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“Have you heard the old fable about the Fox and the Crow?”
“Aesop. Of course I have.”
“Well, there’s another version. One that isn’t as widely known.”
“Oh?”
“Might I share it with you now?”
“Certainly. I’m quite intrigued.”
Once, there was a Crow perched on a branch.
And before I forget: the Crow loved to sing, but his songs were always dictated by the sort of people who kept him in cages. This part is usually left out of retellings, though.
“Why is that?”
“It made him appear too… sympathetic, I believe.”
Back to the branch. The Crow had a piece of cheese in his beak; one he’d soon feast on for lunch. The type of cheese is never specified, and I cannot help but wonder…
“Pick one and move on, please.”
Alright. The Crow had a piece of Gouda in his beak.
Along came a Fox, who was just as hungry as the Crow. He smelled his Gouda lunch, and sat beneath the branch, licking his lips. The Crow took one look at the Fox’s sharp teeth and was immediately suspicious. However, he couldn’t voice these concerns with cheese in his beak, so he remained silent.
“Why,” the Fox announced, “aren’t you a beautiful bird? Such sleek feathers, too—if it weren’t overcast, I’d imagine they shine like obsidian in the midday sun.”
“The Fox certainly isn’t doing much to prove he’s not suspicious.”
“May I see your wings a bit closer?”
The Crow had no intent to oblige. He’d met his fair share of flatterers, and was smart enough not to cave so easily. He shook his head.
The Fox seemed disappointed, though he didn’t pry. “Oh well, that’s alright.”
“Seriously…?”
“What?”
“Where’s the conflict? The moral? Isn’t the Fox supposed to compliment the Crow until he drops his cheese? He was punished for opening his beak, and for trusting flatterers. This version of the Fox has hardly done much flattering.”
“You’re acting as if this is the end. Be patient.”
Before the Fox left, those obsidian feathers reminded him of something. “I’ve heard you sing!” he called out. “Several moons ago, when the sun made your feathers shine, I was drawn to your voice from this very branch. You sounded most incredible!” He grinned, and his gaping maw sent shivers down the Crow’s back. “I would love to hear you sing again!”
The Fox’s schemes were far too obvious. If he couldn’t reach the Crow, he’d have his lunch instead. Next, he’d tell him exactly what song to sing.
“Ah, I see your mouth is full,” the Fox continued. “Perhaps I should come back another day, when you aren’t so preoccupied.”
“Again!?”
“What?”
“The Fox never commits to his flattery! If he wants the Crow’s cheese, he’s doing an awfully poor job of trying to get it!”
“What if that isn’t what he wants?”
“Then why is he even here? This retelling seems rather pointless, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you.”
So the Fox left without the Crow’s cheese, and without hearing him sing. But like he’d suggested, he returned a few days later.
The Crow was eating berries this time, though the specific type is still never specified.
“You choose.”
“Huh?”
“I chose Gouda. Which berries do you want the Crow to be eating?”
“Uhhh… cranberries, I guess.”
The Crow was eating berries this time—cranberries, to be exact. He knew why the Fox approached him now; why he’d approached that first day, too. He wanted his food, his voice, and maybe his feathers, if his strange fixation with them meant anything.
“Hello, Crow!” the Fox said cheerfully. “It’s a wonderful day today, and your feathers look just as radiant as I remember!”
“Again with the compliments. I bet the Fox couldn’t give a damn about his feathers.”
“Again with the assumptions. How are you certain the Fox has malicious intentions?”
“No one who praises others so freely truly does it for free.”
The Crow, of course, was having none of it. He kept the berries shielded beneath his wing, and his beak shut tight.
“Now that your beak is free of cheese, might I hear a song from you?” the Fox asked.
He had no cranberries in his mouth, yet the Crow refused to open his beak. He wouldn’t sing for him, and he certainly wouldn’t show off his feathers and risk losing his stash. The Fox could plead and praise all he wanted. In the end, he’d leave without a song or a snack, and if he was smart (which the Crow doubted), he’d give up his pursuit.
Noticing the Crow wouldn’t speak, the Fox clarified, “I’m a stranger, I know, and you’ve no reason to trust me. Perhaps you’d be so inclined if I gave you something for your time. I’ve procured quite a few things over the years that could be of interest to you.”
“I bet he’s lying.”
The Fox left once more, and returned the next day with an object of his own in his mouth. From his perch, the Crow couldn’t make out what it was, but it shimmered a little in the light. For all he knew, it was sharp enough to cut his wings off.
“Crow! Come see what I’ve brought you!”
The Fox lifted his head to show him, and the object reflected the sunlight straight into the Crow’s eyes. He shrieked, frantically flapping his wings, which inadvertently caused him to knock his food off the branch.
“Are you alright!? My sincerest apologies!” the Fox cried, but the damage had already been done. The Crow’s food lay at his paws, covered in dirt and grass.
“You didn’t fool me! I knew it! I knew it all along!”
And the Crow flew away without another word.
“The end.”
“That’s it!?”
“Yes. Wasn’t the original fable even shorter?”
“…”
“You seem a bit disappointed.”
“Sorry, I lost track of time. I have to go.”
“So soon?”
“I’ll… consider this story more later. Goodbye, Yusuke.”
“Goodbye, Goro.”