Week 1 Storytelling: The Goose That Laid the Golden Egg

The Goose Who Laid the Golden Eggs

Author's note: When I was young and hearing this fable for the first time, I remember finding it unrealistic. Not because geese seemed unlikely to produce precious metals, but because the greed of the "countryman" (here, "the farmer") seemed beyond all reason, logical or emotional. I decided in this assignment to satisfy my nagging dissatisfaction with the antagonist's unrealistic motivation... by making it even more fantastic and unrealistic.

In writing the story, I found it particularly challenging to connect each element of the story in a natural way. Looking ahead to this same task applied to Ramayana and Mahabharata stories, I think this will end up being a great practice exercise for those highly detailed, but sometimes disjointed stories. 
Here, I chose to use a somewhat simplistic, plainly-stated writing style to emphasize the melodrama of the plot. Since the texts we'll be reading include just as much -- if not more! -- intrigue, drama, and surprises as this story, I predict I'll be able to tone it down for those. Of course, I couldn't help throwing in a bunch of tacky puns, alliterations, and the like -- it is a children's fable, after all!

     The goose was in love.
     She revealed as much to the other animals of the farm when the first golden egg appeared in her nest, as golden eggs were said be passion manifest. They inquired with intense curiosity as to the object of her affection; the goose, however, sealed her beak and refused to answer. 
     This was enough to quell the intrigue of most, but the chickens and the turkeys, considering themselves the goose's closest confidantes, chided and chattered endlessly amongst themselves on the injustice of this. How dare she tease them with only one half of this revelation! Of course it was their right to know -- secrets, after all, were meant to be shared!
     The goose held firm, daintily dodging their interrogative onslaught, until one day the poultry could take no more, and a plan was hatched.

     "That silly goose is hiding something, and it is our duty to ensure that the truth is brought to light!" clucked one.
     "But how? She relishes torturing us with her falsehoods, the answer will never come from her!" another crowed. 
     "And the rest of the farm seems to have completely forgotten the importance of this matter altogether -- as though there wasn't a new egg each day, shining and glittering like hellfire itself! These eggs surely foretell doom. It is clear that we must act at once to uncover their cause!"
     "But how? The answer will come from neither the goose nor any of us animals."

     And at once they realized their oversight, for there was one on the farm who shared their interest in the eggs. 
     So the next day, when the farmer came to collect his golden gift, a chicken stopped him on his way.

     "Do you know the cause of the golden eggs?" 
     "I haven't the faintest idea," he replied, trying to sound disinterested.
     "The goose is in love." When he stared blankly instead of replying, she continued. "So, if you can make her tell who she's in love with, you can unite them, and perhaps the eggs will increase in size, or the gold in purity; passion, after all, is what really shapes them."
     The farmer shook his head, redoubling his attempt to maintain a casual tone. "I must be honest with you: while I appreciate your advice, I take no particular interest in the affairs of geese." 

    But the farmer was a liar. 
    The chickens saw the concern on his face as he collected the day's egg. And though the farmer said nothing to the goose, they congratulated themselves on an impending victory when they noticed the look of pained concentration as he returned to his home, eyes never once leaving the egg. They knew they had bested the goose.
    What they didn't know, was that the farmer, too, was in love. He placed the egg gently on his bed, then sat, hands folded, brow furrowed. The radiant glow emanating from the egg caught his eye, and he took it in his arms, holding it to him, feeling its warmth. 

     And then, the tender warmth turned to a burning bitterness -- white-hot jealousy crackled in his every nerve, and he threw the egg to the floor where it landed with an imposing thud, wobbling on its axis like a child in the midst of a tantrum.
    He had long favored the goose, presenting her with surreptitious gifts on his frequent evening visits to her nest. They had held what he thought of as a certain understanding -- he had trusted her with his innermost musings and secrets, and she had -- he once believed -- done the same.
     Now, the goose was in love, and the first he heard of it was an indignant chicken's gossip. The bitterness rose up again, dominating his every sense, until he thought he might be sick at the disgusting taste it left in every crevice of his mouth.
    He felt himself shoot up from the bed, as though controlled by a malevolent spirit. His body marched itself out of his house, down the path to the goose's roost. He felt his eyes meet hers, and heard his voice, inhumanly cold, asking: "Who is it?"
    She said nothing. Instead, she sadly turned her eyes from his, down to beneath her own body, where another golden egg sat, small but unmistakable in its resplendent brilliance.
    The glare caught his eye, and without averting his gaze, he threw the goose to the floor, taking the egg and lifting it up.

     "You will make more," he sneered, not once looking away from his prize.
      There was no response for a long moment, and then a weak voice: "I can't."

      At this, he jerked his head down to her, where she lay crumpled and still. He sat the egg back in the nest, teeth clenched. A different glare seized his attention, and he glided toward it, a moth caught by a deadly flame. An axe leaned against the wall, and he grasped it in his hands. 
     "Then I will take it all."
      The sunlight caught the blade, tracing a blazing trajectory up, arcing over and down, extinguished in a mess of feathers and blood. 
     There was no light -- no shining blade, no glittering gold.
     He fell to his knees, face in his hands. He couldn't bare to look, so for a long time he stayed in that position, conscious of each shallow breath entering and exiting his body. 

    Finally, he lifted his head. The small egg gleamed from the nest. He grabbed it, cupping the precious thing in his hands like a desert's last drops of water. It was still warm.




Bibliography:
Image: Golden Egg Licensed under Creative Commons
Story: Based on "The Goose and the Golden Egg",  Aesop for Children, by (anonymous), illustrated by Milo Winter (1919)