Jo’s Honey Badger
Have you ever considered how Evil came to be? Where did Evil come from? Did someone create Evil? I heard a story about this once, when I was living abroad.
I was sharing an apartment in Italy with two other American girls. We had a night off and after a few bottles of wine, the three of us sat on the living room floor, contemplating the bullshit scenarios that brought us to the run-down apartment across the globe.
‘It’s all evil’ said Jo.
‘Evil?’
‘Yeah. I mean…all the bad. The crap. When you think about it all, it just feels evil. Shouldn’t the world be better than this?’
‘Jo, we’re in Italy. With wine. And tremendously attractive men that speak in a tremendously attractive accent.’ Kat rolled her eyes at me. ‘Soooo-rry- tremendously attractive men and women. Anyway, Jo, I think this makes up for the ‘evil.’’ We laughed. After I poured the end of the bottle amongst our glasses, Katherine sauntered to the balcony to drunkenly call the infamous Gianna-Maria, so I moved to sit next to Jo.
‘The world isn’t all evil- you know that. I bet there was a time when evil didn’t even exist.’
‘Actually, there’s this story…about where evil came from. I forget where I heard it, but basically, there were these animals in a forest way back before humans existed. Amongst the animals was a skulk of foxes who were more powerful than anyone could imagine. Every winter, the foxes would meet in the middle of the forest and use their powers to create magical grand gestures in an effort to scare one another and win a great prize. They did this so that during the rest of the year, their powers would only be used for good. One evening, after all of the foxes had taken part in the scare-festival, a lone honey badger came into the clearing. ‘I have something I would like to share,’ he said. The mighty foxes were amused by the badger’s claim and allowed him to stay for their own entertainment. When the honey badger did not produce any magic, and announced that all he had was a story, the foxes laughed and sneered. Soon however, silence fell over the canines as the badger began speak. The story was an awful thing full of bloodshed, murder, and betrayal. The foxes kept silent once it was over, and their leader solemnly announced the honey badger as the winner of their prize. ‘Okay, you win’ said the fox. ‘But what you said just now – it isn’t so funny. It doesn’t sounds so good. We are doing okay without it. We can get along without that kind of thing. Take it back. Call the story back.’ The badger began to walk away, saying ‘It is too late. For once a story is told, it cannot be called back. Once told, unit is loose in the world.’
‘So…What’s the point?’ I asked cautiously as I watched Jo’s face sink further into sadness rather than contemplation.
‘Our stories…The things that brought us here…The evil things we’re trying to escape from… They can’t be taken back. It’s shaped my life in unimaginable ways Cora. Whether I’m in Italy or San Diego, my story is loose in the world and no matter what I do or where I am, I can’t contain it.’ I took Jo’s chin and turned her to face me.
‘You’re right. But us, here, in Italy, this is another story. It’s not an evil one and you won’t have to give it back.’
Red text taken from King (2003) 9-10.
Reflection
I let a few friends of mine read the entirety of this story, but for the purpose of retelling the specific story of how evil cam into the world, I only told my friends and family the story within my story- the one of the honey badger and the foxes. This was also a much easier piece to memorize as opposed to the entire short story I’ve written here. Anyway, each time I verbally told the honey badger story, it was different. I believe this will be a common occurrence for other folks as well. Sometimes it was the wording; sometimes it was small details, tone of voice, or certain inflections on particular words. I think my favourite version that I told was to a good friend of mine who also completed her BA in English Lit and thoroughly enjoys creative writing. She is a year younger than I am- turning 24- so I did not feel the need to change much about the story in order to accommodate a generational or educational gap. What I found most difficult in these acts of storytelling, was my frustration with my audience’s interpretations or reciting of what I had just told them. This is because the story changed. When we write things down, the story simply exists. The only way that particular version will change is in the reader’s interpretation, which is separate from the writer and lacks interaction. Here however, I had my ‘reader’ directly in front of me while I was telling the story the way I wanted it to be told. To have the response differ or change was difficult.
Works Cited
King, Thomas. The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative. Toronto: Anansi Press Inc., 2003. Print.