A calmer heart tastes sweeter.
The monkey had been meditating for eleven minutes when the pear arrived. This was unfortunate. Eleven minutes was a personal record.
He sat chest-deep in the mountain spring, eyes closed, hands resting neatly on the warm stone beneath the water. Steam curled around his white fur, while snow clung to the rocks above him. Somewhere beyond the mist, water trickled steadily down the mountain.
Plip. Plip. Plip.
Peace had been achieved. Or something very close to it.
The Pear
Then came the smell: ripe pear, sweet and cold in the rising steam.
His left nostril moved. He corrected it.
On the rock behind him, his younger brother held a long stick. A loop of string cradled half a pear beneath its tip. Morning light shone through the cut flesh, turning it translucent gold around two dark seeds.
The younger monkey lowered it until it hung five centimeters from his brother’s nose. The nostril moved again.
“Inner peace,” whispered the younger monkey.
His brother said nothing. The pear swung left, then right, while he continued breathing slowly.
In. Pear.
Out. Pear.
In. Definitely pear.
The younger monkey covered his mouth to stop himself laughing. Then he lowered the fruit another centimeter.
His brother opened one eye.
The little monkey froze, holding the stick perfectly still. After a moment, the eye closed again.
A Tired Arm
Another minute passed, then two. The little monkey’s arm began to ache. He shifted his grip, and the stick dipped. The pear tipped sideways in its loose loop and slipped free.
Ploop.
Both monkeys stared at the fruit floating between them. The younger one laid down the stick and scrambled to the water’s edge. He reached for the pear, then stopped. His older brother had already picked it up.
The little monkey sighed. The pear had won.
His brother examined the fruit. Then he pressed his thumbs into the ripe flesh and gently pulled it into two smaller pieces. He held one out toward the rock.
The little monkey took it and blinked.
“You wanted it?”
“Very much.”
“Then why didn’t you take it?”
The older monkey bit into his piece. Crunch. Juice ran down his chin as he chewed.
“I was waiting.”
“For what?”
Another crunch.
“For you to get tired.”
Beside Him
The little monkey stared at him through the drifting steam. Then he looked at the piece in his hand and took a bite.
His brother finished eating and settled back against the warm stone. After a moment, the younger monkey climbed quietly into the spring beside him, holding the last mouthful above the water until he had found somewhere to sit.
He ate it. His brother closed his eyes again.
For almost thirty seconds, neither moved. Then the younger monkey whispered,
“Are we meditating?”
“No.”
“What are we doing?”
The older monkey opened one eye.
“Digesting.”
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