In a certain kingdom, in a certain land, in a dark forest, in a dense wood lived an old fox. All her life she had caught ducks and geese, which were plentiful on the forest lake, but in her old age her legs grew weak, and the little fox could no longer provide for herself. And so one day, she came upon a hare with a broken paw. Patrikeyevna rejoiced, grabbed the grey one and was about to bite him, when the hare said to her:
Don't eat me, old friend, I'll be useful to you. If you eat me — you'll be satisfied once, but if you spare my life — you'll forget about hunger forever.
The fox was surprised:
But what will you do, grey one? Do you have a magic tablecloth hidden away?
I don't have a magic tablecloth, but I'll make it so that the geese living on the lake will come straight into your mouth of their own accord.
Answered the hare.
But how will you do that? Will you poison them with some potion?
I don't need potions. I'll make them dance to my tune using more modern means.
How's that?
Like this. We'll give them a television and broadcast whatever we want.
What, so they'll come into our mouths?
Not so directly. We'll set a goal. What prevents you from catching geese? The fact that they fly, their strong wings. We'll take away their wings.
But how?!
We'll make the geese themselves give up the ability to fly. To do this, we'll create an image of a new goose — advanced and free — but really — exactly as we need it.
And a new, enormous world opened up to them. The geese understood that they had fallen behind in life, knew nothing, and now it was time to start living in a new way.
The ganders watch the screen, and there's a show: a pretty goose sings, jumps — completely naked — plucked! Only here and there short, artfully trimmed feathers are visible. And the hare-commentator cheerfully shouts: "The latest fashion! This is how birds dress all over the world!".
And then they show a talk show where two dozen plucked birds happily discuss as an accomplished fact that now, in the era of freedom and sexual revolution, walking around in long feathers — is silly and boring.
A few days later, almost all the geese were hopping along the lake shore without feathers, and the ganders' wings were neatly trimmed into an intricate shape.
And then sweet times came for the little fox! She attacks a goose — but it can't fly away. She grabs it and eats it. And the geese don't even think that because of the new fashion they've become easy prey for the fox — they're too busy listening to what Chatty Hare says on the screen.
And he's happy to oblige, broadcasting about the arrangement of stars and planets: saying that if a goose was eaten — it must have been decided by the combination of Libra and Capricorn, and he'll casually mention that a plucked goose has better karma, so it's less likely to be eaten.
The fox walks through the forest, satisfied and well-fed. And the hare, a forest celebrity, comes towards her. He bounds up to Patrikeyevna and says:
Have I arranged a good life for you, old friend?
Yes, thank you, little grey one.
She answers.
You can't live on "thank you" alone.
But what do you need?! Food? Go ahead, take the geese, eat them. They'll come to you themselves!
The fox was surprised.
I can't. First, it will ruin my image, and second — I don't eat goose. I'm not used to it. I need cabbage!
Answered the little hare.
The geese's life acquired a frantic pace. They watched television, plucked feathers, painted their bare skin with cosmetics advertised by the hare. He didn't even advertise them, but created the impression that these paints were an integral part of a modern goose's lifestyle, without which it couldn't get by.
The cosmetics were expensive, and the hare made them (or rather, the geese working for him made them) from grass, clay and other available materials.
But how he "promoted" his innovation! "Super paint! With it you'll be irresistible!", "Hare-Goose Cosmetics! You deserve it!", "Don't fall behind fashion! Be better than everyone!".
The geese had no time left to raise their goslings, and the ganders had no time to find not only food, but also constantly changing fashion novelties. And then the hare began a new campaign that promised to bring him unprecedented profits.
On television, they began to speak more and more often about how poor geese were tormented by the care of their goslings, how difficult it was in our time to feed and raise a young generation. The image of a free, energetic, plucked and painted according to the latest fashion goose, not burdened by offspring, began to appear more and more often.
Ganders followed her in crowds, success accompanied her at every step. She said: "Why so many goslings? You need to get rid of eggs before anyone hatches from them." Around the same time, a new company opened on the lake shore, run by none other than the fox.
