Stories

POCKETFUL OF DHARMA

2011-07-05T04:05:00.000-07:00

PAOLO BACIGALUPI

WANG JUN STOOD ON THE rain-slicked streets of old Chengdu and stared up into the
drizzle at Huojianzhu.

It rose into the evening darkness, a massive city core, dwarfing even Chengdu's
skyscrapers. Construction workers dangled from its rising skeleton, swinging
from one section of growth to the next on long rappelling belts. Others
clambered unsecured, digging their fingers into the honeycomb structure,
climbing the struts with careless dangerous ease. Soon the growing core would
overwhelm the wet-tiled roofs of the old city. Then Huojianzhu, the Living
Architecture, would become Chengdu entirely.

It grew on lattices of minerals, laying its own skeleton and following with
cellulose skin. Infrastructure strong and broad, growing and branching, it
settled roots deep into the green fertile soil of the Sichuan basin. It drew
nutrients and minerals from the soil and sun, and the water of the rancid Bing
Jiang; sucking at pollutants as willingly as it ate the sunlight which filtered
through twining sooty mist.

Within, its veins and arteries grew pipelines to service the waste and food and
data needs of its coming occupants. It was an animal vertical city built first
in the fertile minds of the Biotects and now growing into reality. Energy pulsed
from the growing creature. It would stand a kilometer high and five wide when
fully mature. A vast biologic city, which other than its life support would then
lie dormant as humanity walked its hollowed arteries, clambered through its
veins and nailed memories to its skin in the rituals of habitation.

Wang Jun watched Huojianzhu and dreamed in his small beggar-boy mind of ways and
means that might lead him out of the wet streets and hunger and into its
comforts. Already sections of it glowed with habitation. People, living high and
far above him, roamed the organism's corridors. Only the powerful and wealthy
would live so high above. Those with guanxi. Connections. Influence.

His eyes sought the top of the core, through the darkness and rain and mist, but
it disappeared long before his eyes could find it. He wondered if the people up
high saw the stars while he saw only drizzle. He had heard that if one cut
Huojianzhu, its walls would bleed. Some said it cried. He shivered at the rising
creature and turned his eyes back to earth to continue pushing with his
stick-thin limbs and bent posture through the Chengdu crowds.

Commuters carried black umbrellas or wore blue and yellow plastic ponchos to
protect them from the spitting rain. His own hair lay soaked, slicked to the
contours of his skull. He shivered and cast about himself, seeking hard for
likely marks, so that he nearly tripped over the Tibetan.

The man squatted on the wet pavement with clear plastic covering his wares. Soot
and sweat grimed his face, so that his features sheened black and sticky under
the harsh halogen glare of the street lamps. The warped and jagged stumps of his
teeth showed as he smiled. He pulled a desiccated tiger claw from under the
plastic and waved it in Wang Jun's face.

"You want tiger bones?" He leered. "Good for virility."

Wang Jun stopped short before the waving amputated limb. Its owner was long dead
so that only the sinews and ragged fur and the bone remained, dried and stringy.
He stared at the relic and reached out to touch the jerky tendons and wickedly
curving yellowed claws.

The Tibetan jerked it away and laughed again. There was a tarnished silver ring
on his finger, studded with chunks of turquoise; a snake twining around his
finger and swallowing its tail endlessly.

"You can't afford to touch." He ground phlegm and spit on the pavement beside
him, leaving a pool of yellow mucus shot through with the black texturing of
Chengdu's air.

"I can," said Wang Jun.

"What have you got in your pockets?"

Wang Jun shrugged and the Tibetan laughed. "You have nothing, you stunted little
boy. Come back when you've got something in your pockets."

He waved his goods of virility at the interested, more moneyed buyers who had
gathered. Wang Jun slipped back into the crowd.

It was true what the Tibetan said. He had nothing in his pockets. He had a
ratted wool blanket hidden in a Stone-Ailixin cardboard box, a broken VTOL
Micro-Machine, and a moldering yellow woolen school hat.

He had come from the green-terraced hills of the countryside with less than
that. Already twisted and scarred with the passage of plague, he had come to
Chengdu with empty hands and empty pockets and the recollections of a silent
dirt village where no thing lived. His body carried recollections of pain so
deep that it remained permanently crouched in a muscular memory of that agony.

He had had nothing in his pockets then and he had nothing in his pockets now. It
might have bothered him if he had ever known anything but want. Anything but
hunger. He could resent the Tibetan's dismissal no more than he might resent the
neon logos which hung from the tops of towers and illuminated the pissing rain
with flashing reds, yellows, blues, and greens. Electric colors filled the
darkness with hypnotic rhythms and glowing dreams. Red Pagoda Cigarettes, Five
Star Beer, Shizi Jituan Software, and Heaven City Banking Corporation. Confucius
Jiajiu promised warm rice wine comfort while JinLong Pharmaceuticals guaranteed
long life, and it all lay beyond him.

He hunkered in a rain-slicked doorway, with his twisted bent back and empty
pockets and emptier stomach and wide-open eyes looking for the mark who would
feed him tonight. The glowing promises hung high above him, more connected to
those people who lived in the skyscrapers: people with cash and officials in
their pockets. There was nothing up there he knew or understood. He coughed, and
cleared the black mucus from his throat. The streets, he knew. Organic rot and
desperation, he understood. Hunger, he felt rumbling in his belly.

He watched covetously as people walked past and he called out to them in a
polyglot of Mandarin, Chengdu dialect, and the only English words he knew, "Give
me money. Give me money." He tugged at their umbrellas and yellow ponchos. He
stroked their designer sleeves and powdered skin until they relented and gave
money. Those who broke away, he spat upon. The angry ones who seized him, he bit
with sharp yellow teeth.

Foreigners were few now in the wet. Late October hurried them homeward, back to
their provinces, homes, and countries. Leaner times lay ahead, lean enough that
he worried about his future and counted the crumpled paper the people threw to
him. He held tight the light aluminum jiao coins people tossed. The foreigners
always had paper money and often gave, but they grew too few.

He scanned the street, then picked at a damp chip of concrete on the ground. In
Huojianzhu, it was said, they used no concrete to build. He wondered what the
floors would feel like, the walls. He dimly remembered his home from before he
came to Chengdu, a house made of mud, with a dirt floor. He doubted the city
core was made of the same. His belly grew emptier. Above him, a video loop of Lu
Xieyan, a Guangdong singer, exhorted the people on the street to strike down the
Three Wrongs of Religion: Dogmatism, Terrorism, and Splittism. He ignored her
screeching indictments and scanned the crowds again.

A pale face bobbed in the flow of Chinese. A foreigner, but he was a strange
one. He neither pushed ahead with a purpose, nor gawked about himself at
Chengdu's splendors. He seemed at home on the alien street. He wore a black coat
which stretched to the ground. It was shiny, so it reflected the reds and blues
of neon, and the flash of the street lamps. The patterns were hypnotic.

Wang Jun slid closer. The man was tall, two meters high, and he wore dark
glasses so that his eyes were hidden. Wang Jun recognized the glasses and was
sure the man saw clearly from behind the inky ovals. Microfibers in the lenses
stole the light and amplified and smoothed it so that the man saw day, even as
he hid his eyes from others in the night.

Wang Jun knew the glasses were expensive and knew Three-Fingers Gao would buy
them if he could steal them. He watched the man and waited as he continued up
the street with his assured, arrogant stride. Wang Jun trailed him, stealthy and
furtive. When the man turned into an alley and disappeared, Wang Jun rushed to
follow.

He peeked into the alley's mouth. Buildings crowded the passageway's darkness.
He smelled excrement and dead things moldering. He thought of the Tibetan's
tiger claw, dried and dead, with pieces nicked away from the bone and tendons
where customers had selected their weight of virility. The foreigner's footsteps
echoed and splashed in the darknesss; the even footsteps of a man who saw in the
dark. Wang Jun slid in after him, crouching and feeling his way blindly. He
touched the roughness of the walls. Instant concrete. Stroking the darkness, he
followed the receding footsteps.

Whispers broke the dripping stillness. Wang Jun smiled in the darkness,
recognizing the sound of a trade. Did the foreigner buy girls? Heroin? So many
things for a foreigner to buy. He settled still, to listen.

The whispers grew heated and terminated in a brief yelp of surprise. Someone
gagged and then there was a rasping and a splash. Wang Jun trembled and waited,
as still as the concrete to which he pressed his body.

