the internet.”

“The internet? What’s it called?”

“Bitcoin,” He replied. “There’s only a single-value coin. You can buy as many as you want.”

“What can I do with them?”

“I really don’t know. I forgot to ask. Just buy them and throw them in a drawer. One day they may be worth something. Maybe you’ll double your money, haha!”

I stared at him. He forgot to ask?

“I only know one thing about them,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“My brothers will make more millions. Zillions, maybe. Those guys never miss.”

“Amazing!” I ventured. “Are these your older or younger brothers?”

“Younger. Much younger. I am 88 and they are 68. Twins. Go everywhere together. Dress the same. Look the same. Think the same. Chase the same women. Sometimes I think it must be pretty boring. How many Bitcoins are you planning to buy?”

“Um…, haven’t actually thought about it yet.”

On a whim and wanting to hear more about his brothers, I said, “Come up and have coffee at my place. I make good coffee and I just bought some great cheese.”

“Thank you, I will be up in a few minutes.”

Seated at the table with cups of coffee in front of us and plates piled high with slices of rough peasant’s bread and a steadily diminishing block of cheese, I asked, ‘so what do these Bitcoins cost?’”

“One dollar each.”

“Wow, that’s cheap!”

And then I had a rush of blood to my head via the $100 check in my pocket. “I’ll take a hundred!” I announced grandly.

“Good man!” he exclaimed. “I love it when people support my brothers. Tell you what, I have a few here. I’m giving these to you. No charge. A gift, neighbor to neighbor. Okay?”

“That’s very nice of you. I appreciate the gesture. Have some more cheese.”

“I cannot. Thank you. I must go now.”

He had given me 18 coins. I cashed the check next morning and bought the 100 Bitcoins. I now had 118 taking up space in the drawer with my socks.

It’s now exactly 10 years later. I open the morning paper to look at the price of Bitcoins. These days I look twice a day. A little short of $60,000 each.

By noon today I will have 7 million bucks in the bank. And old man Elias, somewhere up in the clouds above my head, must be laughing his head off.

Me? I plan to live happily ever after.