Moral: It is better to ask some of the questions than to know all the answers.
The Very Proper Gander
Not so very long ago there was a very fine gander. He was strong and smooth and beautiful and he spent most of his time singing to his wife and children. One day somebody who saw him strutting up and down in his yard and singing remarked, ‘There is a very proper gander.’ An old hen overheard this and told her husband about it that night in the roost. ‘They said something about propaganda,’ she said. ‘I have always suspected that,’ said the rooster, and he went around the barnyard next day telling everybody that the very fine gander was a dangerous bird, more than likely a hawk in gander’s clothing. A small brown hen remembered a time when at a great distance she had seen the gander talking with some hawks in the forest. ‘They were up to no good,’ she said. A duck remembered that the gander had once told him he did not believe in anything. ‘He said to hell with the flag, too,’ said the duck. A guinea hen recalled that she had once seen somebody who looked very much like the gander throw something that looked a great deal like a bomb. Finally everybody snatched up sticks and stones and descended on the gander’s house. He was strutting in his front yard, singing to his children and his wife. ‘There he is!’ everybody cried. ‘Hawk-lover! Unbeliever! Flag-hater! Bomb-thrower!’ So they set upon him and drove him out of the country.
Moral: Anybody who you or your wife thinks is going to overthrow the government by violence must be driven out of the country.
The Bear Who Let It Alone
In the woods of the Far West there once lived a brown bear who could take it or let it alone. He would go into a bar where they sold mead, a fermented drink made of honey, and he would have just two drinks. Then he would put some money on the bar and say, ‘See what the bears in the back room will have,’ and he would go home. But finally he took to drinking by himself most of the day. He would reel home at night, kick over the umbrella stand, knock down the bridge lamps, and ram his elbows through the windows. Then he would collapse on the floor and lie there until he went to sleep. His wife was greatly distressed and his children were very frightened.
At length the bear saw the error of his ways and began to reform. In the end he became a famous teetotaller and a persistent temperance lecturer. He would tell everybody that came to his house about the awful effects of drink, and he would boast about how strong and well he had become since he gave up touching the stuff. To demonstrate this, he would stand on his head and on his hands and he would turn cartwheels in the house, kicking over the umbrella stand, knocking down the bridge lamps, and ramming his elbows through the windows. Then he would lie down on the floor, tired by his healthful exercise, and go to sleep. His wife was greatly distressed and his children were very frightened.
Moral: You might as well fall flat on your face as lean over too far backward.
The Shrike and the Chipmunks
Once upon a time there were two chipmunks, a male and a female. The male chipmunk thought that arranging nuts in artistic patterns was more fun than just piling them up to see how many you could pile up. The female was all for piling up as many as you could. She told her husband that if he gave up making designs with the nuts there would be room in their large cave for a great many more and he would soon become the wealthiest chipmunk in the woods. But he would not let her interfere with his designs, so she flew into a rage and left him. ‘The shrike will get you,’ she said, ‘because you are helpless and cannot look after yourself.’ To be sure, the female chipmunk had not been gone three nights before the male had to dress for a banquet and could not find his studs or shirt or suspenders. So he couldn’t go to the banquet, but that was just as well, because all the chipmunks who did go were attacked and killed by a weasel.
The next day the shrike began hanging around outside the chipmunk’s cave, waiting to catch him. The shrike couldn’t get in because the doorway was clogged up with soiled laundry and dirty dishes. ‘He will come out for a walk after breakfast and I will get him then,’ thought the shrike. But the chipmunk slept all day and did not get up and have breakfast until after dark. Then he came out for a breath of air before beginning work on a new design. The shrike swooped down to snatch up the chipmunk, but could not see very well on account of the dark, so he batted his head against an alder branch and was killed.
