On the day of his wedding, everyone, including Peter, was happy. He could hardly wait to show Liese the house he had built for her. At the wedding feast, he glanced at his mother and noticed for the first time how gray her hair had grown. She seemed to be aging quickly. Peter felt a pang of guilt for pulling the thread so often and resolved to use it only when strictly necessary.
Months later, Liese announced she was expecting a child. Peter was overjoyed. When the baby was born, he felt complete. Yet, whenever the child was ill or cried through sleepless nights, he gave the thread a little tug to restore its health and happiness.
Times grew hard. A harsh government imposed heavy taxes and tolerated no opposition. Known for speaking his mind, Peter was soon arrested. In jail, he tugged hard at the thread. The prison walls dissolved in a thunderous explosion—the war that had been threatening ended as quickly as a summer storm, leaving an exhausted peace. Peter returned home to his family, now a middle-aged man.
For a time, life was relatively content. One day, Peter saw the thread in his magic ball had turned from gold to silver. Looking in the mirror, he found his hair graying and face lined. Afraid, he determined to use the thread even more sparingly.
Liese bore more children, and Peter seemed happy as the head of his growing household. His stately manner gave him an air of a benevolent ruler. He hid the magic ball well, knowing discovery would be fatal.
As his family grew, the house became overcrowded. He needed money to extend it. His mother grew older and more tired each day; pulling the thread would only hasten her death. Soon, she passed away. At her graveside, Peter wondered how life passed so quickly, even without the magic thread.
One sleepless night, he thought life would be easier if his children were grown and independent. He gave the thread a mighty tug. The next day, he awoke to find his children gone, scattered across the country for work. He and Liese were alone. His hair was nearly white, and his body ached with labor. Liese, often ill, suffered. To spare her pain, he pulled the thread more frequently, but solving one trouble only seemed to breed another.
Perhaps retired life would be easier, Peter thought. He could care for Liese and avoid strenuous work. But he lacked the money. Picking up his magic ball, he was dismayed to find the thread gray and lusterless. He decided to walk in the forest to think.
It had been long since his last visit. Saplings had become tall fir trees, obscuring the old path. Eventually, he found a bench in a clearing, sat down, and fell into a light doze.
"Peter! Peter!" a voice called. He looked up to see the old woman who had given him the magic ball years ago. She looked unchanged. "So, Peter, have you had a good life?" she asked.
"I'm not sure," Peter replied. "Your magic ball is wonderful. I've never had to suffer or wait. Yet, it all passed so quickly. I've had no time to absorb what happened—good or bad. Now, little time remains. I dare not pull the thread again, for it will bring my death. I don't think your gift brought me luck."
"How ungrateful!" said the old woman. "How would you have wished things different?"
"Perhaps if you had given me a ball where I could push the thread back in, to relive the bad moments."
The old woman laughed. "You ask too much! Do you think God allows us to live twice? But I grant you one final wish, you foolish, demanding man."
"What is it?" Peter asked.
"Choose," she said.
After hard thought, Peter said, "I wish to live my life again as if for the first time, but without your magic ball. Then I will experience both good and bad without cutting them short. At least my life won't pass as swiftly and meaninglessly as a daydream."
"So be it," said the old woman. "Give me back my ball."
Peter placed the silver ball in her outstretched hand. He sat back, closed his eyes with exhaustion, and fell asleep.
He awoke in his own bed. His youthful mother was bending over him, shaking him gently. "Wake up, Peter. You'll be late for school. You were sleeping like the dead!"
He looked up in surprise and relief. "I had a terrible dream, Mother. I dreamed I was old and sick, and my life passed in the blink of an eye with nothing to show—not even memories."
His mother laughed. "That will never happen. Memories are what we all have, even when old. Now hurry and get dressed. Liese is waiting, and you'll be late for school."
Walking to school with Liese, Peter noticed the bright summer morning—the kind that made it feel good to be alive. Soon he would see friends and classmates, and even the prospect of lessons didn't seem so bad. In fact, he could hardly wait.