[STORY] The Question He Should Have Answered

The Question He Should Have Answered

Chapter One: The Shop That Never Emptied

“We received all your results.” “Then tell me you found what’s wrong.” “We tried several treatments, and, doctor, the situation is far more serious than we thought. If we don’t act quickly, we will likely have to amputate your leg.” “No. That’s not possible. How did a simple wound turn into this?” “We still don’t understand what’s driving this deterioration.” “What made me do this? I’m finished. Completely finished.”

The greatest tragedies often begin with a fault we believed had no consequences.

When Salvius finally got that job, he felt like his life had just changed. For nearly two years he had searched for work without success. Every morning he left his room with hope of finding an opportunity. Every evening he came back with the same disappointment. So on the day Mr. Gervais agreed to hire him at his shop, Salvius thanked God.

The shop sat along a busy road. From the outside, it looked like any other neighborhood business. Yet from his very first days, Salvius noticed the customers never stopped coming. He watched the other shops a few meters away — they were nearly empty. But at Mr. Gervais’s, sacks of rice, cartons of oil, and drinks disappeared from the shelves at an incredible rate.

“Boss, your business is really doing well,” he said one morning.

Mr. Gervais looked up from his account book. “God is good.” It was always his answer. Never any other. Salvius didn’t press further.

Mr. Gervais arrived early, spent the day watching the accounts, chatting with certain customers. At closing, he almost always refused to go home. A few nights a week he slept directly in the back room. This habit intrigued Salvius. One evening, while they finished putting away the merchandise, he finally asked the question.

“Boss, why don’t you go home some nights?”

The man gave a slight smile. “A merchant who sleeps deeply often ends up waking up poor,” Gervais declared.

“Are you afraid of thieves?”

“Everyone should be afraid of thieves.” The answer made Salvius smile.

Chapter Two: The Rustling

A few days after that conversation, Salvius was alone in the shop. Mr. Gervais had gone out to buy stock. Salvius was arranging cartons near the storeroom when he heard a faint rustling sound. He looked around. Nothing. After a moment, he went back to his work. But the rustling came again, this time seeming to come from inside the storeroom.

Salvius set down the carton he was carrying and approached. Nothing moved. Only sacks of rice, cartons of sugar, and crates of drinks occupied the room. He closed the door. A few seconds later, the rustling started again, like something threading its way between the merchandise. At first he thought of a rat. Then he began to doubt.

The following days, the phenomenon repeated — always in the same spot, always when he found himself alone. Finally, Salvius decided to tell his employer.

“Boss, I think there’s something in the storeroom.”

Mr. Gervais kept writing in his ledger. “Something? Like what?”

“I don’t know, but it sounds like a snake.”

Mr. Gervais laughed softly. “A snake? Did you see it?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know it’s a snake?”

Salvius had no answer. Mr. Gervais closed his book. “You work too hard.”

“And yet I hear it often.”

“It’s your imagination.” The conversation seemed over. As Salvius walked away, Mr. Gervais added calmly, “Never let fear make you see things that don’t exist.” Salvius nodded, but he remained convinced something was moving in that storeroom.

Chapter Three: Called From Somewhere

Salvius grew used to the shop’s rhythm. After all, a good shop always attracts people. But over time, certain details began to trouble him.

One Wednesday afternoon, while arranging bottles of oil on a shelf, he noticed a woman enter the shop. She had crossed several neighborhoods of the city just to shop here. She bought only two packets of sugar. Watching her, he couldn’t help himself. “Ma’am, why do you come buy here when there are several shops closer to your home?”

The woman smiled. “I don’t know how to explain it. You don’t know?” “I feel like I always have to come all the way here to shop.” Her answer left him puzzled. She turned and left the shop.

The next day, he asked another customer the same question. The answers were nearly identical every time. No one seemed able to explain why they preferred this shop over any other.

A few days later, Salvius accompanied Mr. Gervais to the central market to pick up an order. On the way back, he noticed several merchants talking in front of their nearly empty shops. As they passed, some looked at Mr. Gervais with an expression that was hard to read — not admiration, not friendship. Something closer to distrust.

When their pickup truck stopped in front of the shop, a neighboring merchant crossed the road. His name was Léon. He greeted Mr. Gervais briefly before turning to Salvius. “How long have you been working here?”

