The Man Who Missed The Train
There was a young engineer who was diagnosed with lung cancer. He had less than six months to live. He was devastated. He didn’t understand why this happened to him. He never smoked. He led a good life, physically and morally, or so he thought.
Like all simple and hard-working men, he believed in God. With God everything seemed possible. With God one didn’t have to waste valuable time thinking, but doing useful things instead. So the young engineer prayed to God everyday and asked why he had to die. He had too much to live for. He had been working hard for thirty years to get here. Growing up poor his dream was to go to college and then to get a job that would pay $50,000 a year. There were nights when he had to tie himself to a chair to study, and the only thing that kept his eyes opened was the giant $50,000 poster on the wall. There were days when he was walking around campus and his legs just yielded to exhaustion. He fell suddenly on the ground and stood right up, red with embarrassment. He didn’t mind all that. He had a goal. Someone told him that if one had a practical goal and work hard at it, one would succeed. So he believed.
Now he had achieved his goal. He was about to start living, like he had never lived before. But his life was about to be taken away from him again, forever. He believed in the afterlife, but he still wanted to live this life first. There was so much to do here. He wanted to travel, to get married, to buy a house, to have kids, to eat all the food that he only dreamt about, to save enough money to buy a Mercedes. There were so many things to do, and so little time. So he complained.
One day, as he was praying and complaining, he fell asleep, and he had a dream. It was a little dark. He was wandering around in a strange city. He reached a place that looked like a subway. There were a lot of people there, and they were all busy doing something. Some were reading newspapers. Some were doing crossword puzzles. Some were playing chess. Some were talking excitedly to each other. Some were listening attentively to a street musician, who was playing the same old tune over and over again. Then he saw the train coming. To his surprise, people were groaning and moaning as they heard the sound of the train. Nobody wanted to move. They looked devastated. They left for the train with sadness in their eyes.
The young engineer was puzzled. He turned around and saw an old man with long, white hair and beard. He looked like an ancient Chinese sage, except that he spoke English and had a cellular phone sticking out of his jeans’ pocket. The young engineer approached him and began:
“Master…”
“Why do you call me Master? Is it because I’m Chinese or because I don’t have a Ph.D.?”
“I don’t understand,” said the young engineer, “why those people don’t want to go on the train. Isn’t that the reason they are here in the first place?”
“Once upon a time,” said the old man, “people came here to wait for the train. It so happened that the waiting was tedious and boring, so people came up with ideas to kill time. Some people thought of newspapers, so newsstands popped up everywhere at the train stations. Some people got bored of reading, so they did crossword puzzles. And then people thought of games, music and other forms of entertainment that helped them forget the waiting time. Now, those morons are so engaged in those activities that they forget what they are waiting for. They know that when the train comes, they are supposed to get on it, but they don’t know why. Hence the groaning and moaning.”
The old man disappeared from the young engineer’s dream all of a sudden, and the young engineer found himself sitting at a bench doing crossword puzzles. He was staring hard but couldn’t see the words very clearly. He felt like peeing, but he didn’t want to move. He wanted to finish the puzzle. Then, he heard the train coming. His heart beat faster. His bladder was about to explode. No! He had to finish the puzzle. There was so much to do, and so little time! What was that word? He couldn’t see. Something was in his eyes. The train! He must get on the train. It was moving!
The young engineer started to run. Something was holding him back, even though he was kicking really hard. As he was running and yelling for the train to stop, he saw people looking and pointing at him, laughing hysterically. At this point he woke up and ran for the bathroom. As he fumbled in the dark, he still heard voices ringing in his ears:
“Look! Here comes the man who missed the train!”
**********
A Tale of Two Cats
Once upon a time, in a far away farm village, there was a tabby cat, known to her friends as Tabbie. In the same village, there was also a white cat, known to everybody as Ms. White. They were about the same age, but that was about the only thing they had in common.
Tabbie was easy-going and carefree. She went about recklessly, never paying attention to mud, manure, and all the dirty things that could soil her fur. She washed herself only once a day, sometimes not at all. She ate whatever food she got—from fancy cat food to grasshoppers. She hung around with all kinds of animals—the street cats, the puppies, the farm chickens, and anyone who was willing to play with her. She never exercised. People called her “the lazy cat.”
Ms. White was called “the lady cat.” She always walked with grace, making sure that her feet didn’t get dirty. She washed herself at least three times a day. She was always on a healthy diet. She ate only diet cat food, and occasionally a pink baby mouse for desert. She played strictly with cats—the good-mannered ones only. She did stretching and jumping regularly in order to stay in shape. All the good-looking tomcats in the village followed her everywhere.
