Aesop's Foible

There was once a small village in the outskirts of Town, where rolling green pastures, surrounded by emerald hills, bathed in the sunlight, and many coloured birds made nests in the trees; trees that whispered at night of all the day’s events. In this village lived a young boy whose job it was to tend the flock of sheep that belonged to his master. Everyday he would take it out to the green fields and then at evening would return to lock the sheep in the enclosure, and then go home to sleep on the kitchen floor. His job was vital, for the master’s sheep were the economic backbone of the village.
All the influential village people -who weren’t involved in manual labour- thought many thoughts during the daytime about this and that; about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, but for the most part, they were all preoccupied with making money so that they could move on from the village to the Town where successful people lived in motorcars. This was so because every year a Town’s man would come to the village for a little ‘peace and quiet’ and tell the people how much they were really missing out on by living in such a small, dreary village where nothing important ever happened.

Meanwhile, every year, all the birds would profess their undying love for the trees and ask them to come away with them when they would flee the dying winter sun. But the trees were wise and always said: “we know how long your love will last and we know how deep beneath this land our roots have dug; and though you might try to deceive us into following you, we have all heard of Hasty.”
“And what, pray tell, is the parable of this Hasty?” the birds would ask.
“Why Hasty was a tree that aspired to walk, for he had been seduced by a winged lover who encouraged it to follow him into a distant land where, it is said, ‘the sun shines bright forever.’ So after much struggle and against the advice of his betters he severed relations with the roots and left in search of eternal sunshine. But without the nourishment that roots provide, he soon grew weak, then stumbled and fell. The winged lover waited for half a day for Hasty to recover, but seeing no chance of that happening, left Hasty behind, saying: ‘Winter is coming, my poor dear, and if I tarry here with you, we will both perish. And I must live, that I may keep at least your memory alive.’
So poor Hasty cried his final tear; it was the last bit of moisture he had been holding on to. And so was found by Man and chopped up for firewood. Now you might think it hard of us but it’s not that hard at all. Eternal sunshine’s not for us; we’re meant to live through fall. And though we seem to lose our leaves and appear quite woe begotten, but if we were to leave with you, we’d soon just end up rotten!” the birds laughed at what the trees said and then flew around flashing their glossy wings, discussing in loud tones, the brightness of the sun in the warm South. The trees smiled at this and sipped the earth in silence as they pondered over how to finally befriend Mankind.

The master of the sheep was bored of his simple village life. None of the other influential villagers found it very interesting either except for the hardworking ones who never had time to think about such things. While everyone else was thinking about the Town and life in the fast lane, whatever that meant, the hard workers were working hard. In the end, the master of the sheep and his friends decided to play a new game: they would all try to make up stories and see who could convince others of his or her story. This was quite a fun game for all the villagers because it allowed the clever to make fun of the dull and so it helped establish a new class system of the Smart and the Simple. By and large, within a few days, all the smarts were to be seen huddled around in corners, coming up with new and more elaborate stories to try on the simples, who were just striving to do their job and get along, in spite of always being the butt of some joke or the other.

As days went by, the boy took the sheep to the hillside, where as they grazed and bleated, he left them to go and explore the surrounding area. With his flute stuck safely in his belt and a straw between his teeth, he marched beside the trees and shrubs and sang a little song he had himself made. From somewhere beyond, he heard a voice. It was a snarling, menacing voice that spoke with much authority and it said: “Winter approaches Julius, and methinks it is time for us to get fat lest we be overcome by frost and become as dead as twigs.” A second voice answered the first: “Thou hast spoken the truth my liege and I hearken -as well as dost thou- the bleating of the silly ones.” This induced a chuckle, which was shared between the two and the former then proceeded to say: “Good my lad, thou hast pleased me indeed…tonight when Man doth sleep and dream, you and I shall count their sheep for them!”
The boy heard all of this and his curiosity was roused as to who were the masters of these conniving voices. He climbed very quietly up into a tree and tried to discern the mysterious strangers. The tree shifted his branch somewhat to allow the boy a better view. The boy thanked the tree with a hurried nod and then discovered to his dismay that he had heard two wolves planning their dinner. Once the wolves walked off deeper into the shadows, the boy climbed down, quickly called all the sheep to him and brought them all safely back to the village. Next, he decided to go and tell the villagers what all he had heard and of the plan the wolves had hatched.
The boy ran into the master’s house and, although short of breath and clutching a stitch in his side, he related in gasps, what he had heard and seen.

The master and his friends all looked at the boy and then at each other and then laughed louder and louder.
“I must admit that the boy almost had me going…!” exclaimed the master.
“These 'simples' are really trying now to get even with us and I have to say I laud their efforts.” said a friend. And similar remarks were made by nearly everyone to whom the boy tried to explain what he had seen and heard. The only people who paid any heed to the boy were the simples and so at night, armed with pitchforks and torches, the simples stood guard.

The wolves were smart and saw the flickering light of the torches from afar. They decided not to attack whilst men were on guard. And so the night passed uneventfully and the simples felt that perhaps the boy had just fooled them all with a nasty lie just like the smarts. His father boxed his ears in public and told him that he had forgotten his roots and those who go against their kind, often end chopped up. The boy tried very hard to explain that he had not fibbed, but all to no avail.

The boy had been shamed and with a broken heart he spent the day watching over the sheep in morbid silence. He knew for sure that the wolves had outwitted him and completely discredited him in the eyes of his fellows. He also knew that the wolves would definitely attack again that night instead but he could not count on help this time. He would have to fend them off alone. Armed with a pitchfork and a solitary torch the boy stood guard over the sheep. The wolves noticed that only one man was present that night so they decided the odds were on their side, they attacked. The boy tried his best to keep them away for he was quick upon his feet and dodged their fangs quite well. His shouts for help, of course, went unanswered because half the village thought he was just going a bit too far with his story: “ah…the zeal of youth!” said the master to his wife. The other half of the village thought that the boy was impertinent: “I’ll take that boy to task in the morning!” said the boy’s father to his wife.

The trees all watched in horror as the boy tried to defend the sheep single-handedly. They whispered amongst each other and remarked on the nature of Man.
“They’re not all the same; the lad could have just gone on with his sleep and let the wolves do as they pleased.” said the old Birch to the Oak who nodded in affirmation.
“Well you know what they say…” said the Oak to the rest.
“What do they say?” they asked.
“If you save one good man…you’ve saved all of humanity.”
“What will you do with saving humanity?” asked a young Palm.
“I will ask Man to remember and be grateful, gratuitous and kind in return.”
The trees all nodded solemnly and then sighed a deep and rumbling sigh. They were moved by the Oak’s unvoiced decision and a few other trees also indicated their eagerness to help. He told them not to be silly and to stand firm. Meanwhile his own roots, who knew his mind very well, relaxed their hold on him.

The wolves were snarling and snapping their vicious teeth at the boy as he tried to hold them back with his pitchfork. “Distract him Julius and I shall sink my teeth in his throat and be done with him.” But Julius was not paying attention anymore; he was staring at something over his comrade’s shoulder, as was the boy, who seemed mesmerized: a great Oak moved towards the fray on what seemed to be massive wooden legs, brandishing his branches menacingly. "My liege...methinks we're not long for this world!"
The next morning all the villagers gathered to see a bleeding boy staring at a hefty oak tree that had, somehow -during the course of the night- fallen into the enclosure, where the sheep were kept. This was rather strange because this tree would have had to fly a hundred yards to be where it was. Beside it lay two dead, squished wolves and there next to the tree sat the boy looking somewhat bewildered and pale.