It was called the "Goose Association for Family Health," but in fact it was just a collection point where geese brought their freshly laid eggs, which the fox happily took to the nearest human village and sold to the grocery shop.
At first the geese were wary of the new enterprise, after all, they were being asked to give up their own children to be eaten. But they were repeatedly and subtly convinced that "Only a planned gosling can be happy and complete!", "By getting rid of extra eggs, a goose cares for her future goslings!" and that, in the end, one must respect the rights of the goose, not turn her into a machine for raising goslings.
Now the fox and hare always had not only fresh goose meat, but also eggs, and all sorts of cabbage in large quantities.
So days passed after days, weeks after weeks… The geese watched television, plucked themselves — lived as they pleased. And they didn't notice, poor things, that there were fewer and fewer of them, that the cheerful honking of goslings was rarely heard on the lake — there were few of them now, and those that did hatch — were sad and mournful, because they had neither sisters nor brothers, and the adults were busy with their own affairs.
However, they soon stopped being sad — they sat down together with the adults in front of the blue screen and forgot about their loneliness.
Among these goslings was a little one named Gulya. Just like all the others: plucked according to children's fashion (and Chatty Hare invented that too), brightly painted. Only, perhaps, she was sadder than the others — because she couldn't watch television for long. It gave her a headache.
What's your name, little goose?
Asked a stranger who had descended from the sky to the startled bird.
G-Gulya. And who are you?
She answered shyly.
I'm a goose. My name is Migration.
A strange name… But you don't look like a goose. You're so very large and fluffy… And what were you doing there… so high?!
Flying.
How is that? Can geese fly?!
They can. They were made for it.
But I can't. And none of my relatives can. I've never seen geese fly!
It's not that difficult. But for a goose to do it, it must have feathers.
Feathers… But that's so unfashionable, outdated! If I grow feathers, I'll look like an old, out-of-fashion goose who's stopped taking care of herself. They'll laugh at me!
So what… Silly things, if they just once rose into the sky, they would no longer pluck themselves, would not give up the happiness of flight.
I want to learn to fly too!
Said Gulya and was startled by her own boldness. But Migration smiled kindly and answered:
That's wonderful. Work at it and you'll learn. First, you must stop plucking your feathers.
But then I won't be able to paint my skin!
You won't. But without feathers you won't be able to fly.
Then I'll be completely different from everyone else! A stranger to all…
You won't be. You don't notice it, but some of the geese around you have already stopped plucking their feathers and want to learn to fly.
But you're the only one flying!
I'm not alone…
Yes, I saw two more in the sky! Who are they?
My father and my wife.
You never plucked yourselves?
Never.
All of you?!
It seems so.
But, despite this, now one, now another goose would suddenly stop plucking — and at the same time stop watching the notorious television, in which everything became foreign and hostile to him. And, although these eccentrics were still insignificant in number compared to the huge motley flock of plucked birds, the Hare became seriously worried.
And he devised a scheme of unparalleled cunning. After consulting with the fox, the hare disappeared from the forest for a long time, and when he returned, he brought with him a huge pile of fluffy, painted in all the colours of the rainbow, feathers: goose, swan and even rooster feathers. Soon, unprecedented advertisements began to flash on the screen.
"Feathers? Why not!" — boldly said a goose dressed up like a peacock, proudly waving a motley tail — "but with them I'll be exactly as I want!" — and the feathered mantle flew to the feet of the fashionable one, exposing the bare, as before, goose skin.
"And really, why not dress up in the old style" — gossiped the geese — "we must remember our traditions. The main thing is just not to get obsessed with this, not to try to turn back time, painfully growing feathers on your own body!".
The inexperienced followers of Migration sighed with relief, began to cover the young down that had separated them from the flock. And the Hare gave them yet another, completely unexpected in its grandeur "gift". One day he offered everyone who wanted to… fly!
The new attraction was simple and required no sacrifices (of course, unless you count the cost of buying feathers). The geese put on feathered clothing, climbed onto a bush or low tree — and jumped off, gliding for a while on artificial wings. This possibility shocked the geese, among whom not a single one had yet managed to acquire enough plumage for their first flight.
