The Nick Klaus's Fables

by Frederic Colier

  “We were walking down the street. I turned round and . . . they were gone,” the dog said, howling in pain. The cat scratched its head, considering.

  “What did they look like?”

  “Two humans with hair, only on their heads. Two long legs, with shoes with mangled shoelaces. Gum too stuck below the soles.”

  “Did they belong to you, these humans?” said the cat.

  “No, I belonged to them!”

  “Just what I thought, you haven’t lost anything. So why are you so sad?” said the cat tucking its paws back below its head. The dog stopped sniffing and raised its head for the first time. He peered around and then fled down the street.

  The Boots and The Stairs (#5)

  Two muddy heavy boots went up an old house’s wooden stairs.

  “Not so fast,” said the left boot out of breath. “These stairs are exhausting.”

  “Yes, they’re steep,” answered the right boot. “But we’re almost there.”

  The stairs was eavesdropping. “Oh stop whining both of you! You call me exhausting and steep?” interrupted the stairs. “You come up and down, never stop to say hello, and I go on working. You skip and shuffle, bounce and stomp, and even take breaks on my steps, and you don’t hear me whinging.”

  “You have no reason to complain old stairs, at least you don’t have to wear smelly socks the whole day,” said the boots in chorus.

  “But you don’t have people partying on your steps and dropping furniture that scrapes your back and breaks the life out of your banister. You two get to go to all these places and see the sun and the blue seas.”

  “Oh yeah?” said the left boot. “I’d like to see you going around the world with the same partner all the time. I always have to turn right when my nature fancies going left.”

  “Listen cantankerous fool, you don’t have to be in the cold and be covered with mud. You get swept and washed once a week,” added the right boot.

  “You don’t understand,” said the stairs. “I’d like to run back in the wood, smell the fresh grass, and feel the morning rain of my youth.”

  “May your wishes be granted,” said the left boot. “We belong to an engineer, who is here to install an elevator.”

  “And soon, all these people you’ve carried over the years, you’ll be left alone with their stories, neglected” added the right boot.

  The stairs fell silent, closed its eyes and reflected at the news.

  “Could you come back next summer?” it said, with a shaking voice.

  Two Fleas on a Rainy Day (#6)

  A pelting rain was falling, and two fleas, a mother and daughter, were waiting outside a hairdresser shop.

  “I don’t want to mess my hair. Shall we hitch a ride back?” said the mother.

  “Your rides itch me the wrong way?” said her daughter, without a smile. The mother grinned. First came a black greyhound. “Cool, we’ll be home in no time,” said the daughter.

  “Never ride a dog with short hair in a rain like this. If it shakes itself dry, we’re sure to fly off and end up walking ourselves to death,” said the mother.

  The daughter rolled her eyes. They waited and within a minute came this matted long-haired mutt lurching on a beaten leash at the end of which was attached a hunched limping woman. The mutt’s muzzle was vacuuming everything in sight. The daughter pulled a face. The mother’s eyes brightened.

  “Look at this coat. Thick and tangled. Must be a jungle in there.”

  “You sure? It’s slow like a snail,” the daughter said. Before she could blink, the mother had hopped on the little scruff ball. They landed both on the left hind leg.

  A family of fleas was sitting for dinner. They looked at their uninvited guests with unwelcome glances. Tongue-tied, mother and daughter retreated to the other hind leg. Groups of parents with their children waited eagerly in their swimsuits with masks and fins by a shaved patch. The mother twisted her lips: “Let’s go. This jungle’s too crowded.” But the daughter’s face brightened.

  Suddenly a rush of excitement came over the group. A huge wave crashed over the shaved patch as the dog trampled into a puddle, splashing everyone nearby. Mother and daughter were soaked, but their hair was spared. To make the matter worse, the Greyhound ran over, sniffed the shaved patch and licked it, swallowing the mother alive.

  “Missed me!” sneered the daughter, jumping onto the Greyhound’s muzzle, who just at this moment shook off all the water from his coat, sending the flea flying into the puddle of muddy water, messing up her hair.

  The Big Plastic Day (#7)

  Once upon a time there was a family of plastic bags, living tightly in a box at a grocery store. Huddled against each other, wrinkle-free, they keep each other company. Junior was different. He stuck out slightly from the pile and already had wrinkles. But the family forgave his messiness. His humor was welcome while the family waited during the cold and damp winter months for the big day.

  The big day arrived the following week. The family members held their breath at the end of the register’s belt. First went the seniors, all stuffed with toilet paper and boxes of tissues. Then the parents, with fresh vegetables and roasted chicken and spices. And then the children, with junk food, candies, and ice cream. Junior was among them but bloated and sweating, trying not to burst. The family frowned at him not to cry.

  Luckily, they all headed towards the same cart. The family rejoiced at staying together, moving to their new house and embracing a new life. Junior was last to come on board. But as he was lifted up, one of his creased handles broke. Right away, he was discarded. Junior looked from the floor, his family been carted away. He called and cried, but shamed, they turned their back on the damaged bag.

  That night, the cleaners shoved Junior in the trash. The next day, the wind blew strong and sent Junior reeling up in the air, tumbling down a street, and getting hooked on a pole at a market fair. A beggar found it. He tied the broken handle with a knot and took Junior to the local dumpster to fetch his dinner.