“Almost six months.”

The man nodded. “So — do you like it here?”

“Yes.”

“Good for you. Just be careful of certain things. People arrive here as if they’d been called.”

Salvius laughed. “Called? By whom?”

“That’s exactly the question everyone asks themselves.”

At that moment, Mr. Gervais slammed the vehicle door shut. “Léon!” The tone was calm but firm enough to end the conversation. The merchant smiled immediately. “Just joking.” Then he went back to his shop.

Salvius watched him go. Mr. Gervais began unloading the merchandise and remarked, “Shopkeepers love to talk.”

“He seemed serious,” Salvius said.

“That’s because he’s jealous.”

“Jealous?” the young man asked, surprised.

“Look at his shop.” Salvius turned his head. Léon’s establishment was nearly empty. “When business goes poorly, some people always look for an explanation.” The answer seemed logical enough.

That night, while helping his employer put away the last of the merchandise in the storeroom, the rustling returned. This time he was certain he’d heard it. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

Mr. Gervais kept moving cartons as though nothing had happened. “Hear what?”

“The sound!”

“What sound?”

“In the storeroom.”

“Your snake again?” the man said, laughing.

“I promise you I’m not making it up.”

“You think too much.”

Salvius said nothing more, but this time he was certain he wasn’t the only one who had heard it. Mr. Gervais had heard it too. He was simply pretending otherwise.

Chapter Four: The Idea He Kept Repressing

Salvius now knew the shop like his own home. He knew where every product was kept, and above all, he knew exactly how much money came into the register each day. Sales never slowed. Some days it seemed customers arrived faster than he could serve them.

When he tallied the accounts in the evening, the numbers often left him speechless. Such a sum sometimes represented several months of his own salary. At first he paid it no mind. But his own difficulties continued, and his girlfriend Mireille was going through a hard time of her own. She ran a small clothing kiosk in a neighboring district, and unfortunately business wasn’t good.

One evening, sharing a meal in his room, she let out a deep sigh. “If only I had a little more money to restock.”

“How much are you short?” Salvius asked.

“Even a small sum would help. And no one can lend it to me.” She shook her head. “Everyone has their own problems.”

The conversation ended there. But an idea crossed Salvius’s mind — one he pushed away immediately.

The next evening, while counting the day’s receipts, the same idea returned. He looked at the bills. Mr. Gervais wasn’t there. Salvius looked away immediately. He couldn’t do this. And yet the idea kept following him for several days.

A week later, Mireille called him, her voice worried. “My landlord is threatening to take back the kiosk if I don’t pay what I owe before the end of the month.”

“I’ll find a solution,” Salvius finally said.

That evening, closing the shop, he noticed something — Mr. Gervais had forgotten to check the day’s receipts. It wasn’t the first time. The man trusted him. Salvius slowly opened the cash drawer, looked around. For a few moments he wanted to close it again and go home. But he thought immediately of Mireille. So he took a small bundle of bills — not a large sum, just enough to help. At least, that’s what he told himself to soothe his conscience. I’ll put the money back before he notices. He slipped the bills into his pocket.

Salvius brought the money to Mireille. Seeing the amount, she looked at him in surprise. “Where did you find all this?”

“I got a bit of luck today,” he replied. A smile lit up her face.

Chapter Five: The Second Theft

After that first theft, Salvius spent several days in anxiety. Every morning arriving at the shop, he expected to be found out. Every time Mr. Gervais opened his account book, his heart raced. But nothing happened. The man kept working as usual — no questions, no accusations. Eventually Salvius began convincing himself no one would ever notice what he’d done. That thought brought a strange feeling of security — the kind of security that sometimes pushes men to commit a second mistake.

One evening, Mireille told him enthusiastically, “The clothes sold faster than expected. That’s good news. If I could buy more stock, I could earn a lot more.” Salvius already knew what came next, and a few days later he took money from the register again.

Mireille’s business gradually expanded. She was happy. Salvius was too — at least, that’s what he tried to believe, because something in him had changed. When he looked at the bills in the register, he no longer saw his employer’s money. He saw new possibilities, new plans, a better life. He was even beginning to convince himself he deserved a share of this wealth. After all, he was the one spending his days behind the counter, serving customers, managing the stock. Why did Mr. Gervais earn so much while he was still struggling to pay certain expenses? The question kept haunting him.

