Better than Butter

Better Than Butter

In a small countryside village a young boy awoke to the sound of
sizzling fat and the smell of smoking bacon. If he could have, he
probably would have sprung out of his bed and dashed into the kitchen,
but this boy would not be springing out of anything nor would he be
dashing anywhere. He was not crippled from some tragic accident, nor
was he lame from birth, rather he was simply immensely fat. The
four-foot eight-year-old tipped the scales at well over one hundred
pounds. Many boys would be very distressed with this body, but this
young boy was different. He reveled in the rolling richness of his
opulent obesity. Eating was his hobby; fat was his delight.

Now as he lay on his back on a very burdened bed he could smell the
bacon in the kitchen and faintly see the smoke shifting on the ceiling
of his little room.

"Herbert!" he heard his mother calling. "Herbert, come quickly! The
food is ready!"

The sound of sizzling bacon would have been more than enough to get him
into the kitchen, so he heaved his copious carriage out of the bed,
which rose considerably as if heaving a sigh of relief, and waddled
down the short hallway to where his mother was cooking breakfast.

He walked over to his mother, who was no thinner than he was, and
watched as she removed the grease soaked bacon strips and poured the
rest of the boiling fat into a large pot.

"Sit down! Sit down, Herbert!" she said as she dropped a few small
pieces of dough into the pot for frying. Herbert sat down at a small
wooden table just outside of the kitchen.

His house was not large, and it had only a few rooms. Half the house
was an open area which served as the living room, kitchen, and dining
room. His mother cooked over the fireplace at the base of the large
brick chimney, which was at the center of the house. The other half of
the house consisted of a short hallway and the two small bedrooms that
branched off it. The house had a dirt floor and crude wooden furniture
sometimes cushioned with hand-sewn pillows. Herbert's father was a
dairy farmer. They couldn't afford much, but they lived a happy life.
Herbert was always happy, because his father's cows and pigs gave them
an abundant supply of meat and dairy products.

"Here you are, Herbert dearie," his mother said as she placed a very
full plate in front of him along with a tall cup of milk.

"Oh, thank you, Mama," he said with a big smile that pushed his round
cheeks back to his ears. He looked down at his plate and the rich food
that was heaped on it. The main course, the bacon, was still sizzling
in grease. Beside the bacon, and partially under it, was a generous
pile of scrambled eggs. The only carbohydrate was the dough which had
been deep fried in the excess bacon fat. Herbert's family didn't
believe in fruits and vegetables. He quickly ate the bacon, folding
each whole strip into his large mouth and savoring the sweet taste of
the liquid fat that slid smoothly over his tongue and down his throat.
Herbert moved on to the eggs, which he rolled in the puddle of grease
left by the bacon before shoveling them into his mouth. All that was
left was the fried dough. He nibbled at it but found it plain tasting.
He put the bread down for a moment and cupped his chins, all three of
them, in his chubby little hands. Then he had an idea. "Of course!" he
thought. He picked up the wooden knife beside his plate and reached
towards the middle of the table. There on a small plate was heaped a
great mound of farm fresh butter. He spread a thick layer of this
butter all over the bread, and then he took another bite. This time he
smiled. "Ah, much better!" he thought. Then he said aloud, "Thank
goodness for butter!" His mother smiled at him from the kitchen area
where she was making more bacon. She was used to her food being
complemented, especially her homemade butter. He washed his breakfast
down with the thick fresh milk which he drained in one deep draught.
"May I go out and play now, Mama?" Herbert asked slowly rising from his
chair.

"Finished so soon?" his mother replied surprised. Herbert only smiled
and nodded. "Oh, but Herbert, you will get thin and pale if you do not
eat a bigger breakfast." His mother pinched his fat rosy cheeks with a
worried look. "I will fix you a big lunch to take with you when play,"
she said. "Then you will stay nice and healthy." At this Herbert smiled
wide and nodded vigorously. He changed out of his bed clothes into his
play clothes as his mother prepared the lunch. His mother handed him a
sack in which she had put the lunch. He flung it over his shoulder and
tied it onto his back with a long piece of string. It was much too
heavy to be carried by hand. His mother called good-bye as he trotted
heavily out the door and along the path to the road.