The words of his own country echoed, "Kai deng ba." Wang Jun's ears pricked at a
familiar accent. A light flared and his eyes burned under the sharp glare. When
his sight adjusted he stared into the dark eyes of the Tibetan street hawker.
The Tibetan smiled slowly showing the encrustations Of his teeth and Wang Jun
stumbled back, seeking escape.

The Tibetan captured Wang Jun with hard efficiency. Wang Jun bit at the
Tibetan's hands and fought, but the Tibetan was quick and he pressed Wang Jun
against the wet concrete ground so that all Wang Jun could see were two pairs of
boots; the Tibetan's and a companion's. He struggled, then let his body lie
limp, understanding the futility of defiance.

"So, you're a fighter," the Tibetan said, and held him clown a moment longer to
make his lesson clear. Then he hauled Wang Jun upright. His hand clamped
painfully at Wang Jun's nape. "NJ shi shei?" he asked.

Wang Jun trembled and whined, "No one. A beggar. No one."

The Tibetan looked more closely at him and smiled. "The ugly boy with the empty
pockets. Do you want the tiger's claw after all?"

"I don't want anything."

"You will receive nothings" said the Tibetan's companion. The Tibetan smirked.
Wang Jun marked the new speaker as Hunanese by his accent.

The Hunanese asked, "What is your name?"

"Wang Jun."

"Which 'Jun'?"

Wang Jun shrugged. "I don't know."

The Hunanese shook his head and smiled. "A farmer's boy," he said. "What do you
plant? Cabbage? Rice?" He laughed. "The Sichuanese are ignorant. You should know
how to write your name. I will assume that your 'Jun' is for soldier. Are you a
soldier?"

Wang Jun shook his head. "I'm a beggar."

"Soldier Wang, the beggar? No. That won't do. You are simply Soldier Wang." He
smiled. "Now tell me, Soldier Wang, why are you here in this dangerous dark
alley in the rain?"

Wang Jun swallowed. "I wanted the foreigner's dark glasses."

"Did you?"

Wang Jun nodded.

The Hunanese stared into Wang Jun's eyes, then nodded. "All right, Little Wang.
Soldier Wang," he said. "You may have them. Go over there. Take them if you are
not afraid." The Tibetan's grip relaxed and Wang Jun was free.

He looked and saw where the foreigner lay, face down in a puddle of water. At
the Hunanese's nod, he edged closer to the still body, until he stood above it.
He reached down and pulled at the big man's hair until his face rose dripping
from the water, and his expensive glasses were accessible. Wang Jun pulled the
glasses from the corpse's face and laid its head gently back into the stagnant
pool. He shook water from the glasses and the Hunanese and Tibetan smiled.

The Hunanese crooked a finger, beckoning.

"Now, Soldier Wang, I have a mission for you. The glasses are your payment. Put
them in your pocket. Take this," a blue datacube appeared in his hand, "and take
it to the Renmin Lu bridge across the Bing Jiang. Give it to the person who
wears white gloves. That one will give you something extra for your pocket." He
leaned conspiratorially closer, encircling Wang Jun's neck and holding him so
that their noses pressed together and Wang Jun could smell his stale breath. "If
you do not deliver this, my friend will hunt you down and see you die."

The Tibetan smiled.

Wang Jun swallowed and nodded, closing the cube in his small hand. "Go then,
Soldier Wang. Dispense your duty." The Hunanese released his neck, and Wang Jun
plunged for the lighted streets, with the datacube clutched tight in his hand.

The pair watched him run.

The Hunanese said, "Do you think he will survive?"

The Tibetan shrugged. "We must trust that Palden Lhamo will protect and guide
him now." "And if she does not?"

"Fate delivered him to us. Who can say what fate will deliver him.? Perhaps no
one will search a beggar child. Perhaps we both will be alive tomorrow to know."

"Or perhaps in another turning of the Wheel."

The Tibetan nodded.

"And if he accesses the data?"

The Tibetan sighed and turned away. "Then that too will be fate. Come, they will
be tracking us."

THE BING JIANG ran like an oil slick under the bridge, black and sluggish. Wang
Jun perched on the bridge's railings soot-stained stone engraved with dragons
and phoenixes cavorting through clouds. He looked down into the river and
watched styrofoam shreddings of packing containers float lazily on the thick
surface of the water. Trying to hit a carton, he hawked phlegm and spat. He
missed, and his mucus joined the rest of the river's effluent. He looked at the
cube again. Turning it in his hands as he had done several times before as he
waited for the man with the white gloves. It was blue, with the smoothness of
all highly engineered plastics. Its texture reminded him of a tiny plastic chair
he had once owned. It had been a brilliant red but smooth like this. He had
begged from it until a stronger boy took it.

Now he turned the blue cube in his hands, stroking its surface and probing its
black data jack with a speculative finger. He wondered if it might be more
valuable than the glasses he now wore. Too large for his small head, they kept
slipping down off his nose. He wore them anyway, delighted by the novelty of
day-sight in darkness. He pushed the glasses back up on his nose and turned the
cube again.

He checked for the man with white gloves and saw none. He turned the cube in his
hands. Wondering what might be on it that would kill a foreigner.

The man with white gloves did not come.

Wang Jun coughed and spit again. If the man did not come before he counted ten
large pieces of styrofoam, he would keep the cube and sell it.

Twenty styrofoam pieces later, the man with white gloves had not come, and the
sky was beginning to lighten. Wang Jun stared at the cube. He considered
throwing it in the water. He waited as nongmin began filtering across the bridge
with their pull-carts laden with produce. Peasants coming in from the
countryside, they leaked into the city from the wet fertile fields beyond, with
mud between their toes and vegetables on their backs. Dawn was coming.
Huojianzhu glistened, shining huge and alive against a lightening sky. He
coughed and spit again and hopped off the bridge. He dropped the datacube in a
ragged pocket. The Tibetan wouldn't be able to find him anyway.

Sunlight filtered through the haze of the city. Chengdu absorbed the heat.
Humidity oozed out of the air, a freak change in temperature, a last wave of
heat before winter came on. Wang Jun sweated. He found ThreeFingers Gao in a
game room. Gao didn't really have three fingers. He had ten, and he used them
all as he controlled a three-dimensional soldier through the high mountains of
Tibet against the rebellion. He was known in Chengdu's triad circles as the man
who had made TexTel's Chief Rep pay 10,000 yuan a month in protection money
until he rotated back to Singapore. Because of the use of three fingers.

Wang Jun tugged Three-Fingers's leather jacket. Distracted, Three-Fingers died
under an onslaught of staff-wielding monks.

He scowled at Wang Jun. "What?"

"I got something to sell."

"I don't want any of those boards you tried to sell me before. I told you,
they're no good without the hearts."

Wang Jun said, "I got something else."

"What?"

He held out the glasses and Three-Fingers's eyes dilated. He feigned
indifference. "Where did you get those?"

"Found them."

"Let me see."

Wang Jun released them to Three-Fingers reluctantly. Three-Fingers put them on,
then took them off and tossed them back at Wang Jun. "I'11 give you twenty for
them." He turned back to start another game.

"I want one hundred."

"Mei me'er." He used Beijing slang. No way. He started the game. His soldier
squatted on the plains, with snowy peaks rising before him. He started forward,
pushing across short grasses to a hut made of the skin of earlier Chinese
soldiers. Wang Jun watched and said, "Don't go in the hut."

"I know."

"I'll take fifty."

Three-Fingers snorted. His soldier spied horsemen approaching and moved so that
the hut hid him from their view. "I'll give you twenty."

Wang Jun said, "Maybe BeanBean will give me more."

"I'll give you thirty, go see if BeanBean will give you that." His soldier
waited until the horsemen clustered. He launched a rocket into their center. The
game machine rumbled as the rocket exploded. "You have thirty now?"

Three-Fingers turned away from his game and his soldier perished quickly as
bio-engineered yakmen boiled out of the hut. He ignored the screams of his
soldier as he counted out the cash to Wang Jun. Wang Jun left Three-Fingers to
his games and celebrated the sale by finding an unused piece of bridge near the
Bing Jiang. He settled down to nap under it through the sweltering afternoon
heat.

