The Beachcomber's Wish

Taylor went to the beach every morning to search for gifts. Every July, there was a tradition of releasing gifts on the seashore. There were many others around her, looking under driftwood, walking through the beachgrass, trying to avoid the attention of other seekers. She had come here every summer since she was five years old, and she had never found a hidden gift.

Once, when she was about eleven years old, she had seen a man jump up and cry out as he was bitten by a snake in the long grass. Not all gifts were good, it seemed. He had died within minutes, foaming at the mouth and cursing his fate. It didn’t stop her searching. She was out there again the very next day.

The right gift would change her life. Some people had found wealth beyond their imagination. Taylor wore an old dress that had been mended more than once. Maybe she could afford a new wardrobe, and maybe even a new house to put it in.

An old woman had found a younger lover who kept her happy and cared for until she died less than a year later.

A college student had been gifted with a photographic memory. He now had a really well-paid job working for the government. A job! Maybe her gift would be a job. She had never had a permanent job, just casual gigs babysitting or helping out at the docks. A paycheck every week would be the lap of luxury.

Sometimes, there were people on the beach who didn’t belong there. They came in cars and had new clothes and smelled of perfume. The locals hated them with a passion. These rich people didn’t need the gifts – they already had more than the true beachcombers could imagine. But riches are too often accompanied by greed for more.

As the sun went down, people started to move away from the beach. If you didn’t find a gift while the sun was shining brightly, you’d never find one in the dark. Taylor walked to the water’s edge and let the wavelets wash over her feet. She wondered what it was like to have a real job. To get paid a set amount every week. Or to have so much money that she invested some, so it kept growing by itself. To have a car so that she and her mother could go farther afield to scavenge for fresh vegetables. One gift could totally change their lives.

No one knew where the gifts came from. They had tried watching the beaches all night, but they never saw anyone leave a gift. They had set up cameras capturing what happened after they left. Even in places where someone found a gift in plain sight the next day, the overnight footage showed nobody leaving it there. At first, there was a rumor that the government left them, in response to rioting in the streets. But the government wouldn’t give someone a boyfriend or an eidetic memory. (The venomous snake tracked, though!) Then someone suggested aliens from outer space dropped them from flying saucers. A lot of people still believed that. Some people worshipped the unknown gift-giver, thinking it must be a god.

But the most commonly accepted explanation was that the gifts were left by magical beings. Fairies or leprechauns or dragons or sorcerers. Seeing the people in pain and offering them hope. Even if some of the gifts were bad like the snake or the occasional poisoned wine, the excitement of finding a gift and the possibility of an easier life were enough to keep everyone (well, everyone who didn’t have a job) beachcombing each day in July. And a few days in June and August, but no gifts had ever been found except in July.

Taylor went home to tell her mother that her search had failed again. Her mother smiled gently and said “Here, I made you soup.” The previous day, Taylor had brought back fish from the shore. They had eaten the fish then, and today her mother had used the skin and bones to make a fish stock and turned it into soup. Taylor hugged her. Perhaps it was a kind of magic that her mother could take a living, squirming thing straight from the sea and turn it into two tasty meals for both of them. They sat together in the dark after their dinner. No power was wasted in this house. Their solar panels provided enough electricity to keep their bill at zero – the exact amount they had available to pay for it.

Taylor told her mother about the things she had seen today. Her mother told her about scavenging for the vegetables for their soup. Old Mr. Thomas was not out there today. The neighbors had talked about it, and they stood around while Sophia had gone to his door and knocked, but there was no reply. The door was locked. Perhaps he had left; perhaps he was dead or dying. There was nothing they could do to help him.

In the morning, Taylor was up before the sun rose as usual, and she headed down to the beach. She started with a quick run along the beach to spot anything that might have been left out in the open, then she moved to the dunes and started picking through the clumps of beachgrass. Her hand met a hard, solid object. She looked up immediately to make sure no one else was around. Then she hastily picked it up and put it in her canvas bag.

The bag felt heavy as Taylor continued to wander through the dunes, pretending to look for a gift she was sure she had already found. When she was far from the other people, she set off swiftly for home. She waited for her mother to come back, wanting to share the excitement with her.

Whitney had gone out to gather food soon after Taylor left. She stopped at Mr. Thomas’ door, knocking and then calling out to him. There was no response. She looked around carefully, then opened his door. She had a key, but she had never told anyone else about it. As she walked through the small shotgun house, her eyes spotted signs that he had left in a hurry. A half-eaten meal sat on the table. There were dishes in the sink. A light shone in the living room, although there was no one there. She crept into the bedroom, and saw the covers were pulled down. The bathroom door was closed, and she cracked it open carefully. Mr. Thomas was lying on the floor, half dressed, and definitely dead.

Whitney closed the door again, and went through the house methodically, gathering everything of use or of value, and stowing it all in a bag she found in the kitchen. There were some fruits and vegetables that were still fit to eat, a little cash money in a jar under the kitchen sink, a radio, a flashlight, some fresh batteries, and old, worn tools. She also found some shawls and blankets that could be sold at the market.

She stepped out of the door carefully, then walked quickly back to the street and hurried home. Taylor met her at the door, looking excited, but Whitney shared her news first. “Old Mr. Thomas is dead. I brought back some things he doesn’t need any more.”

