The Price of a Human Being
Adam was twenty-two years old, and after all his expenses had been deducted from his paycheck, he had four euros and thirty-eight cents left.
In his bank account.
In his wallet, he had another two cents, a grocery receipt, and a photograph of himself and Tomáš laughing by a lake, even though neither of them could remember what they had been laughing about.
“Great,” Adam said.
Tomáš, sitting across from him in the kitchen of Adam’s parents’ house, raised an eyebrow.
“What’s great?”
Adam looked at him.
“That I’m an adult.”
Tomáš laughed.
“Then I guess we’re both screwed.”
Adam didn’t laugh.
An envelope lay on the table in front of him. Inside was an offer for a small one-bedroom apartment.
It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t big. It had no balcony, and the view from the window was nothing but the gray wall of the neighboring building.
But it was his.
Well, it could be.
He only needed to pay the deposit.
“I don’t want to live with my parents anymore,” Adam said.
“I know,” Tomáš replied.
“I want to pay for my own things. My own rent. My own food. My own life.”
Tomáš was quiet for a moment.
“And do you really think four euros and thirty-eight cents are going to help you with that?”
Adam looked at his phone.
An advertisement had just appeared on the screen.
DO YOU WANT TO STAND ON YOUR OWN TWO FEET?
Beneath it, in smaller letters:
DON’T SELL YOUR THINGS. SELL WHAT YOU ARE.
Adam frowned.
“What the hell is that?”
Tomáš leaned across the table.
“Probably another way for someone to sell you their soul.”
“That was already done in the Bible.”
“So nothing new.”
Adam closed the advertisement.
Five minutes later, he opened it again.
The building stood between a bank and a pawn shop.
A large logo on the front read:
VALUE, INC.
Beneath it were the words:
YOUR LIFE. YOUR PRICE.
Adam walked inside.
A woman in her forties sat behind the counter. Her hair was perfectly styled, and she had the expression of someone who had stopped being surprised by anything a long time ago.
“First time?” she asked.
Adam nodded.
“Would you like to have your values appraised, or sell them right away?”
“Appraised first.”
“Of course.”
She handed him a tablet.
“Fill out the personality questionnaire.”
Adam read the questions.
Have you ever helped a stranger?
Yes.
Have you ever forgiven someone who hurt you?
Probably.
Have you ever put someone else before yourself?
Yes.
Can you remain calm when someone makes you angry?
Adam thought about it.
“How do you measure that?”
The woman looked up from the screen.
“By how quickly the computer starts insulting you.”
For the first time, Adam smiled.
A few seconds later, the results appeared on the screen.
PATIENCE: 87%
COMPASSION: 72%
HONESTY: 91%
LOYALTY: 84%
DIGNITY: 63%
CONSCIENCE: 96%
Beneath them, something flashed:
RECOMMENDED PURCHASE PRICE: €12,650
Adam stared at the screen.
“That much?”
“For now.”
“What if I sell it?”
“You lose the quality.”
“Completely?”
“Not at first. In the beginning, you’ll only notice small differences.”
Adam looked at her.
“Like what?”
The woman smiled.
“For example, you’ll stop getting annoyed when someone cuts in line.”
“That sounds good.”
“And later, you might stop caring when you’re the one cutting in front of someone else.”
Adam looked at the price.
Twelve thousand six hundred and fifty euros.
The deposit was fifteen hundred.
He would have plenty left.
“Can I sell only part of it?”
“Of course.”
“How much do I need for the deposit?”
The woman tapped on the tablet for a moment.
“Patience. Six hundred euros.”
Adam signed.
On his first evening in his new apartment, Adam sat on a mattress placed directly on the floor.
He had no bed, no couch, and no television.
He had a refrigerator, an electric kettle, and one chair he had brought from his parents’ house.
But when he placed his keys on the table, he smiled.
“Finally.”
He was happy.
Truly happy.
Until his neighbor started drilling into the wall at midnight.
Adam stepped into the hallway, and the neighbor opened his door.
“Sorry. I’m remodeling the bathroom.”
Adam looked at him.
He expected to feel annoyed.
He didn’t.
“It’s fine.”
He went back inside, sat down on the mattress, and thought about it for a while.