He woke in the evening and he was hungry. He felt the heaviness of coins in his
pocket and thought on the possibilities of his wealth. Among the coins, his
fingers touched the unfamiliar shape of the data cube. He took it out and turned
it in his hands. He had nearly forgotten the origin of his money. Holding the
data cube, he was reminded of the Tibetan and the Hunanese and his mission. He
considered seeking out the Tibetan and returning it to him, but deep inside he
held a suspicion that he would not find the man selling tiger bones tonight. His
stomach rumbled. He dropped the datacube back into his pocket and jingled the
coins it resided with. Tonight he had money in his pockets. He would eat well.

"How much for mapo dofu?"

The cook looked at him from where he stood, swirling a soup in his broad wok,
and listening to it sizzle.

"Too expensive for you, Little Wang. Go and find somewhere else to beg. I don't
want you bothering my customers."

"Shushu, I have money." Wang Jun showed him the coins. "And I want to eat."

The cook laughed. "Xiao Wang is rich! Well then, Little Wang, tell me what you
care for."

"Mapo dofu, yu xiang pork, two liang of rice and Wu Xing beer." His order
tumbled out in a rush.

"Little Wang has a big stomach! Where will you fit all that food, I wonder?"
When Wang Jun glared at him he said, "Go, sit, you'll have your feast."

Wang Jun went and sat at a low table and watched as the fire roared and the cook
threw chiles into the wok to fry. He wiped at his mouth to keep from drooling as
the smell of the food came to his nose. The cook's wife opened a bottle of Five
Star for him, and he watched as she poured the beer into a wet glass. The day's
heat was dissipating. Rain began to spatter the street restaurant's burlap roof.
Wang Jun drank from his beer and watched the other diners, taking in the food
they ate and the company they kept. These were people he might have previously
harassed for their money. But not tonight. Tonight he was a king. Rich, with
money in his pocket.

His thoughts were broken by the arrival of a foreigner. A broad man with long
white hair pulled back in a horse's tail. His skin was pale and he wore white
gloves. He stepped under the sheltering burlap and cast alien blue eyes across
the diners. The Chinese at their tables stared back. When his eyes settled on
Wang Jun's bent form, he smiled. He went to squat on a stool across from Wang
Jun and said, in accented Mandarin, "You are Little Wang. You have something for
me."

Wang Jun stared at the man and then, feeling cocky with the attention of the
Other Chinese said, "Ke neng." Maybe.

The foreigner frowned, then leaned across the table. The cook's wife came,
interrupting, and set down Wang Jun's mapo dofu, followed quickly by the pork.
She went and scooped out a steaming bowl of rice, broader than Wang Jun's hand
and set it before him. Wang Jun picked up chopsticks and began shoveling the
food into his mouth, all the while watching the foreigner. His eyes watered at
the spiciness of the dofu and his mouth tingled with the familiar numbing of
ground peppercorns.

The wife asked if the foreigner would eat with him, and Wang Jun eyed the
foreigner. He felt the money in his pocket, while his mouth flamed on. He looked
at the size of the foreigner and assented reluctantly, feeling his wealth now
inadequate. They spoke in Chengdu hua, the dialect of the city, so that the
foreigner did not understand what they said. The man watched as the wife scooped
another bowl of rice and set it in front of him with a pair of chopsticks. He
looked down at the white mountain of rice in his bowl and then looked up at Wang
Jun. He shook his head, and said, "You have something for me. Give it to me
now."

Wang Jun was stung by the foreigner's disregard of the offered food. Because he
was unhappy he said, "Why should I give it to you?"

The pale white man frowned and his blue eyes were cold and angry. "Did not the
Tibetan tell you to give me something?" He held out a white-gloved hand.

Wang Jun shrugged. "You didn't come to the bridge. Why should I give it to you
now?"

"Do you have it?"

Wang Jun became guarded. "No."

"Where is it?"

"I threw it away."

The man reached across the small table and grasped Wang Jun's ragged collar. He
pulled him close. "Give it to me now. You are very small, I can take it or you
can give it to me. Little Wang, you cannot win tonight. Do not test me."

Wang Jun stared at the foreigner and saw silver flash in the man's breast
pocket. On impulse he reached for the glint of sliver and drew a thing up until
it was between their two faces. Other people at nearby tables gasped at what
Wang Jun held. Wang Jun's hand began to shake, quivering uncontrollably, until
the Tibetan's severed finger, with its tarnished silver and turquoise ring still
on it, slipped from his horrified grasp and landed in the yuxiang pork.

The foreigner smiled, an indifferent, resigned smile. He said, "Give me the
datacube before I collect a trophy from you as well." Wang Jun nodded and slowly
reached into his pocket. The foreigner's eyes followed his reaching hand.

Wang Jun's free hand reached desperately out to the table and grabbed a handful
of scalding dofu from its plate. Before the man could react, he drove the
contents, full of hot chiles and peppercorns, into those cold blue eyes. As the
foreigner howled, Wang Jun sank his sharp yellow teeth into the pale flesh of
imprisoning hands. The foreigner dropped Wang Jun to rub frantically at his
burning eye sockets, and blood flowed from his damaged hands.

Wang Jun took his freedom and ran for the darkness and alleys he knew best,
leaving the foreigner still roaring behind him.

The rain was heavier, and the chill was coming back on Chengdu, harder and
colder than before. The concrete and buildings radiated cold, and Wang Jun's
breath misted in the air. He hunched in his box, with its logo for Stone-Ailixin
Computers on the side. He thought it had been used for satellite phones, from
the pictures below the logo. He huddled inside it with the remains of his
childhood.

He could still remember the countryside he had come from and, vaguely, a
mud-brick home. More clearly, he remembered terrace-sculpted hills and running
along those terraces. Playing in warm summer mud with a Micro-Machine VTOL in
his hands while his parents labored in brown water around their ankles and green
rice shoots sprouted up out of the muck. Later, he had passed those same
terraces, lush and unharvested as he made his way out of his silent village.

Under the cold instant-concrete shadows of the skyscrapers, he stroked his toy
VTOL. The wings which folded up and down had broken off and were lost. He turned
it over, looking at its die-cast steel frame. He pulled out the datacube and
stared at it. Weighed the toy and the cube in his hands. He thought of the
Tibetan's finger, severed with its silver snake ring still on it, and shuddered.
The white man with the blue eyes would be looking for him. He looked around at
his box. He put the Micro-Machine in his pocket but left his ratted blanket. He
took his yellow anchuan maozi, the traffic safety hat children wore to and from
school, stolen from a child even smaller than he. He pulled the yellow wool cap
down over his ears, re-pocketed the datacube, and left without looking back.

THREE-FINGERS was crooning karaoke in a bar when Wang Jun found him. A pair of
women with smooth skins and hard empty eyes attended him. They wore red silk
chipao, styled from Shanghai. The collars were high and formal, but the slits in
the dresses went nearly to the women's waists. Three-Fingers glared through the
dim red smoky light when Wang Jun approached.

"What?"

"Do you have a computer that reads these?" He held up the datacube.

Three-Fingers stared at the cube and reached out for it. "Where did you get
that?"

Wang Jun held it out but did not release it. "Off someone."

"Same place you got those glasses?"

"Maybe."

Three-Fingers peered at the datacube. "It's not a standard datacube. See the
pins on the inside?" Wang Jun looked at the datasocket. "There's only three
pins. You need an adapter to read whatever's on there. And you might not even be
able to read it then. Depends what kind of OS it's designed for."

"What do I do?"

"Give it to me."

"No." Wang Jun backed off a step.

One of the women giggled at the interaction between the mini mob boss and street
urchin. She stroked Three-Fingers's chest. "Don't worry about the taofanzhe. Pay
attention to us." She giggled again.

Wang Jun glared. Three-Fingers pushed the hostess off him. "Go away." She made
an exaggerated pout, but left with her companion.

Three-Fingers held out his hand. "Let me see it. I can't help you if you don't
let me see the tamade thing."

Wang Jun frowned but passed the datacube over. Three-Fingers turned it over in
his hands. He peered into the socket, then nodded. "It's for HuangLong OS." He
tossed it back and said, "It's a medical specialty OS. They use it for things
like brain surgery, and DNA mapping. That's pretty specialized. Where'd you get
it?"

Wang Jun shrugged. "Someone gave it to me."

"Fang pi." Bullshit.

Wang Jun was silent and they regarded each other, then Three-Fingers said,
"Xing, I'll buy it off you. Just because I'm curious. I'll give you five yuan.
You want to sell it?"

Wang Jun shook his head.

"Fine. Ten yuan, but that's all."

Wang Jun shook his head again.

Three-Fingers Gao frowned. "Did you get rich, suddenly?"

