A Strawberry Between Two Bears

Inspired by the Buddhist parable commonly known as the "Tiger and the Strawberry." 

A story about two bears, two little mice, and something unexpectedly sweet.

The old man sat comfortably beneath the sprawling branches of an enormous old tree, its weathered trunk and outstretched limbs carrying the quiet wisdom of a life far older than his own.  Its leaves rustled in the afternoon breeze, occasionally allowing little pockets of sunlight to dance across his lap.

In one hand he held an orange, and in the other, a small pocketknife. He carefully worked the blade beneath its thick skin, peeling it away in one long, curling ribbon, while a fine mist of citrus juice sprinkled the air with each pull.

His hands were old. The skin was thin and spotted, with veins that wandered across the backs of them like little rivers. His knuckles were swollen, his fingers slightly crooked, but he handled that little knife with the confidence of someone who'd done this a thousand times before.

Across from him sat a young boy, a youthful eight or nine, who had been quietly studying the old man's face.

There was a lot to study.

Deep wrinkles crossed his forehead, others gathered around his eyes, and a few seemed to have settled in places wrinkles had no business being. It was as though someone had spent years folding and unfolding his face, never quite getting the creases out.

The boy leaned forward.

"Do those hurt?"

The old man glanced up from his orange.

"Do what hurt?"

"The cracks in your face."

Drawing his attention away from the orange, the old man's eyes smiled before he let out a laugh, the kind that started somewhere deep in his chest and took its sweet time finding its way out.

"No, my small child... They don't hurt."

The boy wasn't entirely convinced.

"How'd you get so many?"

"One at a time, I suppose."

The boy thought about that for a moment.

"Are you going to die soon?"

The old man's knife stopped moving.

He looked at the boy, whose expression held nothing more than genuine curiosity. There was no disrespect in the question. To a child, someone so old must surely be nearing the end of whatever it was that made people old.

"Well, I certainly hope not," the old man replied.

"But you're really old."

"That I am."

"Doesn't that scare you?"

The old man smiled, wiped the knife's blade across his pant leg, and set his pocketknife beside him, resting the half-peeled orange in his lap.

"Let me tell you a story."

The little boy, sitting cross-legged in the grass, waddled himself closer without ever uncrossing his legs, ready for whatever story the old man was about to tell.

In a time long before ours, a traveler was making his way through a dense forest. There were enormous trees that reached toward the sky, their branches tangled together so tightly that very little sunlight found its way to the ground.

The air was warm and damp. A heavy fog lingered among the trees, carrying with it the earthy smell of wet leaves and decaying wood. Out of sight, the dense forest was alive. Birds calling, the whispers of insects, and unseen animals living their lives hidden in plain sight.

Somewhere among the trees, a creek wound its way through the forest, tumbling over rocks and slipping between moss-covered boulders. Fallen trees stretched across the water, their aging trunks slowly surrendering to the damp earth beneath them. The gentle rush of water mingled with the sounds of the forest, occasionally growing louder as the traveler made his way through the uneven terrain.

Beneath the traveler's boots, the forest floor was soft, occasionally interrupted by the snapping of a fallen branch or the scrape of loose stones shifting beneath his feet.

It was otherwise peaceful.

Until it wasn't.

Somewhere ahead of him, he heard something rustling in the bushes. Too big to be a squirrel or rabbit.

Then came a low, guttural growl.

The traveler stopped.

He listened.

There it was again.

He whipped his head in the other direction, trying to locate the sound.

Slowly, he turned toward the rustling, searching the shadows between the trees.

And there, emerging from the undergrowth, stood a bear.

Not some distant animal wandering through the forest. This enormous creature was looking directly at him, almost through him, as though it could smell his beating, now terrified heart.

Its massive shoulders rolled beneath its thick, rugged coat as it lumbered forward with a heavy, almost clumsy stumble. Its head lowered, its muscles tightened, and for one terrifying moment, the two simply stared at one another.

