THE WILLOW THAT GIGGLED or THE WILLOW THAT WOULD NOT WEEP
Once upon a time there gently ebbed, far from any man's brick hotel, a brightly shimmering deep blue lake. Out of the rich earth upon one side of that lake sprang a tangled olive jungle, whilst over on the other shore a vast ochre wilderness sprawled. The jungle was a noisome place for it was filled with sumptuous foods, making it popular with more wild creatures than could ever be counted; whilst the desert lay like a giant hoary blanket, upon which all further life would be snagged and scorched by the sun to its dusty doom.
But before we go any further, here is an odd little fact: When this story was told for the very first time, the lake and the jungle and the vast wilderness, too, were known by a great many names in a great many languages. But none of those names had been invented, or ever used, by any Man.
At the water's very edge, quite away from the jungle and just where the sand dunes began, there miraculously clung, and even thrived in that utterly difficult place, a single handsome tree. A Weeping Willow it was, to use a man-made name: young and strong and thick with good sap. From an emerald mound all studded with ruby-flushed poppies it sprouted, that wonderful temple to Nature, like a veritable frozen fountain of leaves. And thanks to that tree's merciful shade varieties of exotic grasses flourished around and about, and unusual wild weeds and queer bulbs, all quite delicious; and the picturesque emerald mound and its flora stayed cool as the underground waters from which the Willow drank, even at the height of the most toasting and not-far-away doom-riddled day.
All manner of creatures would, when schedule allowed, leave their neighbouring hectic jungle home to visit and chew excellent cud, sup the crisp water and generally indulge in a mindless or contemplative, balmy rest...
But wait, here is a second odd little fact to digest: Every now and again the potent, sleepy air of this nicely described haven was occasionally, and quite rudely, shaken and stirred right down to those nicely described roots. Perhaps surprisingly, these most irritating of interruptions originated from deep within the umbrella of the Willow itself - and not from the snout of any irksome creature among the foliage there, neither. For this Willow did not weep as might justly be expected of it; but rather, it giggled and snickered and tittered like quite a silly twit.
"Why do you giggle and snicker and titter like a twit, when you should weep with solemn dignity as your forefathers have wept since the birth of creation?" asked some wordy animals come to lounge in the cool shade during the hottest and laziest hour of a very lazy, very hot day.
"I have forgotten what it is I should weep for," answered the Willow plainly, apparently in the finest of spirits.
"Why," complained a frowning buzzard from its stone perch at the water's edge, "you should weep for the birds which hatch from their nests and fall to the ground or are stolen by snakes before they can take to wing!"
"Un-clever birds," giggled the Willow, "If they cannot fly, then why are they born in a nest open to all Natures elements, way up high in a tree filled with snakes?"
"You are a giddy tree," said the buzzard, "and not serious enough to converse with!" and he snapped at the pleasant air with his sharp speckled beak to show that he was out of sorts.
"You should weep for the fish which are called to their homes and are dashed on the rocks and are lost!" said a frowning salmon from a ripple in the lake.
"Idiot fish!" snickered the Willow, "I've heard that they swim upstream, up treacherous falls and up mountains. Are they mad? Should they fly too? They can weep for themselves while I laugh!"
"You are certainly a giddy tree," said the salmon, "and not at all serious!" and he thrashed his pink-silver tail in the water to demonstrate, rather prettily, that he too was out of sorts.
"Then you should weep for the ants which are drowned off logs and eaten by beasts and are scattered by hooves and by fire," said a frowning queen-ant from a tuft.
"Ants are as foolish as fish!" tittered the Willow, "I have observed their trails around my roots while they march in sticky procession. When catastrophe strikes and the leader is thrown, the others will follow in thousands. Indeed, there would appear to be a serious shortage of wings in your peculiar animal world!" said the Willow to all present, well pleased with its joke; and to the further annoyance of its prosecutors once more rustled and shook with dry laughter.
"You are the most giddy of trees," said the queen-ant, "with not a leaf of seriousness about you!" and she batted her own smallest of wings almost imperceptibly together, flapping herself quite out of temper.
"Willow, you are shameful!" said a stag with a high back, also frowning. "Listen to me now," he gravely dictated, "as you should listen to ALL your betters; and then listen to your own wooden conscience:
It is your Natural and eternal duty to weep for the running deer brought down by the arrows of blood-hungry men, and for the great wild cats caught up in the traps of blood-greedy men. It is your Natural and eternal duty to weep for the elephant bulls, cut down and robbed with the weapons of blood-selfish men, and for the gentle whales, hewn to pieces with the evil devices of blood-guilty men. You are quite insupportably shameful!" barked the high backed stag once again, now with three great smacking 'tuts' and a judicial shake
of his great mossy antlers.
