Not One Damsel in Distress: World Folktales for Strong Girls, Page 3

  WHEN THE WIZARD came home from his business, he asked to see the egg and knew at once what had happened.

  “So, you have disobeyed me, Gretchen,” he said. “You have entered the chamber against my wishes. Now you shall enter it against your own.” He snatched her up by the hair and marched down the hall, swinging her back and forth, back and forth. When he got to the bloody chamber, he cut her up and flung her into the tub with the other girls.

  The very next day the wizard went back to Cologne, in his beggar’s disguise, and knocked on the widower’s door.

  This time it was Gretel who answered.

  When she, too, gave him a piece of bread, he touched her hand, and into his leather bag she went.

  And when they got to his house, what had happened to her poor sister happened to her, as well. Keys, egg, and the bloody chamber. Her curiosity overcame her prudence, and when the old wizard returned from his business, her life, too, was forfeit.

  THE VERY NEXT DAY the old wizard appeared again as a beggar at the widower’s house. This time it was Erna who answered the door.

  Although she was more prudent than her sisters—​and a bit sly, as well—​she, too, gave the raggedy old beggar-man a bit of bread, and he popped her into his leather bag. And if anyone had watched how he walked, they might have noticed that he trod only on the tips of his toes, as if he had hooves and not human feet. Or they might have noticed how the back of his long beggar’s cloak swished back and forth, as if there was a tail underneath. Or they might have seen how he kept his gray beggar’s hat pulled down over his forehead, as if to hide a pair of horns. But no one was there to see.

  When they got to his mansion, Erna, too, was shown around the place, room by room by room. She received the same warning as her sisters. She paid attention to the warning and to the way it was given. Thoughtfully she fingered the egg and the little key

  And when she woke in the morning, under the shimmering canopy, she said to herself, “Nothing the devil does is without meaning, though goodness only knows why he has given me this egg. Still, I had better keep it safe.” She kneaded her pillow into a nest and placed the egg carefully in it. “Now I shall take a look at that mysterious door.”

  Quietly she went down the hall. Cautiously she unlocked the door. And when she opened the half-lit bloody chamber and saw her sisters lying in the tub in pieces, she knew what the devil was about.

  But she collected herself and tenderly took out the pieces of her sisters’ bodies and placed them in their proper positions on the floor. She was not entirely surprised when the pieces united together and the girls were once again whole and alive.

  How they kissed and hugged and rejoiced then!

  “But swiftly,” Erna said, “you must hide, and I must find a way to fool that old devil.” For remember—​she was both prudent and sly.

  WHEN THE WIZARD returned and asked to see the egg, he was delighted that it was smooth and unstained.

  “And why not?” Erna asked. “Why would I not give you back the egg in the same condition you gave it to me?”

  The devil had no answer for that, so he said only, “Because you have done what I asked, you shall be my bride. And as your husband, I must do anything you require.”

  “I wish it to be so with all my heart,” said Erna. “And I have but one requirement.”

  “And what is that, my girl?” asked the wizard.

  “You must carry a basket of gold to my poor father, who has had no word of me. And you must carry it yourself, not in your beggar’s clothing but dressed as you are now, all handsome and rich.”

  The wizard preened with pride. If the girl said he was handsome, why, handsome he must be. There is no fool like an old devil. “If that is all, I shall be glad to visit him tomorrow.”

  “That is very kind of you,” said Erna. “I only hope the basket will not be too heavy.”

  “Oh, do not worry about that,” said the wizard, and he shifted a bit on his strange feet. “I can carry anything under the sun—​and under the moon, as well—​and not get tired.”

  Then Erna told him she had many preparations to make for the wedding and that a groom must not see the bride but once before the wedding.

  Agreeing, the old wizard left her alone.

  Erna waited until she heard the wizard’s footsteps fade away down the hall. Then she signaled her two sisters to her.

  “We are not out of the fire yet,” Erna warned them. “You must do as I tell you.”

  She put them both in a large basket and covered them entirely with layers of gold coins. “You must keep very still,” she said, “and that devil himself will carry you home. But this you must do: Any time he stops to put the basket down, you must cry out, ‘I see you! I see you!’ ”

  Gretchen and Gretel promised Erna they would do as she asked.

  “Then, once you are safely home, pray send some help for me.”

  THE OLD WIZARD returned in the morning, resplendent in black, with silver buttons and golden toggles. He had a great black plumed hat on his head.

  Erna greeted him at her bedroom door.

  “Will you keep your word?” she asked.

  “That I always do,” he replied.

  So she showed him the great basket with the gold coins winking and twinkling. “Remember your promise, and do not stop along the way.”

  “Do you not trust me?” asked the wizard, tilting his head to one side and trying to give her a trustworthy smile. It only made him look more like a snake.

  “Of course,” said Erna, returning him smile for smile. “For I have this one special ability: I can see from very very far away. If you dare stop and put that bag down, I will know!”

  Off the old wizard went. Mile after mile after mile. It was sweaty work, even for such a devil. When he was only halfway there, he thought to rest a bit and so set the basket down.

