The Tortoise and the Hare

Everyone in the forest knew one thing for certain. The hare was the fastest runner of all. The tortoise was the slowest crawler of all. And yet one day, the slowest of them all was the very first to set foot across the finish line.

This is a very old fable from the ancient Greeks. It has been passed down from one generation to the next and has traveled far across the world. And it all began with a laugh.

It was a fresh, clear morning. The whole forest had just woken up and still smelled of wet leaves. Early sunlight slipped through the gaps in the canopy and fell on the dirt path in small round spots. The hare was skipping happily along, light as a breath of wind. His two ears stood up tall, and with one bounce of his four long legs he had already covered a good stretch of ground. For the hare, running fast was as easy as breathing.

Then the hare saw the tortoise. The tortoise was slowly crawling toward him, his round shell inching forward a little at a time. His four short legs pressed down on the path and pushed his heavy body along in tiny steps. The hare stopped short, tilted his head and watched him for a while. Then he giggled and teased his friend. "Tortoise, you've been walking for ages. Have you gotten anywhere at all?"

The tortoise was not startled, and he did not get angry either. He slowly raised his head, looked the hare straight in the eye and answered calmly. "Of course I have. And I will get there much sooner than you think. Race me, then, and find out."

At that the hare burst out laughing and rolled about on the grass. A race against a tortoise? What could be funnier than that? He pictured himself waiting at the finish long before the tortoise came plodding up. The thought set him off laughing all over again. But the idea seemed like good fun, so the hare agreed at once.

News that the hare and the tortoise had challenged each other to a race spread all over the forest, from one tree trunk to the next clump of grass. A tortoise challenging a hare sounded strange enough. Still, a race needed a judge to keep it fair, and the fox agreed to be the judge.

The fox went about the job very carefully. He walked the whole length of the dirt path, measuring the racecourse step by step. He chose the starting point, then stuck a small twig in the ground at the far end of the path to mark the finish line. Seen from the start, the path toward that twig stretched far into the distance.

When the time came, the hare and the tortoise stood side by side at the starting line. The hare bounced on the spot with a beaming face, treating the race like a game. The tortoise stood still, his four feet planted firmly on the ground, his eyes looking straight ahead. That morning, even the dirt path seemed to be holding its breath. The fox stood between the two and cleared his throat loudly. "Ready. Set. Go!"

The hare shot off like an arrow. The grass on both sides of the path bent flat, and in the blink of an eye there was no sign of him at all. As for the tortoise, he began to walk. One step. Then one more step. With a steady rhythm, the tortoise began his race.

After running a very long way, the hare stopped and looked back over his shoulder. The path was completely empty, with no tortoise in sight. The hare was very pleased with himself. So slow, the hare thought, and he still wanted to race me. He decided to show the tortoise just how silly it was to race a hare. So he lay down on a patch of soft grass right beside the course, where the tortoise would see him the moment he crawled up.

The hare had it all worked out. He would have a good long nap. When the tortoise came near, he would jump up and run the rest of the way, and he would win no matter what. With his plan all settled, the hare rested his head on his two front paws. The warm noon sun lay over his back. A soft breeze passed by, carrying the sweet smell of grass. His eyes slowly drooped. A moment later, the hare was fast asleep.

Meanwhile, far behind, the tortoise kept on walking, one foot after the other, never hurrying and never stopping. The dirt path was very long. Yet the tortoise kept exactly the same rhythm, and every step was tiny. The sun climbed higher and higher overhead, then slowly began to sink to one side. The tortoise's shadow on the path grew longer and longer. And still the tortoise walked. Step. And step. As if nothing else in the world existed except the path in front of him.

Then the tortoise reached the place where the hare lay. The hare was sleeping soundly on the grass, his ears drooping, his belly rising and falling with each breath. The tortoise could clearly hear the hare's even breathing. But he did not stop, did not call out, and did not even laugh. He simply walked quietly past, step by step, leaving the sleeping hare behind him.

The hare slept on, a deep and peaceful sleep, knowing nothing at all. The breeze still blew gently across the grass. The sun was still warm on his back. The dirt path was quiet. Only the tortoise kept going, slowly, but never once stopping, closer and closer to the twig that marked the finish line.

A long while later, the hare woke with a start. He looked around in a daze and rubbed his eyes, and then he suddenly remembered the race. Where was the tortoise? He looked back behind him. Nothing. He turned to look ahead. His heart seemed to skip a beat. Far off in the distance, right near the finish line, a familiar round shell was inching forward little by little.

The hare leapt up and dashed off as fast as he could go. His four legs whirled at full speed, his ears pressed flat against his back, and the wind whistled past on both sides. Never before had the hare run so fast.

But at the end of the dirt path, the tortoise was already standing on the finish line, all four feet steady. He had been there for some time. He breathed easily and quietly watched the hare run his last few steps.