Prevod

When God had created the world and wished to determine how long each creature should live, the donkey came and asked, “Lord, how long am I to live?” “Thirty years,” God replied. “Does that suit you?” “Ah, Lord,” answered the donkey, “that is a long time. Consider my weary existence: carrying heavy burdens from morning till night, hauling sacks of grain to the mill so that others may eat bread, encouraged and refreshed by nothing but blows and kicks! Spare me some of those long years.” Then God took pity on him and let him off eighteen years. The donkey went away comforted, and the dog appeared. “How long do you wish to live?” God asked him. “Thirty years are too many for the donkey, but you will be content with them.” “Lord,” answered the dog, “is that your will? Consider how much running I must do; my feet will never hold out so long. And once I have lost my voice for barking and my teeth for biting, what will be left for me but to creep from one corner to another and growl?” God saw that he was right and let him off twelve years. Then came the monkey. “You would surely like to live thirty years,” the Lord said to him. “You need not work like the donkey and the dog, and you are always in good spirits.” “Ah, Lord,” he answered, “so it seems, but the truth is otherwise. When it rains millet porridge, I have no spoon. I must always play merry tricks and pull faces to make people laugh, and when they hand me an apple and I bite into it, it is sour. How often sadness hides behind the fun! I could not bear it for thirty years.” God was merciful and let him off ten years.

At last man appeared, happy, healthy, and full of life, and asked God to appoint his span of years. “You shall live thirty years,” said the Lord. “Is that enough for you?” “What a short time!” cried man. “When I have built my house and the fire burns on my own hearth, when I have planted trees that blossom and bear fruit, and I am just thinking of enjoying my life, must I die? O Lord, lengthen my days.” “I will add the donkey’s eighteen years to yours,” said God. “That is not enough,” man replied. “You shall have the dog’s twelve years as well.” “Still too little.” “Very well,” said God, “I will give you the monkey’s ten years too, but you shall have no more.” Man went away, but he was not satisfied.

And so man lives seventy years. The first thirty are his human years, and they pass swiftly: he is healthy and cheerful, works gladly, and delights in being alive. Then follow the donkey’s eighteen years, when one burden after another is laid upon him: he must carry the grain that feeds others, and blows and kicks are the reward for his faithful service. Then come the dog’s twelve years, when he lies in corners, growls, and no longer has any teeth to bite with. And when that time is past, the monkey’s ten years bring his life to a close. Then man is feeble-minded and foolish, does silly things, and becomes a laughingstock for children.