The Monkey and the Wedge

At the edge of a half-built temple, some carpenters were sawing a great long log of wood in two. It was hard, slow work, and when the midday sun grew too hot, they decided to stop and go off for their lunch.

Now, they had sawed the log about halfway through, and to keep the cut from closing up while they were away, one of them had hammered a stout wooden wedge into the split. The wedge held the two halves apart, like a little doorstop, so the saw would run cleanly when they came back. Then off the carpenters went.

No sooner were they out of sight than a troop of monkeys came swinging down to play among the timber and the tools, the way monkeys do. They scampered and chattered and poked at everything. And one young monkey, busier and far more curious than all the rest, spotted the wedge stuck fast in the log.

He sat himself down right across the gap in the wood, with one leg dangling into the split on either side, and he took hold of that wedge with both hands. “I wonder,” he thought, “what this funny little peg is for. And I do wonder if I can pull it out.”

He tugged. He heaved. He braced his feet and pulled with all his might. And all at once, with a great squeak, the wedge popped free.

But the very moment it did, the two halves of the log snapped shut, quick as a trap, right where the curious monkey was sitting. And there he was, caught fast and squealing, until the carpenters came strolling back from their lunch and, shaking their heads, worked him loose again, a sadder and a wiser little monkey.

He had been so very busy pulling out a wedge that was none of his business, that he never once stopped to ask what it might be holding together.