Stories From The Old Attic | Page 7

whose gigantic teeth were too awful even to think about. But there were other evils that were not so distinct. Hideous and unimaginable these were, with tales of fish swimming into the area and never to be heard from again, vague reports of sudden disappearances, and some hysterical tales, impossible to make sense of, of leaping shadows, wild splashings, worms flying through the water, and such like.
The dangers of the rocky beach could not quite be isolated in the minds of the little fish, so that they felt a general sense of impending doom whenever they swam more than a few feet from home. That is why, one day when three little fish met each other suddenly among the reeds, they were all momentarily startled. But soon they began talking and relaxed a little. "This is a wonderful pond," said one. "It's so big. But I've never been this far away from home before."
"Me either," said another. "I just hope we're safe here in these reeds."
"I do too," agreed the third. "You never know where an enemy may come from."
"And you can't be too careful," added the first.
"By the way," said one, "my name is Swimmy Fish. What's yours?"
"Finny Fish," said another.
"I'm Chirpy Bird," said the third.
Swimmy Fish and Finny Fish gave a start, looked at each other with surprise and terror, and then swam off in opposite directions as fast as they could. "Wait!" cried Chirpy Bird. "What's wrong? Come back!" He looked around anxiously, himself frightened by their fright, though he could see no sign of danger anywhere. But their fear hung over the area, so he decided to swim toward home, at more than his usual speed.
He had not gone very far when he saw several adult fish swimming toward him with serious and half-frightened expressions on their faces. When they saw him, they stopped at a distance. "Stop there," one of them demanded, so Chirpy Bird stopped. The big fish seemed to be engaged in a solemn discussion. Every once in awhile one of them waved a fin or glanced in his direction. Finally, two of the largest fish approached a little nearer. "Don't make any sudden moves," the largest one, whose name was Glubber Fish, said with a mixture of command and pleading.
"I don't understand," the little fish said, bewildered.
"Are you Chirpy Bird?" asked Glubber Fish.
"Yes. I--"
"You must leave the pond." It was a tone of finality.
"But why?" asked Chirpy Bird.
"Because you'll soon be eating us and our children. Besides, birds don't live under water."
"But I'm not a bird," Chirpy Bird protested.
"What's your name?" demanded the other, who was called Spotted Fish.
"Chirpy Bird. But--"
"There you are," he said, with a tone of satisfaction.
"My name is Chirpy Bird," said the little one, "but I'm a fish."
"Nonsense," grumped Spotted Fish. "Whoever heard of a fish named Chirpy Bird?"
"Whether you've heard of me or not, here I am," said Chirpy Bird, not knowing what else to say.
"Totally illogical," interrupted Whisker Fish, who had just come near.
"As well as disrespectful and impudent," added Glubber fish.
"You must listen to reason," said Whisker Fish, self-importantly brushing himself in preparation. "And here it is: You are Chirpy Bird; granted. Birds eat fish; granted. Therefore, you eat fish."
"But--" Chirpy Bird tried to explain.
"There is no 'but.' It's a syllogism, and cannot be answered. The conclusion follows necessarily," said Whisker Fish. "It's pure logic."
"And it also follows," said Glubber fish, "that you must leave the pond."
"I'll die if I leave the pond," said Chirpy Bird.
"That's not our problem," said Glubber Fish.
"And it's an irrelevant objection," added Whisker Fish. The rest of the adult fish had gradually been easing forward during this conversation and now, at the direction of Glubber Fish, the whole group escorted Chirpy Bird down toward the rocky beach. In a few minutes they reached a low spot near a weeping willow, where several of the large fish grabbed Chirpy Bird and threw him onto the shore.
"Now fly away and leave us alone," one of them said. And leave them alone he did.

Man
Somewhere in a deep, tropical jungle lived a tribe of natives with extremely odd behavior. Generations ago the tribe had in some obscure fashion contracted a parasite which induced a seemingly permanent delirium in each native, and which was passed on to subsequent generations. The delirium increased with age, and most of the adult natives showed it by eating dirt, sleeping on dunghills, pummeling anthills with rocks even as the ants bit them severely, and jumping out of trees onto their heads. This last maneuver caused the natives to stagger around senseless for days, or simply to lie unconscious and bleeding in the sun and rain. All these symptoms together prevented the natives from caring for their personal lives, and so they lived in deplorable squalor, with their huts falling