One particularly busy afternoon, Salvius watched the bills piling up in the cash drawer. He shook his head. “This money never stops coming in,” he murmured.

“Did you say something?” a customer asked.

“No, ma’am.” He gave her change and served the next person.

That evening, contemplating the total, a spark of envy began growing in him — this time thinking only of himself, of everything he could do with this money, everything he’d never had. At that same moment, a rustling sounded from the storeroom. He glanced toward the door before returning to his work. For several weeks, that sound had barely frightened him anymore. It had become a familiar presence. But that evening, something caught his attention. The storeroom door was slightly ajar. He was certain he’d closed it a few hours earlier.

Reaching the door, he pulled it toward him. Nothing seemed to have changed. He closed the door again. “I’m going crazy,” he muttered under his breath. Behind him, a voice made him jump.

“Looking for something?” It was Mr. Gervais.

Salvius turned sharply. “No, I was just checking the stock.”

“Very well.” Before walking away, the man added calmly, “Some things are better left alone.”

“What does that mean?” Salvius asked, but Mr. Gervais didn’t answer. He had already left.

That night, Salvius took even more money than usual. And against all expectation, since the beginning of his thefts, he felt almost no remorse.

Chapter Six: The Question

December arrived, and Mr. Gervais’s shop saw even more traffic than usual. From morning to evening, customers streamed in without interruption. Salvius had rarely seen so much money flow through a register.

On the twenty-fourth of December, the shop was more crowded than ever. As the sun began to disappear behind the buildings, Salvius let out a sigh of relief. The day was finally coming to an end. As usual, he expected to close the shop and go home. But Mr. Gervais had barely left his desk all day, and when they finally locked the doors, the man stayed seated, his large account book open in front of him.

“Salvius?”

“Yes, boss?”

“Come sit.”

A slight unease passed through the young man. He approached anyway. Mr. Gervais turned a few pages of his book before placing his finger on a line.

“How long have you worked here?”

The question surprised Salvius. “Almost six months.”

“Six months. I always thought you were a good boy.” Salvius’s heart began beating faster. “Thank you, boss.”

Mr. Gervais crossed his arms. “Then explain to me why there is money missing.”

A wave of panic washed over Salvius. “Money?”

“Yes.” The man pushed the book gently toward him. “A lot of money.”

Salvius looked at the figures. His hands went damp. For the first time in months, he understood it was all over. Mr. Gervais knew. Maybe he had known for a long time.

“I don’t understand,” he murmured.

The man seemed almost sad. “Salvius. I’m going to ask you one question. Did you take this money?”

Salvius’s mind raced in every direction. If he confessed, he’d lose his job. Maybe he’d be arrested. Maybe Mireille would find out everything. Mr. Gervais waited — without anger, without threat.

“Did you take this money?” he repeated.

Salvius lowered his eyes. Only one truth could still save him. But fear proved stronger.

“No!” The word came out almost against his will.

The man didn’t move. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“You never took a single bill?”

“No, boss!”

Mr. Gervais closed the book. “Very well.” The answer surprised Salvius. He’d expected shouting, anger, threats. None of it came.

The man stood. “If that’s what you choose to say, then I have nothing further to add. You may go.”

“I’m being fired?” Salvius asked.

“Yes.” The word fell with an unexpected coldness. The young man felt his heart sink. Everything had just vanished. He slowly picked up his bag and headed for the exit.

At the door, he heard Mr. Gervais’s voice behind him. “Salvius.” He stopped.

“Yes?” The man never took his eyes off him. “If anything ever happens to you after tonight—” gravity crossed his voice “—never come ask me for help again.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Safe travels, Salvius.” The young man turned to leave, and it was at that precise instant that a strange sensation swept through the shop — the sound he’d heard since his first day.

Chapter Seven: What Was Real

Drawn by movement, Salvius looked into the shop. What he saw left him speechless. A long black mass advancing — a snake. For several seconds, Salvius was unable to move. Every time he’d heard that sound came flooding back — every time his employer had told him he was imagining things. The snake was real. Its dark body slid slowly across the tile floor.

