Listen to Story here here and here
Level: Upper
Intermediate
THEY had almost finished with the loading. Outside stood the
Optus, his arms folded, his face sunk in gloom.
Captain Franco walked leisurely down the gangplank,
grinning.
"What's the matter?" he said. "You're getting
paid for all this."
The Optus said nothing. He turned away, collecting his robes.
The Captain put his boot on the hem of the robe.
"Just a minute. Don't go off. I'm not finished."
"Oh?" The Optus turned with dignity. "I am
going back to the village." He looked toward the animals and birds being
driven up the gangplank into the spaceship. "I must organize new
hunts."
Franco lit a cigarette. "Why not? You people can go out
into the veldt and track it all down
again. But when we run out halfway between Mars and Earth—"
The Optus went off, wordless. Franco joined the first mate at
the bottom of the gangplank.
"How's it coming?" he said. He looked at his watch.
"We got a good bargain here."
The mate glanced at him sourly. "How do you explain
that?"
"What's the matter with you? We need it more than they
do."
"I'll see you later, Captain." The mate threaded his
way up the plank, between the long-legged Martian
go-birds, into the ship. Franco watched him disappear. He was just starting up
after him, up the plank toward the port, when he saw it.
"My God!" He stood staring, his hands on his hips.
Peterson was walking along the path, his face red, leading it by a string.
"I'm sorry, Captain," he said, tugging at the string.
Franco walked toward him.
"What is it?"
The wub stood sagging, its great body settling
slowly. It was sitting down, its eyes half shut. A few flies buzzed about its flank,
and it switched its tail.
It sat. There was silence.
"It's a wub," Peterson said. "I got it from a
native for fifty cents. He said it was a very unusual animal. Very
respected."
"This?" Franco poked
the great sloping side of the wub. "It's a pig! A huge dirty
pig!"
"Yes sir, it's a pig. The natives call it a wub."
"A huge pig. It must weigh four hundred pounds."
Franco grabbed a tuft of the rough hair. The wub gasped. Its eyes opened, small
and moist. Then its great mouth twitched.
A tear rolled down the wub's cheek and splashed on the floor.
"Maybe it's good to eat," Peterson said nervously.
"We'll soon find out," Franco said.
THE wub survived the take-off,
sound asleep in the hold of the ship. When they were out in space and
everything was running smoothly, Captain Franco bade his men fetch the wub upstairs so that he might
perceive what manner of beast it was.
The wub grunted and wheezed,
squeezing up the passageway.
"Come on," Jones grated, pulling at the rope. The
wub twisted, rubbing its skin off on the smooth chrome walls. It burst into the
ante-room, tumbling down in a heap.
The men leaped up.
"Good Lord," French said. "What is it?"
"Peterson says it's a wub," Jones said. "It
belongs to him." He kicked at the wub. The wub stood up unsteadily,
panting.
"What's the matter with it?" French came over.
"Is it going to be sick?"
They watched. The wub rolled its eyes mournfully. It gazed
around at the men.
"I think it's thirsty," Peterson said. He went to
get some water. French shook his head.
"No wonder we had so much trouble taking off. I had to
reset all my ballast calculations."
Peterson came back with the water. The wub began to lap
gratefully, splashing the men.
Captain Franco appeared at the door.
"Let's have a look at it." He advanced, squinting
critically. "You got this for fifty cents?"
"Yes, sir," Peterson said. "It eats almost
anything. I fed it on grain and it liked that. And then potatoes, and mash, and
scraps from the table, and milk. It
seems to enjoy eating. After it eats it lies down and goes to sleep."
"I see," Captain Franco said. "Now, as to its
taste. That's the real question. I doubt if there's much point in fattening it
up any more. It seems fat enough to me already. Where's the cook? I want him
here. I want to find out—"
The wub stopped lapping
and looked up at the Captain.
"Really, Captain," the wub said. "I suggest we
talk of other matters."
The room was silent.
"What was that?" Franco said. "Just now."
"The wub, sir," Peterson said. "It spoke."
They all looked at the wub.
"What did it say? What did it say?"
"It suggested we talk about other things."
Franco walked toward the wub. He went all around it, examining
it from every side. Then he came back over and stood with the men.
"I wonder if there's a native inside it," he said
thoughtfully. "Maybe we should open it up and have a look."
"Oh, goodness!" the wub cried. "Is that all you
people can think of, killing and cutting?"