  But no sooner had he put the basket on the ground than one of the sisters in the basket cried out, “I am looking through my little window and I see you idling! I see you!”

  “Ah, by the flames, it is true!” the wizard said. “She can see what I do!” So he hefted the basket at once and trotted quickly along the path to Cologne. But soon he tired again and set the basket down.

  Then the other sister cried out, “I am looking through my little window and I see you idling! I see you!”

  So he grabbed up the heavy basket again. And this time he did not stop till he got to Cologne and delivered the prize to the widower’s door.

  IN THE MEANTIME Erna had ordered the wedding feast and had invited friends of the wizard’s, whose names were on a long list by the door.

  Then taking the great egg, she covered it with a veil and ornaments and a crown of flowers. She carried it to the topmost window of the house, where she set it on a pillow on a chair and placed it as if it were looking out.

  Everything being ready, she went downstairs again, this time to the kitchen, and dipped herself in a cask of honey. Then, after cutting open a featherbed, she rolled and rolled about in it till she was entirely covered with feathers and looked like some kind of marvelous bird.

  Out of the house she went, and along the road she met some of the wedding guests—​wizards and warlocks and witches all.

  “Who are you?” asked the guests. “Are you Fitcher’s bird?” Fitcher was one of the most important wizards.

  “Yes,” Erna cried, making her voice high and squawking. “I go to seek my lord.”

  “Is the bride ready?” asked the guests.

  “Yes—” Erna said, “and she looks out the topmost window for the bridegroom.”

  The guests all waved at the window and went on into the house.

  Now, some little ways down the road, Erna met the old wizard himself. He was walking slowly, glad to no longer be carrying his heavy burden. When he met Erna he did not recognize her at all but asked, “Are you Fitcher’s bird?”

  “Yes,” squawked Erna. “I go to meet my lord.”

  “And i
s the bride ready?” asked the old wizard.

  “From her head to her feet,” Erna said. “She looks from the window abroad.”

  “Ah, well I know how she can see from that window,” said the old wizard, rubbing his back. And he went on into the house.

  But before he could see that the bride was no bride at all—​but merely an egg dressed in a veil and crown—​the men of Cologne who had been called out by the two sisters had arrived. They barred the one door, and then they set fire to the wizard’s great house. So the wizard and all his wicked company were consumed in the flames.

  As for Erna and her sisters and their father, they stayed on in Cologne, and the gold in the basket let them live together in comfort and happiness till the very end of their days.

  ARGENTINA

  The Girl and the Puma

  There are many ways to be a hero—​muscle and magic are not the only roads

  ONCE, LONG AGO—​about four hundred years, to be exact—​the great city of Buenos Aires was nothing more than a small Spanish settlement set in the heart of a wild and beautiful land.

  But los indios, Indians who had lived there for more years than could be counted, had a great hatred for the Spaniards. The settlers had not only taken their land but had enslaved their people.

  So, the battles raged on, up and down the green land, and the Indians at last laid siege to the little colony, encircling it with their warriors so that no one could get in with more supplies.

  Inside the fort the settlers began to starve. They were reduced to eating rats, frogs, roots, even the leather from their boots. Some turned to cannibalism, devouring the flesh of those people who had died before them. Only a few soldiers tried to make it outside to hunt for food—​and one by one they were captured and killed by the Indians.

  So, the captain, Francisco Ruiz Galán, gave orders that no one else should try to leave—​except by his permission. Anyone disobeying his orders would be hanged.

  “Hanged or dead by starvation!” cried one young woman, who was called Señorita Maldonada, the “cursed señorita.” “Is this a choice?” Even with the face of hunger stretched tight over her bones, she still had a formidable beauty. “I would rather hang with a full belly than die hungry.”

  So, in the afternoon, when everyone in the fort dozed in the heat, she slipped out of the fort and crawled through the high grasses. The Indians must have been dozing, too, for no one stopped her. She made it all the way to Punta Gorda and the margin of the river, where she found old fruit beneath the trees. She devoured it all and looked around for more.

  By the time she had eaten her fill, it was twilight. She knew then a sudden great fear: fear of being caught by the Indians, or of being eaten by wild animals, or of being hung by her own people.

  Perhaps, she thought, If I can bring back some kind of food to the fort I will be forgiven. But what kind of food? She had eaten everything she had found so far. And as night came on, she began to cry.

  But then she pulled herself upright. “Crying will not feed any bellies.” She determined to be brave. “I must shelter for the night and search for more food in the early morn.”

  So, she found a cave not far from the river and crept in.

  GRRRRRRRRR. A DEEP, RUMBLING GROWL greeted her. She saw two green eyes, like gems, glaring at her.

  When her eyes grew used to the dark, she realized what it was.

  “Holy Mother, a puma!” she whispered, and felt faint. Could she possibly outrun the beast?

  But then she saw that the puma had just given birth to a cub and seemed in great pain. There was another cub to be born, but it was stuck in the birth canal. The puma whimpered and lay back down, exhausted.

  What makes a hero? Is it being brave, or is it acting while being greatly afraid? Señorita Maldonada did something incredibly courageous. She tore a strip from her skirt and cleaned off the newborn cub of its birth matter. Then she helped the puma with the last cub, just as she had helped women giving birth in the fort.

