by Antonio Napoli

In a distant African city, a man of immense wealth, nearing the end of his life, called his children to his bedside to communicate his final wishes.
“My children, I have accumulated great wealth. You now have a fortune more than enough to satisfy your needs. However, do not let such needs drive you to squander this treasure. Save, and do not waste! What I leave you, you will account for after my death. Moreover, if by chance, due to a bad trick of digestion, one of you should dream of me, troubled by the memory that I would urge you to misuse my wealth, do not believe in such superstitions. The vice of squandering might deceive you. Remember, never, and I mean never, would I beg you in a dream to do what I never dreamt of doing while I was alive!”
With these words, he breathed his last. As is common in such cases, the soul of the wicked departed and wandered through the air until it was captured by the forces of Evil, who tormented it without respite. The miser had not expected such suffering: the torment was like an unquenchable fire, and he implored for even a single drop of water to relieve him.
The tyrant of the evil forces, laughing at his misery, said:
“Do not ask me for a drop of water, for I know no mercy. Rather, ask your children. You must tell them to perform a good deed with the money you loved so much, and which condemned you to this agony. Only then will you receive what you crave.”
“But how can I make myself heard by them, if I am confined to this place?” protested the rich man.
“You are allowed to appear to them in a dream.”
The miser, filled with a tremor of hope, patiently waited for the first of his sons to fall asleep.
“I am your father, do you recognize me? To alleviate the pains of hell, my son, give a coin to the poor. Only then will I be able to drink the water I long for in this scorching hell!”
But the son, faithful to his father’s instructions, was not deceived by the dream. And the same happened with the other brothers, except for one, the youngest, who, moved by compassion, gave in.
Upon waking, the youngest of his sons, being a good man and loving his father despite everything, had donated half of his wealth to the poor so that his father might have as much water as possible.
When the father, hoping at last for relief, turned to the tyrant of the evil forces to ask for the water, he was granted a single drop to drink.
“Only one drop! My son gave away the unimaginable!” he protested, but his complaint was in vain.
“It is the fault of your greed, which now repays you,” replied the tyrant.
The rich man’s despair grew. His thirst was not quenched, but what tormented him the most was the pain caused by the thought of his son’s generosity.