The Wishing Game

It was a quiet night at O’Malley’s, most of the regulars having left early. Matthew Whelan was behind the bar, nursing a cold glass of water and a sore right hand. He had been required to educate a few young men on what he wouldn’t tolerate in his bar, and he was in a contemplative mood.

“I’m sorry you had to do that, Matty,” Kadin said, sipping his beer. “I am not unaccustomed to dealing with such ruffians.”

“Maybe so,” Matty replied. “But I won’t have it in my bar. I don’t care what excuse they use, 9/11 or Afghanistan or the fall of Rome. I won’t tolerate it. Even worse, they were Irish boys, from this very neighborhood! They should know better.”

Kadin raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Wasn’t so long ago, every shop up and down this street would have a sign in it: ‘Help Wanted – No Irish.’ We may be welcome now, but if we start turning our backs on our fellows, how soon before they turn their backs on us?” Matty iced his hand some more.

Kadin nodded. “You have a point. We have no need of djinn when we do this to ourselves.”

Matty got a wary look in his eye. “Djinn. That would be like the genie in the lamp, right?”

Kadin nodded. “Yes, although the djinn were trapped in all sorts of vessels. Lamps, rings, bottles, all manner of household objects. They are infamous for twisting the wishes of their masters so that they are never what is intended, always to the letter of the wish, and always in the worst possible way. Do you have legends of such tricksters from your own country?”

Matty leaned back, a faraway look in his eyes. “Oh, yes. It is well known that if you catch a leprechaun, they must grant you a wish. But every fool who does make a wish regrets it.”

Kadin leaned forward, interested in Matty’s tale. “And why is that?”

“Some fools wish for the love of a beautiful woman and find out too late she is a shrew. Others wish for riches, only to discover the hand of every associate and relative reaching out for a piece of their unearned wealth, and no idea who a true friend may be. But even that isn’t the worst.”

“No?” Kadin finished his beer and signaled for another, captivated by Matty’s story.

Matty sighed as he drew a fresh pint for his friend. “Aye. The worst of them all are those who wish for a long life. The little bastards twist it around so that they outlive all those they love, watching them waste away while you live past them, watching your children wither and grey. It’s a terrible curse, a long life.”

“I see. Is there no way to win this game of wishes?”

Matty paused and looked at Kadin. “Well, I’ve had some time to think about it, and I think the solution is pretty simple. Most people just get too greedy. They see this pot of gold in front of them, and they can’t help grabbing with both hands, instead of just taking a single piece, as it were.”

Kadin smiled at the analogy. “So, tell me, then, if you had a genie in one of those bottles behind you, what three wishes would you make?”

Matty paused reflectively, then slowly said, “I would wish to be as happy as my circumstances allow, as healthy as my age permits, and to always have you as my friend.”

Kadin raised his glass to the old bartender and said, “Your wish is my command.”