Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. Freely you have received, freely give. Mat 10:8
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‘And it is so fresh,’ the old frog went on. ‘You can breathe it and not suffocate. It is so clean you can see through it for leaps and leaps. There are great fish there too. Mighty silver salmon, and huge spotted trout, and pike which will eat you in one swallow, and crayfish which swim backwards. And eels and …’
‘Old man, your dreams have turned you crazy. How can a fish swim backwards? And fish don’t eat frogs! Give it up, old frog, and go back to your river. You won’t convert me into a river-freak. I have a life to live here. Besides, where is this great river of yours? I don’t see it, or feel it, or hear it. It is a figment of your fading imagination. Dream on, old croaker!’
The old frog wasn’t in the least perturbed by this out-burst. ‘The river is one good leap beyond the edge of this pond, that is all. One leap, and you’re there. One leap, and a whole new life awaits you. One leap, and this pond will seem a small and dingy place. It will seem dull and cramped and smelly and …’ The old one fixed his eyes on the youngster. ‘And lifeless,’ he added. Without another word, he plopped under the surface, and swam gently over to the far bank.
The young frog watched him climb out on the far side where no one ever went, past the knotty reed bed and the tall willows fluttering in the breeze. And then he saw the old brown form leap into the air and disappear from his gaze.
After some moments he swung his eyes back to the lily-pad, but the two girls had gone. He felt the strange emptiness that comes when you have lost something. Something precious.
A hollow stomach which can only be filled by the treasure lost. He wasn’t sure now if it was the empty lily-pad or the words of the old frog which had made him feel this way, though it seemed to him as though somehow he was being given a choice. He looked back at the distant shore of the pond. What was it the old croaker had said? ‘One leap?’ It seemed so very, very unlikely. And yet…
A twinge of hunger broke his reverie. He slipped into the muddy water, and in a few seconds was hunting for worms. Somehow the pond had lost some of its glamour today. The water was flat in his nostrils. Dull. ‘Bother the old frog,’ he thought. ‘Bother him and his river tales. An hour ago I was happy, and now I am worming in a dull, cramped, smelly old pond, and for what? To get bigger, to become Top Frog of a muddy pond, to rear tadpoles, get old and crabby and die? Is that a life?’
His thoughts stole his appetite. He spat out the remains of a worm, and swam to the surface. Once again his eyes were drawn to the distant shore. And then with firm strokes he struck out across the green water. ‘One leap the old beggar had said. One leap I shall make,’ he told himself. ‘And if the old frog was wrong, at least I will know, and can go back to my worms.’
For the first time in his life he pulled himself out onto the bank by the knotty reeds, and hopped tentatively past the willows. And then he gathered himself tightly and leaped with all his strength, into the waiting River ▪
The River (continued)