It was a bright, sunny summer day, and Herbert was glad to be out of
school. Everything looked bright. The cows grazed happily in the
pasture. The few chickens were pecking at some feed which had just been
thrown to them. He saw his father in the pig pen carrying two buckets
of pig slop. The animals grunted with pleasure as he walked by and
scratched their ears or rubbed their backs. Herbert waved to him and
called good morning. His father dropped one of the buckets to wave
back, but as he did the pigs jumped upon the bucket of slop and knocked
the poor farmer over. As he fell he spilled the second bucket all over
himself, and so he ended up in the mud with the pigs licking all the
slop off him. Herbert heard his father laughing, and he too laughed
loudly. His whole round body wiggled and jiggled, and he only laughed
harder as he watched his father's futile attempts at getting up.
Finally his father managed to stand up, and Herbert finally composed
himself. He walked on toward the road still giggling and still
jiggling.

Finally as he reached the road he got the last giggle out of system,
and his fat flesh stopped wiggling and returned to the normal wobble
that came with his walking. He stopped and sighed. Then he looked down
the road in both directions, and he saw a small figure bouncing along
toward him. "Hello there, Herbert!" the figure called. Herbert returned
the greeting with a wave. It was his best friend, Edmund.

Edmund was a short, thin wisp of a boy. He better resembled a toothpick
than an eight-year-old, but Edmund was not unhappy. His father was a
vegetable farmer, and they ate vegetables for every meal. Edmund stayed
healthy enough, even though the only protein he got was from Herbert's
lunches when they shared their food. Edmund and Herbert were the best
of friends, even though they were so different. Perhaps being two
extremes somehow brought them together. Neither boy was well accepted
by his peers. Little boys didn't like very fat or very thin people.
Both their fathers were farmers which was considered lower class by the
richer boys. So they were both outcasts to one extent or another, but
each had learned to accept the other and to look beyond the little
things at a person's true character.

"Shall we go to the creek?" Herbert asked as Edmund finally reached
him. Edmund happily agreed, and thus began another day of lighthearted
play for the two young friends. They waded in the creek and looked for
tadpoles, and crayfish, and other such things that they could amuse
themselves with. Later they ate their lunches, sharing some with each
other. They did not realize it, but this little ritual saved them both
from serious malnourishment. After lunch Edmund spotted a wild rabbit,
and they followed it into the woods. They continued to follow the
rabbit, finding it strange that it never ran away or dove into a
thicket. It only hopped deeper into the woods. The sun was now falling,
and the shadows grew longer as the two boys eagerly kept the chase.
Finally Herbert could walk no further, and he sat down upon a fallen
tree. Just then Edmund noticed that the rabbit was gone, and there in
the middle of the woods about a stone's throw away sat a little
house.

"What do suppose that is?" Edmund asked when Herbert noticed it.

"Looks like a house to me," Herbert said sensibly.

"Well, of course it's a house, but why is it in the middle of the
woods. And who lives there?" Edmund replied.

"I haven't the slightest idea," Herbert said thoughtfully. Just then
the door opened, and out stepped the strangest man they had ever
seen.

He was tall and thin, and he was dressed in a long, jet black robe that
covered his feet and brushed the ground. His hands were hidden under
long, wide sleeves. He had a stiff collar that reached up above his
head on which sat a tall thin conical hat colored the same dark black
as the collared robe. His face was clean shaven and his hair was jet
black under the hat. In one hand he held a staff of ebony wood, and in
the other he held the rabbit. The boys could not tell his age.

"Who?who are you?" Edmund asked. Both boys were staring at the darkly
clad man.

"Don't you know?" the man said in a clear almost musical voice. He
sounded surprised.

"Here, let me try this," he said raising his staff. In a quick movement
he tapped it against the ground, and a cloud of smoke appeared where
the man had been. The two boys were shocked. The smoke cleared and a
very different looking man stood before them. He was dressed in a
similar way, except that everything was blue with little white stars,
and the collar was not so high. The face looked much older. All the
hair was white, and he had a long white beard. The staff was a lighter
colored wood, but he still held the rabbit. "There!" the man said in
the same voice. They peered at the face and recognized the man in
black. "Now do you know who I am?" The boys stared back at him
dumbfounded. "You still don't know?" the man said looking disappointed.
He was answered only by the same stupid stare.

"All right, one more. You'll have to get it after this one," the man
said again tapping his staff against the ground. The smoke came up and
then cleared. The boys' mouths dropped open as they saw the man looking
stranger than ever. He was wearing a tuxedo, something they had never
seen before, and a big top hat which looked totally ridiculous to them.
In one hand he still held the rabbit. In the other he had a thin little
wand. The man was now young and black haired again. "Now!" he said
flashing a smile. "What am I?" The boys were more confused than ever.
Edmund blinked his eyes and shook his head. Herbert only continued to
stare. The man dropped the rabbit into his hat then put it back
on.

