A puzzling short story

I don't know if this is proper, but I just finished this story and I'd like to share it since it's about a puzzle maker and so are we all.

The ending of this little story was purposely written somewhat uncertain; so that the reader can draw his/her own conclusions as to why every other puzzle was always solved, yet the solution to this particular one eluded the solver. The passive voice used throughout the story is also by design, because it's written from the point of view of a child.

THE PUZZLE MAKER

As we traveled through my father’s country we came to Palomas, a small town in the interior of Borikén. We sat on a bench in the town’s plaza. In front of us, an old fountain labored to squirt a few drops of water. My father appeared to be hypnotized by the hesitant bubbler. Then he began telling me a story.

It was about an old man and a landlord who once lived in the town. The old man crafted beautiful puzzles. But, apparently the puzzles he made were no ordinary ones. “They carried a curse,” my father said as if it was the end of the story.

“What was the curse?” I asked. It was, of course, an invitation to continue telling the tale.

“The curse?” my father seemed to ask himself. Then, with his eyes still fixed on the ancient fountain, said, “Once started, one couldn’t stop”.

“One couldn’t stop what?” I asked.

“Solving,” he replied.

The legend told of townfolks twisting, pulling, and pushing for weeks on end. However, most of the puzzles were simple, and the majority were solved in less than a day, my father said.

Simon, the puzzle maker, lived a simple life with his old wife. He made and sold enough puzzles to stay just ahead of their debts.

Pedro Mato, their landlord, owned nearly every house in the village. He was a miser who wouldn’t spend a penny unless absolutely necessary.

Luckily, for Simon and his wife, the miser liked to solve a puzzle from time to time. It must be a necessity to Pedro, Simon thought. And it came in handy, for thus they usually paid rent to the man.

But one day it occurred to Pedro that Simon was taking advantage of him. He thought that the old man’s puzzles were far too easy. A puzzle that pays a month’s rent, should be good for a month of puzzlement, he reasoned.

Next morning the miser came to Simon with much anger in his voice. “I want a difficult puzzle to solve,” he shouted to the old artisan.

In a soft voice, Simon reminded him of the curse.

“Then remove the damn curse,” the miser yelled.

Simon said that he didn’t know how to do such a thing. For he didn’t do the cursing. In fact, he had no idea how the curse had begun.

But the miser would hear none of it. He wanted a difficult puzzle without the curse. And he threatened to evict Simon and his wife if his demand wasn’t met. “You have one month to make the puzzle,” Pedro said and walked out on the baffled artisan.

With the threat hanging over his head, Simon sat to brood. They couldn’t afford to move. And even if they could, where to?

After much thought, Simon set out to design the puzzle. He labored for days at his drawing table, and came up with a design that he thought the miser would like.

Then a search for the right materials began. He chose and carved a block of his best wood. He measured and cut a piece of his finest silk cord. He pounded a silver nugget into two large rings, and worked a piece of jade into a perfectly round bead.

With these things on hand, Simon proceeded to make the puzzle. On the twenty-ninth day of the month the job was done. He then stepped back to admire his handiwork—by far the best puzzle he’d ever made. It should take someone smart at least a month to solve. A pity to waste it on the miser, Simon thought.

On the thirtieth day, Pedro returned. Simon took the puzzle out of its box. The miser smiled at the beauty of the object.

“Shall we consider the rent paid for three months?” Simon asked.

Pedro caressed the smooth surface of the wood. “Not one month shall we consider paid,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ll expect this month’s payment by tomorrow.”

Simon grimaced at the lack of compassion the miser showed. Now Simon was in a bind. He had spent a full month making the puzzle. Now they had no way to pay the rent.

“What are we going to do?” Simon’s wife wailed.

Simon sat to think for a few seconds. Then suddenly said, “Don’t worry, wife. It’s done.”

My father said no more. He just stared at the lazy fountain.

“What—what was done?” I stammered, eager to know.

“Don’t you see? The miser never came back to collect his rent. After months of ceaseless attempts to solve the puzzle he went mad.” My father whispered these last words while getting up.

We left Palomas that very moment and I’ve never wanted to go back.