Hans and the Flowering Goat Grave

Mr. Schmeckenpepper, the proprietor of the corner cafe, had placed the vase in the center of the table and was now studying it with a dumbfounded expression. Each morning the local florist would deliver cut flowers to the corner cafe. And each morning Mr. Schmeckenpepper would personally supervise their distribution from table to table.

The results were always delightful. But this morning the results were exceptional. There seemed to be something new and wonderful in the universe; something Mr. Schmeckenpepper could not explain.
He expressed his joy to Mr. Schultz, the florist.

"Schultzy, my friend," he said, "where did you get such flowers? My heart is filling with many strange emotions. I must sit down. The fragrance is turning my knees into butter."

"Perhaps I could explain," said Hans Christian Andersen.

Hans had been sitting at his usual table drinking coffee and writing on the tablecloth. "Those flowers could have only come from one place," said Hans. "The flowering goat grave. Am I correct, Mr. Schulz?"

"Why, yes, Hans." he said. "How ever did you know? I only received the flowers this morning. The deliveryman also handed me this amusing, if somewhat sad, letter. Would you like me to read it?"

"To be sure," said Mr. Scmeckenpepper. "Read it, please."

Mr. Schulz retrieved the note from his waist-coat pocket and read the following tale:

"Once upon a time, and not too long ago, there lived an old man and an old woman. One day, after toiling in their flower garden, they took a nap beneath the shade of an old apple tree.

"Upon awakening, the old couple eyed their ancient pet goat, Henry, sitting before the flower garden with a most satisfied look on his face. The old couple thought it quite amusing, and they laughed at the silliness of the goat's expression. That is, until they let their eyes wander beyond that of Henry and into the flower garden.

"In what was once a flourishing and exquisite garden of flowers now lay a blanket of broken stems and fallen petals.

"Before the well-fed goat knew what was happening, his stomach began to churn and his eyes glazed over. Henry looked up at the old couple - who were running toward him and waving their muddy spades - smiled, and keeled over. It was to be Henry's last meal.

"The old couple mourned their loss, but were happy that Henry had had many happy years on the farm. Most of all, they were happy Henry had made a final meal of some of the most luscious and exotic flowers in the world. They were sure he died happy.

"And with that thought in mind they decided to bury Henry in a small corner of the flower garden.
And it is from that grave, and that grave only, that this flower blooms. They called the flower Goat's Breath."

"A remakable tale," said Mr.Schmeckenpepper. "Don't you agree, Hans?"

"Yes, indeed," said Hans. "But it needs a better ending."

"How so, Hans?" said Mr. Schmeckenpepper.

"Let's see. How about this: The old couple mourned their loss, but considering what the goat had cost them in ruined crops and damaged flowers - not to mention the mental anguish they suffered as a result of these selfish acts -they were happy to see him dead. So happy, in fact, that they danced on Henry's grave and sang happy tavern songs. The old woman becoming so ecstatic with her dancing and laughter that she piddled in her bloomers--"

"Hans!" interrupted Mr. Schmeckenpepper."

"The other goats on the farm became so aroused by the odor of the old woman's bloomers, that they chased her into the mountains. She was never heard from again.

"The old man, on the other hand, made a fortune from his remarkable Goat's Breath flowers. He remarried, but died a year later of mysterious causes known only to his widow - the village chemist.

"And so ends the tale of the flowering goat grave."

After listening to Hans' story, Mr.Schmeckenpepper went for a long walk and vowed never to return.

Though, I'm sure he will.