He looked up. "You don't know?" the man cried. "Haven't you read any of
the stories?" as he spoke he waved his wand and the smoke came again.
As it thickened the whining voice faded. Then it came back as the smoke
cleared. "I'm the Magician!" the man said almost jumping up and down.
He was dressed in black again. "I'm the Magician who lives in the
woods!" He pointed at himself then at the woods.

The boys were beyond confusion.

The Magician pulled at his hair in frustration. "In all the stories
there's an evil magician who lives in the woods and does something evil
to the innocent little children!" the man yelled waving his hands.
Suddenly he stopped and regained his composure. "Oh dear I hope I
haven't ruined the entire story," he mumbled to himself. "Ah, let's
just pretend I didn't say that last part, okay?" he bent over and
smiled at the boys, but they were too confused to be listening to
anything that he said.

"So?you're?a?magician?" Edmund finally managed to say.

"Yes, yes of course I am," the Magician said now smiling. "I'm a good
Magician, and I have a gift for both of you." The Magician reached into
a fold in his robe and pulled out a small glass ball. He held it before
them between his thumb and forefinger.

"What is it?" Herbert asked.

"It's a wish ball of course," the Magician said
rolling his eyes as if everyone knew what a wish ball was. "It will
give one of you a wish."

"Any wish?" Edmund asked curiously.

"Yes, yes, my boy," the Magician answered walking over to him and
placing his arm on Edmund's shoulder. The Magician held the ball in
front of Edmund's face and said, "This little ball will grant you any
one wish you can possibly think of."

Herbert was thinking hard and he asked, "But can we share it?"

The Magician suddenly turned his attention from one boy to the other.
He made a very sad face and said, "No, no I'm afraid you can't. Wish
balls aren't for sharing."

"But why not?" Edmund asked looking confused again.

The Magician threw up his arms in defeat. "Don't you two know anything?
Everyone knows wish balls aren't for sharing. That wouldn't work at
all," he said.

Herbert stood up and put his hands on his very wide hips. "I don't see
why it couldn't work," he said challenging the Magician.

"Well," the Magician said with his hands on his hips mocking the fat
young boy. "It wouldn't work, because then one person could wish one
wish for everyone. Then everyone would get there wish, and then all the
other wish balls would be wasted. You wouldn't want that to happen
would you?" The Magician stared at each boy.

"No, no I guess not," they mumbled in one voice.

"Well then," the Magician said clapping his hands and smiling. "Enough
with the technical stuff, there's still a wish to be granted." Here he
threw the ball up, and it somehow stayed suspended between the boys.
Both were staring at it.

"That's it," the Magician said. "Look deep into the ball. There you
will see your wish. The one who speaks their wish first will have it
granted." The Magician smiled an evil smile. "Look deep into the
ball."

The ball seemed to grow in front of Herbert's face. It swelled until
all he could see was his large reflection on the smooth glass. Then the
reflection faded and a new picture came into view.

He saw himself standing in a field of green grass on a summer day. He
was hungry. Herbert stared as he watched himself run about looking for
food. This was not a wish; this was a nightmare. Then the nightmare
ended. Suddenly he came to a bridge. It was no ordinary bridge. It was
huge strip of bacon. He stepped on to the bridge and looked over the
side. Below him flowed a river of rich, heavy cream. Herbert licked his
lips. He crossed the bridge, and there was tree in front of him. It
looked like an apple tree, but it wasn't. Herbert looked closely at the
branches. From them hung dozens of big, sweet apple dumplings. He
walked further and came to a thicket of bushes, but they weren't berry
bushes. They were berry pie bushes. Nestled among the leaves were warm,
steaming blueberry and strawberry pies, baked to a golden brown with
the fruit bubbling out over the crust. He moved on and saw a herd of
steak, not cows, steak. There were great big pieces of meat laying in
the grass or walking around already cooked and ready to eat. Among the
steak were cheeses of all sorts. The mild cheddar, the sharp jack
cheese, the tangy blue cheese, all of them were there along with many
other kinds that he had never even heard of. He looked the other way
and saw a large group of ham and pork laying in the pen. They were
prepared in all different ways, some roasted, some cut into bacon, some
were salted, but all were ready to eat and looked delicious. Herbert
looked straight ahead and saw the most wonderful thing he could ever
imagine.

