The apples smelled wonderful. They were already ripe and full of juice…and what juice! Sweet as honey and cool as ice. True Korca apples and no mistake.
Zebo Bear circled the tree trunk several times with his head up, but he could not climb it no matter how hard he tried. His bulky belly, as round as two balloons, was a very serious obstacle in his way of tasting the wonderful fruit. At the same time, his feet would not even budge at the thought of leaving without tasting those beautifully ripened apples. Finally, he found the solution: he put his front paws on the whitewashed trunk and started shaking it like he wanted to pluck the whole tree from its roots. The tree started to shed its ripe apples, its reddened leaves and…who else do you think?… Chufo Piggy. Even though his buttocks were hurt in the fall, Chufo got up quickly and started to run, as if to trying to prove the old saying “light feet save the face”. However, Zebo, who did not care about faces or feet, managed to snatch him by the ear.
– Hey, lemme go! Lemme go, ‘cos you’re stopping my blood circulation! – Chufo yelled, his eyes popping out like eggs over easy (sunny side up, tennis/golf/Ping-Pong balls).
Zebo was torn between anger and satisfaction, so he just huffed instead:
-I think I stopped the apple circulation, you little p-u-n-k! What were you doing on top of the tree? Huh?
-I was just sleeping, man!
-O horror! – bellowed the bear – Why are you lying to me, little one?
-My body needs it.
-Your body needs it?! You dare mock me? You think I never climbed a tree in my life?
-That is your business…I dunno ‘bout that.
-Tell me. What were you doing on top of the apple tree? And stop fibbing or I will get even angrier than I already am.
-Honest injun, I was sleeping! I am not fibbing, and you can get as angry as you want, but it is not good for your blood pressure.
Zebo put his hands at his waist.
-Sleeping, huh? Why, is it your bed time now?
-I sleep any time, I swear on your head!
-You told me to talk.
-So, you climbed the tree to sleep?
-You got it, bucko! Last night, we had Mrs. Cicada for dinner and she talked and talked until dawn. She could not stop talking, as if we fed her CDs instead of canapés. Nobody is better than her when she tells her tales of witches and bats.
-Be quiet! Why couldn’t you sleep on your own room or lawn, but lay on top of my best apple tree, huh? Speak!
-You told me to be quiet!
-Be when you have to be quiet, and speak when you have to speak!
-I am always soo mixed up about that…
-Mixed up, eey? – He snatched piggy’s left ear again, like it was not an ear but a truck door.
-Ouch! Ouch! You’ll cut my ear off!
-I slept on top of the tree, because the ants were training up and down for their winter food forage.
-Hum. Up to today, I thought you pigs were thicker than tree planks, but instead you can sell combs to the bald.
-Well, if the baldies want to buy…
-Be quiet! Impertinent child!