Crispy: I meant to get this started much sooner, but...life. Anyway...ahem. This is a companion fic to Zsugami Alba's Predestination Paradox. You don't necessarily need to read that story to enjoy these, but it would provide a bit of context. Plus, it's an awesome fic. And I'm not just saying that because I'm her mother.
ZA: Mom!
Crispy: Quiet, sweetie, I'm typing. Now where was I? Ah, yes. Those of you who already follow Predestination Paradox will recognize this as Draco's childhood book of fairy tales. Here is our special guest, Mordred Malfoy, with the obligatory disclaimer.
Mordred: Hullo, Miss Crispy! Look at what I just pulled out of my nose! It's the longest one ever!
Crispy: Er...that's nice, dear. Do you remember your lines?
Mordred: Uh-huh. Crispy Rice Burroughs does not own Harry Potter or Predestination Paradox. Is that right?
Crispy: Yes. Have a biscuit, and go play with your bogey outside now.
Uncle Sal's
Bedtime Stories
for
Sleepy, Little Slytherins
by Salazar Slytherin
For Mordred, my favorite little Slytherin.
(Don't tell anyone I said that.)
These stories were created for all of my little snakes who were missing Mummy and Daddy, but you were the first to ask me for a story.
Chapter One:
The Beekeeper and His Wife
Once upon a time, in a little cottage tucked far away from anyone, there lived a beekeeper. He was a tall, thin, stern man with a long, sallow face (despite getting plenty of sunshine from tending to his bees), a large nose, and a perpetual frown that would occasionally twitch into a reluctant...sneer. This will, no doubt, make it quite clear to you that he was not a people person. It may surprise you to learn that the beekeeper did not live alone. He shared his little cottage with his wife, a thin wisp of a woman who wore long scarves, annoyingly clinky jewelry, and thick spectacles which made her eyes seem twice too large for her head. The beekeeper's wife was most definitely a people person. Though visitors to the cottage were rare, she always welcomed traveling merchants and the odd passerby to sit and have tea with her. Once they'd finished their first cup, she would snatch it up and proceed to examine the soggy leaves at the bottom and predict the drinker's fate. She never got a chance to find out if her predictions ever came true, however, because people don't tend to return to the home of a woman who relishes in foretelling their doom. It will not surprise you to know that the beekeeper and his wife were victims of an arranged marriage.
Still, they got on well enough once they established a routine. Every morning, the beekeeper would arise early and escape to tend to his bees. He was perfectly content to examine each of his many hives, inspecting for damage, quantity of honey produced, the exact location of the queen, etc. All of this he carefully documented in his journal, along with weather conditions, ambient temperatures, and details of the flowers from which his bees were collecting their pollen. Sometimes, when the beekeeper was feeling particularly creative, he would illustrate his notes with drawings of the bees and hives and flowers. Mostly, it was just words, though.
The beekeeper spent all day outside with his bees - even taking his lunch outside. Foul weather did not deter him from his sanctuary, for he had built a small lean-to in which he could sit in blissful (though cramped) solitude far on the opposite side of the meadow. Unfortunately, the lean-to was not large enough to accommodate a person lying down, so the evening darkness drove the beekeeper back into the little cottage with his wife.
The beekeeper's wife was reluctant to dismiss her husband's company at first. Then she got to know him and decided she was better off indoors. She remained inside all day long and filled the empty rooms with the oversweet scent of patchouli as she contemplated the universe, the intricacies of that great weaver, Fate, and attempted to awaken her inner eye. The beekeeper's wife wished, above all else, to become a great seer - like Tiresias or Cassandra. Preferably someone with a tragic, dramatic death scene.
While his wife had dreams of something beyond the ordinary, the beekeeper was quite content with his life as it was. At least, he had resigned himself to the idea that his current situation was as good as it was going to get. Then something unexpected and strange happened.
