The Filosophie Of Tomorrow

It was his habit to bite his lower lip while engrossed in his work with a cup of orange juice held in his right hand, from which he occasionally sucked. In his left hand, his brushes moved delicately between his fingers, like a bird’s feather on its wing. With them, he applied the finishing touches to his painting. The final brushstroke coincided with his last sip from the cup. He stood up, leaned over the canvas, and blew on it with his cheeks as if urging it to dry quickly. Then he straightened himself and walked towards the easel, where he picked up his long leather coat that nearly touched the ground when he entered it with his arms and put it on. From the same easel, he picked up a cowboy hat and settled it on his head, its brim touching his shoulder-length hair. He returned to the painting, still crucified on the wooden easel, and when he was satisfied that it had dried, he delicately handled it with fingers hidden beneath his coat. He then headed towards the room’s door, leaving the house.

He knew that he was embarking on a strange job, but his master and his first employer, who had been working for him for thirty years, still owed him a hundred dirhams. This was because he had sold an item to a customer, and instead of depositing the amount in the cash box as his master had instructed him multiple times, he hid it in his pocket and ran away. Since that day, he had left that city and now he was returning to it for the first time after thirty years of escape. Although the amount he had escaped with was insignificant, he insisted on returning it to its owner after all this long period. He could have met him and simply slipped the amount into his pocket, but he insisted on paying it to him in the strange way he had decided within himself.

He walks with steady steps, his left hand responding to the balance of his body movement, and his right hand gripping his hidden painting under his coat. He is overcome by a strange feeling as he gazes at the landmarks of the road, seeing them after thirty years. There, where he used to spend the entire day running between serving tea cups to his master once and bringing bread for him another time and searching for change for a banknote another time. The same houses, the same doors, and the same lampposts. But when he approached the alley that ends with his old master’s shop, where he worked thirty years ago as a young boy, he felt his heartbeat escalating as if his heart intended to leave its place between his ribs. He ignored that feeling, or perhaps he endured it and increased his steps until he was within sight of the shop, glimpsing it from afar. The shop was open, with the same glass facade and the same exterior paint. He stood still, contemplating the shop with emotional glances. And in a moment… he saw a boy coming out of it, looking to the right and left. The man felt a tremor in his body as soon as he saw that movement, the same movement his master taught him, to occasionally come out of the shop and see if there was a customer looking at the goods displayed in the glass window, attempting to convince them to enter the shop to explore the products. And here he remembered that magical word, which he learned from his master as well, the word he owes so much to. It was the word that built his life, his family’s life, and everyone who became connected to them afterward. And he didn’t know if his master, who taught him that word, truly understood its precious value or if he still only used it for business purposes. That word is “Everything will be available tomorrow.” It was because on his first day of work with his master, he told him firmly:

“Listen… If a customer asks you about something, anything, and we don’t have it in stock, never tell them it’s unavailable. Instead, say to them ‘Everything will be available tomorrow.’ Never forget that, or else I will smash your head… Do you hear me?”

And so it was, throughout the years he worked there, whenever a customer entered and asked for something that wasn’t available in the shop, he would respond, “I apologize… It’s not currently available, but everything will be available tomorrow.”

And if the customer came the next day and asked, “Where is my order? The one you said would be available tomorrow,” the shop owner intervene and say, “Yes, yes… The item you want to have were supposed to be here, but there was a mistake. What do you think about exploring the new items that have arrived?” And here, the seller would present old items as if they were the new and latest ones. More often than not, the customer would make the purchase. It was at this point that he realized the magic of that word he owed so much to. He understood that its secret lay in the renewed hope the customer attached to the item that arrived on that anticipated tomorrow. That anticipated hope, tied to renewal, had a hidden impact on the psyche, with a sincere expectation that left no room for doubt. Since then, that phrase had settled in his mind after witnessing its enchanting effect as a young boy. He built his lifestyle around it and decided to reward the one who had taught him that phrase in this peculiar manner he had chosen.

He gathered his courage and walked towards the shop, hoping that its owner would be the same person. He entered, and that nostalgic scent filled his chest, awakening armies of memories as if those thirty years was just yesterday. The young boy who worked in the shop approached him:

“At your service, sir. How may I assist you?”

“Where is the shop owner?” he asked.

