The blood of the mole

Few customers come to my shop. Most people come to see the animals in the cages, and few buy them. There was no room for anyone behind the counter, so I used to just sit on a worm-eaten chair behind the door and stare hour after hour at the frogs and lizards and snakes and insects.

One day a strange woman came into the shop. She was small and pale, as if frightened. She approached me, her outstretched arms unnaturally white, but her body was shaking violently. I was afraid she would fall, so I quickly stepped forward and helped her. She remained silent, and kept rubbing her lips with her handkerchief as she asked, 'Have you got a mole here?'

"The mole? I don't have a mole. ' I said. To tell you the truth, I've never seen a mole in my life. She turned away silently and sadly.

"Wait! 'I called to her.' Perhaps I can find some moles. ' I said it, but I don't know why I said it.

Her body jerked back, her raised eyes filled with pain. It made me feel bad, because THERE was probably nothing I could do for her.

"My son is ill, and Mole's blood cures him," she said softly. "He only needs three drops of mole's blood." I was shocked. I could even feel something sinister brewing in the darkness.

"Let me get you a glass of water." I said. She stood motionless, her eyes never lifting even as she reached for the glass of water. She turned away again, her thin, fragile back stooping. Faint footsteps receded in the darkness. I caught up with her. I have an idea in my mind.

'I'll give you Mole's blood! "I exclaimed. The woman stopped, put her hands over her face and wept. I can't bear to see her like this. Well, I closed the door gently so she wouldn't see me. I cut my left wrist open with a knife. Blood from the wound trickled slowly into a small glass jar. After ten drops of blood, the bottom of the bottle was full. I ran back to the store and the woman was still waiting for me.

'Here you are. It's mole's blood.' She ran her fingers around the clear glass bottle. Then she took some money out of her pocket.

"No, don't." I said. With her head down, she dropped the money on the counter and turned away without saying a word.

The quiet days went by. One morning, the door of the shop was suddenly pushed open. The small, pale woman came in, and before I could greet her, she rushed forward and hugged me.

'He can walk! 'whimpered the woman.' He can walk! ' She wanted to give me money; Her big black bag was full of all kinds of presents she wanted to bring me. I could feel her courage to live again.

One afternoon a few days later, a strange man came into the shop. He was tall and skinny, as if he had just been frightened. "You have... Mole's blood? ' "He asked, his sharp eyes threatening to Pierce me. I was frightened, and said, "No, we never sell moles here."

"Yes, you do! Just three drops... My wife is dying. Please!" He gripped my arm hard.

My blood trickled slowly from the wound. As the man left with the vial, he threw a small roll of bills at the counter.

The next morning, a strange crowd of noisy people waited for me at the door of the shop. They all held a glass bottle tightly in their hands.

'Mole's blood! Mole's blood! '

They were Shouting and pushing each other. Everyone had a sick man in their house, and everyone had a knife in their hand