One morning after a particularly violent storm, as the beekeeper headed outside to inspect his hives for possible damage, he passed under one of the larger trees that dotted his property. If you have ever gone outside after a fierce storm, you may have noticed broken tree limbs scattered about, torn from their mother tree by the unforgiving wind - perhaps even severed by a powerful bolt of lightning. This particular tree had already weathered many storms, but its branches grew so thickly that sometimes broken branches stayed aloft, supported by the survivors beneath them. One of these branches had died off and rotted for years as it lay surrounded by the greenery of its still thriving siblings. The most recent storm had caused such a shifting of these supporting branches that the dead limb now dangled precariously atop the lower branches. Just as the beekeeper stepped beneath it, the dead wood shifted in a stiff breeze and toppled from its perch and hit the man right on the head, rendering him unconscious.
You are probably thinking that such a thing may be unexpected or even unfortunate, but it is hardly strange. You would be correct. The strange thing happened shortly afterwards. As the beekeeper gradually regained consciousness, he noticed that something seemed different. He could not quite put his finger on what it was. He was lying down on the ground. That was obviously different, but not the difference he was looking for. He had an excruciatingly painful headache, but that was not the difference. Sometimes coming into the cottage too soon after one of his wife's meditation sessions and getting hit with a choking wave of patchouli resulted in the same effect. No, this was something that had never been different before.
While puzzling things out, the beekeeper felt a tickle on his cheek and absentmindedly brushed it with his hand. "Watch where you're waving those paws, fella! You nearly hit me!" The beekeeper opened his eyes with a start. The new difference was voices. Lots of little, buzzing voices in his beautiful, solitary sanctuary. He stood up and looked around, ready to locate and forcefully remove the trespassers. Why were there so many? And where were they?
"Did you see that? Came out of nowhere, I tell you."
"I told you he was only napping. People don't like it when we touch them. Best to leave them alone."
"He doesn't mind it when he's stealing our honey."
"We make plenty of honey. He never takes more than we can afford to give. Not like those blasted bears that will destroy half the hive and eat honey and bees alike."
"How would you know? There aren't any bears around here. This is a civilized neighborhood. Much better than - ooh! Clover blossoms!"
The beekeeper stood in stunned silence. Well, he would have if the bees could have been bothered to shut up for a moment. He could hear them! He could hear the bees! Wait. That was ridiculous. Perhaps he was just imagining things. Bees did not talk. Well, not English, at least. The beekeeper was willing to allow that a group which worked so well as a collective probably employed some method of communication. He stepped closer to the clover patch where several bees were busy collecting pollen from the aforementioned blossoms.
"This is a nice batch here."
"I'm not that impressed. I think this lot has been picked over already. I've not got much on my blossom."
"Well, go find your own clover patch then. I'll stay here."
The beekeeper was not sure what he expected bees to talk about, but they seemed to be rather dull creatures. He shrugged and then went about his duties for the day. Unfortunately, the constant, buzzing chatter of the bees did not get any more interesting. They droned on and on about which clover patch had the best pollen, or whose turn it was to scout out new clover patches, or something else equally mundane. The worst part was that they never stopped. Buzz, buzz, buzz...all day long, and not a single interesting bit of information. The beekeeper tried to ask questions; rather, he attempted to ask two of the bees if it was really necessary for them to discuss proper post-pollination grooming habits on his left shoulder, but they were either incapable of understanding him or simply did not care. He was beginning to lean towards the latter explanation.
By the time the sun had begun its afternoon descent towards the horizon, the beekeeper found himself hoping this was simply a very strange dream and wondered if he could awaken by sending his dream self to bed sooner rather than later. There was quite a bit still to do, though, and the beekeeper never liked leaving a job half done - even in a dream. He decided that, as annoying as this dream was, he could endure the chatty bees for the rest of the day with the hope that things would be back to normal when he awoke in the real world.