Before him was a huge mountain of butter, thick, rich butter. It was
homemade, lightly salted, with a cascade of brown sugar running down
from the peak covering the lumps and filling the holes. He ran toward
it and touched it. It was soft and light, not to hard to spread or to
heavy to eat by the spoonful. This was his dream. This was his life's
goal. To have butter, an unlimited, never ending supply of butter,
rich, creamy butter. The soft, beautifully yellow, rich substance that
could turn any food from plain and ordinary to rich, sweet, and
extraordinary. Together with the sweet brown sugar the two could make
his life perfect. Herbert blinked his eyes and prepared to voice his
wish.

Meanwhile Edmund had also been staring into the ball. The wish he saw
was much simpler. He saw his family in a nice home with plenty of food
to eat. He saw himself well fed and happier. He saw his parents talking
happily in the luxurious living room and his little sister playing with
the dog. He saw his family wealthy, free from any financial burden.
This was his wish, and he began to say it.

"I wish for?" Edmund spoke still looking at the ball which quivered at
the sound of his voice.

At the sound of his voice Herbert was suddenly brought back to reality.
He saw his dream slipping away. He saw the butter melting, the sugar
dissolved, the meat and dairy going bad. He lunged at Edmund as he was
speaking. A few feet away the Magician was sitting against a tall tree.
He smiled cruelly. Herbert saw only Edmund. As the fatter boy fell upon
the thinner one, Edmund lost his wind and didn't finish his sentence.
Herbert's hand became jammed into Edmund's mouth. Edmund tried to speak
but his mouth was filled with the fat flesh of Herbert's hand.

"I wish?" Herbert said. The ball quivered again. He looked at the
Magician who immediately closed his eyes and pretended to be sleeping.
Herbert was sure he caught an evil look. He looked down to Edmund who
was under him. The eyes were pleading. Edmund's breathing was short and
nervous. Herbert stared straight at the Magician and said, "I wish for
happiness and joy?" Herbert paused. The Magician smiled. "?For Edmund
and his family for the rest of their lives," Herbert finished, and he
released his best friend.

The Magician clucked his tongue and shook his head. "No, no you can't
do that," he said. "That would be sharing."

Herbert shook his head. "It's not sharing. It's giving."

"Sharing, giving it's all the same, and you can't do it," the Magician
replied with a wave of his hand.

Herbert shook his head again. "No actually, it's quite different. You
see, sharing would mean that we both benefit from the wish, and that
wouldn't work at all. But giving means that just Edmund benefits, and I
don't believe there are any rules against that."

The Magician opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it. He frowned
and scratched his head. "Well, that's not fair," he mumbled to himself.
He walked over to the ball, which was now shaking in the air, and
grabbed it. "This is all wrong," he mumbled at the ball. Then he
stopped to listen for a moment. "Oh, it's my fault?" he said still
talking to the ball. The ball shook in his hand. "Oh, I used you wrong,
did I?" the Magician said with sarcastic surprise. "Well, whose stupid
rules were they, huh?" he yelled at the ball. It quivered. "That's
right. They were your's," the Magician said angrily. "And it's all your
fault."

He threw the ball to the ground at Edmund's feet then vanished in a
puff of smoke. The house also was gone. The ball suddenly shattered
into a fine dust that floated into the air. The dust settled on Edmund,
and then everything seemed suddenly back to normal.

"Do you think it will work?" Edmund asked brushing at his clothes. No
dust came off them.

"I think it already has," Herbert replied. "All that magician wanted
was to make us fight, and he almost did. The whole purpose of the wish
was to break up our friendship."

Edmund was thinking. "But it didn't work," he said.

"No," Herbert agreed. "It didn't. That's because it would only work for
people who weren't really friends. It would only work for selfish
people who wouldn't sacrifice. When I remembered that you were more
important than food, even more important than butter, I realized that I
should make the wish for you. That's what messed up the magician
plans."
"He wasn't a very nice magician, was he?" Edmund thought aloud.

"No, I don't think he was," Herbert replied. "He must have been the bad
kind."

Edmund stood shaking his head and thinking. "So you sacrificed butter
for me?"

Herbert nodded. "A whole mountain of it with brown sugar and
everything." He looked west. The sun was setting. "I have to be getting
home," he said. "My dinner is waiting."
Edmund smiled. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow," he said as he started
jogging towards his home.

"Yes," Herbert replied with a big smile on his jolly fat face. "I'll
see you tomorrow."