Echo, the Forest Nymph

Echo, the Forest Nymph 
As you'll notice, I took one hell of a lot of poetic license in telling this fable.
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Long ago and far away, lived a beautiful young maiden named Echo. Lovely, smiling, and personable, she had only one failing.

"Blah, blah," Echo would mutter in her sleep. "Blah, blah," she'd talk to her handmaiden while dressing. It would be "blah, blah," all through breakfast, splattering bits of chicken and rice across the table. It was so bad that poor Echo was forced to eat alone.  The young lady would blah and bluster throughout the day. Echo would never shut up.

"Please, dear," her mother would say, "you must contain yourself."

Echo would continue smiling, nodding but only raising her dulcet voice, ignoring such advice.

Her father, a wealthy merchant, tried many methods and even tricks to quiet his daughter. "Echo, darling," he would say, "ladies don't talk during musical concerts." It did no good at all, Echo nodding while speaking on the advantages of silk shifts over rayon; her beautiful but constant voice rising over that of the singers.

Years later, while banished to a lonely tower in the family castle, Echo felt an urge -- as all young people do -- for intimate companionship. By that time, her propensity to blabber was well known in the kingdom and young men preferred cohabitation with victims of the black plague rather than ten-minutes in her presence.

Although intelligent, it was impossible for Echo to get any schooling -- not when she constantly drowned out any teacher, her constant yabbering disrupting every class. In her presence, no other student could get a word in edgewise, much less front, back, from above or below. The only exercise in gym class was in frustration.

Kissing a mouth -- though a lovely and tasty morsel -- while it was blathering was impossible. Sexual situations while listening to a diatribe on how to make brown gravy turned out to be immensely distracting. 

The young lovely resorted to a myriad of lures, such as lap-dancing in the nude -- on an empty chair, of course -- in a tower window. Young men would take every opportunity for self-gratification from a distance -- though out of range of Echo's pleading.  In fact, an entrepreneur built a Men’s Club, complete with binoculars, at the edge of the woods to accommodate her admirers.

Eventually, word of the lovely young lady's condition made its way to Hera, queen of the gods. Curious, she came down to earth to see for herself. 

The Goddess was, at first, only slightly annoyed by Echo refusing to listen to godly advice. After a half-hour of trying in vain for a conversation, Hera became deeply incensed. A goddess does not take kindly to hearing a lecture on how to fry lamb chops when giving advice to her subjects.

Hera thundered a curse onto the girl. "From now on, you are to be banished to the Black Forest way the hell over in Germany," the goddess ranted and raved. "You will never speak your own words again, having to repeat only the last bits of every other voice you hear. That way, you will be forced to listen to what others say."

And, it was so. Although her daddy built his daughter a nice cottage in the middle of the forest, poor Echo was banished out of polite, and not so polite, human company.

Even the forest creatures avoided Echo. At first, since she repeated their greetings in their own language, she was accepted. Later, the unfeeling forest denizens thought her crazy and stupid. After all, although repeating their voices, she seemed to have no opinions of her own. Later still, Echo would repeat their insults to them. If a deer hooted and called her a simpleton, she would do the same right back. No deer likes to be called names by a simpleton, so they left her alone. The other forest creatures felt the same.

Echo's only companion was a deaf rat named Oscar. ( Sorry. I have to put him in or he'll bite my toes.)

Echo lived alone, except for the rat, for many years. The forest did have various visitors, attracted by her beautiful echoing voice. They came from miles around to call out words such as, "Hello. Are you there," and to hear "you there," bouncing back. Speaking of simpletons, can you imagine yourself doing anything that stupid?

To get on with the story, one day a rather handsome young prince rode through the forest. He was on his way to a famous beauty parlor to have his hair curled and get a pedicure.

The youngster was named Narcissus. At home, he was known as a bore's bore. A handsome bore but, nevertheless ... a bore. He considered himself too beautiful to be seen with lesser creatures, such as girls or boys. Narcissus was, currently, on his way to be prettied up so that gods would be attracted to his beauty and raise him to Mount Olympus in order to further admire him. He was an extremely self-centered young prick.

Narcissus came upon a pretty little cottage in the forest. Being tired from walking, he never hesitated, going inside and falling asleep on Echo's bed. He didn't worry the least about the owner's permission. If anything, he figured they'd be honored by such a great man's presence.

Echo, out washing her clothing in a nearby stream, was surprised to see Oscar running over to interrupt her. The rat pantomimed someone sleeping, pointing an arm in the direction of her home.

Expecting maybe a visit from her daddy, Echo hurried home, leaving the rat to finish their washing.

She was nervous, not having seen a man for years, at least not one as handsome as Narcissus. It was love at first sight -- or at least intense lust -- as she hovered over him, bending down to smell, tongue, and gently fondle his sleeping form. Finally, as was inevitable during such an intimate occasion, Narcissus awakened.

Oh! Sorry. I forgot to tell you that time had taken its inevitable course. Echo wasn't exactly the same luscious morsel she'd been umpteen years before. She'd fallen victim to not only a goddess, but Father Time.

Narcissus woke to see an old hag hovering over his beautiful nether regions, themselves standing at attention.

He jumped from the bed. "Leave me alone, old woman. I don't want you," he screamed.

Echo bellowed back, voice still sweet, "Want you." She backed up in fear, almost knocking a table over.

He screamed, as did she. Pulling his pantaloons up to his knees, Narcissus hobbled quickly through the door and into the forest.

Sobbing, Echo followed on her old legs.

"Go away," he yelled at her, seeing her face in the forest.

"Go away," she repeated.

"Why are you following me?" he called a little later.

"Me," she repeated.

"Yes. You, you old hag."

"Old hag." She tried, oh so hard, not to say it, but had no choice. Old hag, she thought. Yes. She was only an old hag. The years had done their damage.

He ran, soon being lost far from the trail, while she followed, wanting to see as much of the handsome lad as possible.

Finally, Narcissus, going mad from days of stumbling through the forest while trying to elude the old woman, found a clear stream.

"Water. At last," he whispered to himself, falling to his knees to scoop up a drink. As the surface cleared again, he saw his own handsome face in reflection. Being who he was, he could only stare at the perfect vision. He couldn't take his eyes off it. When he blinked, so did that lovely face, with its beautiful blue orbs.

Narcissus jerked back an inch when another beautiful face, a maiden's, appeared next to his own. Gods, and goddesses, can be eternally cruel. Echo's reflected face was as of many years before, one of the most beautiful.

Narcissus lay for days, not hungry, thirsty though not being able to force himself to disturb the reflection by drinking. His eyes swept constantly from one side to the other, the perfect man and a slightly less lovely maiden.

All thoughts of hunger and thirst were forgotten as Narcissus wasted away, head falling as death finally disturbed the reflected vision.

Sighing, Echo rose at the sight of the fractured image. She, too, had been mesmerized. Crying softly, she returned to her little cottage -- to be seen no more.

Still, though, if you travel to Germany and stand in the Black Forest, you can hear her dulcet voice, repeating your own words.

As for Narcissus ... you can still see him in the pretty but equally useless flower that bears his name.

Charlie ... and Oscar Rat

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

This is the best new fairy tale I've read in a long while. Clever, humorous and well-written. I like it. That Narcissus reminds me of my ex. She couldn't pass a mirror without stopping to admire herself.