The lines on his serene face silently tell, there were many things that the old man had endured in life. His soft smile tells that he fought well. His sharp eyes tell that the fire is burning bright still inside him.
He was holding the little hand of his grandson, in front of stacks of books, the source of knowledge, solemnly, like in front of the altar of wisdom.
There he prayed. He prayed through the breathes that he took into his lungs, flowed to his blood with every beat of his heart, into the veins of his hand.
"May my grandson have all the needed knowledge and skill and courage to be great at telling lies, to be an expert in fooling and manipulating and exploiting people, and to profiteer out of them."
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