David Partington
Endless Pageant of Love, Beauty, and Quivering Delights
Francois was guiding his sheep through a muddy field when out of nowhere he heard a voice.
“Watch your step.”
He looked around but could see no one.
“Down here,” said the soft, husky voice.
Francois lowered his gaze.
“Yes, I’m a talking sheep,” it continued. The shepherd’s eyes widened as he took a step back. “Émile’s the name. I joined your flock earlier this morning while the rain was coming down.”
“So, are you really a prince or something?” asked Francois.
Émile looked up at him with gentle grey eyes. “You’ve been reading too many fairy tales.”
“Well, am I going to get three wishes?”
“Actually, you get unlimited wishes, but for each wish I grant, you must perform a task.”
“I know what my first wish will be,” said Francois with a grin.
“What’s that?”
“That I don’t have to perform any tasks.”
Émile chuckled. “That’s not the way it works.”
“Okay, but what if I want a brick of gold? Can I have it?”
“You can have the moon if you want, so long as you do what I ask. For a brick of gold, I might ask you to sit on a flagpole for a week.”
“A week? That’s pretty harsh. But never mind, I’ll think of some other good wishes.”
As they tramped through the wet grass with the rest of the sheep, Francois was full of questions. “So how come you’re magic?”
“It all began when I met a wolf carrying a golden amulet,” said Émile.
“Where did the amulet come from?”
“The amulet came from the bottom of an enchanted well.”
“How come the well was enchanted?”
“Because a magic fish lived there, and there was a mermaid who—look, it doesn’t really matter. You mustn’t expect to understand everything in life. Just know that the world is complicated and full of surprises.”
“Yes,” Francois agreed, sidestepping a puddle, “I see that.”
“I can’t change the way people think, but beyond that, your future is in your hands. Play your cards right, and your life will become an endless pageant of love, beauty, and quivering delights.”
Francois stopped walking. Up ahead, a raven-haired young woman was walking along a path that crossed the field. Her name was Hélène, and she was a lacemaker carrying some of her work to a market in the nearby village.
“It’s her,” said Francois reverently. He had long been smitten by Hélène’s beauty but was too shy to approach her. He told Émile that he wished she liked him.
“Maybe she already does. Go up and talk to her.”
“No, no! Not like this. Look at my crazy hair.”
“I can use magic to give you a haircut,” said Émile, “but not until you perform a task.”
“What’s the task?”
“You must go up and talk to her.”
Francois stood and fidgeted for a moment. “What will I say?”
“You can tell her you’ve met a talking sheep. That should pique her interest.”
“Good point.”
So Francois went up to Hélène and said, “Hi, I’m Francois.”
“Yes, I know,” she replied with a smile. “We went to Sunday school together.”
Francois blushed, then got straight to the point. “Hey, look, I’ve found a talking sheep! Say hello, Émile.”
“Hello Émile,” said Émile. “It’s true—I can talk. And I can do magic too.”
“That’s right,” said Francois. “Watch—he’s going to give me a haircut. Go ahead, Émile.”
Émile blinked his eyes, and Francois’s hair started moving around as if in a high wind. In less than a minute, his traditional bowl cut was shortened on the sides and given a dramatic sweep.
Hélène was amazed. “Why, look at you—all fancy like the miller’s son.”
“You know the miller’s son?”
“I danced with him last week at the fair.”
“Oh?”
“He’s very light on his feet.”
“You don’t say.” Francois had never met the son of the wealthy miller but envied all the attention he seemed to get from girls in the village. Noticing a faraway look on Hélène’s face, he took that as his cue. “Come along, Émile. I bid thee adieu, fair maiden.” As he spoke, Francois bowed low and attempted to remove his hat with a gallant, sweeping gesture, but since he’d left his hat at home, the effect was ruined, and he just backed away awkwardly.
“Okay, bye,” called Hélène cheerfully. She continued on her way as Francois and Émile went back to the field to rejoin the flock.
“I feel like such a fool,” Francois told Émile. “‘I bid thee adieu, fair maiden.’ Who talks like that?”
“Maybe she thinks you’re charming and unique.”
“No, Émile. The one she thinks is charming and unique is the miller’s son. It sounds like he’s a good dancer. That’s what young ladies like nowadays. Do you think you could teach me to dance? I mean, as a wish?”
“I could make you dance well for a minute or so, but it would require some work on your part.”
“Hélène said the miller’s son is ‘light on his feet.’ I just need to show her that I can go one better.”