"I don't want to sell it. I want to know what's on it."

"Well, that makes two of us now." They regarded each other for a time longer.
Three-Fingers said, "All right. I'll help you. But if there's any value to
what's on that, I'm taking three quarters on the profit."

"Yi ban."

Three-Fingers rolled his eyes. "Fine. Half, then."

"Where are we going?"

Three-Fingers walked fast through chill mist. He led Wang Jun into smaller and
smaller alleys. The buildings changed in character from shining modem glass and
steel to mud-brick with thatched and tiled roofs. The streets became cobbled and
jagged and old women stared out at them from dark wooden doorways. Wang Jun
watched the old ladies with suspicion. Their eyes followed him impassively,
recording his and Three-Fingers's passage.

Three-Fingers stopped to pull out a box of Red Pagodas. He put one in his mouth.
"You smoke?"

Wang Jun took the offered stick and leaned close as Three-Fingers struck a
match. It flared high and yellow and then sank low under the pressure of the wet
air. Wang Jun drew hard on the cigarette and blew smoke. Three-Fingers lit his
own.

"Where are we going?"

Three-Fingers shrugged. "Here." He jerked his head at the building behind them.
He smoked for a minute longer, then dropped his cigarette on the damp cobbles
and ground it out with a black boot. "Put out your smoke. It's bad for the
machines." Wang Jun flicked the butt against a wall. It threw off red sparks
where it bounced and then lay smoking on the ground. Three-Fingers pushed open a
wooden door. Its paint was peeling and its frame warped so that he shoved hard
and the door scraped loudly as they entered.

In the dim light of the room, Wang Jun could see dozens of monitors. They glowed
with screen savers and data. He saw columns of characters and numbers,
scrolling, connected to distant networks of information. People sat at the
monitors in a silence broken only by the sound of the keys being pressed at an
incessant rate.

Three-Fingers pulled Wang Jun up to one of the silent technicians and said, "He
Dan, can you read this?" He nudged Wang Jun and Wang Jun held up the datacube.
He Dan plucked it out of Wang Jun's hand with spidery graceful fingers and
brought it close to his eyes in the dimness. With a shrug .he began to sort
through a pile of adapters. He chose one and connected it to a stray cord, then
inserted the adapter into the datacube. He typed on the computer and the borders
and workspaces flickered and changed color. A box appeared and he hit a single
key in response.

"Where am I?" The voice was so loud that the speakers distorted and crackled.
The technicians all jumped as their silence was shattered. He Dan adjusted a
speaker control. The voice came again, softer. "Hello?" It held an edge of fear.
"Is there anyone there?" it asked.

"Yes," said Wang Jun, impulsively.

"Where am I?" the voice quavered.

"In a computer," said Wang Jun.

Three-Fingers slapped him on the back of the head. "Be quiet."

"What?" said the voice.

They listened silently.

"Hello, did someone say I was in a computer?" it said.

Wang Jun said, "Yes, you're in a computer. What are you?"

"I'm in a computer?" The voice was puzzled. "I was having surgery. How am I in a
computer?"

"Who are you?" Wang Jun ignored Three-Fingers's glowering eyes.

"I am Naed Delhi, the 19th Dalai Lama. Who are you?"

The typing stopped. No one spoke. Wang Jun heard the faint whine of cooling fans
and the high resonances of the monitors humming. Technicians turned to stare at
the trio and the computer which spoke. Outside Wang Jun heard someone clear
their throat of phlegm and spit. The computer spoke on, heedless of the effect
of its words. "Hello?" it said. "Who am I speaking to?" "I'm Wang Jun."

"Hello. Why can't I see?"

"You're in a computer. You don't have any eyes."

"I can hear. Why can I hear and yet not see?"

He Dan broke in, "Video input is not compatible with the software emulator which
runs your program."

"I don't understand."

"You are an artificial intelligence construct. Your consciousness is software.
Your input comes from hardware. They are incompatible on the system we have
installed you."

The voice quavered, "I am not software. I am the Dalai Lama of the Yellow Hat
sect. The 19th to be reincarnated as such. It is not my fate to be reincarnated
as software. You are probably mistaken."

"Are you really the Dalai Lama?" Wang Jun asked.

"Yes," the computer said.

"How --" Wang Jun began, but Three-Fingers pulled him away from the system
before he could phrase his question. He knelt in front of Wang Jun. His hands
were shaking as he held Wang Jun by the collar of his shirt. Their faces nearly
touched as he hissed out, "Where did you find this cube?"

Wang Jun shrugged. "Someone gave it to me."

Three-Finger's hand blurred and struck Wang Jun's face. Wang Jun jerked at its
impact. His face burned. The technicians watched as Three-Fingers hissed, "Don't
lie to me. Where did you find this thing?"

Wang Jun touched his face, "From a Tibetan, I got it from a Tibetan who sold
tiger bones, and a man from Hunan. And there was a body. A big foreigner. They
were his glasses I sold you."

Three-Fingers tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Don't lie to me. Do
you know what it means if we've got the Dalai Lama on a datacube that you've
been carrying around in your pocket?" He shook Wang Jun. "Do you know what it
means?"

Wang Jun whined, "I was supposed to give it to a man with white gloves, but he
never came. And there was another man. A foreigner and he killed the Tibetan and
took his finger, and he wanted mine too, and I ran and --" his voice rose in a
babbling whine.

Three-Fingers's hands settled around Wang Jun's neck and squeezed until Wang
Jun's ears rang and blackness scudded across his eyes. Distantly, he heard
Three-Fingers say, "Don't cry to me. I'm not your mother. I'll take your tongue
out if you make my life any more difficult than it already is. Do you
understand?"

Wang Jun nodded in his haze.

Three-Fingers released him, saying, "Good. Go talk to the computer." Wang Jun
breathed deeply and stumbled back to the Dalai Lama.

"How did you get inside the computer?" he asked.

"How do you know I am in a computer?"

"Because we plugged your datacube in and then you started talking."

The computer was silent.

"What's it like in there?" Wang Jun tried.

"Terrible and still," said the computer. Then it said, "I was going to have
surgery, and now I am here."

"Did you dream?"

"I don't remember any dreams."

"Are you leading a rebellion against my homeland?"

"You speak Chinese. Are you from China?"

"Yes. Why are you making people fight in Tibet?"

"Where is this computer?"

"Chengdu."

"Oh, my. A long way from Bombay," the computer whispered.

"You came from Bombay?"

"I was having surgery in Bombay."

"Is it lonely in there?"

"I don't remember anything until now. But it is very still here. Deathly still.
I can hear you, but cannot feel anything. There is nothing here. I fear that I
am not here. It is maddening. All of my senses are lost. I want out of this
computer. Help me. Take me back to my body." The computer's voice, vibrating
from the speakers, was begging.

"We can sell him," Three-Fingers said abruptly.

Wang Jun stared at Three-Fingers. "You can't sell him."

"Someone wants him if they're chasing you. We can sell him."

The computer said, "You can't sell me. I have to get back to Bombay. I'm sure my
surgery can't be completed if I'm not there. I must go back. You must take me
back."

Wang Jun nodded in agreement. Three-Fingers smirked. He Dan said, "We need to
unplug him. Without some form of stimuli he may go crazy before you can decide
what to do with him."

"Wait," said the Dalai Lama. "Please don't unplug me yet. I'm afraid. I'm afraid
of being gone again."

"Unplug him," said Three-Fingers.

"Wait," said the computer. "You must listen to me. If my body is dead, you must
destroy this computer you keep me in. I fear that I will not reincarnate. Even
Palden Lhamo may not be able to find my soul. She is Powerful, but though she
rides across an ocean of blood astride the skin of her traitorous son, she may
not find me. My soul will be trapped here, unnaturally preserved, even as my
body decomposes. Promise me, please. You must not leave me --"

He Dan shut off the computer.

Three-Fingers raised his eyebrows at He Dan.

He Dan shrugged. "It could be that it is the Dalai Lama. If there are people
chasing the beggar-child, it lends credence to its claims. It would not be hard
to upload his identity matrix while he was undergoing surgery."

"Who would do that?"

He Dan shrugged. "He is at the center of so many different political conflicts,
it would be impossible to say. In a datacube, he makes a convenient hostage.
Tibetan extremists, Americans, us, perhaps the EU; they would all be interested
in having such a hostage."

Three-Fingers said, "If I'm going to sell him, I'll need to know who put him in
there."