Franco clenched his
fists. "Come out of there! Whoever you are, come out!"
Nothing stirred. The men stood together, their faces blank,
staring at the wub. The wub swished its tail. It belched suddenly.
"I beg your pardon," the wub said.
"I don't think there's anyone in there," Jones said
in a low voice. They all looked at each other.
The cook came in.
"You wanted me, Captain?" he said. "What's this
thing?"
"This is a wub," Franco said. "It's to be
eaten. Will you measure it and figure out—"
"I think we should have a talk," the wub said.
"I'd like to discuss this with you, Captain, if I might. I can see that
you and I do not agree on some basic issues."
The Captain took a long time to answer. The wub waited
good-naturedly, licking the water from its jowls.
"Come into my office," the Captain said at last. He
turned and walked out of the room. The wub rose and padded after him. The men
watched it go out. They heard it climbing the stairs.
"I wonder what the outcome will be," the cook said.
"Well, I'll be in the kitchen. Let me know as soon as you hear."
"Sure," Jones said. "Sure."
THE wub eased itself down in the corner with a sigh. "You
must forgive me," it said. "I'm afraid I'm addicted to various forms
of relaxation. When one is as large as I—"
The Captain nodded impatiently. He sat down at his desk and
folded his hands.
"All right," he said. "Let's get started. You're
a wub? Is that correct?"
The wub shrugged. "I suppose so. That's what they call
us, the natives, I mean. We have our own term."
"And you speak English? You've been in contact with
Earthmen before?"
"No."
"Then how do you do it?"
"Speak English? Am I speaking English? I'm not conscious of speaking anything in particular.
I examined your mind—"
"My mind?"
"I studied the contents, especially the semantic warehouse, as I refer to
it—"
"I see," the Captain said. "Telepathy. Of course."
"We are a very old race," the wub said. "Very
old and very ponderous. It is
difficult for us to move around. You can appreciate that anything so slow and
heavy would be at the mercy of more agile
forms of life. There was no use in our relying on physical defenses. How could
we win? Too heavy to run, too soft to fight, too good-natured to hunt for game—"
"How do you live?"
"Plants. Vegetables. We can eat almost anything. We're
very catholic. Tolerant, eclectic, catholic. We live and let
live. That's how we've gotten along."
The wub eyed the Captain.
"And that's why I so violently objected to this business
about having me boiled. I could see the image in your mind—most of me in the frozen
food locker, some of me in the kettle, a bit for your pet cat—"
"So you read minds?" the Captain said. "How
interesting. Anything else? I mean, what else can you do along those
lines?"
"A few odds and ends," the wub said absently,
staring around the room. "A nice apartment you have here, Captain. You
keep it quite neat. I respect life-forms that are tidy. Some Martian birds are
quite tidy. They throw things out of their nests and sweep them—"
"Indeed." The Captain nodded. "But to get back
to the problem—"
"Quite so. You spoke of dining on me. The taste, I am
told, is good. A little fatty, but tender. But how can any lasting contact be
established between your people and mine if you resort to such barbaric
attitudes? Eat me? Rather you should discuss questions with me, philosophy, the
arts—"
The Captain stood up. "Philosophy. It might interest you
to know that we will be hard put to find something to eat for the next month.
An unfortunate spoilage—"
"I know." The wub nodded. "But wouldn't it be
more in accord with your principles of democracy if we all drew straws, or
something along that line? After all, democracy is to protect the minority from
just such infringements. Now, if
each of us casts one vote—"
The Captain walked to the door.
"Nuts
to you," he said. He opened the door. He opened his mouth.
He stood frozen, his mouth wide, his eyes staring, his fingers
still on the knob.
The wub watched him. Presently it padded out of the room,
edging past the Captain. It went down the hall, deep in meditation.
THE room was quiet.
"So you see," the wub said, "we have a common
myth. Your mind contains many familiar myth symbols. Ishtar, Odysseus—"
Peterson sat silently, staring at the floor. He shifted in his
chair.
"Go on," he said. "Please go on."
"I find in your Odysseus a figure common to the mythology
of most self-conscious races. As I interpret it, Odysseus wanders as an individual, aware of himself as such. This is the
idea of separation, of separation from family and country. The process of individuation."
"But Odysseus returns to his home." Peterson looked
out the port window, at the stars, endless stars, burning intently in the empty
universe. "Finally he goes home."
"As must all creatures. The moment of separation is a temporary
period, a brief journey of the soul. It begins, it ends. The wanderer returns
to land and race...."