Things were not back to normal when he awoke, and the beekeeper was forced to consider that this new state of things might be permanent. He did his best to tune out the trivial conversations buzzing around him as he performed his daily routine. It was mostly working, the buzzing voices blurring into the background as a steady hum that more resembled the ambient noise to which he had been accustomed for most of his life, until a slightly lower buzzing voice emerged.
"My goodness! I've come quite a long way from where I began, and there are still no new varieties of blossoms to harvest. What I wouldn't give for a nice rutaceae in bloom. Oh! It's an apiary! How delightful! I could use a bit of company and a place to sleep for the evening."
The beekeeper looked about for the source of the new voice. Of course, he realized it was silly to expect that he could pick out which of the hundreds of bees in his meadow was the newcomer, but perhaps the lower-pitched voice was indicative of a slightly different species. Perhaps the visitor wasn't a bee at all, but another pollinating insect. He continued to peer about in the direction from which the voice seemed to be coming. Suddenly, a large, round bumblebee hovered into sight. "Oh, hello, young fellow! Are you the caretaker of this fine center of domestic apicology?" The beekeeper eyed the bumblebee with cautious hope. A creature with such a sophisticated vocabulary would surely be more interesting company than the flighty residents he'd been tending.
"Why yes," he replied to the bumblebee. "I am the beekeeper, and I have tended these hives for nearly fifteen years now."
The bumblebee darted backwards several inches. "I say, dear boy! Are you addressing me? I must admit I have never conversed with a bipedal mammal before. I was under the impression that none of you were capable of understanding our language, though I myself comprehend your words quite clearly. Have you always possessed this gift?"
The beekeeper, encouraged by this initial exchange, was pleased to answer the bumblebee's inquiry. "No, indeed, I only just acquired this understanding of your language yesterday morning. I believe it is the by-product of a concussion I suffered when I was struck on the head by a falling tree limb."
"Fascinating!" replied the bumblebee. "The sudden acquisition of language comprehension seems fitting compensation for a cranial injury."
"It did distract me from the painful ache in my head," admitted the beekeeper. "Unfortunately, it hasn't proved to be very useful or interesting so far, as the local population of Apis mellifera are not much capable of scintillating conversation."
"I see," said the bumblebee. "It is true that most domesticated creatures lead rather simple, dull lives. Only those of us possessing a significant amount of magic are inclined to more intellectual pursuits."
The beekeeper peered more closely at the bumblebee as it chose to settle on the corner of the closest hive. It looked to be slightly larger than the average bumblebee, with an excess bit of pale fuzz dangling from the underside of its head that gave it an elderly, bearded appearance, and its compound eyes seemed almost to twinkle in the sunlight. Perhaps it was a physical manifestation of the magic the bumblebee had mentioned.
"You are a magical bumblebee, then?" the beekeeper inquired. "What sort of magic do you possess? Is it merely a heightened intellect and self-cognizance, or do you possess magical abilities as well?"
The bumblebee stroked its beard with one of its front legs as it continued to twinkle at the beekeeper. "My magic is not particular, as I am not limited to only one type of its manifestation. Over the years, I have developed the ability to manipulate the world around me in order to achieve a variety of different results. I have been able to extend my own lifespan and pursue many fields of study. The library at Alexandria is especially stimulating, and I spent several years there. I highly recommend it if you ever have the chance to travel in that direction."
"Interesting," said the beekeeper. "I'm not particularly fond of traveling, as it inevitably requires social interaction with...well, dunderheads. I do detest dunderheads. If I possessed magic, I think I would like the option of becoming invisible in order to avoid tiresome interactions - or perhaps I would like to be able to magic myself from one academic location to another to avoid the unlearned peasants in between. How do you enjoy your magic?"
