When the young beaver asked the female to marry him, she said she wouldn’t think of it unless he amounted to something. She reminded him that Arthur had built thirty-two dams and was working on three others, whereas he, Al, had never even made a bread-board or a pin tray in his life. Al was very sorry, but he said he would never go to work just because a woman wanted him to. Thereupon she offered to be a sister to him, but he pointed out that he already had seventeen sisters. So he went back to eating and sleeping and swimming in the streams and playing Spider-in-the-Parlor with the girls. The female married Arthur one day at the lunch hour—he could never get away from work for more than one hour at a time. They had seven children and Arthur worked so hard supporting them he wore his teeth down to the gum line. His health broke in two before long and he died without ever having had a vacation in his life. The young beaver continued to eat and sleep and swim in the streams and play Unbutton-Your-Shoe with the girls. He never Got Anywhere, but he had a long life and a Wonderful Time.
MORAL: It is better to have loafed and lost than never to have loafed at all.
The Hen Who Wouldn’t Fly
IN ONE OF the Midwestern states there lived a speckled hen who was opposed to aviation. In her youth, watching a flight of wild geese going north, she had seen two fall (shot by hunters), go into a nose dive, and crash into the woods. So she went about the countryside saying that flying was very dangerous and that any fowl with any sense would stick to the solid earth. Every time she had to cross a concrete highway near her farm she ran on foot, screaming and squawking; sometimes she made it easily, at other times she was almost tagged by passing cars. Five of her sisters and three of her daughters’ husbands were killed trying to cross the road in one month (July).
Before long an enterprising wood duck set up an airways service across the road and back. He charged five grains of corn to take a hen or a rooster across, two grains for a chick. But the speckled hen, who was a power in the community, went around clucking and cut-cutting and cadawcutting and telling everybody that air travel was not safe and never would be. She persuaded the chickens not to ride on the duck’s back, and he failed in business and returned to the forests. Before the year was out, the speckled hen, four more of her sisters, three of her sons-in-law, four aunts, and a grand father had been killed trying to cross the road on foot.
MORAL: Use the wings God gave you, or nothing can save you.
The Glass in the Field
A SHORT TIME ago some builders, working on a studio in Connecticut, left a huge square of plate glass standing upright in a field one day. A goldfinch flying swiftly across the field struck the glass and was knocked cold. When he came to he hastened to his club, where an attendant bandaged his head and gave him a stiff drink. “What the hell happened?” asked a sea gull. “I was flying across a meadow when all of a sudden the air crystallized on me,” said the goldfinch. The sea gull and a hawk and an eagle all laughed heartily. A swallow listened gravely. “For fifteen years, fledgling and bird, I’ve flown this country,” said the eagle, “and I assure you there is no such thing as air crystallizing. Water, yes; air, no.” “You were probably struck by a hailstone,” the hawk told the goldfinch. “Or he may have had a stroke,” said the sea gull. “What do you think, swallow?” “Why, I—I think maybe the air crystallized on him,” said the swallow. The large birds laughed so loudly that the goldfinch became annoyed and bet them each a dozen worms that they couldn’t follow the course he had flown across the field without encountering the hardened atmosphere. They all took his bet; the swallow went along to watch. The sea gull, the eagle, and the hawk decided to fly together over the route the goldfinch indicated. “You come, too,” they said to the swallow. “I—I—well, no,” said the swallow. “I don’t think I will.” So the three large birds took off together and they hit the glass together and they were all knocked cold.
MORAL: He who hesitates is sometimes saved.
The Tortoise and the Hare
THERE WAS ONCE a wise young tortoise who read in an ancient book about a tortoise who had beaten a hare in a race. He read all the other books he could find but in none of them was there any record of a hare who had beaten a tortoise. The wise young tortoise came to the natural conclusion that he could outrun a hare, so he set forth in search of one. In his wanderings he met many animals who were willing to race him: weasels, stoats, dachshunds, badger-boars, short-tailed field mice, and ground squirrels. But when the tortoise asked if they could outrun a hare, they all said no, they couldn’t (with the exception of a dachshund named Freddy, and nobody paid any attention to him). “Well, I can,” said the tortoise, “so there’s no use wasting my time on you.” And he continued his search.