"I believe I support myself beautifully," retorted the Willow with no hint of indignation, "and I need not be ashamed of holding myself up, against all conspiring odds, in pleasant spirits. This I accomplish with no great deal of effort by observing foolishness where foolishness lies, and by thinking what I will, or what I won't, about it. Perhaps, Stag, if those prancing deer did not race on the plains in blind panic, but minded their business high in the hills and out of the way of men; and those arrogant cats did not blunder and trespass, but minded THEIR business deep in the bush and out of the paths of men: if those lumbering elephants traded sharp tusks for sharper wits, and minded THEIR business out of the gun-sights of men; and those extrovert whales swam deeper and further from shore, keeping their broadsides out of the range of stick-hurling men... Why, now, take my example," lectured the Willow, ever more smug and expansive. "I do not scatter and leap, crying IMMINENT MURDER! thus risking my limbs in a madcap fashion. I mind my business, here on my mound, enjoying the air (and even the airs of my sensible friends) and consider my luck and my charms, which are large and many. And let me add: I do not lecture to others or tell who should weep and who not! Now say with more honest words, gloomy fellows, where is my fault?"
"Your fault," proclaimed the stag with his back very high in the air," is in the un-Natural hardness of your wood. It is in your arrogance, in your ignorance of world current affairs, in your dizziness; and above all" (and here he clapped a hollow hoof on a flat rock to demonstrate his highest annoyance) "in your childish refusal to be serious."
"In which ONE respect," snorted the Willow, "I happily admit, high-stag, that you are as right as right: I do refuse whole-heartedly to be serious."
"Tree! You HAVE no heart!"
"Naturally! - And savingly, stag, we differ in a second respect: I hereby gladly and openly own to having the tonic of a streak of humour running through my hard grain. For, to plead my case, if plead my case I must, though I certainly must NOT and plead it here for my own pleasure only; I am very young in this surprising world and see in it yet things to amuse me wherever I cast my glance. And," added the Willow airily, as if no other occupation existed, "I do so enjoy casting my glance..." upon which all the animals and insects, and perhaps even vegetables had they been listened to, tutted and huffed and chatted and squeaked their complaints together, quite as if they believed that all their world-views thrown together in a voice might make the slightest impression upon this, the most ear-less of Willows.
"I believe," said a black ape at last, scowling down from one of the Willow's own branches, "that if you would cast your glance further than your own stubborn roots, and trimmed a branch or two from your hampering fringe, then you would see clearly ALL the things in our world - and it be YOUR world just as much - over which you simply MUST weep. For then you would weep HEARTILY, regardless of the deficiencies in your wood, for this lake, which will dry with the damming and draining of prospecting men. You would weep RESPECTFULLY for the river and her tenants which will choke on the poisons of guileful men. You would weep HUMBLY for the seas and the skies beyond, which will clog with the traffic and waste of ingenious men. And you will weep IN EARNEST for our own home the jungle, which will burn and tumble at the hands and boots of all-powerful men. I do declare, Thickest of Trees, to laugh in the face of all of our doom is folly, and an insult to all that Naturally struggles to live!"
"Pray, who speaks of folly and insult?" enquired the Willow breezily. "I will tell you who. One who SPRAWLS beneath my hospitable shelter and shade; one who SUCKS the sweet sap from my sensitive twigs; one who PLUCKS the rich grubs from my shapely bough: in short, one who returns year after year with his frolicking mates to proclaim, 'Is this not the most glorious of Willows in the most glorious of scenes? Are we not happiest here where all is at peace? Are not the Heavens of a pleasanter hue and the light on the lake more playful and keen, when glimpsed from this wholesome mound, through these delicate filtering skirts?'
Yes, black ape, it would be folly indeed if I must whine and howl like a complaining beast over life's distant abstractions and not share in the treasures, of which I am a very good part. It is YOU who insult, black ape, with all your black words and ingratitude! And understand this: I simply shall not be pressed and bullied into weeping before I am quite ready and settled on it myself. For you see - and here I will tell you a thing you already know very well, though you pretend in your huff to overlook it - I am well aware that I am destined to weep, only, I'm putting it off for a while."
And now the Willow addressed all the assembled world, as if to settle the point:
"Perhaps it is because my skin is thick that I do not mind your harsh words, your snappings, your thrashings, your battings and your clappings upon stones. I overlook my favours being taken daily for granted as I overlook raw manners and bad behavior. Indeed, I hope you ALL continue to visit, and that your off-spring shall visit, and that your off-spring's off-spring shall visit, for as long as my trunk is joined to a branch and for as long as my leaves are nourished and nourishing. For you see, I lean on this mound to give pleasure, Naturally and eternally, to all those who seek it, and even to those who don't. And in return, my hot-blooded friends, I enjoy (if you will allow me this at least, and even if you won't) your eccentric company. In fact," disclosed the Willow in a mood of growing, if ham-acted, generosity, "I prosper from your companionship as I prosper from the rays of our Good Sun. I cherish your acquaintance as I cherish the vital waters which fall to our lake from the Good Heavens. Why, I grow from my dealings with you quite as I grow from the minerals found by my roots within the Very Good Earth herself! For what should I do otherwise, in this place or any other, without such delightfully difficult companions of such delightfully serious patronage?"
