Death’s Godfather

Once upon a time, there lived a poor man who was blessed with the birth of his thirteenth child. With so many mouths to feed and so little bread on the table, he was at a loss for who to ask to be the child’s godfather. The poor man decided to leave his small cottage and walk the road until he met someone suitable for this important role.

As he ventured down the dusty path, he encountered a stranger—tall, strong, and radiant with an inner light. The stranger approached with a benevolent smile.

“Good day to you, poor man,” said the stranger. “I know why you have come out today. You seek a godfather for your newborn child. Choose me, and I shall make your child rich and famous throughout the world.”

The poor man was astonished. “Who are you,” he asked, “that you can make such promises?”

“I am the Lord,” replied the stranger, “creator of all things.”

The poor man considered this offer carefully before responding. “Sir, I mean no disrespect, but I cannot accept your kind proposal. You give riches to some and poverty to others. You allow some to starve while others have more than they need. This does not seem just to me. I must seek another godfather.”

With that, the poor man continued on his way. He had not gone far when he met another stranger, this one with a cold smile and calculating eyes.

“I know what you seek,” said this second stranger. “Make me your child’s godfather, and I will give him gold and all the pleasures of the world.”

“And who might you be?” asked the poor man.

“I am the Devil,” came the reply, “master of temptation and worldly delights.”

The poor man shook his head firmly. “No, you deceive and lead astray. You promise pleasure but deliver pain. You cannot be my child’s godfather.”

And so he walked on. As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the road, a third figure appeared—thin, gaunt, and dressed in a black hooded cloak.

“I have been waiting for you,” said the figure in a voice that was neither warm nor cold, but steady as the march of time.

“And who are you?” asked the poor man, though somehow he already knew the answer.

“I am Death,” replied the figure, pulling back his hood to reveal not a skull, as the man had feared, but a face both ancient and ageless, with eyes that had witnessed the beginning and would see the end of all things. “I am Death, who makes all men equal. I take the king from his palace and the beggar from his straw without preference or prejudice.”

The poor man considered this. “Yes,” he said finally. “You are fair. You take the rich and the poor, the young and the old without distinction. You shall be my child’s godfather.”

Death seemed pleased. “In return for this honor, I shall make your son a physician unlike any the world has seen. When he attends the sick, I will appear to him, visible only to his eyes. If I stand at the head of the patient’s bed, your son may administer his remedies, and the patient will recover. But if I stand at the foot of the bed, the patient belongs to me, and no medicine in the world can save them. Your son must not attempt to defy me in this.”

The poor man agreed to these terms. Three days later, the christening took place with Death standing as godfather, just as promised. As the child grew, the gift Death had promised manifested itself. The boy became a physician of great renown, able to tell at a glance whether a patient would live or die.

“If Death stands at the head of the bed, the patient will recover,” he would say. “But if Death stands at the foot, they are beyond my help.”

Word of this miraculous physician spread throughout the land. People said of him, “He needs only to look at the sick to know their fate.” His fame grew, and with it came wealth beyond what his father could have imagined. Kings and queens summoned him to their palaces, and merchants paid him handsomely for his services.

One day, the physician was called to the bedside of a wealthy man who had offered half his fortune for a cure. When the physician entered the sickroom, he saw Death standing at the foot of the bed. The patient was meant to die.

But the physician, tempted by the enormous reward and feeling a surge of pride in his abilities, decided to try something that had never been done before. He would trick Death itself.

Quickly, he instructed the servants to turn the bed around, so that Death now stood at the head instead of the foot. Then he administered his remedy, and the patient recovered, much to everyone’s amazement.

Death fixed the physician with a penetrating gaze. “You have deceived me,” he said in a voice only the physician could hear. “This once, I will overlook your trickery, but should you ever attempt to cheat me again, I will take you in their place.”

The physician grew even more famous after this incident. People called him a miracle worker, saying he could save anyone, even those at death’s door. But the physician remembered Death’s warning and was careful not to attempt such deception again.

Many years passed, and the physician lived a life of comfort and renown. Then one day, the king’s daughter fell gravely ill. The king proclaimed that whoever could save her would have her hand in marriage and inherit the kingdom.

When the physician was summoned to the palace, he found the princess lying pale and still, with Death already positioned at the foot of her bed. The physician’s heart raced as he gazed upon the princess, who was renowned throughout the land for her beauty and kindness. In that moment, he was seized not only by the prospect of becoming the king’s heir but also by genuine love for the princess.

Forgetting Death’s warning, he ordered the bed to be turned once more. Death’s eyes burned with cold fire as the physician administered his remedy, and the princess opened her eyes, her cheeks flushing with returning health.

“You have betrayed me twice,” said Death, his voice like the closing of a tomb. “But I am patient, and my memory is long.”

The king was overjoyed and fulfilled his promise. The physician married the princess and lived in happiness for a time, though a shadow of foreboding hung over him, for he knew that Death would not forget.

One night, as he lay beside his sleeping wife, a cold hand grasped his wrist. Death stood beside the bed, his patience exhausted.

“Come,” said Death. “Others have called you, but now I call, and no one can refuse my summons.”

“Just once more, grant me a reprieve,” begged the physician. “I have a wife who loves me and a kingdom that depends on me.”

Death shook his head. “Every man thinks his life indispensable, his love irreplaceable. But the world continues without each of us. However, I will show you something before I take you.”

Death led the physician to a cavern deep beneath the earth. Inside burned thousands upon thousands of candles—some tall and bright, others flickering and nearly extinguished.

“These are the life-lights of humanity,” explained Death. “When a candle burns out, I must take that person. Each day some go dark, and each day new ones are lit.”

“Show me my candle,” said the physician, his voice barely a whisper.

Death pointed to a tiny stub of wax, its flame wavering dangerously in an unfelt breeze.

“Cannot it be renewed?” asked the physician desperately. “Could you not light a new candle for me, as I saved those who were meant for you?”

“I cannot,” replied Death. “One candle must go out before another can be lit. Such is the way of things.”

The physician looked around frantically and saw a tall, strong candle burning nearby. “Then let me move the flame from that candle to renew mine,” he suggested, reaching toward it.

But as he attempted to grasp the tall candle, Death seized his wrist. “Do not touch it,” he warned. “That is the life-light of your princess.”

In that moment, the physician understood the true meaning of Death’s gift and the wisdom of his godfather’s arrangement. No matter how skilled the healer, no matter how beloved the patient, Death comes for all in their appointed time.

“I am ready,” said the physician at last, looking back at his own guttering candle.

Death nodded and blew gently on the tiny flame. As it extinguished, the physician felt himself dissolving, becoming one with the darkness and the light, with all that had been and all that would come.

And there, in the company of his godfather, he found the final equality that Death had promised—the peace that awaits us all, regardless of whether we were born in a palace or a poor man’s cottage.