After many days, the tortoise finally encountered a hare and challenged him to a race. “What are you going to use for legs?” asked the hare. “Never mind that,” said the tortoise. “Read this.” He showed the hare the story in the ancient book, complete with moral about the swift not always being so terribly fast. “Tosh,” said the hare. “You couldn’t go fifty feet in an hour and a half, whereas I can go fifty feet in one and a fifth seconds.” “Posh,” said the tortoise. “You probably won’t even finish second.” “We’ll see about that,” said the hare. So they marked off a course fifty feet long. All the other animals gathered around. A bull-frog set them on their marks, a gun dog fired a pistol, and they were off.
When the hare crossed the finish line, the tortoise had gone approximately eight and three-quarter inches.
MORAL: A new broom may sweep clean, but never trust an old saw.
The Patient Bloodhound
IN MAY, 1937, a bloodhound who lived in Wapokoneta Falls, Ohio, was put on the trail of a man suspected of a certain crime. The bloodhound followed him to Akron, Cleveland, Buffalo, Syracuse, Rochester, Albany, and New York. The Westminster dog show was going on at the time but the bloodhound couldn’t get to the garden because the man got on the first ship for Europe. The ship landed at Cherbourg and the bloodhound followed the man to Paris, Beauvais, Calais, Dover, London, Chester, Llandudno, Bettws-y-Coed, and Edinburgh, where the dog wasn’t able to take in the international sheep trials. From Edinburgh, the bloodhound trailed the man to Liverpool, but since the man immediately got on a ship for New York, the dog didn’t have a chance to explore the wonderful Liverpool smells.
In America again, the bloodhound traced the man to Teaneck, Tenafly, Nyack, and Peapack—where the dog didn’t have time to run with the Peapack beagles. From Peapack the hound followed the man to Cincinnati, St. Louis, Kansas City, St. Louis, Cincinnati, Columbus, Akron, and finally back to Wapokoneta Falls. There the man was acquitted of the crime he had been followed for.
The bloodhound had developed fallen paw-pads and he was so worn out he could never again trail anything that was faster than a turtle. Furthermore, since he had gone through the world with his eyes and nose to the ground, he had missed all its beauty and excitement.
MORAL: The paths of glory at least lead to the Grave, but the paths of duty may not get you Anywhere.
The Unicorn in the Garden
ONCE UPON A sunny morning a man who sat in a breakfast nook looked up from his scrambled eggs to see a white unicorn with a golden horn quietly cropping the roses in the garden. The man went up to the bedroom where his wife was still asleep and woke her. “There’s a unicorn in the garden,” he said. “Eating roses.” She opened one unfriendly eye and looked at him. “The unicorn is a mythical beast,” she said, and turned her back on him. The man walked slowly downstairs and out into the garden. The unicorn was still there; he was now browsing among the tulips. “Here, unicorn,” said the man, and he pulled up a lily and gave it to him. The unicorn ate it gravely. With a high heart, because there was a unicorn in his garden, the man went upstairs and roused his wife again. “The unicorn,” he said, “ate a lily.” His wife sat up in bed and looked at him, coldly. “You are a booby,” she said, “and I am going to have you put in the booby-hatch.” The man, who had neve
r liked the words “booby” and “booby-hatch,” and who liked them even less on a shining morning when there was a unicorn in the garden, thought for a moment. “We’ll see about that,” he said. He walked over to the door. “He has a golden horn in the middle of his forehead,” he told her. Then he went back to the garden to watch the unicorn; but the unicorn had gone away. The man sat down among the roses and went to sleep.