“I am here, sir. I am the merchant Kareem, the antique seller. A thousand welcomes!” He heard the voice before seeing him. It was him, the same voice that used to scold and curse angrily. He turned towards the source of the voice and found him standing there, with a frail figure bearing the marks of time. He felt relieved that he didn’t recognize him. The old man raised his hand to shake his, causing his heart to tremble, just like when that old man used to raise the same hand to slap him thirty years ago. It felt as if the years had passed in an instant. He would slap him with the same hand when he climbed up to his room on the upper floor of the shop to wake him up from his sleep and resume the sweeping and cleaning, only to find the walls and floor stained with paint in a chaotic manner. His master would scream at him, “You stubborn, mischievous, lazy servant! Haven’t I told you a thousand times not to bring the paint into the room again? You have ruined all the walls, you fool! Instead of spending your money on yourself and buying a decent shirt to get rid of that dirty rag you wear, you waste it all on buying blank papers and paint, filling my room with filth! Oh… do you think you’re becoming an artist? You’re a failure and you will never amount to anything, you miserable failure!” And during that time, he would slap him once or twice, and as soon as he landed, the boy would gather himself and say, engaging in self-dialogue with that magical phrase he had learned, “No, no… everything will be tomorrow.”

Hello, sir. I would like a brass sculpture in the shape of an elephant.

“Oh, yes, yes… It’s available. Just a moment.”

He had caught a glimpse of an elephant sculpture on an upper shelf as he entered the shop, so he requested it from the old man to keep him occupied and execute his plan. As the boy was busy arranging some pieces, the old man turned around to fetch the sculpture, and the man took the opportunity to discreetly slip his hidden painting under his coat, blending it among other displayed items for sale. When the old man returned and handed him the sculpture, he said:

“It’s made of exquisite brass by the finest sculptors in China.”

The man took it from him and examined it absentmindedly. Then, in a moment, he pointed towards the paintings and asked:

“How much are those paintings?”

Without looking in their direction, the old man answered:

“Just five dollars, they are only prints. They are used to cover wall imperfections like cracks and holes.”

“I want that painting,” he said.

He gestured towards his hidden painting among the other paintings, catching the old man’s attention suddenly. The old man approached it with exaggerated interest, bending down and handling it delicately as if it were a miracle. He scrutinized it as if he had forgotten about the shop, the customer, and everything else. The man handed him the five-dollar note and said:

“Here you go, sir. Hand me the painting.”

The old man embraced the painting as if cradling a baby and said to him:

“Oh no, sir. It seems there has been a mistake in arrangement and categorization. This painting doesn’t belong here. It should be on a special shelf where I display original works by famous and renowned artists. It was mistakenly placed here due to that failed, lazy servant.”

Then he directed his words to the boy and shouted:

“Ohhh,… you lazy one.”

The man asked:

“And how much is it?”

The old man looked at the painting intently, showing both interest and confusion and replied:

“Five thousand dollars… oh no, six thousand six as a final price. I won’t entertain any negotiation.”

The man smiled, took out a bundle of money, counted the amount, and handed it to the man. The man returned the elephant sculpture to him, and the man took the painting from him, still in awe. Before leaving the money with the boy, he leaned towards him and whispered:

“What’s your name, young hero?”

“Kareem.”

“Kareem… if a customer asks about an item that is not in the shop, what would you tell them?”

The pale-faced boy looked surprised and flustered but gathered the courage to answer, influenced by the impact of the surprise on himself:

“Everything will be available tomorrow, sir.”

At that moment, the man placed his hand on his shoulder and said in a gentle tone:

“Never forget it… that you are not a failure or lazy. You will be everything in the future. Never forget that.”

He left the shop, hiding the painting once again under his long coat. In a moment, his phone rang in his pocket, and he answered:

“Hello, how are you, talented artist? Have you arrived or not yet?”

“Not yet. I stopped in another city to take care of an important matter. I’m on my way to you.”

“Did you complete the painting you will exhibit?”

“Yes, I finished it this morning. It’s under my coat now.”

“You know, as always, your painting has already been sold for the highest price in the exhibition even before anyone sees it while it’s in your possession. Once they hear about your participation, they immediately announce an auction and it gets sold.”

“Yes, yes, nothing new about that.”

“Tell me its name so I can inform the owner.”

“It’s an oil painting titled ‘The Tomorrow.’

done.