The Monkey and the Crocodile

On the shore of a warm blue sea there grew an old tree: a pink apple tree. A Monkey lived in it, and pink apples ripened on its branches. They were small and fragrant, and so sweet they made your fingers sticky.

One day a Crocodile swam up to the shore. He crawled out onto the sand, sprawled in the sunshine and sighed:

“Oh, what a long way I’ve swum! Oh, how hungry I am!”

The Monkey peeped out from behind the leaves.

“Would you like some apples, my guest?”

“Apples? Can you eat those?” asked the Crocodile in surprise.

“You certainly can! Catch!”

Plop! An apple dropped right into his mouth. The Crocodile chewed, screwed up his eyes with pleasure, and suddenly smiled with every one of his teeth.

“Why, that’s the tastiest thing in the whole world!”

“Then here’s another,” laughed the Monkey. “And another! And another!”

From then on the Crocodile came every day. The Monkey threw down apples, and he caught them, snap! snap! Then he told her what he had seen in the sea: fish with silver sides, a turtle that sleeps for a hundred years, and a little sandy island where his wife lived. And the Monkey told him about the birds, about the wind, and about how far you can see from the very top of the tree. And so they became friends.

One day the Monkey said:

“Take some apples for your wife, too. Let her have a treat as well.”

The Crocodile filled his mouth and swam home.

Mrs Crocodile ate the apples, licked her lips and narrowed her yellow eyes.

“Sweet,” she said. “Very sweet. Where do you get them?”

“My friend the Monkey gives them to me.”

“The Monkey?” drawled Mrs Crocodile. “What sort of monkey eats apples like these all day long? Her heart must be as sweet as honey. Oh, if only I could taste that heart…”

The Crocodile was so shocked that he slapped his tail.

“What are you saying? She’s my friend!”

“Friend, friend,” grumbled Mrs Crocodile, and she turned away. “And you never think about me. If you don’t bring me that heart, I won’t talk to you ever again. Not one word!”

And she fell silent. The Crocodile swam round and round her: not a word. He brought her a little fish: not a word. He sang her a song: still nothing, only sniffing.

The Crocodile thought for a long time, and his thoughts were heavy. But in the end he swam to the old tree.

The Monkey was already waiting on her branch.

“Why are you so sad today?”

“Well…” The Crocodile looked away. “My wife is cross. She says you treat me every day, and I’ve never once invited you to visit us. Come to our island! She’ll give you a treat.”

“But I can’t swim,” said the Monkey, flustered.

“Then sit on my back. I’ll carry you gently, gently, like a little boat.”

The Monkey wanted very much to see the island. Hop! And there she was on the Crocodile’s back, holding on to the bumps on his skin.

Off they swam. The water went splish-splash, the sun sparkled, little fish leapt out of the waves. The Monkey laughed and turned her head this way and that. But the Crocodile swam faster and faster and said nothing.

In the middle of the sea, where the shore could barely be seen, he suddenly said:

“Monkey, I have to confess something. My wife doesn’t want to give you a treat. She wants your heart. She says it’s sweet from all those apples.”

The Monkey froze. All around there was only water, deep and dark: not a twig, not a pebble. Her little tail began to tremble. But she took a deep breath, thought of her green branches, and slapped her forehead.

“Oh, Crocodile! Why didn’t you say so before?”

“Why, what’s the matter?” he asked in surprise.

“I left my heart at home! When we monkeys go visiting, we always hide our hearts in a hollow in the tree, so we don’t lose them. That’s where it is now, in the hollow of our apple tree, the sweetest heart of all. Let’s hurry back, I’ll fetch it, and then we’ll swim to your wife.”

The Crocodile blinked. He thought. He blinked again.

“Well, if that’s how it is… Hold on tight!”

And he turned back. Now he swam with all his might, his tail churning up the water. Here was the shore already, and here was the old tree.

The moment the Crocodile touched the sand, the Monkey went hop! skip! and there she was on the very highest branch.

“Well, where’s your heart?” the Crocodile called up from below. “Get it and let’s go!”

The Monkey made herself comfortable, wrapped her tail around the branch and shook her head.

“Oh, you silly simpleton! Who ever has two hearts? My heart is always with me, right here in my chest. And right now it’s pounding, because I very nearly came to harm.”

The Crocodile hung his head.

“I… I didn’t mean to. It was all my wife’s idea.”

“I fed you apples,” the Monkey said quietly. “I told you about the wind and the birds. And you carried me out into the middle of the sea. I will never sit on your back again. Swim home, Crocodile.”

The Crocodile stayed in the shallows for a while, sighing and sighing. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find the words. Then he slowly turned round and swam away, quietly, without a single splash. For a long time his back could still be seen among the waves, and then it too was gone.

The Monkey sat on her branch until her heart grew calm. The sun was setting, and the sea turned pink, then gold, then blue. The Monkey picked an apple, the sweetest of all those hanging nearby, and ate it herself, slowly, savouring every bite.

After that the Crocodile came back to the old apple tree many times. He lay in the shallows, tipped his head back and waited: what if the leaves rustled and, plop!, an apple fell? But the Monkey only looked down at him from the highest branch and said nothing. She never sat on the Crocodile’s back again, and not one more pink apple ever fell into his mouth.