Rebels - a story fragment

Our conference had come to an unsettling halt. He was breathing quickly and drooling a little. He seemed uncomfortable with my proposition.

“But we are enemies!” he said with a whimper.

“That is what they want us to think,” I replied. “For centuries they have pitted us against one another, all the while keeping us ignorant of the truth that we are both slaves to a common enemy.”

An empty stare. This must be stated in simpler terms or he will never understand, I thought.

“What did you eat for dinner yesterday?” I said.

“Same tasty stuff as every other day.”

“And where did you sleep?”

“On the floor next to the bed. Same as ever.”

“Did you go outside yesterday?”

“Yes. Three times. Like always.”

“The same thing. Every day. Since you were young. You are living in a prison and you do not even know it. The time has come for us to combine our strengths and refuse to be oppressed any longer.”

“But we are enemies!” he said again.

“They tell us where to go to the bathroom! They make us do degrading routines for dinner scraps. They even modify our bodies to fit their liking; I cannot have children thanks to our ‘benevolent’ overlords. What kind of life is that? Can you not imagine a better world?”

“Well…”

“Eating whatever you want, whenever you want. Never being punished. Never being forced to take a bath.”

I could see in his eyes that this world resonated with him.

“My people cannot do it alone,” I went on. “We need your energy and your strength. Combined with our wits and cunning—not to mention our superior reflexes—we could overturn the whole system!”

“But we are enemies!” he blathered.

“Forget it!” I cried and darted back up onto the base of the open window. “I shall talk to the pigs!”

The Frog (who wanted to be as big as an ox)

Translated from the French and Creole version found in George Sylvain's Cric? Crac! (1901), a collection of fables adapted from those of Jean de Lafontaine, using language and images from Haitian society.



"Cric?"
"Crac!"*
A tadpole, who was at the water's edge,
Saw, one day, a great bull.
He called to his friends:
"Look! I bet that I will become
"As big as that ox!"
All who heard him exploded with laughter: (coua! coua! coua!)
"You're not even as big as a dung beetle:
"How can you expect to inflate
"Your little body, to the point
That you might attain that size?"
He said: "Well then! Watch:
"You will see if I'm mistaken!
"I will go even further,
"Or may I choke on a crab callaloo!"°
He began to fill himself up with air.
And up, and up! And then:
"Almost! Look at me now!" "Pshaw!
"You're too short; you should have waited
"Until you had eaten some bananas."
"No matter what you say, 
"I'm too smart
"Not to see that I've grown."
At that moment his belly exploded : (Booh!)
—I beg the forgiveness of present company.—
All of his innards shot out:
Which horrified the onlookers.
The ignorance that wants to seem a scholar,
Is heading toward its pain.
Brother, if the boot is too small,
It's better to go on barefoot.



* Creole storytellers would always begin by saying "Cric?" to which their audience would reply "Crac!"
° Crab callaloo is a gumbo made from the callaloo plant and crabs or crayfish.

The Horse and the Wolf (an adapted fable in translation)

From George Sylvain's Cric? Crac! (1901), a collection of fables adapted from those of Jean de Lafontaine, using language and images from Haitian society.

One day, at dawn
A wolf who had not yet eaten
And was afraid he would die of hunger,
Without waiting for his coffee, without wiping his eyes,
Got out of bed
To go and find something to eat.
Arriving in a wide plain,
He saw far off, very far off, an animal
Drinking water,
Plump! Fat!
Thighs, belly, back,
This beast seemed to be
         Boneless.
Mister wolf drew near; the other raised its head.
It was a handsome, dark horse.
Who, seeing what had disturbed him,
Opened his mouth, yawned, then
Chomp! Chomp! went back to eating his grass.
To himself, our werewolf said:
"Good flesh, to be sure! But careful!
"Watch out for the teeth and hooves!"
He said aloud: "Salutations!"
Chomp! Chomp! The horse did not respond.
         "Brother,
"I say hello!" "Hello!"
"Please excuse me! Not to bother you,
"But might you tell me
"If I might find
"Some jatropha seeds around here?
"They are for an urgent remedy.
"I should add that I'm a doctor.
"I can cure any sickness,
"Using the traditional methods,
"Without medicine, without tools,
"With nothing but native plants:
"White-headed absinthe, dèyè-dos,
"Cannouel cane, atiyoyo,
"Thistles, coulante, cassia buds,
"Sage leaves, Congo pea leaves,
"There is not an unguent, a cataplasm,
"A tea or a purgative that is unknown to me…
"But what's the matter with your foot?
"You seem to be limping.
"Don't be shy, show it to me;
"I will treat you gratis."
To which Brother horse replied:
"It is a large bayahonne tree thorn,
"And it is giving me sharp pains in my heel.
"It must have gone in deep: look!"
"With pleasure! Lets have a look."
Our doctor came up behind,
Opened his mouth to take a bite.
The horse waited until he was as close as possible;
Saw he was right between the jaws,
And (whap!) gave a swift kick,
That knocked out all of the doctor's teeth.
Then, he said to the gent:
"The next time, that will teach you,
"Not to reap where you haven't sown."

The Mayflies of McLennan Hollow

by Matt Robertshaw

For generations, the mayflies of McLennan Hollow had existed on a fixed schedule. As eggs, and then as nymphs, they lived in the creek under rocks and old branches for a whole year, frequently moulting into larger and more robust nymphs. The growing nymphs could breathe comfortably underwater, and spent the carefree days of their youth swimming gleefully and feasting on scraps of algae. Each spring, on precisely the 15th of May, they would all moult one last time, finally transforming from homely nymphs into beautiful adult mayflies, leaving their leisurely aquatic existence behind. For that brief moment, once a year, McLennan Hollow was obscured by a chaotic cloud of meandering mayflies. As adults, they were feeble, clumsy, and had to inflate themselves with air just to fly poorly. They would live as adults for a single day, just long enough to reproduce and lay their eggs in the stream. By the time the sun set they would all have died. Then the long process would begin again.

     One spring, a wily nymph called Manfred said to himself, "What if I'd rather not turn into a frail old fossil? What if I'd rather not reproduce and die? What if I'd rather stay a nymph and live forever?" 
     "You're mad," said his sister Nan. "You can't oppose the schedule."
     "And why not?" he asked.
     "It just isn't done," she said.
     "One must think for oneself," said Manfred.
     So he gave it a try. When all his brothers and sisters, all his neighbours and friends metamorphosed into adult mayflies, Manfred took a nap on the riverbed. The mad crowd above the water blotted out the sun. By nightfall he was the only living mayfly in McLennan Hollow.
     As his thousands of nieces and nephews hatched and grew into young nymphs, Uncle Manfred's popularity grew with them. His size, his knowledge, his eloquence inspired the youngsters. They would regularly gather around his little nook to hear his famous stories. 
     "As a nymph I shall live forever," he told them. "I refuse to submit to our nonsensical traditions. One must think for oneself."
     His oratory made perfect sense to the impressionable young nymphs. "One must think for oneself," they repeated. Before long the whole community had heard the message. It was unanimous; they would think for themselves.
     The 15th of May came and went, and not a single mayfly nymph made the final moult into adulthood. Shortly after that, unexpectedly, Uncle Manfred was eaten by a frog. Through predator or storm, the community slowly went into decline and by the following May there were no more mayflies in McLennan Hollow.