Six hundred euros for patience.
Not a bad deal.
Three months later, Adam had a car.
Not a new one.
But his own.
When it needed its first major repair, he didn’t have the money, so he went back to Value, Inc.
“Compassion,” he said.
The woman behind the counter looked at her computer.
“Seventeen hundred and fifty.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“You understand you may have trouble feeling empathy toward other people?”
Adam shrugged.
“I need to fix my car.”
He signed.
The next day, he saw an old man outside a grocery store struggling to carry a bag.
Adam looked at him.
The old man looked back.
Adam kept walking.
Three steps later, he stopped.
He turned around.
Then he started walking again.
“I was in a hurry anyway,” he told himself.
Then came an opportunity at work.
A higher position.
A higher salary.
There was only one problem.
Tomáš was supposed to get it.
Adam sat across from his boss.
“You’re young,” his boss said. “You have ambition.”
Adam nodded.
“Tomáš has been here longer.”
“I understand.”
“If you give me information about the mistake he made last month, I might reconsider.”
Adam knew Tomáš hadn’t made the mistake intentionally.
Everyone knew.
The entire department knew.
But Adam needed money.
“How much?” he asked.
“Five thousand more a year.”
That evening, Adam stopped by Value, Inc.
“Loyalty.”
“Three thousand one hundred.”
“Fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Adam smiled.
“It’s just a job.”
He signed.
Tomáš came to see him a week later.
“You told the boss?”
Adam said nothing.
“Adam.”
“I needed the position.”
“And I didn’t need a job?”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
Tomáš laughed.
There was nothing funny about it.
“You don’t even know what you’re saying anymore.”
Adam shrugged.
“At least I have my own apartment.”
Tomáš nodded.
“You do.”
And he left.
Adam didn’t look after him.
At least not immediately.
A year after his first sale, Adam had a new apartment.
Then a new car.
Then a new job.
Then a new phone.
And eventually, he stopped knowing what else was new.
People started noticing that he was doing well.
“You’ve really made something of yourself,” they would say.
Adam smiled.
“You have to know what you want.”
One evening, his mother called.
“Are you coming on Sunday?”
“I can’t.”
“At least come for lunch.”
“Mom, I have work.”
“On Sunday?”
Adam was silent.
“We miss you,” she said.
Adam looked at his watch.
“I’ll call you.”
He didn’t.
Two weeks later, she called again.
“Your dad’s birthday is coming up.”
“I’ll send him a present.”
“He doesn’t want a present.”
“Then what does he want?”
There was silence on the other end.
“You.”
Adam sighed.
“Mom, I don’t have time.”
The next day, he went to Value, Inc.
“Time with family.”
The woman behind the counter smiled.
“Very popular item.”
“How much?”
“Eight thousand.”
Adam didn’t hesitate.
“I’ll take it.”
Two years later, Adam had everything.
At least everything money could buy.
A large apartment.
An expensive car.
Designer clothes.
A watch.
Investments.
And a bank account he no longer checked every day.
He no longer had to worry about whether he would have four euros left at the end of the month.
Now he worried about whether he would have enough time for his next work meeting.
One day, he received an invitation to appear on television.
YOUNG AND SUCCESSFUL ENTREPRENEUR
The host smiled.
“Adam, you’re only twenty-six. What do you believe is the secret to success?”
Adam looked into the camera.
“You have to know which things are holding you back—and be willing to sacrifice them.”
The audience applauded.
The host laughed.
“And what about money? Do you think it’s the most important thing?”
Adam thought for a moment.
“No.”
There was a brief silence.
“But life is difficult without it.”
The audience applauded again.
Adam smiled.
And that was when he realized he had no idea what else he could sacrifice.
He went back to Value, Inc.
The woman behind the counter recognized him.
“Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I want to buy something.”
For the first time, she looked genuinely surprised.
“What?”
“Compassion.”
She typed something into the computer.
“Sold out.”
“Honesty.”
“Also sold out.”
“Loyalty.”
“We don’t have any.”
Adam sat down.
“Love?”
The woman was silent for a moment.
“That’s complicated.”
“How much?”
“It can’t be bought.”
Adam laughed.