The bumblebee chuckled - something the beekeeper wouldn't have believed possible of a normal bumblebee, but shouldn't have been surprised to hear from a magical one - and said, "In my youth, I expended a great deal of magical energy to satisfy my more physical whims. I magicked myself to various locations to sample new varieties of pollen, invented delightfully embarrassing ways to foil any birds and toads that attempted to eat me...that sort of thing. The amusement such pursuits afforded me was surprisingly short-lived, though. I have since learned that it is much more satisfying to use my magic to please others. These days, I travel the world and, when I encounter exceptionally interesting individuals such as yourself, I offer the gift of a wish granted in exchange for sustenance and shelter - or perhaps a bit of interesting conversation?"
"Are you...offering to grant me a wish?" asked the beekeeper.
"Why yes, I am," replied the bumblebee. "An afternoon of pleasant conversation would be most welcome, as would some honey water - perhaps flavored with lemon blossom, if you have any?" he added hopefully.
The beekeeper thought for a moment. "Hmm...I'm afraid the closest I have to lemon anything is a vial of lemon extract I acquired in trade with a merchant a few months ago. It's mostly alcohol, I'm afraid, though the smell is pleasant enough."
"Alcohol, you say?" The bumblebee seemed suspiciously nonchalant. "Well, I don't see what harm a drop or two of that could do to a magically enhanced life form such as myself. Shall I wait here while you prepare my dinner?"
The beekeeper smirked knowingly. "I'll just be a moment," he said.
As the bumblebee leisurely sipped at his spoonful of honeyed lemon extract, he chatted amiably with his newfound companion on various topics both abstract and concrete. They continued their conversation as the beekeeper resumed his chores until the daylight dimmed to dusk.
"You must be very tired," remarked the beekeeper. "If the bees are not feeling hospitable, you are welcome to rest in my shed this evening."
"That would be lovely, thank you," said the bumblebee. "Shall I grant your wish in the morning?"
The beekeeper nodded. "Yes, I believe I should like at least one night to consider my options."
They bid each other goodnight, and the beekeeper was deep in thought as he entered his cottage to find his wife waiting for him with supper.
"Did you have a pleasant afternoon, husband?" she asked, pinning him with her magnified gaze. "You seem...different."
The beekeeper frowned at her. "I am the same man I have always been," he said.
"I thought I heard you talking out there earlier," his wife continued, nodding her head in the direction of the meadow. "Are you feeling all right? Has your headache returned? I've known people who suffered a terrible blow to the head and walked around for days before dropping dead."
"How...reassuring," said the beekeeper. He paused a moment before shrugging and deciding he might as well tell her. "I met an unusual...being today," he began. "There was a bumblebee in the meadow today, and...I heard it...talking."
His wife looked slightly alarmed. "You heard a bumblebee...talking? You mean it was buzzing, right?"
The beekeeper frowned. "Well, its voice was a bit buzzy, I suppose, but I could comprehend its words as if it were speaking the King's English. It was a magical bumblebee," he added upon noting some alarm in his wife's expression. This definitely got his wife's attention. Rather than accusing him of making the whole thing up, she jumped on the word "magical" and leaned in so close that one of her scarves was in danger of falling into his stew.
"A magical bumblebee? What sort of magic does it possess?" she demanded.
The beekeeper leaned back, pulling his bowl of stew with him in an attempt to save it from contamination by incense-infused fustian. "It said it has the ability to grant wishes. Actually, it offered to grant me a wish in exchange for some interesting conversation."
The beekeeper's wife gasped, and her eyes seemed to double in size. "How marvelous! Do you know what you will wish for?"
The beekeeper considered the question as he chewed on a spoonful of stew. "I'm not certain. I've been rather content with my life as it is. I don't really need anything, so any wish I make would likely be something...frivolous, I suppose." The beekeeper frowned at that. He was not, by nature, a frivolous person.
His wife looked at him sideways. "Well," she said, "If you cannot think of anything you want, you could always give your wish to me."
"What would you wish for," wondered the beekeeper.
