Solomon set aside his leather shears for a split second of time. Totally unaware of what was happening at home, he fell upon the dreaded fact that the "landlord" would pay one of his untamed visits anytime then. Poor Solomon never imagined that the short man had already shattered his household minutes before. If the rent was not paid within any given deadlines, that would land his entire family on the streets, which was the least of all things he imagined. His unsteady mind was oscillating, when his golden memory dashed on his long-forgotten savings. Not that it was a panacea, of course, but, for the time, a pain-relieving medicine.

"Ah! I kept it there," he said to himself, remembering where he kept it in the house. "How did I forget it? How could I be so forgetful? I have to buy medicines for Richard. Poor boy. No, no, today's collections would do for that. The savings, really," he laughed to himself, "How did I forget it?"

The clouds were planning for a catastrophic war again. Solomon thought it would be best to run home with the medicines for Richard. He headed straight for Mr Simon's, the elderly chemist, who has been curing the diseases of at least three generations. He sat patiently on his wooden armchair, wearing his round-rimmed glasses, working his hands on magic, as is what seemed to the customers. When he noticed Solomon approaching his lonely store, he got up from his chair with much effort, and walked towards the counter, bearing a wide smile on his face, that flowed throughout the length of the wrinkles present. His grey eyes illumined like twinkling stars in the dark sky.

"Solomon! My lad! How are you, child? Where have you been all this time? Have no time to pay this old man a visit, eh?" Simon asked, his voice quivering with age and experience. Solomon laughed.

"I am sorry, Simon. You know what I am. What I am in the midst of. My sincere apologies, once again," replied Solomon, with a solemn face.

It was beginning to drizzle at a faster rate.

"Ah! You take things way too seriously, eh? Of course, I know you very well, lad. Oh, oh, it is raining. You better... No, no, I forgot that. What brings you here? You look worn out. Tell me, what is the problem with you? Running a high temperature, eh?"

Solomon turned to look at the shabby drizzle of the rain.

"I have come here for Richard. The rains have given him a perfect cold."

"Poor lad," sighed Simon. "Wait. I have just the thing for him. Let me get you an instant cure," saying this, Simon walked shakily up to the dusty racks of containers, mumbling to himself with great zeal and enthusiasm. He brought back a silver-coated cylindrical box.

"Besides, severe coughing as well. He nearly coughed his throat off this morning," added Solomon.

"Yes, yes. Everything. This is the cure for everything of that kind," said he, emptying a tiny bowl of the enigmatic powder into a little, green silk pouch. He then tied its mouth with a thick twine. Solomon was quickly awestruck by the speed with which the old man performed his sincere work. His agile fingers worked feverishly to finish its spectacular performance. He held out the silk pouch to his customer.

"How much does it cost, Simon?" queried Solomon, digging deep into his pockets for the money that has to be given.

"What sort of a question do you ask me, Solomon? It costs nothing. Take it," stated Simon, not looking at Solomon's face.

"But..."

"Would you not get it if it was from your father?"

Interpreting Simon's steely resolve, Solomon received it, emitting words of silence.

"There! That is good," Simon said.

"Thank you, Simon."

"You are welcome anytime, son," said he, smiling with care. "Everything in life is an illusion, lad. Now, why am I wasting your time? That is terribly wrong of me. Better hurry. Make Richard swallow the medicine. Mind you, it is quite bitter. Add some water. Now, run home. Go, go."

Solomon hastily spread his umbrella, and walked into the rain. He was breaking his head to decipher what Simon could have meant by quoting that everything in life is an illusion. Obviously, as he himself very well knew, he was referring to worldly treasures. It was quite some time before he slowly realised that his umbrella was dominated by holes.

"Even my umbrella?" Solomon laughed, as he sped homeward.