The Fable of Man

It was a dark night, and shadows stretched across the curving shape of the Earth. Lights like jewels twinkled and glimmered over Land and Sea.

“Tell us a story,” said the stars to the Moon.

The Moon smiled her creamy-white half smile at her beloved stars. “What sort of story would you like to hear?”

“Tell us about them,” said the stars. “We know about the Sun, and the Sea, and the Land. But where did they come from?”

“That is a tricky one,” said the Moon. “Why don’t you ask Mr. Sun? He is very bright, and I’m sure he knows many answers.”

“Tell us, Mr. Sun,” said the stars. “Where did they come from?”

The Sun flared brightly as he thought it over. “Perhaps it was the Sea, who washed the first Man onto her shores. Someone to stud her face with beautiful ships of red and blue sails.” He shone brightly as he made his pronouncement. “Yes, ask the Sea. She must know. She is very well connected.”

“Tell us, Sea, was it you who washed the first Man onto your shores?” the stars asked.

The Sea crested indignantly. “It wasn’t I,” she said. “Though they do make me so lovely with their skiffs and sails!” She bubbled up suddenly. “But they feed me junk and steal my fish.”

“So it wasn’t you,” said the disappointed stars. “Then who was it?”

The Sea crashed against her shores as she thought it over. “You should ask the Wind, he gets everywhere. Perhaps it was he, who blew breath into the first Man, so he would have a playmate on dreary days.”

“Tell us, Wind,” asked the stars. “Was it you, who blew breath into the first Man?”

The Wind laughed across the sky at the stars’ question. “I do love to race their machines and toys!” he said. “And I love to chase them here and there, although these days I get indigestion when I breeze through their cities and streets.” Remembering this, his clouds darkened and he rumbled with distant thunder. “But no, it wasn’t I.”

The stars flickered in disappointment. “But then who was it?”

The Wind harrumphed airily. “Ask King Lion, he hears from all his subjects. It must have been him, who scooped clay into his paw to form the first Man. I know he wanted someone to scratch his tummy and brush his fur.”

“Tell us, King Lion,” pleaded the stars. “Was it you, who scooped clay into your paw to form the first Man?”

King Lion barely had time to answer the stars, so harried was he with the business of being king. “I do hear from all my subjects,” he agreed. “And they tell me that sometimes they are fed, and sometimes they are hunted. But I am too busy to make anything new, be it kind or cruel or indifferent. It wasn’t I.”

“So it wasn’t you,” repeated the stars, sadly. “But who was it?”

King Lion stretched his neck, surveying his territory. “You should ask the Jungle, she is full of secrets. Perhaps it was beneath her cool, dark leaves that the first Man grew. After all, she likes it when her gifts of fruit and treenuts aren’t wasted and forgotten on her floors.”

“Tell us, Jungle,” said the stars. “Was it beneath your leaves that the first Man grew?”

The Jungle answered the stars with a sleepy smile. “It is true, I am happy when my fruits do not fall and rot unappreciated on the ground, and I am satisfied when I can shelter many beneath my branches and vines, be they Man or Animal. These days, though,” she mused, “I find it hard to stretch out my limbs, and there is less of me to go around. But no, it wasn’t I.”

“It wasn’t you,” said the stars, and they blinked in resignation. “But then who else is left? Who could it have been?”

The Jungle whispered back, “Why don’t you ask the Moon? She is very wise, and never sleeps. If anyone knows the answer, it is the Moon.” She rustled her canopy at the stars. “Perhaps she pooled her milky light, and formed the first Man from her jade-white beams.”

“The Moon!” cried the stars. “But why would she make Man?”

“Perhaps it was so she could send someone to scratch her back,” said the Jungle with a yawn. “Although it seems that when they were done walking over her, they poked a flag into her face.”

“I didn’t mind,” said the Moon quickly. “Very much.”

“Do you know, Moon?” asked the stars eagerly. “Where they came from?”

The Moon smiled at her stars, who were glittering sleepily. “Perhaps it doesn’t matter where they came from,” said the Moon. “So much as where they will go.”

The stars blinked and glittered slowly as they thought about what the Moon had said.

“Now, my beloved stars,” said she. “That is enough questions for one night. I think it is time for you to wink off to sleep.”

The stars yawned and agreed, and twinkled sleepily.

As the stars drifted off to sleep, the Moon rolled over. She smiled her creamy-white half smile at the Earth, where the lights of Mankind blinked on and off, just like her little stars. “Sweet dreams.”