One day both Tabbie and Ms. White died. The animals in the village gathered and did a joint funeral for both of them. The gray rabbit, considered the wisest animal in the village, was in charge of the ceremony. Four big tomcats carried Tabbie and Ms. White into the woods, followed by the rest of the animals. The dogs dug two big holes on the ground. Everybody made a big circle. Then the gray rabbit began his speech:
“Ladies and gentlemen, cats and dogs, cows and pigs, chicken and ducks, everybody, we gather here today to say goodbye to our dearest friends and neighbors, the cats. We are, most of us anyway, saddened by the deaths of our feline friends. We will miss their meows, their purrs, and their scratches. However, we should be happy for them. Now they are free. They no longer have to beg for food. They no longer have to wash themselves or bury their waste. They will no longer be petted by the annoying people. They are going down to the Earth—a paradise for all animals, a place where all animals are equal, worms, rats, cockroaches and all. Now, let us pay tributes to our dead friends here. Let us bring back, for the last time, all the good memories we have had with them over the years. Who wants to start?”
“I do,” barked a black German shepherd. “First and foremost, I want to mention that I, as a long-time anti-feline advocate and the chairdog of the Canine United Club, am no fan of cats. However, I have to admit that Tabbie was an exceptional cat. She and I had been friends over the years. We shared many things, including bones, fish, and swollen muzzles (the results of toad attacks). She never discriminated against any animal based on the color of their fur, how many legs they had, or how often they washed themselves. She even dared to think that cats and dogs could live together in peace. Even though I disagree with her on many things, I respect her. I will miss her.” The old dog collapsed on the ground and fell silent.
“Tabbie liked to go with us on many excursions,” quacked a fat black-and-white duck. “She laughed at our jokes. She even learned to catch earthworms with her paws. Sometimes she got herself in a mess, but she didn’t care. She was so much fun to be with.”
“I liked to talked to Tabbie,” snorted an old pig, breathing heavily. “Other animals think of me as a lazy old boar, but Tabbie looked up to me as a thinker. She always came to me when she was in trouble. She often reminded me that I was not lazy, but was a great thinker. ‘All great thinkers are masters of the art of doing nothing,’ she used to tell me.”
“I loved Tabbie,” barked a poodle sharply and noisily. “She once took me go fishing. She taught me how to fish with my tail. I fell in the water twice. It was fun, fun!” The poodle stopped. She seemed to remember why she was here. She whimpered softly and laid flat on the ground.
“Tabbie had a dream,” meowed a black cat—Tabbie’s closest friend, dreamily. “She dreamt that there would be less persecution of the smaller animals. She started a ‘Rights for Mice’ campaign once, but failed to gain any support. She had stopped eating mice in her later years. She wanted to convince us fellow cats that mice had a right to live too, and that mice were not health food, as some cats imagined. She was not afraid to be different. She was revolutionary and compassionate.”
“Ahem, it was very nice—what everybody said about Tabbie, ” said the gray rabbit. “Does anyone want to say something about Ms. White?”
There was a long silence. Everybody was thinking hard, searching for ideas. Some dug on the ground, some stuck their nose up to the sky, and some spun round and round. A cow was about to say that Ms. White was very clean, but she remained silent. They were going to throw dirt on Ms. White soon, so it was inappropriate to talk about her cleanliness. A rooster was going to say that Ms. White always stayed healthy, but it seemed insensitive, given the fact that she was dead now. Hence, he held his peace. A tomcat, one of Ms. White’s male friends, was thinking of saying that she was beautiful. However, he checked himself as he looked at Ms. White’s stiff and unkempt body. Beauty was certainly not an impression that she was making to the observers this moment.
Finally, a hen stepped up and saved the moment. She recalled that Ms. White was a mysterious cat. She never told anyone her age. She kept everyone guessing. In fact, even now, they still couldn’t figure out her age.
At this moment, a little lark, coming out of nowhere, sang in a high-pitched voice:
“But she is now dead
Dead now is she
She must be old
Old enough to die!”
Fortunately, his mother had flown over and shut him up. She peaked him twice on the head, saying: “Manner, dear! Manner, dear!”
All the older animals tried their best to look grave and dignified. The puppies laughed quietly, licking their nose. The chicks were all trying to jump on their mother’s back to see what was going on. There was great excitement among the birds. They flapped their wings and flew from branch to branch.
The gray rabbit, seeing this, reacted quickly: “Wonderful! Wonderful! Now, if nobody has anything else to say, it’s time to say goodbye. Let us bury our friends.”
They threw Tabbie and Ms. White into the two holes.
“All cats die equal,” said the gray rabbit.
“Amen,” said all the animals, and they started to throw dirt on the dead cats.
**********
The Remotes
Two white pigeons were standing on a railing one fine morning peaking lazily at each other’s back. After finishing a delicious breakfast and leaving some of their own drops on the carpet—as a show of gratitude for their generous feeder, the birds were resting and waiting until they felt light enough to fly again.
“I’m bored,” said the Small Pigeon.
“Should I tell you a story?” Asked the Fat Pigeon.
The Small Pigeon nodded, and so the Fat Pigeon began.