His wife sighed at him with an expression that suggested he was an unobservant disappointment - an expression often aimed at males of all ages by the females in their lives. "Obviously, I would wish to be a seer," she informed him. "I want to be able to see others' misfortunes."
The beekeeper frowned. "That hardly seems useful. What good would that do anyone? You could spend an afternoon in the village and hear all about that sort of thing from the local gossips."
"We are at least three days from the nearest village," she pointed out testily. "I never observe or hear anything about anyone else. It's incredibly boring. Not everyone enjoys an isolated existence. I have put up with your way of living for several years now. I think granting me this wish is the least you could do to make up for all these years of loneliness and boredom. Now you'll go directly to that bumblebee and tell it I wish to see the misfortunes of others."
The beekeeper sighed. "Very well. I really have no need for the wish myself. A day in the bumblebee's company was rewarding in and of itself. I'll relate your wish to my guest in the morning."
His wife was too excited to wait, unfortunately, and demanded he relate her wish to the bumblebee immediately - before he'd even finished his bowl of stew. The beekeeper was reluctant to bother the bumblebee when it was certainly sleeping - especially after it had been so pleasant and generous a companion that day; however, he was not prepared to spend the evening trying to finish his supper and fall asleep while his wife continued to nag at him. Better to just get it over with now so that she would leave him alone. He headed out to his shed on the other side of the meadow, hoping the bumblebee would not be too annoyed by the disturbance.
The inside of the shed was silent, and the beekeeper began to wonder if the bumblebee hadn't found itself a snug, little cell in one of the hives instead. No sooner had the thought occurred to him than he heard a familiar, buzzy voice say, "You think rather loudly, you know. It is impossible for me to achieve a truly restful state of somnolence with all of the commotion in your head. May I be of assistance? It is often said that two heads are better than one when faced with a difficult problem. Though my head is considerably smaller than yours, it does possess a great deal more information and experience than your own, and that might prove useful to you."
"I beg your pardon," said the beekeeper. "I had no desire to wake you, but my wife insists the matter cannot wait until a reasonable hour of the morning." He looked about, attempting to pinpoint the bumblebee's location. Having forgotten to bring a lantern, he had only the moonlight that filtered in through a small window across from the door.
"You're married?" asked the bumblebee. "How unexpected. I'm over here, by the way. In the knothole just beneath the window."
The beekeeper easily found it, now that he knew where to look. "You are not the first to be surprised by my marital status. Actually, I believe I have that dubious honor," he muttered.
"Is your wife often demanding?" asked the bumblebee, clearly interested in this newly revealed aspect of his host's life.
"Not really," said the beekeeper. "Well, perhaps at first, but she gave up eventually. We usually don't spend more than half an hour with each other on any given day, and it's quite easy to ignore each other when we're asleep at night. Unfortunately, she won't let me sleep until I deliver her wish to you."
"Her wish?" the bumblebee inquired.
The beekeeper winced. "I do apologize. I happened to mention your offer to me as we were eating our supper. When she realized I've not come up with anything for which I'd like to wish, she decided I should give my wish to her. Would that be acceptable? I was not certain if such a thing might be transferable."
The bumblebee regarded him in silence for a moment before saying, "It is a very fine thing to be content with what you have. It is even finer to share an unexpected boon with someone else who might have more need of it. What is it that your wife desires?"
At this, the beekeeper shifted, guiltily, and looked away. "She wishes to see the misfortunes that will befall people."
"That's...I'm sorry. Perhaps I misheard you. Did you say she wishes to see the misfortunes that will befall people?"
"I'm afraid I did say that," sighed the beekeeper. "She likes to know things, you see. She relishes in all kinds of gossip, though she has a particular interest in calamities, illnesses, and...other unpleasant news. One of the reasons we have so few visitors is because she likes to play the part of a seer and foretell peoples' doom. To be honest, I've never really been bothered by it because I don't much like people anyway."