For the wish to be granted, Francois was given the task of going meticulously through all the nettles growing on a nearby hillside, looking for caterpillars, and counting all their legs.
Though a few wishes would be easily granted (for example, he could have eggs Benedict for breakfast in exchange for a few somersaults), most of the wishes Francois asked about would require weeks of effort. Still, knowing that anything was possible gave Francois the luxury of being able to dream, and he spent his time among the caterpillars happily pondering the wondrous possibilities.
Six weeks later, his task completed, Francois steered his flock toward Hélène’s thatched-roofed bungalow, ready to amaze. Approaching with Émile through a thicket of beech trees, he could see Hélène at her gate talking to a young man.
As soon as the young man left, Francois burst through the trees and said in a booming voice, “I bet you’ve never seen anything like this.” And with that, he rose eight feet in the air while waving his arms and legs and imitating trumpet sounds with his mouth.
Hélène shrieked with glee. “How wonderful!” she said, clapping her hands when he came down to earth. “Can you do it again?”
“Not for a while, no,” admitted Francois sadly. He didn’t want to tell her how much effort went into that moment of glory, fearing it would detract from his mystique.
“Was that the famous miller’s son you were talking to?” he asked.
“That ragamuffin? No, he’s just a stable boy. The miller’s son is always very well-dressed.”
“I see.” Francois looked down at his ragged smock and pantaloons. Having run out of magic, he became nervous and self-conscious again. “Well, I must be heading off,” he said. “Sheep don’t graze themselves, you know.” And then he left.
“It was good to see you again!” called Hélène.
Once they were out of earshot, Francois turned to Émile. “‘Sheep don’t graze themselves.’ Why did I have to say that?”
“I saw her smiling.”
“That was out of pity. No, it’s no good. She thinks I’m a ninny—and probably a ragamuffin too. What I need is something to wear. Not shoes with shiny buckles or velvet breeches; nothing like that. I’ve got to take it to the next level.”
For this wish to be granted, Francois was required to spend the next forty-five days counting clouds that were shaped like animals and noting which direction they were moving. He finished his assignment on a Saturday, a day when Hélène would be at the market selling lace and taking orders.
Leaving the flock in a safe meadow, Francois and Émile entered the village square looking for Hélène’s little booth.
The market was a hive of activity, with people buying and selling from tables and pushcarts, moving every which way. It wasn’t long, however, before Francois became the focus of their attention thanks to his new hat, which was more than four feet wide and covered with multi-colored feathers.
The moment Hélène looked his way, Francois signaled Émile. Then the feathers started twitching, and the hat began to make low whooping sounds. Soon a whole crowd of people was watching in great amusement as the whooping grew louder and the hat began to rotate on Francois’s head, gradually picking up speed. Everyone roared with laughter until a man in a coach drove up and told them to be quiet. The hat stopped moving, and the crowd dispersed.
“Let me guess—that was the miller’s son,” said Francois to Hélène.
“You’ve got a thing about the miller’s son, haven’t you? No, that wasn’t him, but his coach isn’t much bigger than that. He says he’s going to get something very grand when he makes his fortune, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
Francois was surprised that his extravagant hat had been met with giggling—expecting something more like reverent awe—so even after Hélène told him that his hat was “really something,” it felt like his mission had failed.
He backed away from her, saying, “Fare thee well, Milady,” as he doffed his hat—not realizing there was still enough magic left for it to squirm out of his hand onto the ground, where it emitted one final, low whoop.
Hélène exploded in laughter as Francois snapped up the hat and stomped away.
He had never been so embarrassed. That evening, sitting with Émile by the fireplace in his cottage, Francois lamented the terrible turn things had taken. He didn’t blame Hélène for thinking he was soft in the head; after his floating dance, his crazy hat, and all of his stupid, awkward remarks, she could hardly think otherwise. At this point, even if he did something truly stupendous, he didn’t see how it could turn the tide.
“A lady so good and so beautiful should have a prince, not a silly shepherd,” he said, slumping forward in his chair. “And if she prefers the miller’s son, who am I to stand in her way? All I want is for her to be happy.”
“So, is that your wish—just that she be happy?”
“Well, I wish it, but you said you can’t change a person’s thoughts or feelings; you can only change physical things.”
“Normally that’s the rule, but in this case there might be a way...”
“What would I have to do?” Francois asked, turning from the fire to face Émile directly. “I’ll do anything.”
“You’re sure?”
