There was once a fellow who, with his father,
farmed
a little piece of land. Several times a year they'd load up the ox-cart
with vegetables and drive to the nearest city. Except for their
name
and the patch of ground, father and son had little in common. The old
man
believed in taking it easy...and the son was the go-getter
type.
One morning they load the cart, hitched up the ox and set out.
The
young fellow figured that if they kept going all day and night, they'd
get to the market by next morning. He walked alongside the
ox and kept prodding it with a stick.
"Take it easy," said the old man.
"You'll
last longer.
"If we get to the market ahead of the others,"
said his son, "we have a better chance of getting good prices."
The old man pulled his hat down over his eyes
and went to sleep on the seat. Four miles and four hours
down
the road, they came to a little house.
"Here's your uncle's place," said the father,
waking up. "Let's stop in and say hello."
"We've lost an hour already," complained
the go-getter.
"Then a few minutes more won't matter,"
said the father. "My brother and I live so close, yet we see each
other so seldom."
The young man fidgeted while the two old
gentlemen
gossiped away an hour. On the
move again, the father took his turn leading the ox. By and by
they came to a fork in the road. The old man directed the ox to
the
right. "The left is the shorter way," said the boy.
"I know it," said the old man, "but this way
is prettier."
"Have you no respect for time?" asked
the impatient young man.
"I respect it very much," said the old
fellow.
"That's the way I like to use it for looking at pretty things."
The young man was so busy watching the sun
sink he didn't notice how lovely the sunset was. Twilight found them in
what looked like one big garden.
"Let's sleep here," said the old man.
"This is the last trip I take with you, "
snapped his son. "You're more interested in flowers than in
making
money."
"That's the nicest thing you've said in a
long time," smiled the old fellow.
A minute later he was asleep.
A little before sunrise, the young man shook his father awake.
They
hitched up and went on. A mile and an hour away they came upon a
farmer trying to pull his cart out of a ditch.
"Let's give him a hand," said the father
"And lose more time?" exploded the son.
"Relax," said the old man. "You might
be in a ditch sometime yourself."
By the time the other cart was back
on the road, it was almost eight o'clock.
Suddenly a great flash of lightning split the sky. Then
there was thunder. Beyond the hills the heavens grew dark.
"Looks like a big rain in the city," said
the old man.
"If we had been on time, we'd be sold
out by now," grumbled his son.
"Take it easy," said the old gentlemen,
"You'll last longer."
It wasn't until late in the afternoon that
they got to the top of the hill overlooking the town. They looked
down at it for a long time. Neither of them spoke. Finally,
the young man who had been in such a hurry said, "I see what you
mean, father."
They turned their cart and drove away from
what had once been the city of Hiroshima."
(From the Column, Pitching Horseshoes, by Billy Rose, reprinted in the Readers Digest and I don't have the date for it.