The Nick Klaus's Fables, Page 3

  Two Crabs in a Boxing Ring (#13)

  Two crabs wearing enormous boxing gloves woke up in the middle of a boxing ring. The crabs had no idea how they had gotten there. Peering at his awkward blue gloves, one of the crabs said: “What do you think they are?”

  “I don’t know but I hope that no one is watching,” said the other weighing his heavy black gloves, unpleased.

  “For sure let’s not pick each other’s nose,” joked the crab, nearing his blue gloves close to the face of the crab in black.

  “They look like bathtub plugs,” said the crab in black, raising them in victory.

  “Cant’ be. My bathtub’s only got one drain, and you and I have two plugs each.”

  “I suggest we go around the ring and do some thinking,” said the crab with blue gloves. The crabs twirled and reeled, considering the ring for a while. Sometimes trampling each other but without harm or disrespect.

  “They’re floaters, so that we can’t swim,” said the crab in black frowning.

  “You’re wrong. No one would dare to play a joke on us because we’re . . .” The crab in blue gloves fell silent as he spotted a quarter on the floor. “What do you think this is?”

  “Looks like a sad looking fish,” said the crab in black trampling on it.

  “It reminds me of a fish I once saw landing from the Moon,” said the blue gloves, lifting his head towards the ceiling. The black gloves tried to pick up the quarter. “By Zeus, it’s not the fish that landed from the Moon, but us two that landed on the Moon. Look, it’s never happened before. I cannot pick up the fish!” The crab in blue gloves shook in dismay. He sat on a stool he had spotted in a corner of the ring. He lifted his gloves. “These must be balloons then. I won’t be surprised if next we ended up on Mars,” he said clutching his friend.

  “If these are balloons, then we are in a parade. These are made to be used as drums,” he said beating on the floor. The crab in blue gloves looked askance.

  “I tell you what,” he said. “ I’ll let you have my fish, if you give me your balloons. You’ll get to have the whole parade to yourself. For you see I’d rather be on Mars.”

  The crab in black gloves chewed over the offer. “Okay, he said. But I want two fish for my gloves.”

  The crabs argued back and forth for a while, without noticing that the wind had started to sweep the ring. Soon they could hardly stand, their gloves catching the draft. But the crabs were more interested in getting what they wished for from each other. The wind got so strong that both crabs fell out of the ring and in their fight flipped onto their backs. And no one from the Moon or Mars flew to their rescue.

  The Conch Shell Goes To The Courthouse (#14)

  A very old conch shell went to the sea courthouse to complain. It could no longer hear the ocean in its own shell. Someone had clearly stolen it.

  In the lobby, the shell first came across a sea-ty clerk, a gaunt flounder sharpening a pencil. He told the clerk, “I’d like to complain about my stolen ocean hum.”

  “Case #23,” said the clerk, “The judge missed the tide. He’ll be doubly late.”

  “What is it you said?” asked the seashell pricking up his ears.

  “I’m paid to make statements not to answer questions.”

  The flounder pointed at a bench with his sharpened pencil. The old seashell sat on the bench amongst other grim–looking complainants. He looked around lost, wanting to strike a conversation. But the crowd kept their bulbous eyes down.

  Two tides later, the judge finally landed. The conch shell was allowed in the sea court, and the flounder announced: “Seashell against . . .” The flounder had no information on his papers. He approached the bench, whispered to the judge, a sluggish cod, blackened by age, who daubed his sick, spotty, face with a mustard cream.

  “Perfect,” said the judge from his desk. “Case dismissed for lack of clues.”

  The seashell did not hear a thing and started to explain his case anyway.

  “Someone stole my ocean hum. How humiliating that is for a seashell.”

  The old cod looked over his glasses, puffing on a pipe making bubbles, and deliberated at length. “Looks like your case is dead in the water,” he finally said.

  “I’ve never been ill,” said the conch. “And I live by the mouth of the sewage.”

  The flounder straightened. The judge’s eyes grew wider. “How can you hear the ocean?” he asked. “You’re not subject to the tides and suck up that nasty brine?”

