The Fool Meets the Devil

The Fool wandered farther than usual that day, his knapsack light and his heart even lighter. He whistled as he walked, delighted that the path kept surprising him with odd turns and curious stones. He was not looking for anything in particular—which is why he found everything.

In a clearing ahead sat a figure with horns and a grin, poking at a small fire. Around him were masks: one laughing, one crying, one yawning so wide it looked like it could swallow the sun.

“Sit,” said the Devil. “Try one on.”

The Fool tilted his head. “But why? I already have a face.”

The Devil chuckled. “That face is one mask too. You just forgot you were wearing it.”

The Fool’s brow wrinkled, then smoothed. He tried on the laughing mask. It made him giggle until his ribs ached. He swapped it for the crying mask, and suddenly he felt the ache of every lonely night he had ever ignored. He tried the yawning one and nearly fell asleep on the spot.

“See?” said the Devil. “Joy, sorrow, boredom. Chains, if you clutch them. Toys, if you play with them.”

The Fool grinned. “So the trick isn’t to escape you.”

The Devil tapped his nose. “It’s to dance with me.”

And so the Fool did. He danced until he realized the masks weren’t curses but costumes, and that wearing them with honesty turned isolation into communion. Because somewhere out there, another soul was laughing, another crying, another yawning—and all of them were, in their own way, free.

The Fool slung his knapsack again and left the clearing. The Devil stayed behind, smiling, knowing the Fool would carry the masks with him—not as chains, but as companions.