High-Five to the Hero

by Vita Murrow

  His parents weren’t sure. “You’ll need to be extra careful. People are not always welcoming to people who are different,” cautioned Tom’s mother.

  But Tom was determined. The next morning off he went with a small load of lumber. As Tom neared the market, a patrolman barricaded him from entering the walls of the city. “Show yourself, rider!” he boomed.

  “I’m just here,” piped Tom from behind the horse’s ear. The patrolman leaned in to inspect him.

  “Why, you’re not much bigger than a thumb. Up to no good, I presume?”

  “I’m off to the mill to deliver this load of lumber,” Tom protested.

  “Hmmm,” muttered the patrolman. “Well, be on your way, but I’ve got my eye on you.”

  Inside the walls, Tom found the city was bursting with fun. There were musicians and performers, a puppet stage and food vendors. Animals roamed free, food was for sale, and there was even a table with games.

  As Tom went about his business, on the outskirts of the city lurked a dangerous element. A band of robbers had beset the place. Dressed in fancy costumes with knee-high socks they combed the crowd; picking coins from pockets and helping themselves to snacks from unattended market stalls.

  The leader of the group spotted a shiny collection of coins at the bottom of a cellar beside the old mill. “Psst!” one robber said to another. “This must be the city treasury!” The robbers tried their best to remove the iron grate that covered the opening to the cellar, but it was impossible.

  As Tom went to collect his horse to return home, he noticed them peering into the cellar. “Can I help you with something?” he asked.

  The robbers turned around and searched for the sound of the voice.

  “Hey, this horse talks!” exclaimed one of them.

  “Nah, you goof, it’s this little chap,” stated the last one. His gaze landed on Tom. “Why don’t you buzz off, we certainly don’t need a little shrimp like you underfoot.”

  Tom turned to scale the side of the mill and climb atop his horse.

  “Wait just a second there, little friend …” said the first robber, noticing Tom’s size and skill. I think we could use your help. We … uh … dropped all our earnings from the market down this cellar. You think you could help us get it if we were to lower you down?” The robber gestured beneath the iron grate to the darkness below.

  “Oh how unfortunate,” said Tom. “I’d be glad to lend a hand.” And soon enough, Tom found himself tethered to a rope made from the gang’s stinky socks, lowered through the iron grate and into the depths of the cellar.

  “I see it,” Tom cried. “I see the coins!”

  The robbers shared greedy grins. “Tie the bag to your waist and we’ll haul you up,” they instructed.

  Tom did as he was told and the crew yanked him back up to the top.

  “Oh, wow, you’re speedy,” Tom remarked as the robbers hastily untied him. While Tom scrambled atop his horse, the robbers busied themselves with counting ‘their’ money. One glanced his way. “Hold on there, before you go, here’s a small piece for your help,” he said and tossed Tom a small gold coin. “Now to the inn!” the robber said. “I’ll buy the drinks!”

  Tom did as he was told and the crew yanked him back up to the top.

  When Tom returned home that evening, his parents were already asleep. He crept in quietly and tucked the shiny gold piece into a cookie jar, thinking he’d surprise everyone in the morning.

  But in the morning, Tom slept in. And when his mother heard a knock at the door she was greeted with a different sort of surprise. An imposing patrolman, helmet in hand and sword by his side, stood on the threshold.

  “My goodness, can I help you with something?” Tom’s mother stammered.

  “We are seeking a band of robbers who raided the city treasury yesterday,” the patrolman explained. “Have you seen any suspicious characters around, Ma’am?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” asked Tom’s father, joining the pair at the door. “What does ‘suspicious’ look like?”

  The patrolman was surprised. “Someone out of the ordinary, someone different from the folks we have in the city.”

  “We welcome strangers on our land. We don’t look down on difference,” Tom’s mom stated proudly.

  The patrolman looked taken aback. “Well, I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “Apology accepted. Won’t you have a cookie on your way?” Tom’s dad offered the cookie jar so the patrolmen could select a treat. “So there’s no hard feelings.”