He Dan nodded, and then the door exploded inward. Splinters of wood flew about
and shafts of light illuminated the dim room. Outside there was a whine of VTOLs
and then there were bright lights lancing through the door, followed by the
rapid thud of heavy boots. Wang Jun ducked instinctively as something seemed to
suck the air out of the room and the monitors exploded, showering glass on the
technicians and Wang Jun. People were shouting everywhere around him and Wang
Jun smelled smoke. He stood up and pulled the datacube out of its adapter and
rolled underneath a table as a barrage of pellets ratcheted across the wall
above him.

He saw Three-Fingers fumble with something at his belt and then stiffen as red
blossoms appeared on his chest. Other technicians were failing, all of them
sprouting bloody stains on their bodies. Wang Jun huddled deeper under the table
as forms in black armor came through the door. He put the datacube in his mouth,
thinking he might swallow it before they could find him. More explosions came
and suddenly the wall beside him was gone in a cacophony of bricks and rubble.
He scrambled over the collapsed wall as shouts filled the air. Hunched low and
running, he became nothing except a small child shadow. An irrelevant shadow in
the rain and the play of lights from the troops left behind.

HE CROUCHED in a doorway's shadow, turning the datacube in his hands, stroking
its blue plastic surface with reverential fascination. Rain fell in a cold mist
and his nose dripped with the accumulated moisture. He shivered. The datacube
was cold. He wondered if the Dalai Lama felt anything inside. People walked
along the side-street, ignoring his small shadow in the doorway. They rose as
forms out of the mist, became distinct and individual under the streetlamps and
then disappeared back into shadows.

He had seen the VTOLs rise from a distance, their running lights illuminating
their forms in the darkness. He had watched their wings lower and lock above the
wet tile roofs. Then they were gone in a hissing acceleration. Against his
better judgment he had returned, joining other residents in a slow scavenging
across the rubble of the destroyed building. They moved in a methodical stooped
walk. Picking at brick. Turning shattered monitor screens. Fumbling at the
pockets of the bodies left behind. He had found no trace of Three-Fingers and
doubted he was alive. He Dan he found, but only in pieces.

He turned the datacube again in his hands.

"Where did you get that?"

He jerked skittishly and moved to run, but a hand was holding him and he was
immobile. It was a Chinese woman and she wore white gloves. He stared at the
hand which held him.

"Do you have something for me?" she asked. Her Mandarin was clear and educated,
perfect, as though she came from Beijing itself.

"I don't know."

"Is that yours?"

"No."

"Were you supposed to give it to me?"

"I don't know."

"I missed you at the bridge."

"Why didn't you come?"

"There were delays," she said and her eyes became hooded and dark. Wang Jun
reached out to hand her the datacube. "You have to be careful with it. It has
the Dalai Lama."

"I know. I was coming to you. I was afraid I had lost you. Come." She motioned
him. "You are cold. There is a bed and food waiting for you." She motioned again
and he followed her out of the doorway and into the rain.

She led him through the wet streets. In his mind, the images of VTOLs and
exploding monitors and Three-Fingers's blossoming red mortality made him wary as
they crossed intersections and bore along the old streets of Chengdu.

The woman held his hand firm in hers, and she bore him with direction and
purpose so that no matter how many twists and turns they took, they were always
closer to the organic skeleton of the city core. It rose above them, glowing.
Dwarfing them and the constructors who swung from it on gossamer lines. They
swarmed it as ants might, slowly growing their nest.

Then they were under its bones, walking through the wet organic passageways of
the growing creature. Wang Jun smelled compost and death. The air grew warm and
humid as they headed deeper into the architectural animal. Glowing chips
embedded in the woman's wrists passed them through construction checkpoints
until they came to a lift, a cage that rose up through Huojianzhu's internals,
sliding on smooth organic rails. Through the bars of the cage Wang Jun saw
levels completed, shining and habitable, the walls with the appearance of
polished steel, and fluorescent lamps, glowing, in their brackets. He saw levels
where only the segmented superstructure of the beast existed. A monster with its
bones exposed; wet slick things sheened with a biological ooze. Hardening
silicon mucus coated the bones, flowed, and built up successive layers to form
walls. Huojianzhu grew and where it grew the Biotects and constructors oversaw,
guiding and ensuring that its growth followed their carefully imagined
intentions. The beautiful woman, and Wang Jun with her, rose higher.

They came to a level nearly complete. Her feet echoed in a hallway, and she came
to a door. Her hand leaned gently on the surface of the door and its skin moved
slightly under her pressure so that Wang Jun was unsure if the door molded to
her hand or reached out to caress it. The door swung open and Wang Jun saw the
luxury of the heights of which he had always dreamed.

In a room with a bed so soft his back ached and with pillows so fluffy he
believed he smothered, he woke. There were voices. "-- a beggar. No one," she
said.

"Then blank him and turn him out."

"He helped us."

"Leave his pocket with money, then."

Their voices became distant, and though he wished he could stay awake, he slept
again.

Wang Jun sank into the enveloping cushions of a chair so deep that his feet
could not touch the polished elegance of the real wooden floors. He was well
rested now, having climbed finally out of the womb of bedding and pillows which
had tangled him. Around him, shanshui paintings hung from smooth white walls,
and recessed shelves held intricately fired vases from China's dynasties, long
dead and gone. The kitchen he had already made acquaintance with, watching the
lady who looked Chinese but wasn't as she prepared a mountain of food for him on
burners that flared like suns, and made tea with water that scalded as it came
from the faucet. In other rooms, lights glowed on and off as he entered and
departed, and there was carpet, soft expanses of pale fiber that were always
warm under his feet. Now he sat in the enveloping chair and watched with dark
eyes as the lady and her foreign companion paced before him. Behind them, the
Dalai Lama's cube sat on a shelf, blue and small.

"Sile?"

Wang Jun started at the sound of her voice, and he felt his heart beating.
Outside the windows of the apartment thick Chengdu mist hung, stagnant and damp.
No more rain. He struggled out of the chair and went to look out the windows. He
could not see the lights of Chengdu's old city below. The mist was too thick.
The woman watched him as her counterpart spoke. "Yeah, either the Chinese or the
Europeans blew his head full of holes. They're just annoyed because they lost
him."

"What should we do?"

"I'm waiting for an indication from the embassy. The Tibetans want us to destroy
him. Keep whining about how his soul won't be reborn, if we don't destroy it."

She laughed. "Why not write him onto a new body?"

"Don't be sacrilegious."

"That's how they see it? Fanatics can be so -- "

" -- intractable," he finished for her.

"So this whole mission is a waste?"

"He's not much good to us without his body. The Tibetans won't recognize him if
we write him onto a new body and he's no good as leverage against the Chinese if
he doesn't have a following.

"She sighed. "I wish we didn't have to work with them."

"Without the Tibetans, we wouldn't even have known to look for the kid."

"Well, now they're threatening that if we don't give him back, the Pali Lama is
going to flay our skins, or something."

"Palden Lhamo,' said the man.

"What?"

He repeated, "Palden Lhamo. She's a Tibetan goddess. Supposed to be the
protector of Tibet and our digital friend." He jerked his head at the datacube
sitting on its shelf. "The paintings of her show her riding a mule across seas
of blood and using the flayed skin of her son as a saddle blanket."

"What a lovely culture they've got."

"You should see the paintings: Red hair, necklaces of skulls --"

"Enough."

Wang Jun said, "Can I open the window?"

The woman looked over at the man; he shrugged.

"Suibian," she said.

Wang Jun undid the securing clasps and rolled the wide window open. Chill air
washed into the room. He peered down into the orange glow of the mist, leaning
far out into the air. He stroked the spongy organic exoskeleton of the building,
a resilient honeycomb of holes. Below, he could just make out the shifting
silhouettes of constructors clambering across the surface of the structure.
Behind him the conversation continued.

"So what do we do?"

He waved at the datacube. "We could always plug his eminence into a computer and
ask him for advice."

Wang Jun's ears perked up. He wanted to hear the man inside the computer again.

"Would the Chinese be interested in a deal, even if his body is gone?"

"Maybe. They'd probably keep his cube in a desk drawer. Let it gather dust. If
he never reincarnated, it would be fine with them. One less headache for them to
deal with."

"Maybe we'll be able to trade him for something still, then."

"Not much, though. So what if he does reincarnate? It'll be twenty years before
he has an effect on them." He sighed. "Trade talks start tomorrow. This
operation's starting to look like a scrub at the home office. They're already
rumbling about extracting us before the talks begin. At least the EU didn't get
him."