  “I’m strong as a crab and fast as an eel. I’ll give an arm and a leg to hear my ocean thrill,” stated the conch.

  The judge grew impatient, his stomach grumbling for he had not eaten in more than a week. He looked askance at the conch, not really understanding the case, and then winked at the sea-ty clerk.

  “In that case you’re dead,” said the judge, his eyes shining with hunger, nodding to the flounder, who dug his pencil into the shell and proceeded in eating the conch.

  The Toad in the Snakes’ Bathroom (#15)

  During a musical intermission, a very smart but clammy toad dying to run to the bathroom ran to the bathroom. There, the toad found a long line of snakes waiting. “Are you all waiting for the bathroom?” He asked a snake.

  “Of course, it’s not because we’re squirming that we’re dancing,” said the snake, whose head would not stand still. Delighted to meet the toad, the snake offered the toad a thick brown cigar. The toad raised his hat to thank the snake but still couldn’t wait, and the toad jumped the line.

  “What are you doing?” complained the snakes in line. “Toads can’t go to snakes’ bathrooms.”

  “It’s an emergency. My throat’s very dry, and I cannot sing,” the clever toad said and quickly locked the lock. The snakes outside sighed in vexation.

  “What’s wrong with you? You’ve never seen a cow doing trapeze and a fox jumping through a ring of fire? Well, I’m a toad who sings and who has no problem using a snakes’ bathroom,” he shouted brazen, ignoring the clobbering on the door.

  Self-assured, the sweaty toad looked around the bathroom, searching for water. The sink was empty and dry. The only water he could find was in the toilet bowl. So he took its clothes off and dove in the bowl. While he freshened himself, he could hear the snakes getting impatient, hissing and slithering behind the door. But he didn’t care as his bath was full and cool. The snakes hurled themselves against the door.

  “Toad, when will you come out? Toads aren’t allowed in snakes’ bathrooms.”

  “I’m almost done,” replied the smart toad. “I sing cabaret and dance musicals. I must keep my voice moist. No matter what!”

  To pacify them, the toad began to whistle and hum. Then from his waistcoat, he pulled out the big brown cigar. The cigar’s wrapping had a warning: Cigar for snakes only. “What could happen to me?” thought the toad. “I’m already in a snakes’ bathroom.” And so he scratched a match and lit up the cigar. Quickly, smoke belched from the brown tube. The toad reclined his head against the back of the bowl and puffed and chugged like a locomotive. Soon the bathroom was filled with smoke. The toad was coughing.

  “Toad, that’s a pretty awful voice you have,” bellowed a snake from the other side of the door. “A snakes’ bathroom is a dangerous place for a toad.”

  The toad was too busy catching his breath to answer. The smoke got thick and stinky, and soon it slithered along the ceiling. So much so that the smoke turned into a snake of smoke. The snake of smoke looked the toad in the eyes and said: “You’re not a snake. You’re a toad. I’m so sorry but I will have to eat you alive.”

  “Eat me alive, when in just one blow I can chase you away?” said the toad, wiping the smoke from his face. Taken aback, the snake of smoke thought an instant: “In that case, I’ll wrap myself around your neck until you suffocate.”

  “Around my neck? Everyone knows that toads don’t have necks.”

  Greatly bothered, the snake of smoke went back to lingering on the ceiling. “I’ll
find a way to eat you,” he said, meandering around the lights.

  “What kind of snake are you? A boring snake?”

  “I’m a flushing snake!” answered the smoky snake. The smart toad sneered so loud that he dropped his cigar in the bowl by accident. He leaned down to pick it up, grabbing the flushing handle as he did, without noticing the snake of smoke coiling around it. Suddenly the toad realized that the bowl was nothing but the mouth of a giant water snake. The giant water snake was sucking the toad down into the swirling water. “Help me, snake of smoke!” he shouted.

  “I’m sorry, with your cigar in the water, I too now have to disappear,” replied the snake of smoke, watching the toad swirling down the throat of the giant water snake.

