“I will say only this,” he said. “It is one of the most serious obsessions anyone can have, and No Good Will Come Of It.”
How right he was.
So Biffpot knew about the King’s desire. And soon, one other person knew, because Midas told her – Delia.
When she was at school, and he had finished his signing for the day and had nothing much to distract him, he would walk about the palace and the gardens, with his hands behind his back and his head down on his chest, feeling deeply depressed. No, it was more like feeling desperately hungry. Only what he was hungry for wasn’t food.
Once, Delia, returning from school and not finding him in his office, came out to look for him in the garden. She saw him at a distance and crept up behind him, but when, startled out of his dream, he turned suddenly, she saw he had tears on his face.
She threw herself into his arms.
“Daddy! You’re crying! What’s wrong, were you thinking of Mother?”
“Ah, my darling! If it were only that! I wish I could say I had been, but no. I’ll tell you the truth, but promise you won’t tell.”
“Of course, I’d never tell your secrets,” she said, snuggling under his arm. “It can’t be anything bad.”
He found it very difficult to explain. He cleared his throat several times, and then said: “Have you ever looked around you, and wished everything were a different colour?”
She stared at him. “No.”
He tried again.
“Have you ever thought how wonderful it would be, if everything were made of – a different kind of stuff?”
“No … What kind of stuff?”
“Well, er – anything you like. Chocolate, perhaps?”
She wrinkled up her nose and shook her head. “Too sticky.”
“Wouldn’t you like it if everything around us were a toy, something for you to play with?”
“But then nothing would be real and there’d be no point in pretending.”
He groaned, and came right out with it.
“Well, wouldn’t you think it was the most wonderful thing in the world if everything were made of gold?”
She gazed at him open-mouthed. “I think that would be horrid,” she said. Then she saw his face fall. “Oh, Daddy! I’m sorry, is that what you want?”
He nodded, and she saw the hungry, haunted look in his eyes. She didn’t know what to say. She felt quite shocked and upset. It seemed so … But she couldn’t think words like “silly” and “greedy” about her father.
“But Daddy,” she said slowly. “We’ve got so much gold already. More than most people at school will ever see in their whole lives.”
He said nothing.
“We’ve got all that gold jewellery of Mother’s, and your gold watch, and the gold ornaments, and the special gold knives and forks and plates for state dinners, and –”
But the King was shaking his head.
“It’s – it’s not enough, somehow,” he muttered.
“But if it’s money you want, we’ve got the Treasury!”
“They send me what I order in –” (he shuddered) “bank notes” he said with disgust. “Dirty, deceitful things, pretending to be gold, well, as good as gold, but they’re lying, they’re lying!” His round, jolly face went dark red, and Delia backed away a step. He quickly controlled himself and reached out his hand to her. It was trembling.
“Delia … Tell me it’s not madness. Tell me you understand.”
She couldn’t. So she just held his hand tight and looked at the ground. They stood like that for a moment. Then she raised her face.
“You’ll get over it, Daddy. Now please, stop grumping around and come and read my new book with me!”
And she tugged him after her.
The King shook himself free of his longing, for the moment, and tried to cheer up for Delia’s sake, because he loved her. But the thing was getting too strong for him. It seemed to be taking him over. Any time he wasn’t busy, or was feeling a bit down, that gnawing hunger would come back to him, and he would just have to go away by himself and wish and wish and wish for gold.
One day, when he was feeling like this and walking about the garden, he was startled to see a little old man – really little, about two feet tall – with a long white beard and a black cloak, pop out from behind a bush in front of the King.
Midas blinked. “Good morning,” he said politely.
“It isn’t good and it isn’t morning,” snapped the little old man. “It’s the middle of the afternoon, as you’d know if you were thinking about it.”
“So it is,” said the King. “My mind was on something else.”
“Obviously.”
The King’s white moustache (did I mention that he had a white moustache?) began to bristle.
“Excuse me, but who are you, and how did you get into my garden?” he asked.
“My name is Nandan,” replied this strange little figure. “I got in by wishing to be in. And speaking of wishes, I see that you have a very powerful one.”
Startled, the King said, “What do you mean, you see?”
“It’s written all over you,” replied the little man, his bright eyes twinkling under his bushy eyebrows.
The King looked down at himself. To his amazement, the one word GOLD was written in large letters all over his clothes. Even as he stared, it faded.
“Are you a magician?” he asked in awe.
“Yes, indeed,” said Nandan. “A very good one too.”
“Can you make a rabbit come out of a hat?” asked the King rather childishly. He had once seen this done, and could never figure out the trick of it.
“Pooh,” said Nandan. “Could make an elephant come out of a thimble if I wanted to. Don’t want to, though,” he said quickly as the King opened his mouth to speak.
“What else can you do?”
“Lots of things,” replied the little man.
“Er … like what, for instance?” prompted the king, who was dying to see a bit of magic.
For answer, the magician plucked a hair out of his long white beard, flourished it in the air, made a few very dramatic passes at it with his free hand, and turned it into – a dressing-gown cord.
“Oh …” exclaimed the king in obvious disappointment.
“What, ‘oh’?” asked the little man sharply.
“Bit dull, that’s all,” muttered the king.
“Pardon me,” retorted Nandan sarcastically. “I didn’t realise you were so easily bored.” And with a brief, dismissive gesture, he tossed the cord away. As it touched the grass, there was a mighty bang, a cloud of smoke, and a huge snake-like monster leapt out of the ground.
Midas fell back in terror as the thing loomed over his head, hissed furiously at him, and then, at another mild gesture from Nandan, disappeared as suddenly as it had come.
Midas found himself on the ground, panting and goggle-eyed. Nandan was examining his fingernails.
“Now, what were we