Sunbonnet Soliloquy

By Jewell Ellen Smith

Even a Louse can be a Loser

Sometimes, you can’t win.

You do your dead level best, but nothing turns out right. Somebody else gets the prize. And you go down in defeat.

Seemingly, this has ever been true.

Here’s an ancient tale from India (first told before A.D. 500) which shows how even a louse can be a loser:

There once was a plump and handsome female louse named Creep, who lived in the palace of a certain king.

Creep had chosen the king’s fabulous big bed with its perfumed coverlets, its double feather pillows, and its exceptional softness as the place for her thriving family. She was surrounded by sons and daughters, and grandsons and granddaughters, and great grandsons and great granddaughters, and by more other descendants than she cared to count.

As any other louse would do, Creep bit the king every night -- ever so carefully -- and too a generous sip of his blood. On this diet she stayed healthy and happy.

Then one day an east wind came up and a flea named Leap drifted in through the window and landed on the king’s bed. The flea thought surely he must be in another world. As he hurriedly examined the bed, he noted its perfumed coverlets, its double feather pillows, its exceptional softness. It was better than a broad sandbank down by the river.

Leap was charmed by the sheer delight of hopping about this way and that, until he happened to meet Creep.

“Where did YOU come from?” she cried. “This is a dwelling fit for a king. Begone, and lose no time about it!”

“Why, Madam,” said the flea in his most pleasant voice, “you should not say such things. I am your guest. Surely, you will abide by the ancient custom of showing respect -- even reverence -- for a guest!”

“No, no! I want to tell you--

Instead of listening to whatever it was Creep wanted to tell him, Leap kept talking, scarcely stopping to catch a breath.

“I have of late, Madam, sampled the various blood of Brahmans, warriors, businessmen and serfs. But I found it all acid, slimy, quite unwholesome. On the contrary, the king who reposes on this bed must have a delightful vital fluid, just like nectar! ... Therefore, with your kind permission, I plan to taste this sweet and fragrant substance.

“No! For fiery-mouthed stingers like you, it is out of the question. Leave this bed!”

The flea fell to his knees before the louse and made the tears run down his face.

“Madam, I am so hungry! In fact, I am starving! It has been three whole days since I touched even a dog’s back. Please have pity on me and let me dine here! Just once! Just tonight! I promise I’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning -- long before you, or the king, wake up! Why, by the time it’s daylight, I’ll be down by the river.

“Well, alright. I am a hospitable person, and never let it be said that I, Creep, would let any creature starve.”

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, Madam Creep!”

“But, Flea, you must be careful. You must not come to dinner at a wrong place or time.”

“Of course not! I wouldn’t think of it. What is the right place, and what is the right time?’’

“When the king’s body is mastered by wine, fatigue or sleep, then you may quietly bite him on the feet. This is the right place and the right time.”

To these conditions Leap quickly agreed. And Creep left him to wait for evening and the king’s going to bed.

To Leap’s delight, the king began to snore minutes after his servant helped him into bed. Then, either because he was famished, or because he forgot Creep’s instructions, or because he was a plain bungler, Leap bit the king on the back.

The poor king jumped out of bed, yelling to his servant that he had been burned by a firebrand, stung by a scorpion, touched by a torch!

“Something bit me! Hunt through this bed until you find the rascal!’’

In terrified haste Leap scrambled into a crevice in the bed.

The king’s servant called his three assistants and they came running, with lamps and feather dusters. Following their master’s orders, they made a minute inspection.

“As fate would have it,” the story ends, “they came upon Creep as she crouched in the nap of the coverlet, and killed her, with her family.”

As we were saying, sometimes you can’t win.

Published September 1984. Click your browser’s “Back” button to return.