A few days later the female chipmunk returned and saw the awful mess the house was in. She went to the bed and shook her husband. ‘What would you do without me?’ she demanded. ‘Just go on living, I guess,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t last five days,’ she told him. She swept the house and did the dishes and sent out the laundry, and then she made the chipmunk get up and wash and dress. ‘You can’t be healthy if you lie in bed all day and never get any exercise,’ she told him. So she took him for a walk in the bright sunlight and they were both caught and killed by the shrike’s brother, a shrike named Stoop.
Moral: Early to rise and early to bed makes a male healthy and wealthy and dead.
The Seal Who Became Famous
A seal who lay basking on a large, smooth rock said to himself: all I ever do is swim. None of the other seals can swim any better than I can, he reflected, but, on the other hand, they can all swim just as well. The more he pondered the monotony and uniformity of his life, the more depressed he became. That night he swam away and joined a circus.
Within two years the seal had become a great balancer. He could balance lamps, billiard cues, medicine balls, hassocks, taborets, dollar cigars, and anything else you gave him. When he read in a book a reference to the Great Seal of the United States, he thought it meant him. In the winter of his third year as a performer he went back to the large, smooth rock to visit his friends and family. He gave them the Big Town stuff right away: the latest slang, liquor in a golden flask, zippers, a gardenia in his lapel. He balanced for them everything there was on the rock to balance, which wasn’t much. When he had run through his repertory, he asked the other seals if they could do what he had done and they all said no. ‘O.K.,’ he said. ‘Let’s see you do something I can’t do.’ Since the only thing they could do was swim, they all plunged off the rock into the sea. The circus seal plunged right after them, but he was so hampered by his smart city clothes, including a pair of seventeen-dollar shoes, that he began to founder at once. Since he hadn’t been in swimming for three years, he had forgot what to do with his flippers and tail, and he went down for the third time before the other seals could reach him. They gave him a simple but dignified funeral.
Moral: Whom God has equipped with flippers should not monkey around with zippers.
The Crow and the Oriole
Once upon a time a crow fell in love with a Baltimore oriole. He had seen her flying past his nest every spring on her way North and every autumn on her way South, and he had decided that she was a tasty dish. He had observed that she came North every year with a different gentleman, but he paid no attention to the fact that all the gentlemen were Baltimore orioles. ‘Anybody can have that mouse,’ he said to himself. So he went to his wife and told her that he was in love with a Baltimore oriole who was as cute as a cuff link. He said he wanted a divorce, so his wife gave him one simply by opening the door and handing him his hat. ‘Don’t come crying to me when she throws you down,’ she said. ‘That fly-by-season hasn’t got a brain in her head. She can’t cook or sew. Her upper register sounds like a streetcar taking a curve. You can find out in any dictionary that the crow is the smartest and most capable of birds – or was till you became one.’ ‘Tush!’ said the male crow. ‘Pish! You are simply a jealous woman.’ He tossed her a few dollars. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘go buy yourself some finery. You look like the bottom of an old tea-kettle.’ And off he went to look for the oriole.
This was in the springtime and he met her coming North with an oriole he had never seen before. The crow stopped the female oriole and pleaded his cause – or should we say cawed his pleas? At any rate, he courted her in a harsh, grating voice, wh
ich made her laugh merrily. ‘You sound like an old window shutter,’ she said, and she snapped her fingers at him. ‘I am bigger and stronger than your gentleman friend,’ said the crow. ‘I have a vocabulary larger than his. All the orioles in the country couldn’t even lift the corn I own. I am a fine sentinel and my voice can be heard for miles in case of danger.’ ‘I don’t see how that could interest anybody but another crow,’ said the female oriole, and she laughed at him and flew on toward the North. The male oriole tossed the crow some coins. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘go buy yourself a blazer or something. You look like the bottom of an old coffeepot.’
The crow flew back sadly to his nest, but his wife was not there. He found a note pinned to the front door. ‘I have gone away with Bert,’ it read. ‘You will find some arsenic in the medicine chest.’
Moral: Even the llama should stick to mamma.
