There was a prosperous merchant who had wed his great love early in life. They were happily married for a dozen years, but regrettably she sickened in the thirteenth year of their marriage, when a plague went through their town. She died quite suddenly. She had always loved to brush her long, fair hair with a gilded heirloom brush, a gift from her mother, who had received it from her mother. The dying woman admitted it was a vanity, but she made her husband promise to bury the brush with her. She knew he would remarry after her death, and she could not abide the idea of another woman using her hair brush while she lay a-moldering in the grave. Her husband promised to honor her wish.
However, her husband neglected to honor this wish as he had promised. He considered it silly, unseemly even. His new bride found the brush and squealed with delight. She knew it had belonged to his first wife, but she didn't really mind. It was exquisitely made. She loved to contour her long brown tresses with it. And her husband loved to watch her do this, for she was comely and shapely.
Soon after, his new bride's hair began falling out. She had to take to wearing wigs at her young age. And then her teeth began to fall out. Soon, they were all gone. The husband, like his new love, was an emotional wreck, as the doctors could not diagnose this strange malady. He had his own suspicions, of course. He cursed his wife's ghost. And then the lovely new wife's fingernails fell out, one by one. When her wig was off and her primitive dentures were out, she looked rather like a walking corpse, he thought. But he told her she was beautiful and to wear more makeup. She wept all the time.
The merchant went to a fortune teller who confirmed that it was indeed his wife's ghost working this mischief. She mentioned the hair brush even before he could say a word about it. She told him to set his wife's grave on fire. She couldn't guarantee it would work, but she said there was a chance. So that is what he did. He went to his wife's grave and set it on fire. And he cursed her for her selfishness beyond the grave, her vanity and pride. What use, after all, was a brush to a corpse?
As he arrived home from the cemetery, he was horrified to see his house was on fire. Truly it was a conflagration. The entire neighborhood was wetting down all the other houses and praying from the rooftops to heaven. His mansion was a total loss. The stables too had caught fire and all of his horses were dead. His new wife was on her knees in the street weeping. She had lost her teeth in the fire. Her wig had fallen off and little children were mocking her. The spaces where her fingernails had been appeared to be bleeding again.
"What?! Was nothing saved then?"
She held his dead wife's hair brush before his face."
"Only this beauty!" she said, and she began to brush her hair with it and sing the same song his dead wife would always sing. It was clear she had lost her mind.
He knew that he was truly ruined.
This was all such a shock that the merchant fell dead in the street at the feet of his new wife.
She was left a pauper and since she was too loathsome of appearance to secure a new man (or even to sink into the cyprian's trade) soon afterwards she drowned herself in the river at night, as decency required.
However, her husband neglected to honor this wish as he had promised. He considered it silly, unseemly even. His new bride found the brush and squealed with delight. She knew it had belonged to his first wife, but she didn't really mind. It was exquisitely made. She loved to contour her long brown tresses with it. And her husband loved to watch her do this, for she was comely and shapely.
Soon after, his new bride's hair began falling out. She had to take to wearing wigs at her young age. And then her teeth began to fall out. Soon, they were all gone. The husband, like his new love, was an emotional wreck, as the doctors could not diagnose this strange malady. He had his own suspicions, of course. He cursed his wife's ghost. And then the lovely new wife's fingernails fell out, one by one. When her wig was off and her primitive dentures were out, she looked rather like a walking corpse, he thought. But he told her she was beautiful and to wear more makeup. She wept all the time.
The merchant went to a fortune teller who confirmed that it was indeed his wife's ghost working this mischief. She mentioned the hair brush even before he could say a word about it. She told him to set his wife's grave on fire. She couldn't guarantee it would work, but she said there was a chance. So that is what he did. He went to his wife's grave and set it on fire. And he cursed her for her selfishness beyond the grave, her vanity and pride. What use, after all, was a brush to a corpse?
As he arrived home from the cemetery, he was horrified to see his house was on fire. Truly it was a conflagration. The entire neighborhood was wetting down all the other houses and praying from the rooftops to heaven. His mansion was a total loss. The stables too had caught fire and all of his horses were dead. His new wife was on her knees in the street weeping. She had lost her teeth in the fire. Her wig had fallen off and little children were mocking her. The spaces where her fingernails had been appeared to be bleeding again.
"What?! Was nothing saved then?"
She held his dead wife's hair brush before his face."
"Only this beauty!" she said, and she began to brush her hair with it and sing the same song his dead wife would always sing. It was clear she had lost her mind.
He knew that he was truly ruined.
This was all such a shock that the merchant fell dead in the street at the feet of his new wife.
She was left a pauper and since she was too loathsome of appearance to secure a new man (or even to sink into the cyprian's trade) soon afterwards she drowned herself in the river at night, as decency required.
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