  The Plough Horseplay (#16)

  A plough horse decided to go on vacation for the first time in his life in a big city. Upon his arrival, outside his hotel, he spotted a bunch of thoroughbreds playing basketball on a court. Having never seen this type of work where he was from, he headed their way. Watching them, he said: “I’d like to learn your trade to hone my skills and bring back to the country.” The thoroughbreds looked at each other in surprise and discomfort. One of them, who did not want to upset him whispered: “Ok, but only for a while.”

  The plough horse was over the moon. When he reappeared the following hour, the thoroughbreds took a quick look at him and shook their heads in dismay. The plough horse’s shorts were sagging. His hooves tripped on them in their stride. His shirt was dangling and getting hooked on his ears.

  Resigned, the thoroughbreds ignored him and fast and furious started to jump and leap and spring and shoot on the basketball court. The plough horse watched helpless, though he eventually caught the ball. Right away, he rounded his shoulders, lowered his head close to the ground and labored towards the basket slowly, as if he were towing the entire court. The thoroughbreds watched, shaking their heads in disbelief.

  “Why don’t you go and play in the fountain?” shouted one of them. “Or leapfrog with your sister?” said another one. But the plough horse was at work and heard nothing of their pokes. Reaching below the basket, he stopped, sweating and out of breath, holding the ball. The thoroughbreds waited, thinking he was going to throw them the ball. But the plough horse waited longer. Seeing that no one was moving, he then said: “I’m holding the ball under the basket. That will be $1 for my toil.”

  The thoroughbreds shook their heads again, this time in despair.

  “Aren’t you going to pay me?” said the plough horse, hoarding the ball. The thoroughbreds huffed and puffed as they run out of patience. “You’ll get $1 like everyone else, once you get the ball to stay in the basket,” shouted a frustrated thoroughbred. The plough horse glanced at the basket, noticed the hole at the bottom of the net and burst out laughing. “Foolish city horses, you’ll never get paid. Your basket is too wide for your ball, it will never stay,” he said and with that he plodded away.

  The Blueberry Dad (#17)

  An excited young boy carrying two fishing rods ran to his older brother and dragged him to the backyard deck.

  “Come on, let’s go fishing.”

  “What’s the urgency?”

  “I’ll tell you once we get there,” said the young brother boarding a canoe.

  Soon the two boys were in the middle of the lake. Without waiting, the young boy threw his line into the water.

  “What’s the emergency?” asked the older brother.

  “Dad lives at the bottom of the lake.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I heard Mom say so on the phone. He had been stuck there for years she said. With so much baggage that no one could pull him out of it.”

  The older brother took a deep breath and contemplated his brother’s face, which was tearing with anticipation. He smiled back at him.

  “He’s been down there for a while, hopefully he hasn’t moved away. But we can’t fish him with a hook and a worm. That will hurt his mouth and make him sick. Do you remember what he loved best?”

  “Blueberries,” screamed the young boy, waving his arms.

  So the boys went to the store and bought two cartons of blueberries.

  Back at the lake, they tied the blueberries at the end of their lines, and the younger brother tossed the rest of them over board. The fish tasted them and too fussy swum away.

  The sun was coming down, and no father appeared. The older brother seeing his young brother looking sad: “He may just be sleeping.”

  They decided to go back home for the night.

  They were sitting for an early dinner, when they heard a knock at the door. There standing at the door, a fiery bull in a dripping suit, with a tie and horns that stuck out of his hat, carried two gigantic suitcases.

  “Hey, may I come in?” he said to the two brothers.

  “Daddy!” squealed the young brother. Delighted, he invited the father in. The older brother looked befuddled.

  “Wait, wait,” shouted a voice from outside. “Don’t close the door.”

  Another bull in a drenched suit, with a tie and a hat and two huge suitcases, rushed to the entrance. “Can’t lock me out of my own home. I want more of those berries you brought. Such a fancy treat.”

