Hamlet and Eggs (4)

"That hollow egg hen was causing problems for you all. I had to do it." and they squawked in protest and a feisty hen stepped forward, thrust out her rear end and dropped an egg.

Papadopoulos gathered it up wearily and was surprised to find it was exceptionally heavy. He tried to crack it against a rock but it sounded solid, as if made of stone or even metal. So he prised away the shell with the torch held awkwardly under one arm and a shot gun under the other and saw a dull gleam. Feverishly, he dropped the gun and pointed a torch at the egg. "Gold?" They squawked in the affirmative. "You want to buy your freedom? Is that it?" they made it known that that was the case.

He weighed the egg in his hand. With that egg and the money from his Land he would be able to buy the hotel of his dreams and continue his experiments in goat shoes. The hens waited expectantly. "I'd miss you," he said. A few Amber eyes watered. "Who'll read to you?" he asked.

"I would." It was the widow, resplendent in shaped cowpat hat. "I've got a whole library here. We can start with Victor Hugo if you like." A chorus of approval. "I wouldn't eat any of you if you gave me eggs every day." A cacophony of excitement.

He looked at the solid gold egg in his palm and all that it promised. "Oh, Ok. You'd be going to a good home." and with that he bade his birds good night and nodded thanks to the soiled crone, who skipped off with a retinue of flightless admirers.

The rest, of course, is known. The hotel, the new nose for his silent wife and the goat-shoe patent that made him millions. He toyed briefly with literature but found no solace in it, for he was a man of simple pleasures. He never told anyone about the hollow eggs for fear of ridicule, but forever after, when he tapped his morning egg, there was a moment's wonder ... END