  “Well, don’t mind if I do,” the patrolman said and reached in the jar. Only instead of a cookie the patrolman pulled out the gold piece!

  The patrolman’s expression soured as he inspected it. “This is marked with the seal of the city. How did you come by this? It’s part of the stolen loot.”

  The couple looked stunned. “We’ve no idea how that got there,” they pleaded, but the patrolman arrested them on the spot and tied them to a tree. The commotion roused Tom from his sleep and he raced out in his jammies. “What is the meaning of this? Let them go!” Tom cried.

  “These two have stolen from the city treasury,” the patrolmen said, ready to leave for the town jail. “Looking around this old place with a shiny new roof and stove, I wager they spent the contraband already! This gold coin is all that’s left.” The patrolman held up the gold piece.

  Tom’s eyes widened as he took in the evidence. “I know just where that came from. I can take you to the people who took it.”

  Tom leapt from stump to stump, then from limb to limb, and reached the shoulders of the patrolman’s steed. He whispered in its ear and the horse was off like a shot, bounding down the road towards the city.

  Outside the city was an inn that greeted travelers. Tom asked the horse to stop and he slid down its mane.

  “Inside the inn you’ll find the real robbers,” he said.

  And sure enough, when the patrolman and Tom entered the inn, they found the robbers in knee-high socks sleeping at a lonely table littered with empty dishes. When they snored, their bodies jingled with the sound of loose coins.

  Tom and the patrolman shook the thieves awake and an abundance of coins fell to the floor. The patrolman was shocked and called for the inspector. While they secured the true culprits and recovered the city treasure, Tom returned and untied his parents.

  “I can’t believe they thought you were mixed up in this.” Tom was in tears. “I’m so sorry!”

  “Sometimes that happens,” Tom’s mother consoled him. “People take one look at your life and decide something about you that is not true.”

  “But it’s all my fault, if I hadn’t been so eager to help …” Tom started.

  “Oh, don’t ever lose your desire to help others. It’s what saved us today,” his father comforted.

  The following day, Tom and his family received a knock on the door. It was the inspector!

  “Sorry to bother you,” he began. “I wanted to offer you an official apology from our office. We were wrong to make assumptions about you lumberjacks.”

  The family welcomed him in and this time there were cookies—and only cookies—in the cookie jar. Over a sweet treat the foursome talked, and the inspector proposed an idea. “How’d you like to be the Forest Warden for the mountains, Tom? We need an ambassador who understands the important work of this community. It would help to keep us connected and prevent mistakes like the wrongful accusation you experienced. Whatd’ya say?”

  “I say yes!” Tom chimed in.

  Tom received a special uniform with a badge and belt, and a very tall hat so all could spot him. He welcomed members of the police from all over the region to the mountain top to learn from and build relationships with each other. The connections built at Tom’s mountain retreats shaped officers who were just and understanding. So Tom’s legacy became more than just the thoughtful care of the forest. It became the thoughtful treatment of people.

  Hercules

  Long ago, in a
land beside a clear blue sea, was born a boy named Hercules. He was the son of the king, but his mother was a commoner. At the time of his birth, his father was in fact married to someone else. Her name was Hera and she was a great warrior. She wasn’t exactly eager to spend time raising the youngster. Irritated, Hera dropped magical serpents into Hercules’ cradle. She hoped they might bite him so he would get sick and be sent away. Instead, baby Hercules hugged the serpents and they licked his face playfully. Seeing Hercules’ command of the snakes, an idea arrived in Hera’s head. She decided to embrace her role as stepmother on one condition: that the baby follow in her footsteps and become a noted warrior. “I’ll include him in our family so long as I can put my mark on him!” Hera proclaimed. The king granted her request.

  From that moment on, Hera raised young Hercules to be her replica. “He must be strong and brave, a slayer of beasts!” she declared. Her dream was closer than she could have imagined. For the snakes that had licked baby Hercules made him stronger and mightier than anyone who had come before him.