“Once upon a time, there were three remote-controls who lived in the same house. One was a Fan Control. One was a Stereo Cassette Control. And one was a TV Control. They all served one lady who only needed their services in the evening, when she was home. Since they felt very lonely and bored during the day, they started to talk to each other. Their conversation revolved around one single topic: ‘Who was the best among them?’
“’I’m the best,’ said the TV Control. ‘I’m the biggest and the tallest.’
“’No, dear, I’m the best,’ said the Stereo Cassette Control. ‘Even though I’m not the biggest and the tallest, I’m the best looking. My body has artistic shape. I have perfect colors. My buttons are refined. I’m the finest work of art.’
“’You are both wrong,’ said the Fan Control. ‘I’m the best because I’m the smallest. I fit anywhere. I’m the only one who can slip under Our Lady’s pillow. Smallness is a virtue.’
“The other controls laughed until they choked. After several efforts to control herself, the Stereo Cassette Control said to the Fan Control: ‘Oh, dear, you pathetic little thing! How can you be the best while you have almost nothing on—except four ugly buttons. Look at me! I have twenty-nine buttons with different shapes and colors. Even Our Lady doesn’t know how to utilize all of my buttons. Isn’t that something?’
“’That’s nothing,’ growled the TV Control impatiently. ‘I have forty-one buttons. Our Lady needs a manual to use some of them. I’m the greatest.’
“’What’s the use of having too many buttons?’ The Fan Control retorted. ‘You confuse the heck out of Our Lady. I’m the most useful because Our Lady can use my service anytime without looking up any manual. She doesn’t even need to look at me. She can tell exactly where my buttons are in the dark, which, by the way, is when she needs our services. Simplicity is a virtue.’
“’But you don’t understand, dear,’ said the Stereo Cassette Control. ‘Darkness is not a problem with me. You see, I have one big button on the upper right corner. Our Lady only needs to press that one to turn on the Stereo Cassette. Once it’s on, there is enough light for her to see the rest of my buttons. You see? No problem there!’
“’Cut it out already! I glow in the dark,” said the TV Control. ‘I’m the best!’
“’Look, we can argue like this endlessly,’ said the Fan Control in a quiet voice. ‘It’s time we define what it means to be the best. For me, being the best is being most useful. I maintain that I’m the best because I’m Our Lady’s necessity. She can live without you both, but she cannot live without me. She would sweat to death in her bed without me. Usefulness is a virtue.’
“’How dare you say that she doesn’t need me, dear? Does she even remember you in winter months? I’m her soul mate,’ said the Stereo Cassette Control. ‘She needs me when she is sad. She needs me when she is happy. She needs me to put her to sleep. She needs me to wake her up every morning. Is that a solid proof that I’m the most useful?’
“’You are full of crap! There is no question that I’m the most useful,’ said the TV Control with passion. ‘Our Lady needs me more than any of you. She holds on to me every night. She never stops touching me. She even falls asleep with me in her arms, for crying out loud!’
“They went on and on arguing like this. Then one day, the lady decided to install air conditioner in her room. She didn’t need the fan anymore. Hence, she didn’t need the Fan Control. As a result of installing the air conditioner system, she decided to cut budget. So she disconnected the cable service. She didn’t use the TV anymore. Hence, she didn’t need the TV control. As she got bored without a TV, she surfed the Internet and found a new hobby—Internet music. She didn’t listen to the music from the stereo cassette anymore. Hence, she didn’t need the Stereo Cassette Control.
“The three remote-controls found themselves forgotten in a corner of the bed, covered with dust. They didn’t feel like arguing anymore. They only lamented their fates ceaselessly. What have they done to deserve this? What have they done to displease the lady? After awhile they annoyed each other and themselves. They grew old and cranky everyday.
“Then one day came the Little Bronze Cockroach, dust skating on the Controls’ faces, singing happily to himself. The Controls were all amazed by his cheerfulness and his zest for life. After some hesitation, the Stereo Cassette Control began:
“‘Little Bronze Cockroach, why are you so happy, dear? Do you think you are the best?’
“’Best at what? Dust skating, you mean?’
“’No, you idiot!’ said the TV Control loudly, which surprised the Little Bronze Cockroach. ‘She meant if you were best at pleasing Our Lady.’
“’Pleasing Our Lady? Are you for real? I please nobody. I please myself,’ said the Little Bronze Cockroach, twisting his two long whiskers playfully.
“’Does Our Lady like you?’ asked the Fan Control.
“’Like me? No, she hates me. She tries to kill me. I eat her food. I make bathrooms out of her bookshelves. I crawl in her bed and scare the heck out of her. No, she doesn’t like me. It matters not. I have fun.’ The Little Bronze Cockroach felt exhausted after the longest speech he had ever delivered in his entire life. He left in a hurry to find something to eat, leaving the three Controls staring in amazement.”
“That’s the end,” said the Fat Pigeon to the Small Pigeon.
“So what’s the moral of the story?” asked the Small Pigeon, blinking his eyes.
“What moral? You always look for morals in stories? You really need a life, Birdie!” said the Fat Pigeon, and he flew away.