“Boss!” Salvius’s voice trembled. “Boss!”

Mr. Gervais stood strangely calm, as if the reptile’s presence didn’t surprise him at all.

“Boss, it’s there.”

The man looked at the snake, then at Salvius. “Yes.” That simple answer chilled the young man even further.

“You can see it, obviously.” The snake kept advancing. Salvius wanted to run, but a paralyzing fear held him in place. The snake raised its head slightly, its black eyes seeming fixed on him.

“Do something!” Salvius screamed.

The man remained silent. Suddenly the snake lunged forward. Everything happened in a fraction of a second. Salvius felt a searing pain tear through his right leg, like two burning blades sinking into his flesh. He let out a terrible cry before falling heavily. The pain was unbearable. He gripped his leg. “Help me.” The snake had already withdrawn. “Help me!” Salvius shouted.

Passersby began turning around. Within moments, a few people gathered at the shop entrance. “What’s happening?”

Salvius pointed inside the shop. “The snake — it bit me.” Everyone looked in the direction he indicated, but the snake was no longer there. The shop looked perfectly ordinary.

“What snake?” a man asked.

“There. It was right there.” People exchanged puzzled looks. Mr. Gervais stepped forward.

“What happened?” a woman asked.

Weariness passed through Mr. Gervais’s gaze. “He believes he saw something.”

“Something?”

“But he’s in pain,” the woman said.

“He thinks he was bitten by a snake,” Mr. Gervais added. A man quickly inspected Salvius’s leg. “I don’t see any bite.” Another crouched down. “Me neither.”

Salvius lowered his eyes. His heart nearly stopped. They were right. There was nothing — not a drop of blood, not a mark. “I swear he bit me.” The looks turned hesitant, distrustful. Doubt began settling in.

Mr. Gervais then placed a hand on his shoulder. “Come with me.” He helped Salvius up, locked the shop, and drove him home. No one followed them. During the drive, Salvius clutched his leg without understanding what had just happened to him.

After several minutes, Mr. Gervais parked near Salvius’s house. “Boss!” The man turned his head toward him. “I gave you a chance.”

“I—” Salvius began.

“A single chance. What’s going to happen to me, boss?”

“Good night, Salvius,” Mr. Gervais answered.

Chapter Eight: What the Doctors Couldn’t See

The next morning, Salvius woke with unbearable pain in his leg. He looked at it. An expression of terror spread across his face. At the exact spot where he’d felt the snake’s fangs pierce his flesh, a small wound had appeared. But the skin around it was abnormally dark. He gently ran his fingers around the injury. A sharp pain immediately shot through his leg. He pulled his hand away, terrified.

A few hours later, he went to a hospital. The doctor examined the wound carefully. “You say a snake bit you?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Last night.” The doctor frowned. “I don’t see any trace of a recent bite.”

“And yet I saw it.” The doctor continued the examination. “I’ll give you medication for infection. Come back in a few days.” Salvius left, unreassured.

Over the following week, the wound didn’t improve. On the contrary, it seemed to widen. Mireille grew worried. “You should go back to see a doctor.”

“I already went.”

“Then go see another.” Salvius obeyed. The answers were always the same. No one understood what was causing this wound.

The weeks passed. The wound kept sinking deeper. The surrounding skin changed color, gradually taking on a grayish tint, as if the flesh were slowly dying. Meanwhile, Salvius had lost his job. Savings disappeared. Mireille’s business no longer sufficed to cover all their expenses. Hardship returned.

One afternoon, limping painfully down a shopping street, he crossed paths with a former customer from the shop. The man recognized him immediately. “Salvius? It’s been a long time.” His gaze dropped to Salvius’s leg. “What happened to you?”

“An old injury.”

The man nodded. “I hope it gets better.” After he left, those words wouldn’t stop echoing in Salvius’s mind. I hope it gets better. He himself was beginning to lose hope.

The more weeks passed, the more he understood something wasn’t normal. The wound refused to heal. One evening, cleaning it, Mireille came to sit beside him. “Tell me what’s really going on.”

Salvius looked up. “What do you mean?”

