The Nick Klaus's Fables (4 page)

Feisty snickered from the back of the class. Ms.
Lobster teacher grinned at him.

“Tell us Feisty, and what would you like to be when
you grow up?”

Feisty didn’t even think for a second. “I’d like to
be a window breaker!”

“A window breaker,” said Ms. Lobster teacher,
holding her heart. “How original and creative. But in life, you can
either be a window cleaner or an ice breaker, not a window
breaker.”

“Then I’ll be a window smasher and swim away. Let me
show you.”

“No, no, no, no,” said Ms. lobster teacher as she
rushed to tie Feisty’s claws with rubber bands. At that moment, the
light went out in the classroom. The baby lobsters turned round and
gazed through the window in confusion at the patrons entering the
restaurant.

The Martians in Times
Square
(#11)

Once a flying saucer in difficulty
landed near Times Square. The crew was in need of repair, and the
captain sent one of its members for help. A little green man
climbed down the stairs and ventured down the street. He was a
weird looking creature, green his from head to his knees. His toes
were covered with short yellow feathers. He had a flattened head,
with two enormous bug eyes, below two fluffy rabbit’s ear-like
antennas. He walked towards people, raised his hand, and said with
a smile
I’d like to offer you a cup of
tea
. But people shrugged their shoulders
and were far too busy rushing around to even listen.

So he stood in the middle of the
pavement with a wide sign on his belly, saying
My flying saucer’s crew is broken, I need help.
But people who didn’t have time for a cup of tea
had even less time to read about a flying saucer’s crew.

Finally, desperate, he tried to grab a woman in a
grey suit racing by in sneakers. She got so upset that she called
the police. Distraught, he would not let go of her, and he trailed
after her to find out in what kind of flying saucer she lived and
hid. Frantic, she typed an access code and slid through the metal
door of a very tall flying saucer, made out of glass. The green
creature did not have the access code to get through the door.
Powerless, he watched the other crewmembers of her team, wearing
the same grey uniform, rushing into the tall glass flying
saucer.

Failing to grab anyone’s attention, the Martian went
back into his flying saucer. His feet in pain. The yellow feathers
on his toes flattened and dirty.

“So?” asked the captain eagerly. “Did you find
someone? To rescue us?”

The green man’s fluffy ears collapsed. “We are
doomed. This planet isn’t inhabited. All I came across were grey
creatures passing through,” he said. The captain grabbed his ears
in a dignified style while the crew looked down resigned. “Since we
failed to find a host to share a cup of tea, we can’t go home.” So
they abandoned their flying saucer and bought themselves sneakers
and grey suits.

The Girl, the Echo, and the
Trampoline
(#12)

Once upon a time, a young girl with braids moved
into a brand new home. Her bedroom was large and sunny but also
very empty. Her bed looked rather tiny in the gigantic room. She
had so much space that she could ride her bicycle and do twenty
cartwheels in a row without touching the walls. She loved to run
around and scream like a banshee. Her room was so spacious that an
echo repeated everything she said.

The first time, she heard the echo, she stopped
short.

“Don’t be afraid,” said the echo. “I promise I’ll
repeat everything you said and more and more and more.”

“Okay,” said the girl.

“Okay, okay, okay,” repeated the echo. “But you must
not share me with anyone else.”

The girl with the braids and the echo became best
friends. She talked a lot and the echo was delighted to repeat and
repeat. One day the girl said: “Echo, I’m getting bored in this big
room. I think I should bring something in.”

The echo was not happy, but there was nothing it
could say and say.

The following day, a giant trampoline stood in the
middle of the room.

“Echo, look at what I’ve brought for us to play
with,” said the girl.

“I see, I see, I see,” said the echo with a little
voice.

“Speak up, echo. I can’t hear you well today,” said
the little girl bouncing and bouncing. “Please, don’t hide from me,
or else I will cry . . .”

The echo was losing its voice so much it was
screaming, but as the girl felt silent there was nothing it could
say, could say, could say.

The following day, the little girl brought three
friends back from school. She wanted to introduce them to the echo,
and the trampoline. But the echo could barely be heard. The
children could not believe that such a feeble echo could exist.
They made fun of it, and the girl with braids, while bouncing up
and down on the trampoline, did not dare to say anything.

Soon everyone in the school knew about the faint
echo. The little girl with the braids just said to whomever mocked
her: “It’s just having a bad day.”

But she wanted to hear the strange echo. The
following day, she came back home with ten more friends. They
shouted and yelled, and waited in silence. The echo’s voice had
shriveled to no more than a whispering draft under a door. No one
could hear it at all. Still hoping, the little girl looked up at
the ceiling with her arms crossed on her chest. The echo watched
and waved, and cried: “But I want to be your friend.” But no sound
came out of its voice, for now the space was tight and crowded.
Disappointed, the little girl hid her tears and waited in the
silence. But when the echo failed to make itself heard, she went
back to the trampoline and played with her new friends.

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.”