"Well, I'll be glad to get back to California."

"Yeah."

Wang Jun turned from his view and asked, "Will you kill him?"

The pair exchanged looks. The man turned away, muttering under his breath. Wang
Jun held in his response to the man's rudeness. Instead he said, "I'm hungry."

"He's hungry, again," muttered the man.

"We only have instants, now," said the woman.

"Xing," said Wang Jun. The woman went into the kitchen and Wang Jun's eyes
fastened on the dark blue sheen of the datacube, sitting on its shelf.

"I'm cold," said the man. "Close the window."

Wang Jun sniffed at the aroma of frying food coming from the woman and the
kitchen. His belly rumbled, but he went to the window. "Okay."

The mist clung to him as he clung to the superstructure of the biologic city.
His fingers dug into its spongy honeycomb skin and he heard the rush of Chengdu
far below, but could not see it through the mist. He heard curses and looked up.
Light silhouetted the beautiful woman who looked Chinese but wasn't and the man
as they peered out of their luxury apartment window from high above.

He dug a fist deeper into the honeycomb wall and waved at them them with his
free hand, and then climbed lower with the self-confident ease of a beggar
monkey. He looked up again to see the man make to climb out the window, and then
the woman pulled him back in.

He descended. Slipping deeper into the mist, clambering for the slick safety of
the pavement far below. He passed constructors and Biotects, working late-night
shifts. They all hung precariously from the side of the mountainous building,
but only he was so daring as to climb the skin of the creature without the
protection of a harness. They watched him climb by with grave eyes, but they
made no move to stop him. Who were they to care if his fingers slipped and he
fell to the infinitely distant pavement? He passed them and continued his
descent.

When he looked up again, seeking the isolated window from which he had issued,
it was gone. Lost in the thickness of the chill mist. He guessed the man and
woman would not follow. That they would have more pressing concerns than to find
a lone beggar boy with a useless datacube somewhere in the drizzling streets of
Chengdu. He smiled to himself. They would pack and go home to their foreign
country and leave him to remain in Chengdu. Beggars always remained.

His arms began to shake with strain as his descent continued. The climb was
already taking him longer than he had guessed possible. The sheer size of the
core was greater than he had ever imagined. His fingers dug into the spongy
biomass of Huojianzhu's skin, seeking another hold. The joints of his fingers
ached and his arms trembled. It was cold this high even though the night air was
still. The wet mist and the damp spongy walls he clung to chilled his fingers,
numbing them and making him unsure of his handholds. He watched where he placed
each hand in an agony of care, seeking stability and safety with every grip.

For the first time he wondered how long it would be until he fell. The descent
was too long, and the clinging chill was sinking deeper into his bones. The
mists parted and he could see the lights of Chengdu proper, spread out below
him. His hopes sank as he saw finally how high he hung above the city.

He dug for another hand-hold and when he set his weight against it, the spongy
mass gave way and he was suddenly dangling by a single weak hand while the
Chengdu lights spun crazily below him. He scrabbled desperately for another
hand-hold. He dug his feet deep into the spongy surface and found one. He saw
where his slipping hand had tom away the wall. There was a deep rent, and from
it, the milky blood of the biostructure dripped slowly. His heart beat faster
staring at Huojianzhu's mucus wound and he imagined himself slipping and
falling; spattering across the pavement while his blood ran slick and easy into
the street gutters. He fought to control his rising panic as his arms trembled
and threatened to give way. Then he forced himself to move his limbs and
descend, to seek some respite from the climb, a hope of survival on the harsh
skin of the core.

He spoke to himself. Told himself that he would survive. That he would not fall
and die on the pavement of the street. Not he. Not Xiao Wang. No. Not Xiao Wang
at all. Not Little Wang anymore. Wang Jun; Soldier Wang. Twisted and bent though
he was, Soldier Wang would survive. He smiled to himself. Wang Jun would
survive. He continued his descent with shaking arms and numbed fingers, picking
each hold carefully, and eventually when he began to believe that he could climb
no more, he found a hole in Huojianzhu's skin and swung himself into the safety
of the ducts of the animal structure.

Standing on a firm surface he turned and looked out at Chengdu's spread lights.
In a few more years all of Chengdu would be overwhelmed by the spreading core.
He wondered where a beggar boy would run then. What streets would be left open
for those such as he? He reached into his pocket and felt the hard edges of the
datacube. He drew it from his pocket, and gazed on its smooth blue perfect
surface. Its perfect geometric edges. So much consternation over the man who
lived inside. He hefted the cube. It was light. Too light to hold the whole of a
person. He remembered his brief interaction with the Dalai Lama, in a dark room
under the glow of monitors. He squeezed the cube tight in his hand and then went
to the edge of the duct. Chengdu lay below him.

He cocked his arm to throw. Winding it back to launch the Dalai Lama in his
silicon cell out into the empty air. To arc and fall, faster and faster until he
shattered against the distant ground and was released, to begin again his cycle
of rebirth. He held his arm cocked, then whipped it forward in a trajectory of
launch. When his arm had completed its swing, the datacube and the Dalai Lama
still sat safe in his palm. Smooth and blue and undamaged.

He considered it. Stroking it, feeling its contours in his hand. Then he slid it
back into his pocket and swung himself out, once again onto the skin of
Huojianzhu. He smiled as he climbed, digging his fingers into the living flesh
of the building. He wondered how long this infinity of climbing would last, and
if he would reach the streets whole or as a bloody pulp. Chengdu seemed a long
way below.

The datacube rested in his pocket. If he fell, it would shatter and the Dalai
Lama would be released. If he survived? For now he would keep it. Later,
perhaps, he would destroy it. The Dalai Lama was asleep in the cube, and would
not overly mind the longer wait. And, Wang Jun thought, who in all the world of
important people could say, as he could say, that he had the Dalai Lama in his
pocket?

PROXIES

2011-07-05T04:03:00.000-07:00

I BLINKED SIX TIMES AND checked the big liquid-crystal chrono that faced the hopchairs in the recovery room. I had been gone for three days, which pissed me off right from the start. Headhopper had only contracted for two.

When I looked down at the body I got mad all over again. Bruises around the wrists, ankles; infected bite marks on the shoulders and breasts. Sick soreness between the legs. Pisswa! I lunged to my feet and then fell back again into the squish-gel cushions of my hopchair. The dark fuzzy cushions molded to cradle the
body. I gripped the chair armsupports until cushion stuff oozed up between the fingers. Dumb hopper hadn't fed the body properly.

Those are the worst renters of all, the ones who have no manners and no sense of future. I spend half my waking time working to buff up the bod so someone else can enjoy it, and this is what I come home to? I had Things to Say to that permo-twitch in screening. But first I needed to suck down a gallon of totalnute, and disinfect and treat the wounds. Who knew what other nasty surprises the hophead had left?

The room still smelled of hopjuice and ozone and transfer jitters, and of the body, unpleasantly. Not even a shower before the hop? Damned hopper!

I looked around. Soft illumination came from a light ring near the conical apex of the room. Consoles and check-screens in the curved dark walls flickered and blinked and uttered small beeps, alive but unattended. Both the flush-mounted doors, one to the corridor and one to a closet, were closed. Footprints hashed
the short dark fuzzcarpet on the floor.

The brain imprinter stood like a hunched black metal person behind the hopchairs, its tentacles dangling and its screens blank. The other hopchair was empty. It looked like a dark shiny egg cut in half with an scurve, the surface of the cut all squish-gel cushioning. Most of the monitoring and invasive equipment was hidden under the cushions.

How come the hophead was gone and I was still here? Not that I wanted to see him or her. But we should be processing simultaneously.

"Hey! Permo-tweak! Where's my rations?" I yelled.

Getting mad is a bad idea when you're a sharebody. I knew that. There were a few minutes either side of a hop when nobody was home in the body, and when nobody was home, burglars and vandals could get in and mess things up. Treat your service people like the tweaks they were, and they could get nasty. And you could never pin it on them. There were always two or more administering hopjuice and catering to the imprinter and the monitors; nothing ever stuck to them.

But when you're an omnimatch and you keep in shape and ask for top megadollar, you don't expect low-class hopheads. I was a top of the line Type O, at least before this hopper messed me up. I could tell illegal mones or stroids had been involved, the way my anger kept cycling and building.

Nobody answered me. Damned tweaks.