"Really," they reasoned, "why suffer, grow something, give up normal life, and then still learn to fly, bind yourself for life to endless flights, so as not to forget how again…You can make it much simpler!".
And they happily ran to pluck themselves, paint themselves and buy themselves false wings. Migration reproached them bitterly. But the geese didn't want to listen, and even accused their teacher, saying that he was too strict, demanded something impossible and unnecessary, wanted senseless obedience to him.
However, not all were like that, many remained true to their dream, stubbornly growing feathers; every day they did exercises for their wings, stretching and strengthening them… They patiently waited for the time of their first flight.
Gulya stood on the shore and looked at her reflection in the water. When would her feathers grow?! And would they grow? Or maybe it's all a lie, could everyone be wrong, and they — Migration and a few other geese, be smarter than everyone… No, Migration is certainly right — he flies. But her… She's not like the others… And how much she wants to fly right now! Even from a bush! …But she can't get to the attraction – false feathers won't fit over real ones. And Migration forbids going to the Hare's games…
Gulya climbed onto a huge boulder lying by the water, jumped off it, frantically waving her tiny wings. For a split second it seemed to her that the air was holding her, that she was flying… But the next moment she found herself helplessly sitting on the ground. "What is this!" — cried Gulya indignantly — "at the attraction, geese fly much higher and longer! And there they lay down straw — landing doesn't hurt! Maybe they fly better?.."
You will understand this on the day of fire, when the forest comes to an end.
Suddenly she heard a voice behind her.
Migration! You! But what are you saying?!
Gulya was delighted.
And time passed. A great drought and heat came. Disaster hung over the forest, but for the most part the geese didn't notice it for a while. They watched television as always, amused themselves with false feathers, and laughed at a handful of eccentrics who stubbornly lived differently from everyone else. And those of the latter remained true to their dream with their last strength.
Some felt that soon, very soon it would come true, if it came true at all, if it came true for them. …If they were still ready for their flight.
Something ominous hung in the air, and soon everyone felt that a terrible disaster was coming to the forest. The trees rustled plaintively, the lake became shallower and shallower…
The day is coming when everyone will see what they're worth, but it will be too late. Then everyone will cry, there will be disaster — but at the same time, then we will straighten up, because the time of our flight will come, flight to the sky.
Migration spoke to his followers.
The geese listened to their teacher and cried, then went to their plucked relatives and friends, tried to warn them of the coming disaster, tried to persuade them, while there was still time, to come to their senses and start growing feathers… Some listened to them, others, as before, laughed, called them mad.
And then, the day came. From morning, the sky was covered with some strange grey clouds, for the first time in recent times covering the scorching sun, but the heat did not decrease. The heat and stuffiness became more and more unbearable. Then there was a smell of smoke and, finally, fire roared, flashing with bright flashes among the trees. The geese scattered, ran to the lake shore — and with them the fox and the hare.
The geese rushed to the Hare, began to beg him to save them — "after all, you know everything!" — but the hare only snarled angrily: "I don't know anything! And if I did — I wouldn't tell you! Leave me alone!" — and crawled into the lake. But that didn't save him either.
Ancient firs blazed like huge torches, tall pines crackled and broke like thin matches; it seemed that the lake itself was boiling and becoming fiery from the reflection of the flames in it… In vain the hare and his geese tried to hide in it. The fire caught up with them, the smoke choked them…
When the fire first began to flicker among the trees, Gulya and her friends hurried to the place where Migration usually talked to them. And today he was there, together with his father — a huge grey goose and his wife — the feathered goose Letanya.
You will fly. A goose was made for flight. You have wings. Don't be afraid. Fly!
He said quietly.
And Gulya flapped her wings. Once, twice… There she lifted off the ground, a stream of air caught her and carried her higher, higher… Far below remained the horror of the burning forest and with it — past fears and grievances.
She felt very sorry for those who remained below, without feathers, but she could not help them, and they themselves refused the opportunity to fly… And she forgot about them, forgot about herself, forgot about everything — and rushed towards fresh air, towards her great dream come true, towards life, which is all flight.