  The younger brother clapped his hands in delight. So the puzzled older brother let him in as well. He was about to close the door when a third bull walked out of the lake, water dripping from his suitcases and pooling in the hems of his pants.

  “Save me a bowl of blueberries,” he shouted, racing towards the house.

  Soon the third bull and his messy shoes joined the other two on the sofa. A fourth one knocked on the window and waved. While still another was just emerging from the muddy water.

  The young brother ran to the fridge and grabbed a bowl of strawberries.

  “Come,” he said to his brother. “Maybe grandma and grandpa have been in there too waiting for their treats.”

  “But Dad is allergic to strawberries.”

  In the meantime, one of the dads had gotten up and was gaping at them from the kitchen door.

  “What’s going on in there? Bickering? Hiding from your homework? Bring me a beer and go and play outside.”

  Once outside the boys stared at the window with anger, watching the blueberry dads eating all the food and drinking all the drinks from the fridge. “What you say we go back to the lake and fish out all these blueberries.

  Worm Pumpkin Pie (#18)

  Once upon a time a family of worms lived inside a cozy pumpkin tucked into a muddy field. One day, as the parents went out to fetch food, the offspring ventured to peek outside through the entrance hole. They shrunk in horror as they spotted a family wading their way across the field. The children were boisterous and bouncy, crushing everything in their wake. They shouted “Halloween, Halloween.” The eldest of the worm offspring screamed: “We must abandon this pumpkin. Danger is on its way.”

  “No let’s wait until mom and dad come back,” suggested a sibling.

  “No time. They’re going to carve out our house with knives, so sharp that we’ll never survive, but in slices and dices.”

  Believing the eldest sibling, the worms slithered out of the pumpkin as fast as they could. The entrance hole was too narrow and the escape slow. All made it out, except for the youngest worm, who didn’t believe a word of it.

  “That’s just a ghost tale big brothers tell to scare little kids like us,” he challenged. So he stayed behind and got carried away as the pumpkin was loaded onto a truck.

  Soon the pumpkin lay on the kitchen table. The little worm inside pricked up his ears, waiting with confidence. Only he started yelling at the top of his voice when he saw that knives were whizzing by his rings and cutting holes into the pumpkin’s rind.

  “Brothers, sisters, you were so right,” he called out. But the deaf children laughed and screeched, delighted, as the worm squirmed about to avoid being chopped in slices.

  Per chance, the pumpkin was put outside the fro
nt door, bright with a candle inside. The heat was intense like a sauna, and the worm baked and agonized to breathe. Per chance again, the wind was strong and blew the candle out. Seeing a way to escape through the pumpkin’s mouth, the weakened defiant worm slipped out with relief. It was crawling towards the front garden lawn when the plate below the pumpkin cracked. The pumpkin rolled and bounced down the stairs, and squashed the little worm to paste.

  The Monkey and the Donkey (#19)

  Once a dreamy monkey took a fancy to see the sea. Not knowing where it was, he got lost in the forest. He hiked and leaped from tree to tree for a couple of days. Exhausted, he came across a donkey, looking pretty docile and bored, grazing in a glade. The monkey approached and asked the donkey if she would carry him to the sea. The donkey shook her head no. She was not interested in going anywhere. “I like where I live, and what I eat here is plenty.”

  “But if you come with me, you’ll have plenty more. And instead of sleeping under the stars, you’ll sleep in a castle made of stars.” Seduced by the prospect, the donkey raised an eyebrow. Feeling confident, the monkey ventured to climb on her back. However, the donkey would not move. She still had doubts and had no need for a castle of stars.

  “And your castle will be full of carrots too,” quickly added the monkey.

  “Carrots, what are they like?” said the donkey, inspired. She had never tasted one before.

  “Let me show you.” The monkey tied a carrot at the end of a rod and dangled it in front of the donkey’s head. Upon seeing the juicy, fresh carrot, the donkey tried to catch up with it. But as she stepped forward to bite it off, the carrot escaped her eager teeth and moved forth with the monkey. The faster the donkey ran, the faster carrot escaped.