Story of an OctopusThe diver then, rejoicing in a good deed well done, turned to the ladder and gave his mate on the surface the signal to hoist. To his surprise, however, the young octopus began to accompany him upwards, paddling with great respect beside him. The look of gratitude on the large face of the octopus much moved the diver. Nevertheless, he made a deprecatory gesture and pushed the octopus away. “Please go home,” he said. “But sir,” the octopus cried, “you have been so kind, so considerate, so helpful—I crave from you only the boon of accompanying you to your home, there to dwell with you for aye . . . !” “Don’t be a sucker,” the diver growled, “where I live I haven’t room for myself. You’ll have to stay here in the sea. Anyway, I don’t like that fancy inflated talk.” “Kind sir,” the octopus implored, “I will gladly live in your garden, or up a tree, or sit at night on the roof of your house. I will take up no room at all, sir. In the morning I will clean your boots. I will take the sea-weed out of your diving boots. As well as that I will polish the floors. I have eight hands, you might say, sir, and would be very useful about the house and the yard.” “Oh, don’t be trying to plámás [flatter] me,” the diver muttered. “And I can go down into the sea with you,” the octopus besought. “And get yourself caught in wreckage?” “No sir, never again will I suffer that to occur. I will be most careful, sir. I will do anything you say if you permit me to live with you and repay your kindness.” “Oh . . . very well,” the diver snapped. “Swim over to that ship where you won’t be seen coming out of the sea and I’ll collect you in my van in an hour’s time.” “Oh, thank you, sir,” the octopus said, making what seemed to be a smile. In due course the diver collected the octopus in his van, brought him home and lodged him in the dustbin until the following day, when he would have an opportunity of assigning him simple household tasks, so that his bona fides could be tested. The octopus proved to be ever better than his word. He proved expert at scrubbing and polishing floors, cleaned windows, made beds, lit fires and even learned to make tea. He also managed to dig the garden after a fashion and never asked for a day off from his manifold duties. After a year the diver had to admit that the octopus was a dear friend, and felt that some little token of esteem was called for. He therefore said to him one day: “In another week it will be exactly a year since you came to this house. I feel I would like to give you a present to mark the occasion. Would you please tell me what you would like?” The octopus blushed with pleasure. “It is so terribly handsome of you,” he said, “it is more than kind. And to answer your question, there is only one thing I would really like.” “And what is that?” “A bagpipes, sir.” “A bagpipes it shall be,” the diver said, “and the best that money can buy.” On the day appointed the octopus was presented with his bagpipes. With cries of delight, he ran up with it to the attic where he customarily lodged. And after an interval the diver was horrified to hear blood-curdling screams, squeaks, roars, wails and general din descending from the octopus’s quarters. What . . . on earth? Rushing up to investigate, he was startled to find the bagpipes playing the octopus!
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