No Sorrow

I stared at the crowd and told the biggest lie of my life.

“I can make all your sorrows disappear.”

A moment of silence stretched out, feeling like an eternity. I could feel sweat beads gathering on my forehead, dripping down the back of my neck. My mouth suddenly went dry. I wasn’t exactly lying; well, I was, but I still expected a little more enthusiasm. I had just told them I could make all their sorrows disappear, after all, that should warrant—

An eruption of laughter broke out—not pitiful, but the kind you do when you are so angry you have no choice but to laugh. At first, it was pretty alarming, but since it dragged on for a minute, people started doubling over, clutching their stomachs from laughing so hard, I began to take offense.

“I am not lying,” I yelled, but the laughter drowned my voice. A man finally spoke up, raising his hand to the crowd to quiet them. He sized me up, then raised an eyebrow and asked, “Why would you claim something like that?”

“Because it’s true…?” My voice faded as I tried to appear serious and sincere. But with my balding head and a diagonal scar on my face, I didn’t exactly have a winning look—or a promising reputation for that matter. And to make matters worse, this one was actually a lie. Or at least, that’s what I’d been told to think. But I had devised a plan; this would have to work.

The man let out a frustrated sigh, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest, and it hit me just how massive he was. I shifted slightly in my spot on the small wooden stool in the village square, but didn’t budge.

“You know what we do with liars around here, don’t you?” The man shook his head behind him, but I didn’t need to look at what he was pointing at. The smell of burnt flesh was still strong in the air, rancid and foul.

“I know, but I am not lying,” I insisted. Part of it was a lie—the part about having the power to erase people’s sorrowful memories. But the fact that such a power existed was not a lie. I knew it was true because my grandmother had always talked about it. She’d told me she’d had it done years ago, which was why she always smiled even during the five-year plague, even when her youngest son died in the war. She would always smile, tending to her beautiful garden. A garden that bloomed with roses of every colour, even in the harshest winters and hottest summers. People called her a witch, said she’d made a deal with the Devil. But she would only laugh at them, a wholeheartedly joyful laugh. And her garden kept blooming, the roses bright and dazzling against the decaying landscape of our small village. It was true that my grandmother had killed herself just the day before she was supposed to die, but that didn’t mean she was unhappy. I doubt that it did.

With renewed confidence, I kicked the wooden stool aside, stepped onto a large rock, and spoke as loudly as possible, “I know how to erase all your painful memories. No more tears over spilled milk. No more dwelling on past mistakes. No more crying over lost loved ones, ruined crops, or haunted youth.” I lowered my voice to make it seem enticing, “If you had the chance, wouldn’t you want to try it?”

There was a buzz in the crowd as people glanced at each other, looking puzzled but intrigued. The idea was tempting—who wouldn’t want to be freed from their painful and unhappy memories?

“Will it be temporary?” a woman asked from the crowd. She was pretty short, and I couldn’t see her face. I tiptoed to get a better look, but it didn’t help.

“It’s not temporary. It will be a part of your life forever and erase all the sad memories you make.” This part was even a bigger lie. There was no guarantee that this would happen. Who knew what the future would bring? But my grandma always said that if you don’t remember the terrible things that happened in your past, you can’t make new sad memories because you’ll always feel happy and loved. “I’m living proof of that,” she’d say with her remarkable smile. I had no choice but to believe her; she was my grandma, after all, and she knew best.

“That’s not possible, that’s the Devil talking.” Someone shouted from the back of the crowd, and the big man from earlier stepped forward, nodding in agreement. “Only the Devil can speak with such certainty. The Devil and his servants.” He was now shouting, scaring off potential customers.

There was no turning back; I’d come too far and couldn’t just give up without getting anything. I couldn’t let myself be a liar, which, in a way, I already was. This was what I’d planned all along; even though I knew deep down it wouldn’t work out, I’d cried wolf so many times that the fact I was still alive was a miracle in itself.

“I'll test it on someone; the effect is instant,” another lie. “Then you'll all be mortified when you see the results,” I said with a confidence I didn’t have, but that never stopped me before.

Another round of murmurs spread through the crowd. The big man shook his head and began to walk away, and some followed his lead, glancing back as if they were waiting for some miracle to prove I was telling the truth.

“I volunteer,” I heard someone say, and I scanned the crowd to see my best friend with his hand raised. I was starting to worry he wouldn’t go through with it; he had threatened not to participate in my shenanigans, so I was thrilled when he changed his mind. Maybe he was tired of seeing me become the laughingstock again.

“I volunteer to have my bad memories erased; I want them gone,” he said as he walked through the crowd, which parted for him. They all gasped and looked at me, expecting me to resist. But we had practiced this. Even though he would always end up saying what a moron I was, we had practiced. It was showtime.

I pulled out a small vial from my satchel and rolled up my sleeves. I spun the small vial on my fingers, putting on a little show, and everyone stared in amazement. It was just a plain glass vial filled with a pretty unimpressive green liquid.

My friend stepped beside me on the stone, giving me a slight nod that only I caught. I smiled, then turned to the crowd and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, your lives are forever changed! No more tears, no more sorrow!”

I opened the vial and handed it to my friend, who chugged the liquid down in one go and smashed the vial on the ground. He then turned to the crowd and yelled, riling them up. His face screwed for a moment, and he belched. If I were dramatic, he was even worse.

Everyone was completely silent, all eyes fixed on my friend, who had tears welling up in his eyes and his face getting more and more flushed with each passing moment. I was amazed at how he could control his facial expressions like that, even though it had never happened during our practices. Perhaps he had saved his best performance for the real show. I stepped back and spread my arms wide, presenting him to the silent crowd like a prize I’d won in a battle.

My friend glanced at me sideways, his hand clutching his stomach, and he started coughing. The crowd collectively gasped and retreated. I was getting scared because this wasn’t part of our plan. He was supposed to act like he was in pain and then come out and say how happy he was feeling. As he writhed on the floor, his eyes going white, I knew something was seriously wrong. Everyone started screaming, making crosses with their hands, and yelling loud incantations to ward off the Devil. But there was no Devil. There never was. It was only my grandma. Had she been wrong? Was this how it was supposed to happen?

As I went to help my friend, he suddenly stood on his own, his eyes returning to their normal blue colour. He wiped the blood from his lips and then looked at me. His face instantly became calm, every wrinkle fading away, as if years of struggle had vanished. He stood up and brushed off his robe, a smile spreading across his face, the kind I’ve seen on my grandma’s face—the kind that never vanished, even when she was sleeping. My friend opened his arms wide and turned to the crowd,

“I feel light as a feather,” he declared, turning to look back at me. I tried to understand what he meant by making faces, but his smile just grew wider. He put a hand on my shoulder. “I feel liberated.”