If you truly get in touch with a piece of carrot, you get in touch with the soil, the rain, the sunshine. You get in touch with Mother Earth and eating in such a way, you feel in touch with true life, your roots, and that is meditation. If we chew every morsel of our food in that way we become grateful and when you are grateful, you are happy.
Thích Nhất Hạnh
ePub
A4Chapter 7: Bad News
W
ilbur liked Charlotte better andbetter each day. Her campaign against
insects seemed sensible and useful.
Hardly anybody around the farm had a
good word to say for a fly. Flies spent
their time pestering others. The cows
hated them. The horses detested them.
The sheep loathed them. Mr. and Mrs.
Zuckerman were always complaining
about them, and putting up screens.
Wilbur admired the way Charlotte
managed. He was particularly glad that
she always put her victim to sleep
before eating it.
"It's real thoughtful of you to do
that, Charlotte," he said.
"Yes," she replied in her sweet,
musical voice, "I always give them an
anaesthetic so they won't feel pain. It's a
little service I throw in."
As the days went by, Wilbur grew
and grew. He ate three big meals a day.
He spent long hours lying on his side,
half asleep, dreaming pleasant dreams.
He enjoyed good health and he gained a
lot of weight. One afternoon, when Fern
was sitting on her stool, the oldest sheep
walked into the barn, and stopped to pay
a call on Wilbur.
"Hello!" she said. "Seems to me
you're putting on weight."
"Yes, I guess I am," replied Wilbur.
"At my age it's a good idea to keep
gaining."
"Just the same, I don't envy you,"
said the old sheep. "You know why
they're fattening you up, don't you?"
"No," said Wilbur.
"Well, I don't like to spread bad
news," said the sheep, "but they're
fattening you up because they're going to
kill you, that's why."
"They're going to what?" screamed
Wilbur. Fern grew rigid on her stool.
"Kill you. Turn you into smoked
bacon and ham," continued the old
sheep. "Almost all young pigs get
murdered by the farmer as soon as the
real cold weather sets in. There's a
regular conspiracy around here to kill
you at Christmastime. Everybody is in
the plot - Lurvy, Zuckerman, even John
Arable."
"Mr. Arable?" sobbed Wilbur.
"Fern's father?"
"Certainly. When a pig is to be
butchered, everybody helps. I'm an old
sheep and I see the same thing, same old
business, year after year. Arable arrives
with his.22, shoots the..."
"Stop!" screamed Wilbur. "I don't
want to die! Save me, somebody! Save
me!" Fern was just about to jump up
when a voice was heard.
"Be quiet, Wilbur!" said Charlotte,
who had been listening to this awful
conversation.
"I can't be quiet," screamed Wilbur,
racing up and down. "I don't want to be
killed. I don't want to die. Is it true what
the old sheep says, Charlotte? Is it true
they are going to kill me when the cold
weather comes?"
"Well," said the spider, plucking
thoughtfully at her web, "the old sheep
has been around this barn a long time.
She has seen many a spring pig come
and go. If she says they plan to kill you,
I'm sure it's true. It's also the dirtiest
trick I ever heard of. What people don't
think of!"
Wilbur burst into tears. "I don't
want to die," he moaned. "I want to stay
alive, right here in my comfortable
manure pile with all my friends. I want
to breathe the beautiful air and lie in the
beautiful sun."
"You're certainly making a beautiful
noise," snapped the old sheep.
"I don't want to die!" screamed
Wilbur, throwing himself to the ground.
"You shall not die," said Charlotte,
briskly.
"What? Really?" cried Wilbur.
"Who's going to save me?"
"I am," said Charlotte.
"How?" asked Wilbur.
"That remains to be seen. But I am
going to save you, and I want you to
quiet down immediately. You're carrying
on in a childish way. Stop your crying! I
can't stand hysterics."