  As Hercules grew, Hera called upon the best teachers to teach him wrestling, horseback riding, fencing, archery, and chariot driving. He even learned to play the lyre (a cool old harp). Hercules excelled in everything and Hera rewarded him with praise. “You’re the strongest boy out there,” she said, slapping him on the back as they looked out over their kingdom. He was pleased to win the affection of his stepmother and it inspired him to work hard.

  Hercules effortlessly grew to be a star warrior. While everyone else was exhausted, worn out, and bruised, Hercules protected the kingdom from rivals and monsters with ease. His compatriots were wowed, and Hera beamed. She had statues erected in his image and a portrait commissioned to hang as a banner at the city gates.

  Hercules, however, was embarrassed. When people recognized him from the banner, they’d stare and whistle at him. “Hey, Herc, break this log over my head?” they’d say. When people encountered the statue of him, they’d pose alongside it in silly ways or pretend they were fighting with him. Hercules also grew tired of Hera’s one-sided affection. She only liked one thing about him, the warrior stuff. But that was only part of who he really was. When no one was looking, Hercules could often be found reading quietly outside the hospital. One day, a doctor saw him. “If you are just sitting around, I could use a hand in here,” she said. Hercules looked around for Hera and, not seeing her, slipped into the tent.

  Inside, he was surrounded by neat rows of beds. Beside each stood highly organized care teams of doctors, nurses, and assistants attending to people’s needs. The doctor asked him to move some equipment. Hercules nodded politely. It was nice to be needed by someone other than Hera. After that, whenever he could sneak away from Hera’s watchful eye he would lend a hand at the hospital building beds, lifting loads, and getting to know the interesting patients and care providers. Sometimes it was sad, as when he heard a patient draw a final breath. But other times it was rewarding, like when a child with an injured leg was able to walk again. He was fascinated.

  Hera soon noticed all the time he was spending at the hospital. She was unimpressed. “I can’t have our greatest weapon and my apprentice wasting away in the healing arts,” she muttered. Hera thought hard and then summoned Hercules to a meeting.

  “I’ve a proposal for you,” Hera laid out. “I’ve noticed that your mind’s been elsewhere recently, so I’ve created a list of challenging labors to help you refocus.”

  Hercules was crestfallen. The list began like this:

  1. Kill the notorious Namean Lion, who is resistant to weapons.

  2. Kill the Hydra, a venomous beast with nine heads.

  3. Catch the deer with the golden antlers.

  4. Capture a majestic boar.

  5. Clean dirty stables belonging to the cavalry horses in just a day …

  On and on it went, ending with the theft of a dog named Cerberus said to have three heads! Kill this, capture that, these were all things Hera thought were important. And they didn’t appeal to Hercules at all.

  “The thing is,” Hercules said, taking a deep breath, “being a warrior isn’t what I want to do. I’ve been volunteering, and I was thinking I’d like to learn more about healing and less about hurting.”

  “Absolutely not,” Hera said. “You are the greatest fighter in the land. Plus, you wouldn’t want to let me down, would you?”

  Heavy-hearted, Hercules returned to his room, gathered his things and set off that evening. Soon he arrived at the den of the Namean Lion: a fearsome beast with a big ratty mane, a mouth of serrated teeth, and massive sword-like claws. Hercules knew he couldn’t fight the beast with weapons, so he challenged the creature to a round of hand-to-hand combat.

  The lion accepted and rose up on its feet. The two jumped into the throes of wrestling, rolling on the floor, holding each other’s bodies, moving together like a great ball of rope. Hercules was a skillful wrestler and soon won the fight. He pressed against the lion’s neck and the animal drew close to its last breath. At the last moment, Hercules removed his hand. The lion gasped for air. Hercules reached out a hand to help the animal up.

  “Thank you,” the lion panted. “You could have bested me, why did you stop?”

  Hercules thought about it. “Your loss of breath, it reminded me of something,” he reflected, thinking of his time in the hospital.

  “For sparing my life, I’d like to give you the gift of my mane,” the lion said. It took its sharp claws and trimmed the fur around its face, then handed the mane to Hercules, who took it gratefully.