They examined the haul carefully. There was a bottle of whiskey, nearly one-quarter full. Taylor’s eyes lit up. “We can have a drink with our dinner tonight!” she exclaimed.

Her mother shook her head. “We should save it for a special occasion,” she insisted.

Taylor opened her canvas bag and pulled out a glass globe. She set it on the table, and they both stared at it in wonder.

“Is that a…?”

“Yes, I found it on the beach this morning. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I wonder what it is.”

They both examined it, lifting it up, turning it around, admiring the clear glass and the colors that ran through it. Taylor finally said “There’s a piece of fabric inside with writing on it. We’ll have to break it to read what it says.”

It seemed like a criminal act to break such a beautiful object. “Wait!” said Whitney, “we may have something.”

She searched around through the odds and ends she had retrieved from Mr. Thomas’ kitchen drawer. Although people in the community had very little by way of possessions, they never threw anything away. Finally, she came back with a tool that might once have been a glass cutter. “It’s not in the best of shape, but maybe we can just cut a hole in the globe,” she whispered.

They labored for about half an hour before a section of the globe was weakened enough to pull out. Taylor picked the globe up, held it upside down and shook it until the fabric was just over the hole. Then she carefully pulled it out and spread it on the table so they could both read it.

The letters moved in front of them, forming words. “Congratulations! You pulled me out without careless destruction. You have earned exactly one wish. The wish-granter will visit you in one hour. Be ready!”

For most of that hour they talked about the wish they wanted most. Taylor could get a job that would put food on the table on a regular basis. But jobs could be lost, and they often were in this economy. Cash or jewels would buy them whatever they needed, but how would they keep them safe once their neighbors realized what they had? They could move away to a new house in a better area, but their other problems would follow them wherever they went.

Then Taylor spoke of an old dream. “What about my father? Could it bring him back to us?”

Whitney considered the body she had seen on the bathroom floor. “No, he’s no longer alive. But maybe one of us could find a man to live with. Remember the old lady who was gifted a boyfriend?”

They looked at each other and giggled. “That’s a no from me,” said Taylor, “I’ll find my own man, thank you. The finding is the fun part.”

When they had stopped laughing, Whitney came up with an idea. “What are the worst things about our life at present? Let’s come up with a wish that solves them.”

It didn’t take long to come up with a list. They wrote it in chalk on a slate.

Hunger.

Cold.

Lack of money.

Can’t get away from here.

No medical care.

Fear of being robbed.

No way to earn a living.

The wish-granter was due in just under fifteen minutes, and they still didn’t have their wish defined. Whitney busied herself by boiling water to make cups of herbal tea for them and their expected visitor. It is a universal law that you should offer food or drink to a visitor to the house, no matter how little you have.

Taylor watched her absently, then she frowned. Looking down at the slate, she carefully made check marks against several of the items. “We can solve five of these if we just word the wish carefully.”

When the wish-granter knocked on their door, they were ready. He was a tall, gaunt, cloaked figure. Whitney ushered him in and led him to the comfortable chair, then offered him a steaming cup of herbal tea.

“What should we call you, Sir?” she asked.

His voice was deep and tired. “You may call me Wish-granter. It is my function and my name.” He sounded other-worldly.

Taylor spoke up. “Are you one of the people who send us the gifts?”

The wish-granter gave a hollow laugh. “No, but I am their servant. I cannot answer any questions about them at this time.”

They nodded their understanding. They had expected that the source of the gifts would prefer to stay anonymous. Taylor tried for one more piece of information. “Why do the gifts come only in July?”

The wish-granter studied her for a moment, then apparently decided he was allowed to answer this. “Weather. They do not want people on the beaches to be at risk from bad weather and dangerous tides.”

He sat back and sipped his tea. “Now, what is your wish?”

He was looking at Taylor as he said this. Obviously, he was aware that she was the one who found the gift.

Taylor spoke carefully and deliberately. “Please listen and then let me know if my wish is acceptable.

“My mother and I want to be able to feed our community. They can take care of us in exchange for us feeding them every day. To make this happen, we need a magic larder that is full of nourishing food and never runs out of anything. Our wish is that you give us this larder to support us in this endeavor.”

Taylor took a deep breath and waited. The wish-granter nodded for a minute. Then he said “Your wish is a selfish one, but it takes care of your community in a selfless way. Your mother is a gifted cook, and she will bring joy to the neighborhood. Your neighbors will have more time available to take care of themselves, and of you.”

The wish-granter stood, opening his cloak to reveal a wizard’s staff. “Your wish is granted. Behold your magic larder.”

And a door appeared in the kitchen where no door had stood before. Whitney ran to open it, and there were shelves full of food. She sank to her knees, overcome.

The wish-granter did not smile. He didn’t appear to have that capability. He spoke again to Taylor. “Because of the wisdom of your wish, you have been granted another gift. They know you will use it wisely. Do not go searching for gifts again until the need arises. The next time you go to the beach to search for a gift, you will find one immediately.”

Taylor started to thank him, but the wish-granter had already disappeared.

She walked over to her mother, and sat beside her, holding her close.