I monitored my breathing and did some mind exercises to control spoilspurts and spillers, hophead legacies one often came home to. The anger died down a little. I stretched while sitting, testing all the muscles. Weak and abused. Breathe. Deal with it. Move on.

My attorney was going to squeeze this last hopper, oh yes.

"Hello?" I said, toning the voice down. "Hello? Sorry about that last yell. Leftover mones. I'm not myself yet."

No one came. Violation of procedure. When one is in recovery there are supposed to be service people present until a complete recovery is achieved, proved by matching a brain-wave profile with the original pattern, either the sharebody's or the hopper's.

I'd never come home to such a bad place, not even when I first started out sharing the body and had no idea of what kind of contracts to sign. The recovery room looked like the one I usually woke up in at Class Acts, but a room was nothing. The body was everything. It took caregivers to get you back to
yourself. Damned tweaks.

I looked at the equipment embedded in the dark walls. There was a dispenser over there that would give me totalnute and whatever else I needed, if I could get that far, and if I could figure out the programming. I'd never tried to run a Class Acts dispenser before. I wasn't sure using a home dispenser qualified me.

I tried standing again, then sat down. Not yet.

I felt the input on the back of the neck to reassure myself that whoever had hopped me had pulled the plug, unhooked me from the imprinter. Someone had been here to return me to the body. Where had they gone?

The door opened. Someone edged in, his back to me.

"Where've you been?" I demanded, then took a couple breaths to moderate my
anger. "I need totalnute. Please. What's going on?"

He turned around and I saw he was wearing a headcam, the zoom lens sticking out
in front of his right eye. It focused on me.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"Press," he said. "You the sharebody hosted Livida?"

"What?" Livida, the biggest sensie-star on the continent? Why would she need a
sharebody? She looked better on a bad day than I had ever looked.

He came closer. His lens scoped me up and down, focusing on the bruises, the
bite marks. Finally he zoomed in on the face.

"Cut it out!" I said, lifting the hands to shield the face, peeking at him
between the fingers. Anonymity was in my contract. I appreciated it when I was
home, and my hoppers liked it when they were visiting.

"What's the story?" he said, reaching for the hands.

"The story is I can kick you in the nuts and break your headcam if you don't
start being polite."

He took two steps back. He flipped the lens up and looked at me with his own
eyes. "Come on," he said. "You must have a story to tell. Do you remember any of
what happened?"

"Bud, I just got back. All I know is I'm injured, my service people aren't here,
and I need rations and healing. You tell me what's the Story."

He elevated his eyebrows. "Don't want to pollute a possible source," he said.
"C'mon. How'd you get those marks?"

"How should I know? I wasn't here."

"How could you be anywhere else?"

"That's what a sharebody does. Gets out of the body while someone else uses it.
You sure are ignorant. What newsource do you work for, anyway ?"

"The Tell-All," he said, and I flinched. Dumb-ass news channel, first on the
spot with fake facts and harmful speculations. They'd done a piece on
sharebodies not too long ago that made us sound like instruments of the Devil,
implied that anyone who wanted to keep their souls safe should stay away from
us. The story did cause an upsurge in customers, but it scared my sister too. I
hated anything that tweaked April's stability. It was all she could do in that
broken-up body of hers to maintain her sanity while she waited for her clone to
ripen.

"So tell me again, for the record, your side of this whole thing," he said.

"Forget it! And give me that tape you got when you first came in or I'll see you
in court!"

"Tape? Shows what you know. My link feeds directly back to the station."

"Tell them they better not use any of that or they'll be in lawsuit hell."

He shrugged and flipped his lens back over his eye. "They're always in lawsuit
hell. They live for lawsuit hell. What's your name?"

"None of your damned business! Get out of here! Help, someone!" I looked around
for a call button. Seemed to me there should be one around here, even though I'd
never had to use one; service people had always been present when I needed them.
I spotted a red button on the outside of the hopchair's arm-support and pressed
it hard three times.

Finally a big dark man in Class Act blues came in. "Help, please!" I yelped,
pointing at the reporter, and the service guy grabbed him and kicked him out.

"Thank you. Thank you," I said.

"You the one all the shouting's about?" asked the orderly.

"I don't know. I haven't heard any shouting, except from that Tell-All guy.
What's going on?"

He looked me over, frowned, and went to the wall dispenser. "You haven't had
follow-up, have you?"

"Worst wakeup so far. Dumb hophead left me all messed up, moning and nobody
around to give me nute," I agreed.

He brought me a big frosty glass of tickleberry totalnute with a straw in it. I
didn't like that flavor. I sucked it up anyway and felt better right away.
"Thanks," I said, when I'd finished. I could feel all those nutrients seeping
into the system, strengthening me. "Thanks." I flexed the wrists and ankles.
Already the hurt was less.

"Better start you on antibiotics," he said, and gave me a shot.

"My savior," I said to this guy. Then: "Is it true, about Livida?"

"Seems likely."

"Livida was in my body? Why? What happened?"

"Nearest I can tell, she just wanted to walk around and not be recognized. She's
hopped before, I guess. But somebody squatched. She had a stalker. He found her
while she was in your body, kidnapped her, tortured her. Another nute?"

"Yes, please. Vanilla?"

"Sure." He fetched me another. "Weird kind of crime. Now she's back in her own
body, feeling no pain, and giving a press conference. And here you are without
even a follow-up. Sucks."

"So right." I closed the eyes and drank totalnute, feeling at last a certain
peace as systems stabilized. "Hope she doesn't skreek me for the extra day." I
could use the money. I was already buying April the best clone you could get,
but it didn't hurt to have some bucks put away in case they came up with more
and better mods, which they often did. Sometimes I let April headhop into me,
but it was expensive-- I could skip my own fee, but I had to pay prep, transfer,
and follow-up fees, and every time I did it I was losing income I might
otherwise have made. April understood. Every once in a while, she needed a hop,
though.

"An interesting problem," said the service guy. "Livida didn't stay away on
purpose, unless this was a publicity stunt. Who's dabie?"

"Insurance, maybe. Don't know whose, though. They caught the stalker?"

"Nope. He kept her and played with her for a day, then wrapped her up in orange
parachute silk, taped her mouth and eyes -- sorry, your mouth and eyes, there's
still some adhesive; let me clean that up -- and dropped her off in the
Dumpmaster out back, where one of the cooks found you about half an hour ago."
He dampened a rag with some sort of cleanser and wiped it gently over the eyes
and mouth. With all the other disturbances in the body, I hadn't even noticed
how sticky the face felt.

I licked my lip. "They collect any evidence?"

"Yeah," he said. "He washed you off pretty good, but not completely. Genemap
should be ready sometime soon. They'll catch him. How you feeling?"

"Much better. Thanks again."

"Good. You're welcome."

"I was hyped on mones, or maybe stroids, when I woke up. Could you check my
balance, please?"

"Sure," he said, and pressed a scanner against my arm. "Mones, huh? True what
they say about you shades, you can taste your own blood without biting
yourself?"

"Not exactly," I said. "I just have a real good sense of what I should feel
like, and this isn't it." I did some stretching exercises. Strength was flowing
back into the muscles. I did some stretching exercises in my mind too. I'd never
had a conversation like this with a service person. "This stalker guy, he hurt
the body, and he didn't feed it. Wasn't a nice place to wake up in."

He studied the read-out on the scanner. "Hmm. Not mones. Some new kind of
crystal. Better get you an evener." He went back to the wall dispenser and keyed
in a request, came back with a hypo, sent its contents into the bloodstream.

"Thanks," I said for about the thirtieth time. I could feel the anger dying
down. Yes! Body was more and more mine again. "What's your name?" I couldn't
remember the number of hops I'd made. I couldn't remember a service person who'd
been so nice to me before.

"Patrick. what's yours?"

"Marlena when I'm home. Sharebody 209 when I'm not."

"Nice to meet you," he said.

We shook hands. I felt extremely peculiar. I had two friends; both of them had
started sharebodying about the same time I did. I had my sister. The rest of the
world was full of people who might or might not use my services, might or might
not do something for me -- training medical care, hopjuicing, whatever, mostly
depending on whether I had credit or not.

Two friends, a sister, now Patrick.

I flexed things, testing, and found that my coordination and strength were at
about two thirds normal. "I feel much better," I said. I got to my feet.

"Must be weird, stuff happens to you, you don't even remember it," he said.

