The Eldest Lion squinted at him through cataract–fogged eyes, mumbling to himself. «Talks nicely, for a lunch. Nobody speaks properly anymore.» Raising his deep, ragged voice, he inquired, «I will grant your request, civilized lunch. What wisdom will you have of me?»
For a moment the words he had come such a distance to say stuck in the young ostrich's throat (it is not true that ostriches can swallow and digest anything); but then they came tumbling out of him in one frantic burst. «Can you lions see us when we bury our heads in the sand? Are we really invisible? Because I don't think we are.»
It seemed to the young ostrich that the Eldest Lion — most likely due to senility — had not understood the question at all. He blinked and sneezed and snorted, and the ostrich thought he even drooled, just a trifle. Only after some time did the ostrich realize that the Eldest Lion was, after his fashion, laughing.
«Invisible?» the ancient feline rumbled. «Invisible? Your stupidity is a legend among my people. We tell each other ostrich jokes as we sprawl in the sun after a kill, drowsily blowing away the feathers. Even the tiniest cub — even an ancestor like myself, half–blind and three–quarters dead — even we marvel at the existence of a creature so idiotic as to believe that hiding its head could keep it safe. We regard you as the gods' gift to our own idiots, the ones who can't learn to hunt anything else, and would surely starve but for you.»
His laughter turned into a fusillade of spluttering coughs, and the young ostrich began to move cautiously away, because a lion's cough does not always signify illness, no matter how old he is. But the Eldest Lion called him back, grunting, «Wait a bit, my good lunch, I enjoy chatting with you. It's certainly a change from trying to make conversation with people whose jaws are occupied chewing my food for me. If you have other questions for me — though I dare not hope that a second could possibly be as foolish as that first — then, by all means, ask away.» He lay down heavily, with his paws crossed in front of him, so as to appear less threatening.
«I have only one further question, great lord," the young ostrich ventured, «but I ask it with all my heart. If you were an ostrich — " here he had to pause for a time, because the Eldest Lion had gone into an even more tumultuous coughing spasm, waving him silent until he could control himself. «Tell me, if you were an ostrich, how would you conceal yourself from such as yourself? Lions, leopards, packs of hyenas and wild dogs … what would be your tactic?» He held his breath, waiting for the answer.
«It is extremely difficult for me to conceive of such an eventuality," the Eldest Lion replied grandly, «but one thing seems obvious, even to someone at the very top of the food chain. To bury your head while continuing to expose your entire body strikes me as the height of absurdity — "
«Exactly what I've been telling them and telling them!» the young ostrich broke in excitedly.
The Eldest Lion gave him a look no less imperious and menacing for being rheumy. «I ate the last person who interrupted me," he remarked to the air.
The ostrich apologized humbly, and the Eldest Lion continued, «As I was saying, the truly creative approach would be to reverse the policy, to keep the body hidden, leaving only the head visible — and thus, I might add, much better able to survey the situation.» He paused for a moment, and then added thoughtfully, «I will confide to you, naive lunch, that we lions are not nearly as crafty as you plainly suppose. We are creatures of habit, of routine, as indeed are most animals. Faced with an ostrich head sticking out of the sand, any lion would blink, shake his own head, and seek a meal somewhere else. I can assure you of this.»
«Bury the body, not the head! Yes … yes … oh, yes!» The young ostrich was actually dancing with delight, which is a rare thing to see, and even the Eldest Lion's wise, weary, wicked eyes widened at the sight. «Thank you, sir — sir, thank you! What a wonder, imagine — you, a lion, have changed the course of ostrich history!» About to race off, he hesitated briefly, saying, «Sir, I would gladly let you devour me, out of gratitude for this revelation, but then there would be no one to carry the word back to my people, and that would be unforgivable of me. I trust you understand my dilemma?»
«Yes, yes, oh,yes," the Eldest Lion replied in grumbling mimicry. «Go away now. I see my lionesses coming home, bringing me a much tastier meal than gristly shanks and dusty feathers. Go away, silly lunch.»
The two lionesses were indeed returning, and the young ostrich evaded their interest, not by burying any part of himself in the sand or elsewhere, but by taking to his heels and striding away at his best speed. He ran nearly all the way home, so excited and exalted he was by the inspiration he carried. Nor did he stop to rest, once he arrived, but immediately began spreading the words of wisdom that he had received from the Eldest Lion. «The body, not the head! All these generations, and we've been doing it all wrong! It's the body we bury, not the head!» He became an evangel of the new strategy, traveling tirelessly to proclaim his message to any and every ostrich who would listen. «It's the body, not the head!»
Some time afterward, one of the Eldest Lion's lionesses, who had been away visiting family, reported noticing a number of ostriches who, upon sighting her, promptly dug themselves down into the sand until only their heads, perched atop mounds of earth, remained visible, gazing down at her out of round, solemn eyes. «You've never seen anything like it," she told him. «They looked like fuzzy cabbages with beaks.»
The Eldest Lion stared at her, wide–eyed as one of the ostriches. «They bought it?» he growled in disbelief. «Oh, you're kidding. They really … with their heads really sticking up? All of them?»
«Every one that I saw," the lioness replied. «I never laughed so much in my life.»
«They bought it," the Eldest Lion repeated dazedly. «Well, I certainly hope you ate a couple at least, to teach them … well, to teach them something.» He was seriously confused.
But the lioness shook her head. «I told you, I was laughing too hard even to think about eating.» The Eldest Lion retired to the darkest corner of his cave and lay down. He said nothing further then, but the two lionesses heard him muttering in the night, over and over, «Who knew? Who knew?»
And from that day to this, unique to that region of Africa, all ostriches respond to peril by burying themselves instantly, leaving only their heads in view. No trick works every time; but considering that predators are almost invariably reduced to helpless, hysterical laughter at the ridiculous sight — lions have a tendency to ruptures, leopards to actual heart attacks — the record of survival is truly remarkable.
Moraclass="underline" Stupidity always wins, as long as it's stupid enough.
The Fable of the Octopus
Once, deep down under the sea, down with the starfish and the sting rays and the conger eels, there lived an octopus who wanted to see God.
Octopi are among the most intelligent creatures in the sea, and shyly thoughtful as well, and this particular octopus spent a great deal of time in profound pondering and wondering. Often, curled on the deck of the sunken ship where he laired, he would allow perfectly edible prey to swim or scuttle by, while he silently questioned the here and the now, the if and the then, and — most especially — the may and the might and the why. Even among his family and friends, such rumination was considered somewhat excessive, but it was his way, and it suited him. He planned eventually to write a book of some sort, employing his own ink for the purpose. It was to be called Concerns of a Cephalopod, or possibly Mollusc Meditations.