As soon as the husband had gone out of the house, the wife got up and dressed as fast as she could. She was very excited and there was a gloat in her eye. She telephoned the police and she telephoned a psychiatrist; she told them to hurry to her house and bring a strait-jacket. When the police and the psychiatrist arrived they sat down in chairs and looked at her, with great interest. “My husband,” she said, “saw a unicorn this morning.” The police looked at the psychiatrist and the psychiatrist looked at the police. “He told me it ate a lily,” she said. The psychiatrist looked at the police and the police looked at the psychiatrist. “He told me it had a golden horn in the middle of its forehead,” she said. At a solemn signal from the psychiatrist, the police leaped from their chairs and seized the wife. They had a hard time subduing her, for she put up a terrific struggle, but they finally subdued her. Just as they got her into the strait-jacket, the husband came back into the house.
“Did you tell your wife you saw a unicorn?” asked the police. “Of course not,” said the husband. “The unicorn is a mythical beast.” “That’s all I wanted to know,” said the psychiatrist. “Take her away. I’m sorry, sir, but your wife is as crazy as a jay bird.” So they took her away, cursing and screaming, and shut her up in an institution. The husband lived happily ever after.
MORAL: Don’t count your boobies until they are hatched.
The Rabbits Who Caused All the Trouble
WITHIN THE MEMORY of the youngest child there was a family of rabbits who lived near a pack of wolves. The wolves announced that they did not like the way the rabbits were living. (The wolves were crazy about the way they themselves were living, because it was the only way to live.) One night several wolves were killed in an earthquake and this was blamed on the rabbits, for it is well known that rabbits pound on the ground with their hind legs and cause earthquakes. On another night one of the wolves was killed by a bolt of lightning and this was also blamed on the rabbits, for it is well known that lettuce-eaters cause lightning. The wolves threatened to civilize the rabbits if they didn’t behave, and the rabbits decided to run away to a desert island. But the other animals, who lived at a great distance, shamed them, saying, “You must stay where you are and be brave. This is no world for escapists. If the wolves attack you, we will come to your aid, in all probability.” So the rabbits continued to live near the wolves and one day there was a terrible flood which drowned a great many wolves. This was blamed on the rabbits, for it is well known that carrot-nibblers with long ears cause floods. The wolves descended on the rabbits, for their own good, and imprisoned them in a dark cave, for their own protection.
When nothing was heard about the rabbits for some weeks, the other animals demanded to know what had happened to them. The wolves replied that the rabbits had been eaten and since they had been eaten the affair was a purely internal matter. But the other animals warned that they might possibly unite against the wolves unless some reason was given for the destruction of the rabbits. So the wolves gave them one. “They were trying to escape,” said the wolves, “and, as you know, this is no world for escapists.”
MORAL: Run, don’t walk, to the nearest desert island.
The Hen and the Heavens
ONCE UPON A TIME a little red hen was picking up stones and worms and seeds in a barnyard when something fell on her head. “The heavens are falling down!” she shouted, and she began to run, still shouting, “The heavens are falling down!” All the hens that she met and all the roosters and turkeys and ducks laughed at her, smugly, the way you laugh at one who is terrified when you aren’t. “What did you say?” they chortled. “The heavens are falling down!” cried the little red hen. Finally a very pompous rooster said to her, “Don’t be silly, my dear, it was only a pea that fell on your head.” And he laughed and laughed and everybody else except the little red hen laughed. Then suddenly with an awful roar great chunks of crystallized cloud and huge blocks of icy blue sky began to drop on everybody from above, and everybody was killed, the laughing rooster and the little red hen and everybody else in the barnyard, for the heavens actually were falling down.
MORAL: It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if they did.
* * *
Further Fables for Our Time
* * *
This book’s original dedication read, “To Elmer Davis, whose comprehension of people and persons has lighted our time, so that we can see where we are going, these fables are dedicated with admiration, affection, and thankfulness.”
