Tales from the Universe
Moral Dilemma: If you are given exactly what you ask for and it makes you miserable, who is responsible for the distance between your words and what you truly wanted?
Liora wished that nobody would ever need her again.
She did not say it dramatically.
There was no thunder.
No shooting star.
No ancient well.
She said it while carrying two baskets of laundry, a sack of flour, and someone else’s sleeping child.
“I wish nobody needed me.”
The old woman walking beside her said:
“All right.”
Liora stopped.
“What?”
The woman continued walking.
Liora shifted the child higher on her shoulder.
“What did you say?”
“I said all right.”
“To what?”
“Your wish.”
Liora laughed.
“I wasn’t making a wish.”
“You said I wish.”
“People say that.”
“Yes.”
The old woman continued down the road.
Liora followed.
“Are you claiming you’re some kind of spirit?”
“No.”
“Witch?”
“No.”
“God?”
The woman laughed.
“No.”
“Then what are you?”
“Someone who heard you.”
That answer irritated Liora more than the others.
The child belonged to her sister.
The laundry belonged to her mother.
The flour belonged to the bakery where Liora worked.
By the time she reached home, three people were waiting.
Her neighbor needed help repairing a shutter.
Her brother wanted her opinion about a horse.
Her mother had forgotten medicine at the apothecary.
Liora stood in the doorway.
Nobody asked whether she’d had a good day.
Nobody noticed the flour dust in her hair.
Nobody noticed she’d skipped lunch.
“Can everyone stop needing something for five minutes?”
The room went quiet.
Her mother looked hurt.
Liora immediately regretted it.
“I didn’t mean—”
Then she remembered the old woman.
She laughed at herself.
A wish.
Ridiculous.
She went to fetch the medicine.
The next morning, nobody woke her.
That had never happened.
Usually her mother called before sunrise.
Liora opened her eyes to full daylight.
She jumped from bed.
The house was empty.
On the table sat breakfast.
One plate.
Covered.
Still warm.
Liora frowned.
She ate.
At the bakery, the owner was kneading dough.
“You’re late,” Liora said.
He looked up.
“So are you.”
“I mean—you started without me.”
“Yes.”
“You always wait.”
“I decided I should learn.”
Liora smiled.
“Good.”
For the first time in six years, she spent the morning doing only her own work.
Nobody asked her to fix the accounts.
Nobody asked her to cover the counter.
Nobody asked her to carry sacks into storage.
At noon, she took a full break.
She sat outside and ate cheese beneath a tree.
It was wonderful.
The change spread.
Her sister hired a girl to watch the children.
Her brother asked a horse trader about the horse.
Her mother arranged for the apothecary to deliver.
Her neighbor repaired his own shutter.
People stopped knocking.
Liora began going home while the sun was still up.
She read.
She walked.
She took baths that lasted as long as she wanted.
Once, she sat beside the river for three hours.
Nobody came looking.
The first month was glorious.
During the second month, her niece had a birthday.
Liora arrived carrying a wooden bird she’d carved.
The house was crowded.
Her sister kissed her cheek.
“You came!”
“Of course.”
The girl opened gifts.
When she reached Liora’s bird, she smiled politely.
“Thank you.”
Then returned to a brightly painted toy from someone else.
Liora felt foolish for being hurt.
Later, she found her sister washing dishes.
“You could have asked me to help.”
Her sister looked surprised.
“You were talking.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I know.”
Her sister dried a plate.
“I’ve got it.”
Liora stood there with nothing in her hands.
At work, the bakery hired another employee.
“Why?” Liora asked.
“We’re growing.”
“I can handle more.”
The owner smiled.
“You already do enough.”
The sentence should have felt wonderful.
Instead it landed strangely.
“I’ve always handled the accounts.”
“I learned.”
“I can still do them.”
“I know.”
“Then why don’t you ask?”
The baker stopped.
“Liora, do you want to do the accounts?”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
By winter, nobody needed her.
Not really.
They liked her.
They invited her places.
They asked how she was.