“Everything has a price.”
“Not everything.”
“But you sell these things.”
She looked at him.
“No. We only buy them.”
Adam frowned.
“What’s the difference?”
The woman smiled.
“A big one. You can sell anything. You just can’t buy it back.”
Adam looked down at his hands.
Suddenly, he remembered his father.
The Sunday lunch he never went to.
Tomáš.
The photograph in his old wallet.
The evening in his first apartment.
A bread roll with pâté.
Four euros and thirty-eight cents.
Back then, he had been poor.
But he knew why he woke up in the morning.
Now he had everything.
And he didn’t know why he wanted to sleep.
“How much does dignity cost?” he asked.
The woman looked at the computer.
“Six hundred and fifty.”
Adam laughed.
“That’s cheap.”
“It was on sale.”
When Adam walked out of Value, Inc., it was raining.
He buttoned his coat all the way up to his neck and walked toward his car.
After three steps, someone called out to him.
“Sir, do you have any spare change?”
Adam turned around.
An old man sat on the sidewalk, holding a paper cup.
Adam reached into his pocket.
He pulled out his wallet.
A five-hundred-euro bill.
A twenty.
A ten.
Nothing smaller.
He stared at the money for a moment.
Then he pulled out the twenty and handed it to the man.
“Here.”
The man took it.
“Thank you.”
Adam nodded and turned to leave.
“Sir?”
He stopped.
“Do you know me?”
Adam frowned.
“No.”
The man smiled.
“But I know you.”
Adam was silent for a moment.
“From where?”
The man pointed at Adam’s wrist.
“You wore that watch back then, too.”
Adam looked at his watch.
“When?”
The man shrugged.
“When you were sitting here.”
Adam went pale.
He looked at the man’s face.
And suddenly, he remembered.
It wasn’t the first time he had seen him.
It had been years ago.
During his first week in his little apartment.
Back then, he didn’t have a car.
He didn’t have an expensive watch.
He didn’t have money.
He had been sitting on this same sidewalk, counting his last coins.
The old man had sat down beside him.
Without saying a word, he had handed Adam a bread roll.
Adam remembered him now.
Not the bread roll.
The man.
His hands.
His voice.
The way he had said:
“Tomorrow will be better.”
Adam looked at him.
“You…”
The man nodded.
Adam opened his mouth, but no words came out.
He wanted to thank him.
He wanted to tell him he had never forgotten him.
He wanted to tell him he would pay him back.
But suddenly, Adam realized something.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had given someone something without expecting something in return.
Not love.
Not time.
Not help.
Not forgiveness.
Everything had a price.
Everything except that one bread roll.
“How did you know I would be okay?” Adam asked.
The man smiled.
“I didn’t.”
“Then why did you help me?”
The man was quiet for a moment.
“Because you needed it.”
Adam lowered his head.
His eyes began to burn.
He wanted to cry.
He couldn’t.
Years ago, he had sold the ability to cry.
For three hundred euros.
“How much?” he whispered.
The old man looked confused.
“What?”
Adam looked at the building behind him.
At the enormous VALUE, INC. logo.
“How much would I have to pay to become human again?”
The old man looked at the building.
Then at Adam.
And shook his head.
“That’s no longer for sale.”
Adam laughed.
It was a short, broken laugh.
“Then what is?”
The man shrugged.
“Maybe time.”
Adam looked at his watch.
8:43.
For the first time in years, he turned it off.
Then he sat down beside the old man.
In the rain.
In the wet.
In the dirt.
In his expensive coat.
And for the first time in a very long time, he had nowhere to go.
A few minutes later, his phone rang.
The screen said:
MOM
Adam stared at it.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then he answered.
“Hi, Mom.”
There was silence on the other end.
“Adam?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
Adam looked at the old man beside him.
At his expensive phone.
At his watch.
At the car parked in front of the building.
And at the logo of the company that had once promised to help him stand on his own two feet.
For the first time, he understood that it had.
It had taught him to stand on his own two feet.
It had simply forgotten to tell him that without a heart, you can’t get very far.
“I’m home,” he said.
And he hung up.
Not because he was lying.
But because, for the first time in a very long time, he truly wanted to be home.
