On his first visit to the zoo, Aesop watched as the Fox—such a cunning, clever animal—began to run like mad around the enclosure at feeding time, yowling and foaming at the mouth. The other animals, even the big bad Wolf, fled in all directions from the rabid phony, who immediately gobbled up the choicest morsels from the feeding troughs.
Aesop chuckled at the trick and noted everything down, inscribing it on his little wax-covered tablet.
Later he contemplated the majestic Swan as it glided among the water lilies. This proud display was only comparable to that of the Peacock, who spread his iridescent fan and paraded along the edge of the pond, as if admiring his reflection. Meanwhile the busy Bees flew tirelessly from flower to flower, and the Ass, with a rather stupid look on his face, stubbornly resisted all the zookeepers’ efforts to get him moving.
Aesop, feeling highly satisfied, jabbed a firm full stop on his wax tablet.
The next day, when Aesop returned armed with his notes, the animals behaved in a way that did not seem to match any moral. Quite the contrary: when the Fox got up to his old tricks, yowling and foaming at the mouth, the zookeeper grabbed that predictable dunderhead by the scruff of the neck and tossed him into a cage to await the veterinarian. The animals ate in peace, with the Wolf dining serenely among them.
Turning his attention to the pond, Aesop saw that the Swan was now walking awkwardly along the shore. Just as ungainly was the Peacock, who had dragged his tail through the mud, and it now drooped humbly behind him. And instead of worker Bees, drones buzzed in the apiary.
“No!” the Greek shouted. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be!” But the animals paid him no attention.
Only the Ass responded to Aesop’s cries, without a trace of obstinacy. He drew near with a wise look in his contemplative eyes. He delicately nuzzled up to Aesop as if trying to read the notes on the tablet.
Well, that was the last straw. Aesop would have to resolve these discrepancies, or else, at this rate, he would end up writing a novel instead of fables.
Fortunately, he came up with a solution: he would give them all voices. Yes, with the power of speech, they would surely keep to their appropriate categories.
Tyler Fisher of Ojibwe (Chippewa) heritage, is a professor of modern languages. His book-length translations of poetry include Martí’s Ismaelillo (Wings Press 2007), Lorca’s The Dialogue of Two Snails (Penguin 2018), and Lorca’s Cicada! (Penguin 2025).
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