They gave her gifts.
But they managed.
Her mother managed.
Her sister managed.
The bakery managed.
The entire world appeared to have discovered that it could continue without Liora.
She began volunteering for things.
“I’ll carry that.”
“No, thank you.”
“I can watch the children.”
“We already arranged someone.”
“I’ll repair it.”
“It’s fixed.”
“I can—”
“We’ve got it.”
The words became unbearable.
We’ve got it.
We’ve got it.
We’ve got it.
One evening Liora went home and cried.
She had everything she’d wanted.
That was the problem.
She searched for the old woman.
Nobody knew her.
Liora walked the road where they’d met.
Nothing.
She checked the market.
The temple.
The inns.
Nothing.
Months passed.
Then one afternoon she saw the woman sitting beside the river feeding crumbs to ducks.
Liora nearly ran.
“Take it back.”
The woman looked up.
“What?”
“The wish.”
“Oh.”
She tossed another crumb.
“No.”
Liora stared.
“No?”
“No.”
“You ruined my life.”
The old woman considered this.
“Did I?”
“Nobody needs me.”
“Yes.”
“That isn’t what I wanted.”
The woman looked genuinely puzzled.
“It is exactly what you wanted.”
“You knew what I meant.”
“No.”
“Of course you did.”
“I heard what you said.”
Liora’s hands clenched.
“I was tired.”
“Yes.”
“I was overwhelmed.”
“Yes.”
“I wanted help.”
The old woman nodded.
“That sounds like a different wish.”
Liora stopped.
The ducks gathered near their feet.
“I wanted people to notice.”
“Another different wish.”
“I wanted someone to take care of me sometimes.”
“Another.”
“I wanted to be able to say no without everything falling apart.”
“Another.”
Liora sat beside her.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Finally Liora whispered:
“I thought being needed meant being loved.”
The old woman broke a piece of bread.
“Ah.”
Liora looked at her.
“Can you fix it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Nothing is broken.”
Liora almost shouted.
Then the woman pointed toward the village.
“Go ask for something.”
Liora frowned.
“What?”
“You spent years waiting for people to notice what you needed while becoming extraordinarily good at noticing what they needed.”
The woman threw bread into the river.
“That arrangement has ended.”
Liora went to her sister’s house.
She almost turned around twice.
Her sister opened the door.
“Everything all right?”
“No.”
The word felt enormous.
Her sister waited.
“I’ve been lonely.”
The expression on her sister’s face changed.
Not pity.
Surprise.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Liora nearly laughed.
“I thought you were supposed to know.”
Her sister leaned against the doorway.
“Liora, I spent half my life thinking you knew everything.”
That was so absurd that both women started laughing.
Then Liora cried.
Then her sister did.
The children watched from the stairs and found the entire performance fascinating.
Things did not return to how they had been.
Liora’s mother kept the medicine deliveries.
Her brother continued making his own decisions.
The neighbor became quite good at repairs.
The bakery owner never gave the accounts back.
Liora discovered she was relieved.
But people began needing her again in different ways.
Her niece asked her to teach her woodcarving.
Her sister sometimes asked her to stay for tea.
Her mother asked her opinion without turning the opinion into an assignment.
And Liora began needing them openly.
She borrowed things.
Asked for company.
Requested help carrying flour.
Said when she was tired.
Said when she wanted to be alone.
Sometimes people said no.
She survived this.
Sometimes Liora said no.
They survived that too.
Years later, Liora encountered the old woman once more.
They recognized each other immediately.
“Still angry?” the woman asked.
“A little.”
“Good.”
Liora sat beside her.
After a while the woman asked:
“If you could make another wish, what would it be?”
Liora thought carefully.
Very carefully.
The old woman smiled.
Liora noticed.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
The woman laughed.
“Wise.”
They watched the river.
After several minutes, Liora said:
“I think I’ll just ask people directly.”
“Usually cheaper.”
The old woman held out her hand.
Liora gave her a piece of bread.
Neither of them called it a wish.
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