Cobwebs from an Empty Skull revisited
The following are updated fables from Ambrose Bierce’s 1874 short story collection, Cobwebs from an Empty Skull. They have been updated by myself to introduce their messages to a new audience. The epigrams remain unaltered.—Enjoy, Cooper Baltis
Published on Wednesday January 11, 2012 in the UB Post.
Timon never knew he would end up in the Gobi Desert, stuck with nothing but a camel, the shirt on his back, a large knife attached to his belt and a pair of scratched sunglasses. His throat was parched and the skin on his nose and the back of his neck was blistering. He was hot and lonely, grief-stricken and scared. Having no one else to talk to, Timon asked the camel what his thoughts were on turning back and going to the last oasis they had passed.
“Personally, I have no desire to go back to the oasis,” said the camel, spitting at a lizard scattering nearby. “That was two days ago and truthfully, I’ve seen better oases.”
“I agree. I too have visited better oases,” Timon said. “Maybe if I carried two tanks full of water on my back, I wouldn’t be dying of thirst. Listen camel, I can’t go on any further.”
“Well, I’m not going anywhere but straight. I have enough water in my two humps to last for quite some time,” argued the camel. “It looks like we have ourselves a little problem here.”
“Well, if you won’t go back and I won’t go forward, we can only remain here in the middle of the desert,” Timon said, hopping off the camel.
“True, but soon enough you will die of thirst,” the camel replied.
“Not so,” Timon said, looking at the camel over the rims of his sunglasses.
As the camel dropped to his knees to rest, Timon pulled the knife from his belt, assassinated the camel and appropriated the water from his humps.
A compromise is not always a settlement satisfactory to both parties.
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The same man named Timon was trying to cross a rather large wall after escaping from the Gobi with a belly full of camel meat. As he neared the top of the wall, a slathering bull ran to his assistance. The bull struck Timon’s backside, catapulting the tall man over the fence. Timon stood, dusted off his slacks and turned away from the bull.
“You are welcome,” the bull called out, upset that Timon had forgotten to thank him. “Assisting you was my duty.”
“Some duty,” Timon said, turning back towards the bull. “Next time, keep your horns to yourself. I did not require your services in the least bit.”
“Seriously? Out of the benevolence of my beefy bull heart, I helped you get over the fence and all you can say to me is good riddance? Did you not want to reach the other side?” the bull snorted, the thick ring from his nostril gleaming in the countryside sun.
“Of course I wanted to reach the other side of the fence,” Timon said, waving his hands at the bull, “but I could have done it better myself.”
This fable teaches that while the end is everything, the means is something.
A young rooster was flirting with a pretty hen one morning at a barn outside Nashville, Kentucky.
“Layin’ eggs isn’t that hard,” he boasted, leaning against a rusty pick-ax. “Heck, I once laid four eggs in three days.”
“Did you?” she laughed, battering her lashes. “How did you manage to do that?”
Not answering her, the young rooster turned his back on the hen and addressed himself a couple young chicks that were pecking at a worm.
“Hey, pay attention to me,” he said. “I once laid an egg...”
The chicks chirped, ripped the worm apart and passed on, ignoring him. The young rooster, red with ire, strutted his way up to the oldest rooster in the barn. He puffed his chest and looked the big bird straight in the beak.
“I once laid an egg,” he began.
The old rooster nodded gradually, as if a rooster laying an egg were an everyday occurrence.
“Well?” the young rooster asked, ruffling his feathers again and standing taller.
“I once laid an egg next to a watermelon,” the old rooster said wearily. “I compared the two. The vegetable was considerably larger.”
This fable is intended to show the absurdity of hearing all a man has to say.
@Fool: You tweeted the other day that happiness is the sole aim of man.
@Philosopher: True, it is.
@ Fool: But how can you be certain? The sole aim of man has always been disputed.
@Philosopher: Most men find personal happiness in disputation.
@Fool: Socrates once said…
@Philosopher: Stop it right there! I detest foreigners, especially foreign philosophers.
@Fool: Wisdom, they say, is of no country.
@Philosopher: Yes, of none that I’ve seen.
@Fool: I’ve been thinking about what you said. Why do you hate foreigners?
@Philosopher: I hate them simply because I am human.
@Fool: Yes, but so are they.
@Philosopher: Excellent fool! I thank thee for the better reason.
A hippopotamus drinking at a sandy river bed in Africa was surprised to see an alligator lying with his mouth open. He huffed and stopped directly in front the gator.
“My toothy friend, you may as well shut that ugly mouth of yours. You are not large enough to embrace me,” the hippopotamus said, wagging his little curly tail in agitation.
“I really wasn’t expecting to attempt it,” replied the alligator. “I try and extend my hospitality to everyone I meet here.”
“You remind me,” said the hippopotamus petulantly, “of a certain zebra who was far from vicious. He went around these parts kicking the breath out of just about anything that passed behind him. After the other animals got wind of it, everyone around here just made sure never to walk behind him. Easy enough.”
“It’s not important what I remind you of,” the alligator replied, sinking his teeth into the Hippo’s leg.
The lesson conveyed by this fable is a very beautiful one.
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