The Bald Vulture

A Children's Story

One spring morning the sun rose over the edge of the desert, flooding the emerald hollows with its golden rays, and its warmth revived millions of tiny flowers glittering like stars among the stones. And there sat a Bedouin shepherd boy, playing a plaintive tune on his pipe, while the black goats went on cropping the green grass in evident contentment.

The truth is that all were enjoying ease and happiness in that refreshing spot except two — Mr. Vulture and Mr. Crow. They were sworn enemies, each harboring spite and hatred for the other. Mr. Vulture sat hungry on the highest rock, eyeing his adversary Mr. Crow, who was perched on the branch of a tree, with looks full of suspicion.

In those days Mr. Vulture was one of the handsome birds: his head and neck were clothed in glossy white feathers. The Bedouin shepherd boy gazed up at him, wishing he had a hunting rifle. He knew Mr. Vulture through and through and was acquainted with his habits. And at last an idea for putting an end to Mr. Vulture passed through the boy's mind.

From his post at the top of the tree Mr. Crow blinked his eyes and opened his beak wide in a yawn. The boy felt with his fingers for the pieces of stone in his pocket and drew out his sling — for he detested Mr. Crow too. He waited a moment, then took aim with his sling; the pieces of stone shot from it like a piercing arrow and struck Mr. Crow, who dropped at once to the ground, a lifeless corpse.

Mr. Vulture watched all this and laughed with delight. The flesh of old Mr. Crow was not enough for his meal; but Mr. Vulture was hungry, so he resolved to wait until the Bedouin boy went off to his flock, and then to finish off his prey.

But the boy did not stir from his place, for that was not in his reckoning: he was a sharp-witted lad, and he was preparing a snare for Mr. Vulture in which Mr. Crow would serve as the bait, at the end of a long string, to catch him by the neck.

At last the Bedouin boy walked off with the flock of goats and hid behind the rocks, leaving behind him Mr. Crow sprawled on the ground, his beak agape and his claws sticking up. Then Mr. Vulture spread his broad wings and came down from his perch and began to stare at his prey. He advanced toward it one step, then two; and at last he did what the clever Bedouin boy had been expecting: he pounced upon Mr. Crow's body, and in no time his head was inside the trap.

The Bedouin boy, hidden behind the rocks, felt the string quiver, and began to pull it with all the strength he had — he had tied its other end around a heavy stone.

Mr. Vulture rose up and began shrieking and beating the air with his wings, trying to escape; but every time he tried, the string drew tighter. At last his strength gave out and he fell to the ground, panting with exhaustion.

The Bedouin boy looked at him and said, 'That will do to keep off your mischief.' And with that he went his way. But he was mistaken. For night had not yet fallen when the jackal, friend of the odious Mr. Vulture, came and gnawed through the string and set him free. But Mr. Vulture had struggled and fought so long to free himself from his captivity that he had rubbed away every feather on his neck and head. And those feathers never grew again afterward.