  FOR DAYS AFTER, Señorita Maldonada stayed in the cave with the puma and her cubs, sharing the food the mother puma brought back. Sometimes Señorita Maldonada herself went out and found fruits and berries for them all.

  Did she remember the fort? Of course.

  But her concern was for her animal family now.

  AND THEN ONE DAY, when she was out by the river drinking water, a band of Querandi Indians saw her and captured her and marched her back to their village.

  They fed her and, recognizing her gentle beauty, kept her as a member of the tribe. She learned their language, worked alongside their women on the small farm plots, married one of the men, and was content.

  Did she remember the fort? Of course.

  Did she remember the pumas? Of course.

  But her concern was for her Indian family now.

  AND THEN ONE DAY, when the men were out hunting and the women were left to do the chores, a band of Spaniards from the fort suddenly appeared, for they had broken through the siege.

  The Querandi women and children fled, but Señorita Maldonada did not. She greeted them in Spanish, and they recognized her, though she was dressed as an Indian.

  They brought her back to the fort and she was immediately surrounded by the people, who were amazed that she was still alive.

  Captain Ruiz Galán looked at her in her Indian dress, her face no longer a mask of hunger. “You knew my orders,” the captain said. “You disobeyed them. You will hang.”

  “I was dying of hunger,” she answered.

  “We were all dying of hunger,” the captain said. “Orders are orders.”

  Señorita Maldonada looked right at him. “You are crueler than the puma,” she said. “Crueler than los indios. We take from them and kill them without thinking, yet they took me in and made me their own.”

  “Nevertheless you must hang,” said the captain.

  An angry buzz ran around the crowd, and the captain, sensing a mutiny, quickly gave in. “I will show you that I, too, can be kind. I will not hang her. Let her be tied to a tree outside. Then we will see how kindly the wild beasts and Indians treat her.”

  Señorita Maldonada made no word of protest. She understood kindness now. And courage. She would trust to her God and her friends.

  SO, IT WAS DONE. They took her to a tree some five kilometers from the town. No one was allowed to go and help her for three days. But then, knowing that she was surely dead, the people begged to bring back her body for burial, and a detail of soldiers went out to fetch back her remains.

  But when they got to the tree, there was a great puma and two cubs guarding the girl, who was alive and unharmed.

  “Is it a ghost?” cried one soldier.

  Another fell to his knees.

  Señorita Maldonada raised her eyes to them. “My puma let no other beast near me. She brought me fruits and berries to eat. She cleansed me with her great tongue. But she is an animal and could not free me.”

  The soldiers untied her and brought her back to the colony. There they renamed her Señorita Biendonada, the “blessed señorita,” and begged Captain Ruiz Galán to be as kind to her as the beasts had been.

  What else could he do?

  He let her stay. And she outlived him by many years, helping in the founding of the city of Asunción and giving her name to the city Maldonado in Uruguay, across the Río de la Plata.

  Do you believe this story?

  Only if you believe in kindness and in courage.

  CHINA

  Li Chi Slays the Serpent

  Here is a maiden who will not be sacrificed!

  ONCE, LONG AGO, in a cleft in the northwest portion of the great Yung Mountains, there lived a giant serpent. He was many li long, and to span his body would have taken ten hands.

  If the serpent had remained only in the cleft, eating rabbits and mice and an occasional deer, no one would have thought anything of it. Serpents often dwelled in the mountains in those days.

  But this serpent
had crept down into the valley on moonless nights and taken off first sheep, then oxen, and finally it almost swallowed a magistrate’s daughter who was visiting the home of an elderly aunt, though she managed to escape and run home.

  The local people became terrified. Wouldn’t you be, if a gigantic serpent, larger than a tree, was devouring your livestock and threatening a child?

  So, the villagers sent word to the military commander of the nearby capital city. And, as is often the case, he was a friend of the magistrate whose daughter had been nearly devoured.

  The commander sent out soldiers to slay the dragon. Ten men marched out—​and only one marched back. The rest had been eaten by the monster, who now had a taste for human flesh.

  The serpent made its desires known through the dreams of mediums and charlatans and seers.

  “Bring me a sweet and succulent young maiden,” the serpent told them. “No more soldiers, if you please. They are too tough and not particularly pleasant. Once a year, on the eighth day of the eighth month, deliver the girl to my cave. If you do so, I will leave your flocks and soldiers alone.”

  Helpless, the commander and the magistrate consulted with the most important men of the city and the villages nearby. At last, reluctantly, they decided they had no choice. So they began selecting the daughters of criminals and servants, one a year, for nine years. With bound hands and feet, the girls were delivered to the cleft in the rock that was the serpent’s cave.

  Nine years.

  Nine girls.

  IN THE TENTH YEAR the men began once again their search for the perfect sweet and succulent maiden, to have her bound and ready for the eight month.

  Now, there was a man in the countryside below the Yung Mountains named Li Tan. He had six daughters and no sons. His youngest daughter—​Li Chi—​came to him as the search went on.

  “Father,” she said, “let me be the girl sent to the serpent.”