  At the dumpster, the beggar filled Junior with leftover vegetables and chicken. Junior was confident and strong again. The knot was solid. The beggar threw Junior over his shoulder, and Junior noticed his family, kicking and screaming inside a blue bag, at the bottom of the dumpster. Still, he shed a tear, as helpless he was carried away.

  Pony Tale (#8)

  In a crowded subway car, two ponytails stood across each other. One was long, jet-black and silky, and looked stiff. The other was long blond, curly and looked rather sad. The black tail kept bouncing sideways while the blond one kept observing quietly. After a while, the blond tail caught the black ponytail’s attention. “Would you take my picture,” it asked.

  “Why should I take your picture? I don’t know you,” answered the black tail.

  “If you take my picture, then you’ll know me.”

  “What makes you think I want to get to know you?” answered the black tail.

  Morose, the blond tail reflected for a while. The black tail just rode along, looking off in the distance, unbothered by the blond ponytail’s begging glances.

  “This is a very sad day for me,” it said after a while. “My owner is taking me to the abattoir.”

  Intrigued, the black tail looked askance. “What do you mean?”

  “I heard it last night. In an hour or so they’re going to cut off most of me . . .” Too distraught, the blond tail couldn’t finished its sentence.

  “You mean like you’re going to end up all chopped up on the floor.”

  The blond tail looked down without swaying.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll grow back long and strong,” said the black tail sighing.

  “It took a lifetime it took to get this long.”

  “Still I envy you,” added the black ponytail. The blond ponytail looked up full of curiosity for the first time. The black ponytail continued: “I may look all pretty and silky, but I will never grow again. You see I’m just completely fake. I don’t get greasy, do
n’t need a trim. I’m a wig that should live in a museum.”

  Feeling terrible for the black wig, the blond ponytail took a deep breath. It grabbed its camera and took a picture of the black ponytail.

  The Front Tooth’s Journey (#9)

  The baby front tooth was unhappy when it learned that someday it would have to go on a long journey. It was so mad that it refused to talk to its baby sister and brother teeth for two days. On the third day, while everyone was still half-asleep, with nervous giggles to reassure itself, it stated: “I like milk and candies best! No way I’m ever going to let anyone deprive me of them.” Proud and firmly still it stood in the gum, while the other baby teeth yawned. Upset that no one listened, the baby front tooth repeated itself, hoping for some understanding. But breakfast came, and all of the teeth went to work. The front baby tooth shone, chewed twice as hard, with pride, to forget the rumor that it had heard. Something unpleasant, however, was brewing.

  Towards lunchtime, it woke up with a sore. At first it pretended nothing was wrong. It was too afraid to fidget and looked around as if all was well. The other teeth were chatting away, quibbling over what was coming their way for lunch. Then the front tooth felt something shifting down its waist. The gum was loose. Like a carrot ill-planted, the tooth was swinging.

  “Apparently, the big teeth are coming soon,” it heard a baby upper molar state. “How do you know that?” asked a baby lower molar.

  “I can feel you crushing and pushing me,” said the upper molar.

  Terrified, the baby front tooth pretended to be tired. It yawned and mumbled something at the remark.

  By dinner the wiggling could no longer be ignored. The baby front tooth was losing its tether. A neighbor, known for its pranks, noticed the front tooth swaying. The baby front tooth shrunk back in fear.

  “Ah, say you what to this joggle? Lucky you to have such a wobble.”

  “Is it true I’m heading for a long journey?” whispered the baby front tooth.

  “You can’t jiggle without wriggling even less wriggle without jiggling. Off you go to the land of fairies.”

  “Of fairies?” repeated the front tooth, eyes wide open. “But I’m a baby front tooth. What would I do there?”

  “You’ll spend the night in a bed. Alone. Most likely inside a box. Under a pillow. And then a fairy will come and scoop you out.”

  “But I’m not an ice-cream!” said the baby front tooth feeling the scraping and digging pain. “I want to stay here, drink my milk and munch my candies.”

  “Then run before it’s too late,” suggested the prankster.

  Without waiting another second, the baby front tooth climbed out of its gum’s socket, saying: “I’m not afraid of fairies, but that does not mean I want to meet them.”

  Too late, the front tooth fell into the mouth.

  All the other baby teeth burst into laughter and clapped away. Far from being afraid, the baby front tooth giggled, while bouncing and bobbing and rolling on the tongue. It got pushed to the edge of the throat. The baby tooth clung with all its might not to fall into the stomach. Then came a cough. And without even saying its goodbye, while seeing the light of day for the first time, off it went on its fairy’s journey.

  When We Grow Up (#10)

  Sheltered from the strong currents by a heavy ocean rock, a group of baby lobsters were gathered in a circle around Ms. lobster teacher. Except for Feisty who stood half way hiding below the rock, unwilling to participate. Ms. lobster teacher noticed Feisty and cracked a smile.

  “Today, we’re going to talk about what we would like to do when we grow up. Who would like to start?”

  “I’d like to be a shipwreck cleaner,” said the first baby lobster in the front row, fishing for praise with swift glances towards the other baby lobsters.

  “A shipwreck cleaner,” repeated Ms. lobster teacher, clapping her claws. That is wonderful.”

  “I’d like to be a bottle collector,” squeaked the voice of a baby lobster in the back row.

  “Does anyone know why one of your classmates wants to be a bottle collector?” said Ms. lobster teacher. No one replied. “Because there are many bottles lying at the bottom of the ocean, and someone has to take care of them.”

  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.