The Man and the Serpent

The farmer's son did not see the serpent. His foot came down on its tail, and the serpent turned and bit him, and the boy died.

His father took up his axe and ran, wild with grief. He chased the serpent across the field, and he swung, and he cut off a piece of its tail.

Then the serpent took its turn. It slid through the long grass at night and stung the farmer's cattle. A cow here. An ox there. Each morning the barn was a little emptier.

The farmer stood looking at the empty stalls for a long time. Then he filled a bowl with food and honey, and he carried it to the mouth of the serpent's hole. "Let us forgive and forget," he called. "Perhaps you were right to punish my son. But I was right to punish you. We have both had our turn. Why can't we be friends?"

For a while, nothing moved. Then the serpent's head came slowly out of the dark. "No," it said. "No. Take your gifts away. You can never forget your son, and I can never forget my tail."