The door opened. The wub stopped, turning its great head.
Captain Franco came into the room, the men behind him. They hesitated at the door
"Are you all right?" French said.
"Do you mean me?" Peterson said, surprised.
"Why me?"
Franco lowered his gun. "Come over here," he said to
Peterson. "Get up and come here."
There was silence.
"Go ahead," the wub said. "It doesn't
matter."
Peterson stood up. "What for?"
"It's an order."
Peterson walked to the door. French caught his arm.
"What's going on?" Peterson wrenched loose.
"What's the matter with you?"
Captain Franco moved toward the wub. The wub looked up from
where it lay in the corner, pressed against the wall.
"It is interesting," the wub said, "that you
are obsessed with the idea of eating me. I wonder why."
"Get up," Franco said.
"If you wish." The wub rose, grunting. "Be
patient. It is difficult for me." It stood, gasping, its tongue lolling foolishly.
"Shoot it now," French said.
"For God's sake!" Peterson exclaimed. Jones turned
to him quickly, his eyes gray with fear.
"You didn't see him—like a statue, standing there, his
mouth open. If we hadn't come down, he'd still be there."
"Who? The Captain?" Peterson stared around.
"But he's all right now."
They looked at the wub, standing in the middle of the room,
its great chest rising and falling.
"Come on," Franco said. "Out of the way."
The men pulled aside toward
the door.
"You are quite afraid, aren't you?" the wub said.
"Have I done anything to you? I am against the idea of hurting. All I have
done is try to protect myself. Can you expect me to rush eagerly to my death? I
am a sensible being like yourselves. I was curious to see your ship, learn
about you. I suggested to the native—"
The gun jerked.
"See," Franco said. "I thought so."
The wub settled down, panting. It put its paw out, pulling its
tail around it.
"It is very warm," the wub said. "I understand
that we are close to the jets. Atomic power. You have done many wonderful
things with it—technically. Apparently, your scientific hierarchy is not equipped to solve moral, ethical—"
Franco turned to the men, crowding behind him, wide-eyed,
silent.
"I'll do it. You can watch."
French nodded. "Try to hit the brain. It's no good for
eating. Don't hit the chest. If the rib cage shatters, we'll have to pick bones out."
"Listen," Peterson said, licking his lips. "Has
it done anything? What harm has it done? I'm asking you. And anyhow, it's still
mine. You have no right to shoot it. It doesn't belong to you."
Franco raised his gun.
"I'm going out," Jones said, his face white and sick.
"I don't want to see it."
"Me, too," French said. The men straggled out, murmuring. Peterson lingered at the door.
"It was talking to me about myths," he said.
"It wouldn't hurt anyone."
He went outside.
Franco walked toward the wub. The wub looked up slowly. It
swallowed.
"A very foolish thing," it said. "I am sorry
that you want to do it. There was a parable
that your Saviour related—"
It stopped, staring at the gun.
"Can you look me in the eye and do it?" the wub
said. "Can you do that?"
The Captain gazed
down. "I can look you in the eye," he said. "Back on the farm we
had hogs, dirty razor-back hogs. I
can do it."
Staring down at the wub, into the gleaming, moist eyes, he pressed the trigger.
THE taste was excellent.
They sat glumly
around the table, some of them hardly eating at all. The only one who seemed to
be enjoying himself was Captain Franco.
"More?" he said, looking around. "More? And
some wine, perhaps."
"Not me," French said. "I think I'll go back to
the chart room."
"Me, too." Jones stood up, pushing his chair back.
"I'll see you later."
The Captain watched them go. Some of the others excused
themselves.
"What do you suppose the matter is?" the Captain
said. He turned to Peterson. Peterson sat staring down at his plate, at the
potatoes, the green peas, and at the thick slab
of tender, warm meat.
He opened his mouth. No sound came.
The Captain put his hand on Peterson's shoulder.
"It is only organic matter, now," he said. "The
life essence is gone." He ate, spooning up the gravy with some bread.
"I, myself, love to eat. It is one of the greatest things that a living
creature can enjoy. Eating, resting, meditation, discussing things."
Peterson nodded. Two more men got up and went out. The Captain
drank some water and sighed.
"Well," he said. "I must say that this was a
very enjoyable meal. All the reports I had heard were quite true—the taste of
wub. Very fine. But I was prevented from enjoying this pleasure in times
past."