The Moth and the Star
A young and impressionable moth once set his heart on a certain star. He told his mother about this and she counselled him to set his heart on a bridge lamp instead. ‘Stars aren’t the thing to hang around,’ she said; ‘lamps are the thing to hang around.’ ‘You get somewhere that way,’ said the moth’s father. ‘You don’t get anywhere chasing stars.’ But the moth would not heed the words of either parent. Every evening at dusk when the star came out he would start flying toward it and every morning at dawn he would crawl back home worn out with his vain endeavour. One day his father said to him, ‘You haven’t burned a wing in months, boy, and it looks to me as if you were never going to. All your brothers have been badly burned flying around street lamps and all your sisters have been terribly singed flying around house lamps. Come on, now, get out of here and get yourself scorched! A big strapping moth like you without a mark on him!’
The moth left his father’s house, but he would not fly around street lamps and he would not fly around house lamps. He went right on trying to reach the star, which was four and one-third light years, or twenty-five trillion miles, away. The moth thought it was just caught in the top branches of an elm. He never did reach the star, but he went right on trying, night after night, and when he was a very, very old moth he began to think that he really had reached the star and he went around saying so. This gave him a deep and lasting pleasure, and he lived to a great old age. His parents and his brothers and his sisters had all been burned to death when they were quite young.
Moral: Who flies afar from the sphere of our sorrow is here today and here tomorrow.
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 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 Owl Who Was God
Once upon a starless midnight there was an owl who sat on the branch of an oak tree. Two ground moles tried to slip quietly by, unnoticed. ‘You!’ said the owl. ‘Who?’ they quavered, in fear and astonishment, for they could not believe it was possible for anyone to see them in that thick darkness. ‘You two!’ said the owl. The moles hurried away and told the other creatures of the field and forest that the owl was the greatest and wisest of all animals because he could see in the dark and because he could answer any question. ‘I’ll see about that,’ said a secretary bird, and he called on the owl one night when it was again very dark. ‘How many claws am I holding up?’ said the secretary bird, ‘Two,’ said the owl, and that was right. ‘Can you give me another expression for “that is to say” or “namely”?’ asked the secretary bird. ‘To wit,’ said the owl. ‘Why does a lover call on his love?’ asked the secretary bird. ‘To woo,’ said the owl.
The secretary bird hastened back to the other creatures and reported that the owl was indeed the greatest and wisest animal in the world because he could see in the dark and because he could answer any question. ‘Can he see in the daytime, too?’ asked a red fox. ‘Yes.’ echoed a dormouse and a French poodle. ‘Can he see in the daytime, too?’ All the other creatures laughed loudly at this silly question, and they set upon the red fox and his friends and drove them out of the region. Then they sent a messenger to the owl and asked him to be their leader.
When the owl appeared among the animals it was high noon and the sun was shining brightly. He walked very slowly, which gave him an appearance of great dignity, and he peered about him with large, staring eyes, which gave him an air of tremendous importance. ‘He’s God!’ screamed a Plymouth Rock hen. And the others took up the cry ‘He’s God!’ So they followed him wherever he went and when he began to bump into things they began to bump into things, too. Finally he came to a concrete highway and he started up the middle of it and all the other creatures followed him. Presently a hawk, who was acting as outrider, observed a truck coming toward them at fifty miles an hour, and he reported to the secretary bird and the secretary bird reported to the owl. ‘There
’s danger ahead,’ said the secretary bird. ‘To wit?’ said the owl. The secretary bird told him. ‘Aren’t you afraid?’ He asked. ‘Who?’ said the owl calmly, for he could not see the truck. ‘He’s God!’ cried all the creatures again, and they were still crying ‘He’s God!’ when the truck hit them and ran them down. Some of the animals were merely injured, but most of them, including the owl, were killed.
Moral: You can fool too many of the people too much of the time.
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 gold 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 never 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.
The Thurber Carnival Page 27
