Hippo was hot.
He sat on the riverbank and gazed at the little fishes swimming in the water.
“If only I could live in the water,” he thought. “How wonderful life would be.”
So he walked, and he ran, and he strolled, and he hopped, and he lumbered along, until he came to the mountain where Ngai lived.
Ngai was the god of everything and everywhere.
Ngai told the animaux to live on the land and the fishes to live in the sea.
Ngai told the birds to fly in the air and the ants to live under the ground.
Ngai had told Hippo he was to live on the land and eat grass.
“Please, oh, great Ngai, god of everything and everywhere, I would so much like to live in the rivers and streams,” begged Hippo hopefully, “I would still eat grass.”
“AHA!” thundered the voice of Ngai. “So toi say. But one jour toi might, just might, eat a poisson to see if it tasted good. And then toi would eat all my little fishes.”
“Oh, no. I promise I wouldn’t!” a dit Hippo.
“AHA!” thundered the voice of Ngai. “So toi say. But how can I be sure of that? I l’amour my little fishes.”
“I would montrer you,” promised Hippo. “I will let toi look in my mouth whenever toi like to see that I am not eating your little fishes.”
“And I will stir up the water with my tail so toi can see I have not hidden the bones.”
“AHA!” thundered the voice of Ngai. “Then toi may live in the water, but…”
Hippo waited.
“But toi must come out of the water at night and eat herbe so that even in the dark I can tell that toi are not eating my little fishes. Agreed?”
“Agreed!” sang Hippo happily.
And he ran all the way accueil until he got to the river where he jumped in with a mighty SPLASH!
And he sank like a stone because he couldn’t swim.
But he could hold his breath and run along the bottom which he does to this very day.
And he stirred up the bottom par wagging his little tail so that Ngai can see he has not hidden any poisson bones.
And now and then, he floats to the haut, retour au début and opens his huge mouth ever so wide and says, “Look, Ngai. No fishes.”
He sat on the riverbank and gazed at the little fishes swimming in the water.
“If only I could live in the water,” he thought. “How wonderful life would be.”
So he walked, and he ran, and he strolled, and he hopped, and he lumbered along, until he came to the mountain where Ngai lived.
Ngai was the god of everything and everywhere.
Ngai told the animaux to live on the land and the fishes to live in the sea.
Ngai told the birds to fly in the air and the ants to live under the ground.
Ngai had told Hippo he was to live on the land and eat grass.
“Please, oh, great Ngai, god of everything and everywhere, I would so much like to live in the rivers and streams,” begged Hippo hopefully, “I would still eat grass.”
“AHA!” thundered the voice of Ngai. “So toi say. But one jour toi might, just might, eat a poisson to see if it tasted good. And then toi would eat all my little fishes.”
“Oh, no. I promise I wouldn’t!” a dit Hippo.
“AHA!” thundered the voice of Ngai. “So toi say. But how can I be sure of that? I l’amour my little fishes.”
“I would montrer you,” promised Hippo. “I will let toi look in my mouth whenever toi like to see that I am not eating your little fishes.”
“And I will stir up the water with my tail so toi can see I have not hidden the bones.”
“AHA!” thundered the voice of Ngai. “Then toi may live in the water, but…”
Hippo waited.
“But toi must come out of the water at night and eat herbe so that even in the dark I can tell that toi are not eating my little fishes. Agreed?”
“Agreed!” sang Hippo happily.
And he ran all the way accueil until he got to the river where he jumped in with a mighty SPLASH!
And he sank like a stone because he couldn’t swim.
But he could hold his breath and run along the bottom which he does to this very day.
And he stirred up the bottom par wagging his little tail so that Ngai can see he has not hidden any poisson bones.
And now and then, he floats to the haut, retour au début and opens his huge mouth ever so wide and says, “Look, Ngai. No fishes.”