He dabbed at his lips with his napkin and leaned back in his
chair. Peterson stared dejectedly at
the table.
The Captain watched him intently.
He leaned over.
"Come, come," he said. "Cheer up! Let's discuss
things."
He smiled.
"As I was saying before I was interrupted, the role of
Odysseus in the myths—"
Peterson jerked up,
staring.
"To go on," the Captain said. "Odysseus, as I
understand him—"
Vocabulary: To help learners fully understand the audio
and transcript, most vocabulary that might be unknown for this lesson’s level
is provided. Vocab in bold
is more useful for learners at the lesson’s target level. Try to choose 8
to 10 new words to learn from the story (in general, it’s best to try to learn
no more than 8-10 new words a day).
Definitions
are written with the help of various sources including Merriam-Webster’s Learner’s Dictionary
Wub: A word that the author created for the alien animal in
the story; see picture here.
Gloom: 1. in
partial or totally darkness; 2. a feeling of sadness.
Gangplank: a board or other structure that people walk on to
get on or off a ship.
Robe: a long,
loose piece of clothing that is worn on top of other clothes to show that
someone has a high rank or an important job.
Vedlt: an area of grassy land with few trees or shrubs
especially in southern Africa.
First Mate: an officer on a ship who has a rank below the captain.
Martian: an imaginary person or animal in books, movies, etc.,
that lives on or comes from the planet Mars.
Twitch: to make a
slight, sudden movement that is not controlled or deliberate.
Take-off:
the
moment when an airplane, helicopter, etc., leaves the ground and begins to fly.
To fetch:
to
go after and bring back (someone or something).
To Perceive:
to
notice or become aware of (something).
Beast: a wild
animal that is usually large, dangerous, or unusual.
To wheeze:
to
breathe loudly and with difficulty.
Heap: a large,
disordered pile of things.
Scrap: a small
piece of something that is left after you use something.
To lap: the area
between the knees and the hips of a person who is sitting down.
To clench:
to
hold something tightly.
To belch:
to
let out air from the stomach through the mouth very loudly.
Conscious:
awake
and able to understand what is happening around you.
Semantic:
relating
to the meanings of words and phrases.
Warehouse:
a
large building used for storing goods.
Telepathy:
a
way of communicating thoughts directly from one person's mind to another
person's mind without using words or signals.
Ponderous:
slow
or awkward because of weight and size.
Good-natured:
friendly,
pleasant or cheerful.
Catholic: 1. universal or including many different things 2,
related to the Roman Catholic Church.
Eclectic:
including
things taken from many different sources.
Spoilage:
the
process or result of decaying.
Infringement:
to
do something that does not obey or follow (a rule, law, etc.).
Nuts to you: An expression of angry towards someone.
Knob: a round
switch on a television or other device.
Meditation:
the
act or process of spending time in quiet thought or a type of focused mental
activity.
Ishtar: An ancient god in Middle Eastern mythology
Odysseus: A hero of Greek mythology
To wander:
to
move around or go to different places usually without having a particular
purpose or direction.
Individuation:
The
process of becoming an individual.
To
hesitate: to stop briefly before you do something especially because you
are nervous or unsure about what to do.
Aside: to or
toward the side.
Hierarchy:
a
system in which people or things are placed in a series of levels with
different importance or status.
To
shatter: to break suddenly into many small pieces.
To
murmur: a low sound made when many people are speaking.
To linger:
to
stay somewhere beyond the usual or expected time.
Parable: a short
story that teaches a moral or spiritual lesson.
Saviour: someone
who saves something or someone from danger, harm, failure, etc.; used by
Christians to refer to Jesus Christ.
To gaze: to look
at someone or something in a steady way and usually for a long time.
Hog: a pig.
To gleam:
a
small, bright light.
Glum: sad or
depressed.
Slab:
a
thick, flat piece of a hard material.
Dejected:
sad
because of failure, loss, etc.
Intently:
the
thing that you plan to do or achieve : an aim or purpose.
To cheer
up: to
become happier or to make (someone) happier.
To jerk:
a
stupid person or a person who is not well-liked or who treats other people
badly.
Discussion
questions:
1. What happens to the wub at the end of the story?
2. What do you think the author is saying about humanity in
the story?
3. Is the wub trustworthy and friendly, as it says it is?
4. Are some animals
that humans eat smarter than we sometimes would like to believe?
5. The wub says that humans have advanced technologically but not ethically. What does this mean?
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