"I think I'm beginning to understand, and I may actually be able to help you. You said, 'She wishes to see the misfortunes that will befall people.' Were those her exact words? Think carefully."
The beekeeper did think carefully. He was not certain why the bumblebee needed her exact words, but perhaps that was a requirement of the magic. He sifted through his memories to recall the exact words of his conversation with his wife. "She said, '...go directly to that bumblebee and tell it I wish to see the misfortunes of others.' Those were her exact words."
"Ah," said the bumblebee. "That sounds perfectly reasonable to me. Tell her I will grant her wish. It will take effect once the sun has fully risen above the horizon tomorrow."
"Thank you," said the beekeeper, not entirely sure it was as reasonable a request as the bumblebee had proclaimed it to be. "I'll just let you get some sleep now." When there was no immediate answer from the bumblebee, he assumed his guest had drifted off to sleep and took his leave.
The next morning, the beekeeper's wife could barely contain her excitement. "The sun is rising, husband!" she exclaimed, shaking the beekeeper awake. "Soon I shall have my first vision!"
"How wonderful for you," the beekeeper muttered. "You just sit there and await your vision while I go downstairs and eat my breakfast in peace."
His wife nodded and waved him away. "Yes, I'll wait here. I'm too excited to eat. I shouldn't eat anyway. I cannot predict how my new powers will affect me. I've heard of seers who vomit violently after every premonition."
"In that case, I think I shall take my breakfast outside this morning," replied the beekeeper, wishing he hadn't heard that last remark.
The beekeeper's wife waited patiently for hours, but no visions came. She was beginning to suspect the bumblebee had lied to her - or perhaps there hadn't been a bumblebee at all, and her husband was playing a cruel trick on her. The latter seemed unlikely, as the beekeeper never bothered to interact with her much at all - let alone to play jokes. With a sigh, she set about preparing her lunch when the kitchen suddenly disappeared from her view, and she saw a road before her. She tried to look around, but she could not move. Her gaze was locked on the road in front of her. She could not determine where exactly she was, but she saw a wagon coming slowly towards her. In the next moment, the wagon hit a deep rut in the road so roughly that one of the wheels broke loose, causing the left front corner of the wagon to tilt sharply towards the ground. In the next instant, the road disappeared, and she was looking at her kitchen once more.
"A vision!" she whispered to herself. "I have seen my first vision." She looked about her, wanting desperately to share this good news with someone. Unfortunately, she was alone. The beekeeper was in the meadow, as always, there were no visitors, and she was at least two hours from the nearest neighbor. "Figures," she sniffed. "What's the point of having a vision if I can't tell anyone about it?"
Nearly an hour later, she was just cleaning up the last of the crumbs from her sandwich when she heard a knock on the door. She rushed to open it and saw a man she immediately recognized as the driver of the wagon in her vision. "You!" she cried. "You are about to experience a terrible misfortune! Your wagon will lose its left front wheel!"
The man huffed in annoyance. "Tell me something I don't know, woman. I spent the last hour walking here hoping to borrow some tools to fix it."
"The last hour?" she cried in disbelief. "But it has been almost that long since I foresaw the disaster."
"That's when it happened," the man concurred. "It took me five minutes to calm Old Nellie down. I didn't dare try to ride her after that. 'S why I had to walk. Now how about those tools?"
The beekeeper's wife waved him toward the shed and retreated back into the house without another word. She spent the rest of the day in a gloom. What good were visions if they didn't come far enough in advance to warn people of their impending doom? By the time the beekeeper returned to the cottage, her gloomy mood had evolved into indignation. She leapt from her chair before he had even finished crossing the threshold. "Husband! The magic bumblebee has cheated me!"
"Did you have no visions today?" he inquired. "The bumblebee seemed quite confident it could grant your wish."
"I did have a vision," said his wife, "but it was useless. I saw it as it was happening. By the time the poor fellow arrived at our door, my prediction was an hour late! This simply will not do. I demand you fix it."
