Once upon a time, there was a cicada. Of course, that in itself is not particularly noteworthy, since there existed many cicadas both at that time and all the time since. But this cicada was special, because he could not sing.

As to why this cicada couldn’t sing, I cannot say for sure. Some scholars believe that he was born with a weak or small abdomen, and thus could not produce any song, or that his tymbals were defective in some way, also making it impossible for him to produce the characteristic cicada song. Others beleive there was nothing physically wrong with him; rather, the ailment was psychological in nature. According to this theory, some early trauma had suppressed the cicada’s tendency to sing, so that when he tried, he was gripped by a very strong anxiety. Still others maintain that the cicada chose not to sing; that he by such an action protested against the harshly repressive sexual politics of cicada society.

Whatever the reason might have been, the fact remains that this cicada did not, and for all intents and purposes of this story, could not sing. His brethren made fun of him for this, but the cicada did not mind – or at least he took great pains to appear not to mind.

”It is you who are stupid. You cannot see that there are other ways besides singing”, he told them. But one of them said: ”But it is through song that we attract females. How will you ever attract a mate without song, you silly cicada?”

At this, our cicada frowned. ”You may not think more of our females, but I do believe they can distinguish between song and sexiness!”

At this his brethren laughed even more. Unperturbed, the cicada flew over to the females, and started talking to them.

”You females, you are not so superficial, right? I mean, it’s much more important to be able to collect plant sap for the family than to sing, isn’t it?”

The females talked about this for a while, and then one of them turned to him and said:

”Yes, you’re right. It is much more important to collect plant sap than to sing.”
”I knew it!” shrieked the cicada triumphantly. ”That’ll show them!”
”However...”
”What do you mean however?”
”Well, I believe you have presented a false dichotomy. Most male cicadas can both sing and collect plant sap. Sure, if I had to choose between either or, I’d choose someone who can get extra food, but as far as I know I don’t need to choose: most male cicadas do both anyway.”

At this, the Cicada who couldn’t sing was dumbfounded. She was, of course, completely right.

”But then, if a male is not able to sing, then what should he do?”
”I don’t know. Find out something else he’s good at in order to impress us, I suppose?”

The cicada accepted the words of the female as truthful. But what could he do, that the others could not? He wracked his brain over this question, fretting to and fro for many nights, but he could not come up with a good idea. Cicadas do, after all, have very small brains.

Finally, one day the cicada who couldn’t sing left the community. He had concluded that he could contribute nothing to the other cicadas, and thus set out on a quest to try to prove his meaningfulness in some way – if not for his fellow cicadas, then maybe for someone else.

As the cicada travelled, he happened upon a hill of ants. He immediately addressed them, asking them if they needed any help. One of the ants looked up at him.
”I don’t know. What can you do?”
”Well, I can fly, and I can suck sap out of plants...”
”I don’t see how that would help us protect the queen.”
”I can watch out for enemies! With my wings, I can see them far before they reach your hill.”
”Hmm, yes, but our queen is deep underground. What we really would need is a guardian who can burrow deep down and check for threats from that side. How are you with burrowing?”

Unfortunately, cicadas are poor burrowers, and thus the ant had to let him go. The cicada was beginning to despair about ever finding something meaningful for him to do, but then he met a group of butterflies. He marvelled at their beautiful colours, and the butterflies seemed very happy to meet him. And when he asked them for some kind of employment, they beamed at him.

”How very fortuitious! I think we have the perfect job for you. You see, we butterflies love to dance, but we have no-one who can make music for us. But now that you are here, you can sing for us, and we can dance to your song!”

At this, all the butterflies cheered. But as you understand, the cicada was very unhappy with this arrangement, and asked them for anything besides singing. The butterflies were a bit downcast by his refusal, but they are lighthearted beings and did not dwell upon it. Instead they tried to accept his offer:

”Well, what can you do?”
”I can fly, and I can suck plant sap.”
”Hmm. We can fly already. But maybe this plant sap thing could be something you share with us?”

The cicada happily obliged, and sucked out some plant sap which he gave to the butterflies. However, the butterflies were used to drinking nectar, and the rough plant sap was all too coarse for their tastes. Nevertheless, they did make a pretense of liking it, in order not to hurt the cicada’s feelings. But the cicada quickly saw through their ruse, as they all refused seconds. When it was apparent, the lead butterfly asked for forgiveness, but also stated honestly, that the butterflies had no use for a cicada who couldn’t sing. And so the cicada left them.

By this time, the cicada was gripped by despair. Once he was alone, he sat down and cried over the injustices of the world, exclaiming aloud: ”Won’t anyone just accept me for me? Can’t I be useful the way I am?”

This loud complaint was heard by a wasp, who landed besides the cicada. The cicada stirred at this, for the wasp was terrible to behold, but he did not fly away.

”I heard what you said”, the wasp buzzed calmly, ”and I think you just have come into contact with the wrong people. You shouldn’t worry – there are people out there who will accept you for who and what you are, and not try to make you into something you’re not.”
”You may be right,” the cicada admitted, ”but still... I have met no one who actually thinks that way about me. Do you know of anyone who might actually think that way about me?”
”Of course I do. I think that way about you.”
”Wha — really? But we’ve just met.”
”Even so. I know you can be meaningful to me.”
”Would it involve any singing on my part?”
”No, you don’t need to sing to be meaningful to me. You just need to be you.”

At this, the cicada silently rejoiced. Finally someone who seemed to like him for what he actually was!

”Oh well,” said the wasp. ”It was nice talking to you, but I really need to get back to my kids. I just hope you take care of yourself.”
”You’re leaving? Already? But... I thought...”
”Well, if you want to, you can come along to my nest chamber. For dinner.”

And so the cicada followed the wasp back to its nest, which turned out to be a burrow in the ground. The wasp landed beside it and gestured for the cicada to enter.

The cicada looked into the nest. It was dark there, and several tunnels led out from the main chamber. The cicada could sense the smell of something rotting in the tunnels.

At that moment, the wasp struck him in the neck with her stinger. As the cicada fell to the ground, paralyzed, the wasp said:

”I really must thank you. Usually, I have to hunt quite hard for cicadas. You’re the first who has actually willingly entered my nest. Much more convenient for me and my girls. They are so very hungry.”

The cicada could only gasp in response, looking up at the wasp incredulously.

”Oh come on”, she answered him, ”don’t look so betrayed. I haven’t lied to you, you know. To me, you are perfectly meaningful the way you are, and I don’t care about your ability to sing. My girls will need maybe one more meal to be fully grown, and now you have become the provider. In a way, it is the most beautiful way to be meaningful: for the children.”

And with those words, she started dragging him into one of the tunnels. He was still alive when the daughters began to feed.