And the Willow, now comfortably enwrapped in the most benevolent and carefree of spirits, stirred the cooling atmosphere for the very last time with a large giggle, a loud snigger, and a long, long, leaf-letting titter.
"I'LL TELL YOU WHAT YOU OUGHT TO WEEP FOR," said a Man coming up in a boat (and now, of a sudden, not a delightful companion to be heard from or seen all about). "You ought to weep for your valuable self," said the Man, in fairly high spirits himself. "For I be a lumberjack and contracted to a great company in England to search out and fell good Willows like yourself for good willow-wood, to be chopped into bats for a game," and without the wastage of a further comment he unwrapped a heavy axe, and oiled it, and spat on his hands and chalked them; and set promptly about fulfilling the terms of his contract.
"Oh," declared the Willow, for once without a quip, "are you certain you make no mistake?"
"It is not my business to make mistakes," said the Man, and he swung his axe true and hard.
"That is surely so. But to be earnest for one short moment," pressed the Willow, "are you quite certain you make no mistake?"
"Earnest as you like, tree; I make no mistakes," said the Man, and he swung his axe again, and upon that, once again, and upon that, once again.
"But I feel I must insist," pursued the Willow, with the trace of a stammer about it now, "that you stop for a moment and consider my question. You sweat, do you see? For you are striking hard, and one cannot think hard whilst one is striking hard. For the last time I say to you: can it not be that you are making a mistake?"
And for a moment the man did stop, and wipe his brow with a nice leather neckerchief, and take a drink from a nicely carved ivory flask, and stretch and jiggle his dampened back and shoulders, and say, "I am really quite certain I make no mistake. Now, if you will forgive me (and even if you won't), and if my honest answer to your fair-enough question has eased your mind (and even if it hasn't, if indeed you have a mind, which I doubt); I have much to get on with this day," and he wielded his axe again and again in hard and resolute fists.
"Then on this day I quite understand," said the Willow after three or four chops more, beginning to lose both hold and balance, "that it is you that I must weep for. Yes, that is my task, as I discover at last; as that has been the task of my Fathers since the birth of your Fathers. I am put on this mound to weep for YOU, Mr Man! But do you know a thing? As you stand here before me performing your Manly duties, within my sight and senses, even within the most private realms of my petticoats: do you know that I do not feel very much like weeping for you? (though I do not feel either like giggling!)"
"I never asked you to weep," said the Man circling the trunk to take a new aim. "I do not care if you weep or fall over laughing. I will have you reduced and in tow of my boat without dally. For, being a Man of my word, and of honour, I must earn my living and collect my deserts for the effort..."
And at precisely that moment, three large stones fell from the Good Heavens, to land slap square on the lumberjack's head with a CRACK! and then another CRACK! and then another CRACK!
After the moment of deathly hush which followed, the lumberjack, still clutching his axe, toppled with all his mustered honour to the ground. Then, after the moment of deathly hush which followed that, the black ape called down from his branch - between giggles it has to be said: "Oh, you poor Man! What catastrophe! What calamity! I do beg your pardon!"
"Oh dear! Oh my trunk!" exclaimed the Willow at a further loss of its bearings.
"Oh, you poor Man. I do beg your pardon!" sniggered the high backed stag, as he prodded the lumberjack to the edge of the lake with his great mossy antlers.
"Oh dear! Oh my trunk!" stuttered the Willow, regaining an inch of balance.
"Oh, you poor Man, I do beg your pardon!" tittered the queen ant, as her ten thousand soldiers, upon her command, lifted the lumberjack into his boat.
"Oh dear! Oh my trunk!" stammered the Willow, losing a foot to the sway.
"Oh, you poor Man, I do beg your pardon!" gurgled the salmon, as he pulled on a rope and tugged the boat away into the middle of the lake.
"But dear, dear! Oh, dear dear Willow!" exclaimed the buzzard as he hopped up onto a lower branch (and almost fell right off). "What catastrophe! What calamity! Tell me, are you deeply wounded?"
"Well now," considered the Willow visually shaken, "I certainly do feel giddy."
"Oh, dear dear Willow!" said the buzzard again, "is there anything at all I can do for you?"
And the Willow, swaying drunkenly whilst making an effort to clearly think, replied, "Actually, yes, buzzard, there probably is. Will you fly to that boat and take a glance at that Man, and tell me if he appears to recover?"
"If you will endeavor to remain where you stand," said the buzzard, "I will be back in a dozen flaps!"
And so he did and so he was (though it had taken him more like twenty).
"Quickly, buzzard, what did you see?" enquired the Willow, yet standing (yet wobbling too) on his return.
"Yes, what did you see?" enquired the ape.
"Yes, what did you see?" enquired the stag.
"Yes, what did you see?" enquired the queen-ant.
"Yes, what did you see?" enquired the salmon.
(work in progress)