The Sea and the Shore
A PAIR OF gibbous creatures, who had lived in the sea since time began, which hadn’t been long before, were washed upon the shore one day and became the discoverers of land. “The light that never was!” exclaimed the female, lying on the sand in the sun.
“You’re always seeing things that never were,” grumbled the male. “You’re always wanting things that aren’t yet.”
In the female, lying on the sand in the sun, a dim intuition and prescience began developing. She prefigured mistily things that would one day become rose-point lace and taffeta, sweet perfumes and jewelry. The male, who had a feeling only for wetness and wash, mumbled, “You’re a little moist for things like that, a little moist and shapeless.”
“I only need to lose a little amorphousness around the waist,” she said. “It won’t take more than a million years.” And she began flobbering, almost imperceptibly, toward the scrubby brown growth beyond the sand and toward the sun. “Come on,” she said. But the male had globbed back into the sea, and was gone.
A couple of eons later, the male, unable to get along alone, reappeared one day upon the shore. He noted with faint satisfaction that the female’s shapelessness was beginning to take shape and had become almost shapely. He turned back toward the sea, but a mindless urge deep inside him took on the frail flicker of desire. Suddenly the sea seemed something less than satisfying. He turned about and began flobbering up the sand toward the female, who seemed certain to reach the greening undergrowth in another two thousand years. “Hey, Mag,” he shouted. “Wait for baby!”
MORAL: Let us ponder this basic fact about the human: ahead of every man, not behind him, is a woman.
The Truth About Toads
ONE MIDSUMMER NIGHT at the Fauna Club, some of the members fell to boasting, each of his own unique distinction or achievement.
“I am the real Macaw,” squawked the Macaw proudly.
“O.K., Mac, take it easy,” said the Raven, who was tending bar.
“You should have seen the one I got away from,” said the Marlin. “He must have weighed a good two hundred and thirty-five pounds.”
“If it weren’t for me, the sun would never rise,” bragged the Rooster, “and the desire of the night for the morrow would never be gratified.” He wiped a tear away. “If it weren’t for me, nobody would get up.”
“If it weren’t for me, there wouldn’t be anybody,” the Stork reminded him proudly.
“I tell them when spring is coming,” the Robin chirped.
“I tell them when winter will end,” the Groundhog said.
“I tell them how deep the winter will be,” said the Woolly Bear.
“I swing low when a storm is coming,” said the Spider.
“Otherwise it wouldn’t come, and the people would die of a drought.”
The Mouse got into the act. “You know where it says, ‘Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse’?” he hiccuped. “Well, gentlemen, that little old mouse was little old me.”
“Quiet!” said the Raven, who had been lettering a sign and now hung it prominently above the bar: “Op
en most hearts and you will see graven upon them Vanity.”
The members of the Fauna Club stared at the sign. “Probably means the Wolf, who thinks he founded Rome,” said the Cat.
“Or the great Bear, who thinks he is made of stars,” said the Mouse.
“Or the golden Eagle, who thinks he’s made of gold,” said the Rooster.
“Or the Sheep, who thinks men couldn’t sleep unless they counted sheep,” said the Marlin.
The Toad came up to the bar and ordered a green mint frappé with a firefly in it.
“Fireflies will make you lightheaded,” warned the bartender.
“Not me,” said the Toad. “Nothing can make me lightheaded. I have a precious jewel in my head.” The other members of the club looked at him with mingled disbelief.
“Sure, sure,” grinned the bartender, “It’s a toadpaz, ain’t it, Hoppy?”
“It is an extremely beautiful emerald,” said the Toad coldly, removing the firefly from his frappé and swallowing it. “Absolutely priceless emerald. More than priceless. Keep ’em comin’.”
The bartender mixed another green mint frappé, but he put a slug in it this time instead of a firefly.
“I don’t think the Toad has a precious jewel in his head,” said the Macaw.
Collected Fables Page 5
