Aiee da Ogre

Once upon a time in a land far away there lived an Ogre who loved to sing.  Every morning he would rise from his rock hard bed. Stretch, until he popped all his joints into place and a few trees out of the ground. Yawn, until the sound of thunder could be heard rumbling in all the hills and valleys. And then scratch. Ogres love to scratch.1

It dislodges all the bugs and crawlies that have made their home in the folds of his skin during the cold of night. Then Aida, for that was the Ogre’s name, began to sing. 2

He didn’t sing surreptitiously, oh no! He sang with gusto in a stentorian voice that shook the trees and denuded them of their ornamentation, so that they stood naked and trembling, their leaves flagellated from their limbs by the power of his voice. 3

When he sang, the foxes ran to hide under the earth in their burrows and wolves bayed at the sun in an attempt to drown out the sound. When he sang the earth rattled and groaned in an onomatopoeic counterpoint that was representational of an earth shake. When he sang, rabbits were exorcised from their homes, which was handy for him because that meant he could have breakfast, by reaching down and grabbing their downy hides and swallowing them whole but stunned. You would think that with a voice like that he would be raking the cash in. But no! He suffered for his art and became a recipient of eleemosynary. No one was entranced by his music, or if they were entranced, they were eaten and therefore not considered to be an ongoing source of riches.4

Aida was desperate to have his singing appreciated, he had a phobia about never being discovered and about living his life near the swamp where even the trees were eviscerated by his voice. His face became exsanguinate at the very thought of being a nobody all his life.  He wanted to be an international star and he had a plan to do this, a straightforward, strategic - for an ogre plan that he thought would work. All he needed to do was test it. If fame and fortune wouldn’t come to him he would go out into the world and seek it. “Once they hear my voice,” he mused, “they will fall at my feet.”5

Reasoning thus he set off, leaving the trembling trees, the battered bunnies, the wild-eyed wolves, the frantic foxes behind him. He walked all day, covering leagues but he didn’t sing. He was saving his voice for the critics and singers so that his fame would expurgate his previous mediocrity.6

When he was halfway to his goal, he couldn’t hold back any longer and he began to sing. He sang loudly and gustily without a care in the world and the earth shook beneath him causing scientists to record his voice and name it Richter as petrography for the way the earth moved.7

Suddenly he stopped. There in front of him was a girl, a tiny girl, a girl no bigger than his thumb. Notwithstanding her size she didn’t appear to be terrified by him, in fact she appeared to be angry. Very angry! She glowed in incandescent, demonstrative glory, not like the evanescent beasts of his home. Aida was so surprised he stopped.8

“Shhh!” She yelled at the top of her voice, “Be quiet! You have ruined my hunt!”9

“BUT…” Stammered Aida.10

“Shut up!” She screamed. “I’ve lost my quarry. You scared it off. Don’t exacerbate the situation by singing again. I may forgive you if you shut up now!”11

“May forgive…MAY Forgive” He thundered. He was about to say more when she took her hunting knife and jabbed it firmly into his foot. By the time the pain had extrapolated itself to his brain she was gone and he was left with an interrogatory silence.12

He couldn’t let her get away with this he decided; he would follow her and make her pay. And he did. All thoughts of fame and fortune were gone in his desire to get revenge on this slip of a girl. Finally he caught up with her and watched silently as she knelt in front of a rabbit hole, disingenuously ignoring the rabbit that was carefully poking its head out of the burrow. Suddenly she pounced and caught the rabbit as it tried to run. “Now you can sing if you want,” she whispered over her shoulder. And he did. He opened his mouth and began to sing. The ground shook, the trees dropped their leaves in fright and the rabbit gave one shudder and died. 13

“Pretty handy killing tool you have there,” she said blandly  “but if you’re going to live with me you’ll have to learn to whisper. I don’t want our baby waking up screaming at the sound of your voice.”14

Aida thought of all the things he would like to say. He began to speak several times but couldn’t seem to find the words. Suddenly, he realized he didn’t care about being rich or famous. All he cared about was making this slip of a girl happy. He smiled and his grin wasn’t facetious it was an honest, gooey, hearts and flowers kind of a grin. “I will.”  He whispered as the breezes blew gently. “For you I’ll learn to whisper. But once a day you must allow me to go far into the woods to sing.”15

“Done and done.” She said boldly as she stepped into his hand and was raised to his lips.16

Now Aida has learned to whisper except for once a day when he goes out to catch meat for the pot and Oprah raises the children in love and tenderness using a stepladder to feed and bathe them. 17

And they all lived happily ever after, except for the scientists who are going crazy trying to figure out why the earth shakes regularly, at least once a day.18