“Anything. I’d walk to the North Pole if it would bring her joy.”
“Even if you never see her again?”
Francois thought for a few seconds. “Even then.”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“I don’t care. Just knowing she’s happy is all I ask.”
“It means no more eggs Benedict.”
“Is that all?”
“What I’m saying is, you must release me. There will be no more wishes.”
“None?”
“I’ll be out of your life. Don’t underestimate the significance of that. I told you that if you played your cards right you could have anything; the world would be your oyster. Are you really sure you want to let me go?”
It was a big decision, but Francois didn’t hesitate. “I never did like oysters.”
Early the next morning, with the moon still glowing on the horizon, Émile and Francois said their goodbyes. They shook hand and hoof, then Émile set out along the road. Truth be told, Francois would miss Émile’s company more than he would miss his eggs Benedict, Émile having been a good conversationalist by any standard, not just as farm animals go.
An hour later, the sun was spreading its warm rays as Francois walked the narrow dirt path to the little paddock where his sheep stayed overnight. Though he was sorry that he would never see Émile again, and probably not Hélène either, the loneliness he felt was more than balanced by the fact that he had done something selfless. Standing at the paddock gate listening to faraway cowbells, there was peace in his heart as a newfound optimism spread out before him, seeming to fill the landscape.
Looking up the road, he spotted a familiar figure approaching over the crest of the hill. It was Hélène. She waved her bonnet gaily, and Francois waved back. Picking up her pace, she ran up to him with a huge smile.
“I saw Émile out walking by himself,” she said, catching her breath. “He told me you’d finished with magic and that his mission was complete.”
“I hope you’re not disappointed. Did he tell you about my last wish?”
“No, why? What was your last wish?”
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
“I still don’t know what his mission was. He just said I shouldn’t expect to understand everything in life.”
“He’s right,” said Francois, adding, “You seem very cheery.”
“So do you! Émile told me that you’re going to have lots of free time now and that you wouldn’t mind if I came by.” Her face glowed as she explained that ever since she had first met him, long before Émile, she thought he was something special. “Who else would think of dancing high in the air or wearing a hat that acts like a nest full of owls?”
“But the magic has left with Émile.”
“I’ve got to be honest; a talking sheep that does magic tricks was pretty amusing at first, but it’s no basis for a relationship.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all that before?”
“Would you have believed me?”
Their initial attraction quickly blossomed into love, and before long, Francois and Hélène were engaged.
Their wedding was set for Saint Yves’ Day the following May, a day that turned out to be cool and still, with clear blue skies. As church bells rang in the nearby village, the families and friends of Francois and Hélène gathered in front of Francois’s humble cottage, some in chairs, most sitting or standing on the grass.
The parish priest had just arrived on foot with some villagers when a coach appeared on the hill approaching the house. Francois’s suspicion of who it might be tied his stomach in knots.
The coach, drawn by eight white horses, with extravagant gold trim and a driver in a powdered wig, stopped in front of the cottage. Francois closed his eyes as the coach door swung open.
“It’s you!” squealed Hélène.
Francois’s heart sank. Then he opened his eyes. “Émile, old friend!” he exclaimed. He’d never seen Émile go anywhere except on foot. “What does all this mean?”
“It means,” began Émile, stepping out, “that I’ve come to offer my congratulations to two very dear people. If you’re wondering about the coach—long story—I found a talking duck who has begun granting me wishes.”
“Does it make you do tasks?”
“Tasks? No. That’s with a magic sheep. Having a magic duck is a different situation entirely.”
As Émile spoke, the duck got out of the coach and said, “Hello,” followed by a smiling wolf with an amulet hanging from its neck and two fauns carrying a mermaid. The mermaid was taken to a seat among the other guests, then the fauns went back to the coach and began unloading bricks of gold that had been brought as a wedding present. Francois and Hélène watched wide-eyed as more and more gold bricks were taken from the coach and piled on the lawn.
“Don’t look so surprised,” said Émile. “Good things come to those who sacrifice, and fortune favors the pure at heart. You didn’t need magic. And, like I told you before, the world is complicated and full of surprises. “
“Okay,” said Francois, “but I’ve still got questions...”
“Forget them. Life’s great mysteries lay beyond the reach of human understanding.”
“What about the understanding of sheep?”
“That’s another story.”
David Partington is an omnivorous mammal, most active during daylight hours. He began life at a very young age, and has found his subsequent mortal existence to be a reliable source of amusement.