Then, with a deep, guttural huff, the bear rose onto its hind legs, towering over the traveler like some enormous creature that had stepped out of a nightmare.

The traveler ran, tearing through the forest!

The boy's entire body lit up with startled excitement.

Branches whipped against the traveler's face and arms as he desperately searched for somewhere to go. His boots slipped against the damp ground as he zigged and zagged, trying to shake the bear off his path. Large roots caught at his feet, occasionally giving him that extra bit of traction he desperately needed.

His breathing quickly became a violent struggle between getting enough air and keeping his legs moving.

He was running for his life.

Behind him, the bear was gaining.

He could hear it crashing through the undergrowth, its enormous paws pounding against the forest floor with a heavy, rhythmic thud after thud. Branches snapped beneath its weight, each thunderous footfall sounding impossibly closer than the last.

Then, without warning, the trees disappeared.

The traveler stumbled into an opening and nearly ran straight off the edge of a cliff.

Throwing his arms open as if to stop others from following him, he managed to stop himself just in time.

Loose stones scattered beneath his boots, disappearing into a thick blanket of fog that concealed the ground far below.

But the bear hadn't stopped.

It was coming.

The traveler frantically searched the cliffside, looking for anything that might offer an escape.

And there, hanging over the edge, was a thick vine.

Without another thought, he grabbed it with both hands, swung himself over the cliff, and began lowering himself down the rocky face.

The bear lunged toward the edge, its claws tearing into the loose earth just above his head.

He dropped farther.

Rocks loosened by the bear above rolled down in front of him, disappearing into the fog below.

The vine stretched beneath his weight, scraping against the stone as he descended into the unknown.

Above him, the bear roared and huffed with frustration, refusing to quit the chase.

The traveler continued downward, carefully feeling along the cliff with his boots, hoping to find a ledge or some sort of footing.

Eventually, the sounds from above grew faint.

Then disappeared altogether.

He stopped.

For the first time since seeing the bear, he could hear himself breathe.

His heart pounded against his chest. His arms trembled. His hands burned from gripping the vine so tightly.

But he was alive.

He'd escaped.

The boy, who had been sitting quietly, now pulled his knees against his chest and finally relaxed.

"Good! He got away!"

The old man nodded.

"Well, he got away from that bear."

The boy frowned.

"What do you mean, that bear?"

The old man continued.

As the traveler caught his breath, he looked beneath him. The fog was beginning to thin, revealing the vague shapes of rocks scattered along the ground.

Looked like there was a way down after all.

He loosened his grip and carefully lowered himself another few feet.

Then something moved.

At first, he couldn't quite make out what it was.

A shadow, perhaps...

Maybe... no, it couldn't be.

But as the fog slowly drifted away, he could start to see something circling below.

And it was big.

Standing among the rocks at the bottom of the cliff was yet another bear.

It looked right at him, then continued circling below as if patiently waiting for a special delivery.

The traveler froze.

He looked above, toward the bear he'd narrowly escaped, then back down at the one waiting below.

Was it the same one?

Looking back up again, falling debris dusted his face.

Nope.

He was still there.

Well, shit.

He was trapped.

The boy straightened in his seat.

"Another bear?!"

"Another bear," the old man confirmed.

"Well, he can't go down there!"

"No, he certainly can't."

"Then he needs to climb back up!"

"The traveler thought the same thing."

The boy adjusted himself, now deeply committed to the story's outcome.

The old man continued.

The traveler tightened his grip around the vine and began pulling himself upward, desperately trying to regain the ground he'd surrendered.

But his arms were exhausted. His fingers ached, and every movement sent a burning sensation through his shoulders.

He managed only a few feet before his strength gave out.

There was nowhere to rest. Nothing to stand on. Just the vine, the cliff, and two hungry bears who appeared to have considerably more patience than he did.

He hung there, struggling to catch his breath.