“This whole time — you’ve been hiding something from me?” He remained silent for a moment. This time he didn’t try to dodge it. He told her everything. When he finished, Mireille stayed quiet before asking, “And Mr. Gervais?”

“What about him?”

“Have you gone back to see him?”

“No.”

“Why?” she added. The answer was simple. Because Salvius was afraid — afraid of having to face his own lie.

Mireille gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “You should go see him.”

“Why?”

“Because all this time, you’ve been searching for explanations everywhere except from the one person who was there that night.”

Not a word left Salvius’s lips. But deep down, the decision was made. He would go see Mr. Gervais, even if it meant facing the truth he’d been avoiding all this time.

Chapter Nine: What Gervais Explained

When he arrived at the street where the shop stood, everything looked the same. Customers came and went. Behind the desk, Mr. Gervais occupied the same seat as always. He looked up at Salvius without any sign of surprise.

Salvius approached and placed an envelope on the desk. “What’s this?” Mr. Gervais asked.

“The money.”

“What money?”

“The money I stole. It’s not all of it, but I’ll pay back the rest little by little.” The man looked at the envelope without touching it. “I don’t want it, Salvius. Take it back.”

“But this money belongs to you.”

“No.” The man shook his head. “It doesn’t belong to me anymore.”

“Then help me. Look at my leg.” He rolled up his pant leg slightly. The wound was still there. Mr. Gervais looked at it a moment before turning his eyes away.

“I can’t do anything for you.” He leaned back in his chair. “The night we talked — did I ask you for my money?”

Salvius thought. “No.”

“What did I ask you?” The memory returned immediately, as though the scene were happening again. “You asked me for the truth.”

“Exactly. I gave you a chance to tell the truth. You probably didn’t know I’d already spotted the first shortfalls in the register within the first few weeks.” Mr. Gervais gently pushed the envelope back toward him. “Keep the money.”

“I don’t want it,” Salvius said.

“Then give it to someone who needs it. That’s all.”

Salvius finally asked the question he’d been carrying inside him. “The snake — what exactly was it?”

“I did warn you not to look for certain answers.”

“I want to know,” Salvius insisted.

“All those months you worked here, you heard it, but it never showed itself. Do you know why?” Salvius shook his head. “Because it had no reason to reveal itself. The day you started stealing, it started watching you.”

“Will my wound ever heal?” Salvius asked. The man’s gaze stayed fixed on him. “I have no answer to give you.”

Without pressing further, Salvius took back the envelope and headed for the exit.

Chapter Ten: What Time Never Erased

Time passed, and contrary to what Salvius had hoped, the wound never healed. The darkness had crept up his leg. Specialists ran test after test. Healers tried their remedies. Nothing worked. One of them examined the wound carefully before slowly shaking his head.

“Where were you working when all this began?” he asked.

“At a shop.”

“A very busy shop?” the healer asked. Salvius hesitated. “How do you know that?”

The healer gave a slight, joyless smile. “Certain kinds of wealth are not natural.” He passed his hand slowly over the wound. “What bit you wasn’t protecting the money. It was protecting the source of that money. And this leg will not heal.”

A shock ran through Salvius. “What do you mean?”

“Since that bite, something has been set in motion. No remedy can reverse what is happening. All I can tell you is that this leg was used for a sacrifice. It is condemned.”

Salvius left with an anguish he had never known before, and the pain grew harder to bear with every passing day. Finally, one morning, the doctors told him what they had long feared. If they didn’t remove the leg, the infection would eventually endanger his life.

A few weeks later, Salvius was wheeled into the operating room. When he woke, his right leg was gone. Every time he looked at the emptiness left in its place, his thoughts carried him back to that December evening. He realized, too late, that some wounds eventually close. Others leave a mark time never erases.

Chapter Eleven: What Remains

We often justify a wrongdoing by pointing to financial hardship, family troubles, or the desire to help someone. But a bad act remains a bad act. One should never covet a prosperity whose origin one does not understand. Late remorse does not always erase the consequences. Some consequences continue to exist long after the regret.

Salvius never blamed the snake, in the end. He blamed the moment he opened the cash drawer the first time, and the moment, months later, when he was finally offered the one thing that might have saved him — not the money, not the leg, but the truth — and chose fear instead.

— End —