Fable (Exercises in Style #31)

A sop to Aesop.

Some styles require a certain simplicity. While the original story includes nine to eleven relevant characters, it’s not always appropriate to give all of them roles. There are correct answers to both clues mentioned here. Naturally, neither character gets them right.

… … … … …

Once upon a time, in a warm den smelling of toast and old newspapers, two cats named Belle and Diana discovered an unfinished crossword puzzle on the table. It had been abandoned by their owner, who had gone to get a glass of milk and become distracted by discussing some initialism with his wife. Along with the puzzle and clues, he had left a pencil.

Belle looked like an orca somehow turned into a small cat. Diana looked like a feather duster similarly transformed.

“I shall do this,” announced Belle, pressing one white paw firmly onto the page. “I am excellent at words.”

“You cannot even read,” said Diana.

“Nor can you.”

“Yes, but I know it.”

This was considered an excellent point, and for a moment both cats sat in dignified silence, staring at the grid.

“Five letters,” said Belle at last, peering at a clue. “Kingly headwear. Obviously, it is MANES.”

“A mane is not headwear,” said Diana. “It is HAT.”

“HAT has three letters. The grid has five.”

“Then the grid is wrong.”

“The grid is never wrong!”

“The grid,” said Diana, with great authority, “is a rectangle, and rectangles are untrustworthy.”

Belle’s tail began to lash. Diana’s ears went flat. They glared at each other across the crossword with the intensity cats usually reserve for pigeons and closed doors.

“Three across,” said Belle, determined to move on. “What a cat does best. Four letters. NAPS.”

“HUNT,” said Diana.

“NAPS.”

“HUNT!”

“NAP—”

And then, as these things go, someone’s paw came down.

Then the other’s paw came up.

Then there was a brief but spectacular scuffle—a flurry of fur, a skid of printout, a sound like a tiny thunderstorm. When it was over, the crossword clues lay on the table with a small shred fallen to the floor, the pencil had rolled under the sofa, and both cats were sitting with their backs to each other, meticulously grooming their ears as though nothing had happened.

When their owner returned, he looked at the torn paper and shook his head.

Belle glanced at Diana.

Diana glanced at Belle.

Neither said a word. For once.

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The moral: Two know-it-alls working together know nothing at all.