Ota's Tales

About speech

I will tell you a story that is indeed interesting to me because it concerns me.

It was recently when I was just walking through the winding streets of night-time Prague, watching various buildings, admiring painters, sculptors, architects and builders. And then a duck's cackle interrupted my reverie. Imagine that. You are among the houses, the river Vltava is a walk away from you for some time, and there is no brush or shrubbery anywhere for the frightened creatures to hide.

It caught my attention so much because it was walking along the pavement as I was. "What are you doing here, ducks?" I ask them. "Quack," comes the curt reply.

Then I have not had much conversation with them. At least I am looking at them, for I had hoped that my eyes would tell me something. And I have noticed that the female duck is limping, and that is probably why they are staying here in the streets, because they are tired of finding their way home.

It is easy for us to get on a tram to take us to the front of the house. If not, we often walk the distance, because we know the streets. They're mostly straight. But what about the ducks? They can wander in them until the end of their days, because they find them endless and meaningless. Somewhere by the water they'd take off, see where they were, to find their way to their comrades, but here the houses are too tall to do anything like that.

If they're stuck here, then I wonder how they got here. They probably wanted to see some of the sights, like me, but they had no idea of time, so they forgot to go back, and now no one could give them any advice, because they didn't know their language.

It wouldn't be me to just get away with it, and go on my own way. No. I unrolled the map I carry when I wandered, laid it on the tiles, and pointed my finger at the winged creatures where we were. They came closer to me, so that they could see the finger running over the map. That was me showing them how to get to the water. The duck examined the map in detail, and the movements of my fingers along it. The duck was tired of falling asleep standing up.

And then it happened. Both of them suddenly spread their wings and flew off in the direction I pointed. I watched them go, hoping they would go where they wished. Then I entered the map, answered a lot of questions from shy observers, and continued my tour of the city. I forgot the whole event quite well in a moment.

It was late in the evening, the last of May, when I reached the Vltava. It's such a giant boulevard, I thought. A very wide street, where there are a huge number of animals that we can't even guess at. And then I thought of the ducks. I imagined myself wandering in the water, unable to find my way home, for I don't know the first thing about those parts.

In my dreaming I heard the familiar sound quack. The sun had set, I could hardly see the road, but when our eyes are useless we still have our hearing. So I followed the sounds.

I pushed through the branches of the trees and stood in front of a flock of ducks. The lamplight reflected off the water, so I could see them a little. I thought my acquaintances were already among them.

"Hello. So, how was your journey?" I asked, joking, and laughed. "Quack," came the reply.

I wish I could speak the language of animals, I thought. How much easier it would all be. I would know what they needed, what was bothering them, so it would be much easier to help them. What's more, we would have many more friends. Well, imagine if you had a fox or a bear for friends. You could talk to your dog, a cat, and find out their needs without having to stare at them for a long time.

As in life, good begets good. But beware. It is done with good intentions, but in the end, good begets evil.

It was not the duck or the duck that answered my wish, but Pegasus, the winged horse that was watching me from the sky at that moment. He said to himself, "He helped those who needed help. Now he would have wished for something. What would I not have helped him?"