  Hercules then went off in search of the Hydra. He wondered to himself about the strange encounter with the lion. Why had he paused? But soon his thoughts were interrupted, for he could see in the distance the fantastic monster. It did indeed have nine heads and they were all deep in conversation.

  Hercules shot an arrow high in the sky to get the creature’s attention. The heads all talked at once as they watched the arrow sail toward them. “Move to the left!” one head cried out. “No move to the right,” shouted another. “Whose right, mine or yours?” asked another head. “Duck!” yelled another head. “I’ll pass on duck, thank you, I’m more of chicken eater myself,” a head babbled. “Incoming!” cried one last head as it took the arrow right in the neck. “Ouch.”

  Hercules raced beside the Hydra. The head that took the arrow disappeared in a puff of smoke. Then Hercules watched, eyes wide, as two new heads appeared where the injured head had once been. “Whoa,” he exclaimed. “You heal yourself, don’t you?”

  The new heads coughed and cleared their throats. “Why, yes, of course we do. That is the way of the Hydra.”

  “What a miracle,” said Hercules. “I don’t want to harm you.”

  “We are so grateful. Please keep the arrow as a souvenir of our meeting,” offered the Hydra. Hercules lifted the arrow which dripped with mysterious iridescent blue blood. “It carries our healing powers,” the Hydra said as it bowed and slipped away.

  Hercules should have raced off to his next labor. But his feet stayed put. What he had just witnessed held him in his path. “I can defeat a fierce lion, but would rather not,” he thought aloud. “I could slay a monster but to what end? It might hold a healing miracle!” He stood, arrow in hand, and made a brave decision. With his mind made up, he raced back to confront Hera.

  Hercules spotted Hera on a balcony.

  “Finished already?” she said suspiciously.

  “Yes!” Hercules called up. “All this time everyone thought I was so brave, but I was not. I couldn’t stand up to you. Being a warrior is your thing, not mine. I quit.”

  Hera did not take the news well. She strode down from the porch, ripped the banners with Hercules’ face from the gates and stormed out of the palace. “If you’re not able to finish this, I will!” she seethed. And off she went into the setting sun.

  Hera raged through the countryside. She captured the golden deer at first light. She plucked the majestic bull ri
ght from the kingdom of the centaurs before they were back from breakfast. At lunchtime she rode into the cavalry stables and frightened them into tidying up. On and on she went. She drove away birds from the fields, took the horns off a massive bull that she scared out of the sea and, just to show off, she stopped over at the island of the Amazons and made off with one of their famed jeweled belts.

  Meanwhile, Hercules had secured himself a post at the hospital. He proved an eager student at the side of the doctors and nurses who worked there. They showed him how to keep patients comfortable, how to clean and dress wounds, record data, and keep charts. He learned how to recognize common ailments and how to prepare patients for surgery.

  Then one day the hospital received word of a warrior in distress. Doctors and nurses raced to the rescue. “What is it? Can I help?” Hercules offered. “Someone’s tried to capture a three-headed dog!” a nurse called back.

  Hercules immediately knew the warrior in distress was Hera. “Wait, I’ll come with you!” Hercules jumped onto the back of the moving chariot and off they raced.

  Arriving on the scene, the medical team found Hera trapped beneath the massive three-headed dog. Hercules could see that the dog needed to be moved in order to treat Hera. He gently approached the creature then took the lion’s mane from around his own neck and wrapped it round the animal like a sling. Hercules gave the dog a gentle roll onto its feet and it lumbered away, revealing Hera with a wound in her neck. The team got right to assessing the patient, and found her injuries were too severe to move her. The mood among the group changed from hopeful to grim. Hercules, however, remembered the Hydra. He withdrew the arrow and gently applied some of the iridescent blue goo from the point to Hera’s wound. Before everyone’s eyes, she began to heal. Soon Hera was well enough to be moved to the hospital.

  On the chariot ride back, Hercules sat beside Hera and held her hand. Her eyes opened, and she smiled, grateful to be in his care. “I think you are right my boy. The hospital is where you need to be.”