Lynne Banks - The Adventures of King Midas

“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 saying?” he remarked.

“That – that was astonishing,” the king managed to croak. “Very – ulp! – impressive, I must say.”

“What? – Oh, that. Nothing at all, I assure you. Just a little illusion.”

Midas felt a perfect idiot. He scrambled to his feet with some difficulty (he was rather fat).

“Shall we get back to your wish?” asked the magician pleasantly.

Midas felt his heart begin to beat strangely. The most incredible notion had come into his head. Could it – could he – might it –? But he couldn’t even finish the thought, it was so desperately exciting.

He didn’t say anything – just gazed at the magician with a look of longing.

“I could give you that wish, if I wanted to.”

“And – and – do you want to?” the king got out.

“Might,” his visitor answered. “Depends what you’d give me for doing it.”

The king swallowed. Even so, he could hardly articulate. “If you could give me all the g-gold I wanted,” he stammered, “I’d give you my best red rose.”

Not a lot, you might think, for such a gift. But the King had some sense. He realised that no ordinary, material reward would be any use to a magician of such powers. Nothing but his greatest achievement would suffice.

And the rose was his greatest achievement. It was an absolutely new kind, his very own, the product of years of careful work and dedication, recently hailed throughout the rose-growing world and named The Midas. It was said to be the most glorious rose in existence.

Nandan was looking at him with new interest. The old man had the most extraordinary eyes, very bright and twinkly. They reminded Midas of something – he couldn’t think what.

“One rose?”

“All of them,” Midas said recklessly.

“All of them? For ever? So no one will have a Midas rose but me?”