The beekeeper was bewildered. "How am I to fix it? I have no power over the timeliness of your visions."
His wife scoffed, "Tell the bumblebee to change my wish. Tell it I wish to see bad things before they happen."
"Could I at least have supper first?" sighed the beekeeper.
His wife glared at him. "I will not even begin preparing your supper until you have convinced that bumbler of a bumblebee to amend my gift."
With regret that he had not eaten a larger meal at midday, the beekeeper made his way back to the shed on the other side of the meadow. Hopefully, the bumblebee had not decided to travel to another field, or his life was about to become very unpleasant. Fortunately, he found his guest in the same knothole as the previous night.
"What is it now, young man?" inquired the bumblebee. "Did your wife enjoy her gift?"
"I feel certain that you already know the answer to that question," replied the beekeeper. The bumblebee twinkled at him in silence. "She would like you to amend your gift to her."
"Ah. Of course. Perhaps her new wish has been more carefully worded?" the bee responded with what seemed to be poorly repressed mirth.
"Her exact words were: 'Tell it I wish to see bad things before they happen.' Does that help?"
"Hmm...I suppose I can work with that," said the bee. "Very well. From now on, she will see bad things before they happen."
As pleased as the beekeeper's wife was to hear this, it didn't take long for her to regret not taking the time to get the wording of her wish exactly right. While she did see bad things before they happened, it was only just before they happened, which meant she could neither predict nor prevent them. It was incredibly vexing. Even worse, many of the bad things were trivial matters such as her husband stubbing his toe, or they were events that were meaningless to her - such as a fly getting caught in a spider's web. After an entire day of pointless visions, which left her rather dizzy and irritable, she was waiting at the door for her husband's return.
"Your magic bumblebee is a horrible creature!" she cried. "It is doing this on purpose!"
The beekeeper heaved a great sigh. "What is the matter now?"
"The visions never come earlier than 30 seconds before the calamity! And sometimes it's not a calamity at all! Who cares if the spider eats the fly? Good riddance to the fly! I wish that spider would catch a bumblebee too!"
"Now calm yourself, woman," cautioned the beekeeper. "I doubt you want to go around offending a magical bumblebee. I think the problem lies in the fact that you didn't specify how far in advance you wish to see things, or what sort of things you wish to see."
His wife frowned. "I'm sure it knew what I meant, though."
The beekeeper shrugged. "It always asks me for your exact words. I think it's a requirement of the magic."
"Oh." The beekeeper's wife seemed to deflate a bit. "Do you suppose the bumblebee will permit me to try again?"
"Are you going to send me back out there right now to ask it?"
His wife waved her hand dismissively. "Don't be ridiculous. I need time to figure out exactly how to word my wish." She immediately fetched a quill and parchment and sat down to mull the matter over.
The beekeeper watched her for a moment. "I suppose I'll just make myself a sandwich then."
The beekeeper's wife labored all through the night before she was finally satisfied that she had a perfectly worded wish with no exploitable loopholes. When the beekeeper came down the stairs for breakfast, she shoved a bit of bread and cheese at him. "You can eat this on your way," she told him. Then she gave him a piece of parchment. "Here is my final wish. Take this with you so that you get the wording exactly right."
The beekeeper sighed and did as his wife instructed. Not surprisingly, the bumblebee seemed to be expecting him. "Well, let's hear what she's come up with this time," it said.
The beekeeper raised a suspicious eyebrow. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" The bumblebee just twinkled at him. "Very well. This is her final version: 'I wish to see significant misfortunes that will happen to human beings at least one week prior to the event, but no further off than one year from the time of the vision.' Do you suppose that will do?"
The bumblebee sighed. "There's no room for interpretation there. I really hadn't expected her to suss things out so quickly, but I suppose nothing fun lasts forever. Very well. Her wish has been granted. And now, I believe I should be on my way."