Sweat beaded across his face, turning the dusted dirt into something resembling chocolate paste. His hands periodically slipped against the vine, forcing him to tighten his grip. He clenched harder with his legs, wrapping them around the vine for support.

They too began to shake with exhaustion.

And that's when he heard it.

A faint scratching sound.

Almost too quiet to notice.

The boy exploded!

"Was it a helper?!"

Pawing at the air to calm the small child down, the old man continued.

The traveler turned his head toward a narrow crack in the rock, just above where the vine disappeared into the cliff.

Two little mice had emerged from the darkness.

One black.

One white.

And they were chewing on his vine.

The traveler stared in disbelief.

Of all the things that could possibly happen!

He shook the vine violently, sending the little creatures scrambling back into their hiding place.

For a moment, they were gone.

Then, as though nothing had happened, they returned.

And resumed chewing.

The boy threw his hands into the air.

"Oh, come on!"

The old man chuckled.

The traveler shook the vine again, shouting at the little creatures, hoping to frighten them away for good.

But the mice were persistent.

They returned to their work, pulling at the fibers with their tiny teeth, completely indifferent to the desperate man hanging beneath them.

"Can't he knock them off?" the boy asked.

"He tried."

"Throw a rock!"

"He couldn't reach one."

"Then climb up and get them!"

"He could barely hold himself where he was."

The boy fell silent.

The traveler looked up toward the first bear, still pacing somewhere beyond the edge of the cliff.

He looked down at the second, waiting patiently among the rocks.

And then he looked toward the two mice, whose tiny teeth continued working their way through the only thing keeping him alive.

With each little nibble, he could feel the fibers beginning to separate.

Little by little, the vine was giving way.

He tightened his grip.

There was no climbing back up. No continuing down. No clever escape waiting to be discovered.

And the mice weren't going anywhere.

For a while, he simply hung there.

The forest had grown quiet. A gentle breeze moved through the thinning fog, brushing against his face and cooling the sweat that had gathered along his forehead.

Suspended high above nowhere in particular, the traveler watched as the breeze slowly swept the fog away, revealing a breathtaking view of the world beneath him.

​​The very place he'd unexpectedly found himself, so terribly vulnerable and helpless, offered a view unlike anything he'd ever seen. Quite possibly one that no living person had ever witnessed from that very spot.

He could hear the occasional bird calling somewhere in the distance.

Then, just off to his side, something caught his attention.

Growing from a narrow crack in the cliff was a little green plant.

Its leaves were small, almost delicate, and its roots had somehow found enough soil among the rocks to take hold.

And hanging beneath those leaves was a single strawberry.

​​Bright red.

Perfectly ripe.

The traveler studied it for a moment.

Then he looked back toward the mice—still chewing.

He glanced down.

The bear was still there, growing increasingly frustrated.

Nothing, ultimately, had changed.

Carefully, he shifted his weight against the vine and loosened one hand.

The vine creaked beneath him, its strained fibers beginning to tear as he reached toward the little plant, stretching his fingers until they brushed against its leaves.

The strawberry bounced gently beneath his touch, dangling just beyond his fingertips.

Not quite close enough.

He stretched a little farther, his other hand gripping the vine with everything it had left.

His fingertips found the strawberry.

And with one gentle pull, it came free.

Tiny droplets of dew flickered from the leaves, scattering into the air before disappearing into the open space beneath him.

He held the little strawberry between his fingers, studying its bright red skin. Its tiny seeds dotted the surface, and a delicate green crown rested where it had once been attached to the plant.

Such a simple little thing.

Untouched. Uneaten. Growing quietly from a cliffside that had otherwise offered him nothing.

Above him, the mice continued chewing.

The traveler closed his eyes.

For a brief moment, he allowed himself to forget about the bears, the vine, and the terrible predicament he found himself in.

He brought the strawberry to his mouth.

And ate it.

The old man, who had been holding his orange throughout the story, quietly separated a slice and placed it in his mouth.

The boy waited.

"And?"

The old man smiled.

"How sweet it tasted."