The beekeeper was surprised at the disappointment he felt upon hearing those words. "Oh. Well, I suppose you have more adventures ahead of you. Not much excitement for you here. Shall I bring you some lemon honey before you go?"
"No need, young man," replied the bumblebee. "I've just had a lovely breakfast with the honeybees. And don't feel too bad. You'll be getting something out of this latest wish, too."
The beekeeper couldn't imagine how he could benefit from a wife who could actually predict people's doom, but he didn't comment as he waved farewell to his peculiar guest. Then he turned and walked back to the cottage to inform his wife of the bumblebee's most recent benevolence.
No sooner had he arrived at the front door, however, than he heard the sound of multiple horse-drawn wagons and strange singing. His wife nearly bowled him over as she rushed out of the cottage to meet...a gypsy caravan?
"Oh, I'm so glad you're here!" she cried to the driver of the lead wagon. "I have just had a terrible vision! Your caravan was caught in a terrible storm and your family's wagon was crushed by a falling oak tree! You are all in grave danger!"
All members of the caravan gasped in astonishment. The lead driver alit from his wagon and peered closely at the beekeeper's wife. "You saw this?" he demanded. "You have the sight?"
"Yes!" she nodded excitedly. "I have foreseen it! Though I could not say exactly where it will happen. I did not recognize the location."
"Would you know it if you saw it?" asked the gypsy.
"Oh yes! Certainly! Without a doubt!" she replied.
"Then you must come with us," said the gypsy. "We are in need of the prescient wisdom of a true seer. We recently lost Madame Zabini." He removed his hat, holding it over his heart and bowing his head.
The beekeeper's wife stared with wide-eyed delight. "Did she die?" she asked.
The gypsy looked up. "Oh no," he said. "She ran off with a wealthy merchant."
A woman from the second wagon laughed loudly, "Right after predicting that he would fall in love with a wise, older woman and run away with her!"
"Do come with us," said a third gypsy. "We're not much of a gypsy caravan without a fortune teller."
The beekeeper's wife hesitated and looked back at the beekeeper. "Well, I don't know…."
Thinking quickly, the beekeeper said, "Yes, you do. This is your dream. You must go. I'll help you pack."
Ten minutes later, he was waving farewell to a grateful wife as she rode away in the lead wagon, her scarves trailing behind her in the wind. And all three of them (the beekeeper, his wife, and the bumblebee) lived happily ever after.
"How was that?" I asked you.
"Very nice," you replied. "But what's the moral of the story?"
"The moral?" I asked.
"Yes. Mummy says all good stories have a moral."
I thought for a moment. "Well, I suppose the moral is that everyone's idea of happiness is different. The beekeeper's wife was happy traveling with a gypsy caravan and telling fortunes. The beekeeper was happy spending his days alone with the bees. You have to find your own version of happiness for yourself. Which life do you think would make you happy?"
With a very serious expression, you said, "I want to travel the world and help people like the bumblebee."
I told you that sounded very nice. Then you looked at me and said, "Professor Sal? I think you're a bumblebee."
I smiled at you and said, "I think the best of us have a little bumblebee in us at least some of the time."
Omake 1:
I should probably point out that this version of the tale is not the same as the original. This version was written down after years of retellings and Sal really coming into his own as a storyteller. The original, first telling was much more off-the-cuff, as Sal was making it up as he went along. Instead of the very flowery description of the falling tree limb, this is how it actually went:
"Alright, so you know how you go outside after a bad storm and there are tree branches all over the ground?"
"Uh-huh. 'Cause the wind and the lightning broke the trees?"
"Yes, it was like that. Only there was one branch that was still sort of stuck up in the tree, but dangling like a...dangling thing."
"Like a bogey after you sneeze really hard?"
"Er...right. But when the beekeeper walked underneath it, it suddenly went THONK! And hit the man right on the head."
"Was he okay?"
"Well, there wouldn't be much of a story if he weren't, would there?"