I shrugged. What I really wanted was a shower, but that would have to wait. I
got my yellow coverall from the closet. I was glad it had long sleeves and
ankle-length legs. I pulled it on, took a tie-back from the pocket, and tied my
hair into a tail. "It's just...what happens," I told him. "Sometimes I'm walking
down the street and someone recognizes me. Talks to me. Reminds me about that
night we spent together, or something." I glanced clown at the chip implanted on
the inside of my right wrist. SB2090 it said, in tiny letters. "Then I show them
this. Instant deep freeze." I smiled at him. I didn't know why. I made more
money in two days than he could make in two months, and I didn't even have to be
awake while I did it. Sure, I put in the work: I kept the body up. Exercise,
nutrition, medcare, dental work, skin care, spa care, hair styling. Left me a
lot of time to do whatever else I wanted, though.

Mostly sitting with April, plugging in to media, seeing what I had missed while
someone else was walking around in the body.

Watching Livida in the sensics, as she romanced, danced, and found pleasures, as
she went on adventures and stirred up intrigues. She was always so cool. She was
always thinking. She was always beautiful. Never at a loss in a social
situation.

When I met people on the street who had known not-me, I wondered how the
headhoppers had gotten them to talk to the body. Some of these strangers were
beautiful, even. When I was home in the body I would never have approached
people who looked like that. I mean, I knew I'd done a lot for my physique, but
my face, well, it was just plain. I never had paid for any facesculpting;
sometimes people like plain -- if it's a visit, not a lifetime.

Once a man came up to me and kissed me. "Gabrielle!" he said, touching my face
and smiling down at me.

I wanted to smile back and pretend. But I knew if I did, things would be worse
as soon as he figured it out. So I gave him my half-smile, and showed him my
wrist. His eyes went wide. He stepped back from me, red staining his face. He
turned and stumbled away.

Such little broken dreams, half started, never finding their close because I was
not the sum body they had met.

Hopheads shrugged into my body like it was a suit of clothes. They looked like
me. They didn't act like me. What was it they did that I didn't?

Livida never had problems like this.

Or maybe she did.

Was her stalker stalking her, or the people she played in the sensics? Did he
even know there was a difference?

Did he realize he had split the hurt he caused in half? Livida would remember
it; I would feel it.

"Doesn't that seem strange to you?" Patrick asked me.

I couldn't remember what we had been talking about.

He picked up on it right away. "People thinking they know you when you don't
know them back. Doesn't that feel weird?"

"This is a big city. It doesn't happen that often." I didn't tell him about
walking into a bar and seeing a 3D postcard hanging on the back wall with other
bright-colored snippets of travels: me and this fat balding guy, standing next
to a strong-up marlin on some fishing boat in the Caribbean. We were both
laughing. Well, whoever had hopped into me was laughing along with the Big
Sportsman, anyway. His wife? His male lover trying a new wrinkle?

I didn't look at the back of the postcard. "Having a wonderful time. Wish you
were here," probably. I found another neighborhood bar instead.

"My face okay?" I asked.

"Clean and no bruises, anyway," said Patrick.

"Thanks," I said to him for the hundredth time. I'd never thanked anybody so
much in my entire life. I wanted to tip him really well, but that seemed rude.
Maybe I could tip him at a credit terminal downstairs. I checked his ID badge.
HURON, it said.

"I better get home," I said. "I hope someone explained things to my sister. But
I bet they didn't." Maybe I should call her. I looked around for a link. Not a
feature of recovery rooms, apparently.

"She watch the news?" asked Patrick.

"Damn!" That stupid reporter and his headcam!

"You didn't sign a release, did you?"

"Nope. Guy didn't care. Works for Tell-Al1. Said they live for lawsuits."

"Damn," said Patrick. "I'11 walk you out."

"Thanks," I said again.

He went through the door first. Then he turned and pushed me back into the room.
Lights shone around his edges: cams aimed our direction. Voices called
questions. He keyed a code into the doorpad, and the door slid shut and locked.
"Press out there like flies on syrup," he said. He lifted his wrist: he had a
comlink on it. He touched a button and spoke. "Security?"

"Chief?"

"What are all these press people doing in the secure area on floor 23?"

"Agel gave them the go-ahead."

"Has she lost her mind? This is not exactly positive publicity. Get them out of
here."

"Will do."

He flipped the cover down on the comlink and glanced at me.

I went and sat down in the hopchair again. "You're not a caregiver."

"Not generally."

"Huh. Can I call my sister on your wristcom?"

He shook his head. "Internal frequency only. Sorry. We'll be out of here in a
few minutes."

We sat quiet for a little while. Presently he said, "Do you know who was
supposed to be on your recovery team?"

I shook my head. "By the time I settled in there was no one here."

"It'll be on record somewhere," he muttered. He shook his head too. "They're all
fired. Just so you know. Tweaks."

"Fired?"

"Not doing their jobs. Omnimatches are rare! What got into them, leaving you
like that?"

"Livida?" I guessed.

"No excuse," he said.

I thought about that. My contract with Class Acts specified certain minimal
care, and they hadn't given it to me, it was true. I could jump to some other
Headhop Emporium. I could even sue if I wanted to, but it would probably poison
the well for me as to future employment. On the other hand, omnimatches were
rare. Most sharebodies could only be used by one or two of the twelve
mind-types. A template like mine didn't happen very often.

April and I were trying to train her clone to be another such, though. April
headhopped into the developing body daily as it lay dormant in a wash of nute
and thought for its brain so that it would be ready to receive her when it
ripened. And I hopped in occasionally and did mind-stretching exercises.

The clonemakers were monitoring everything we did. If we were successful...well,
my attorney had patents pending.

The door beeped. Patrick spoke on his wristcom, then went over and keyed in a
number. The door opened.

Livida came in, and the door shut behind her.

She looked exhausted. Not how you were supposed to look after returning from a
hop. While you were gone your body was resting and being refreshed with the best
nute and electrical stimulation available. If you had medical problems they
could be corrected while you were out enjoying yourself. Cosmetic surgery. Eye
surgery. Mods implanted. Fact, you could wear out your sharebody, if you got
that kind of contract and paid enough, and come home to a really comfortable
place.

She looked tired, and her eyes were puffy, her nose red. Real crying. She came
and stood in front of me, held out hands I had seen in twenty sensics. "I'm so
sorry," said that voice. It had a million layers of extra meaning in it. I
couldn't think of a single way to answer.

She reached for the hands, and I lifted them. She took them and stared at their
backs, stroked a thumb across the knuckle. "These were mine for a little while,"
she said.

I stared at her thumbnail. There was a nick in the edge of it. I'd seen her
hands more times than I could count, felt as close to inside them as I could get
without headhopping, and I'd never seen a nick in one of her nails before.

"Ms. Redmond, how much did you tell the press?" Patrick asked before I could
figure out why it felt so strange to hold hands with someone I'd never met but
thought I knew very well.

"I don't know," Livida said, her voice troubled. "I've never ended a hop the way
this one ended. I don't know what happened. I can't remember what I was telling
them, only they seemed so much more loud than usual. Usually I feel much calmer,
much more ready to face things. Usually my publicist makes sure no one knows
I've hopped at all, and there's no press. I can't remember -- I can't -- I --"

I stood up and steered her into the other hopchair. "It's the crystal," I said.

"But the crystal was in your body," Patrick said. "How would that translate?"

"Disrupted her thinking patterns. Must not have gotten a good brainwave profile
match when they hopped her home. How did they know it was her?"

"I'll have to see the records. There are six toplines that match no matter what
your mental state, though. The other fourteen are usually a little waggy." He
got out a scanner and pressed it to Livida's arm. His eyebrows rose. "Mimics
crystal, all right," he said. He went to the dispenser, got a hypo, injected it
into Livida's arm. "This should make you feel better, Ms. Redmond."

She sniffed, wiped the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips. "It's been so
awful," she said. "All I want to do is go to sleep .... Oh, that is better.
Thank you." She blinked and looked up at me. Her eyes were violet and intense.
"Body," she said. "I'm so sorry this happened. Before he caught me it was the
best hop I ever made. You are so comfortable, and so able. I was thinking I'd
like to use you at least once a month. I'm sorry. I'm sorry he hurt you. I don't
know what to do --"

"I'll be fine," I said. "I'll get better. I don't think there's any permanent
damage. It's not your fault."

"But it is -- if it hadn't been me -- "

"Just because you do something well in public, that's no reason for you to be
punished," I said.

She licked her upper lip. I'd seen that a hundred times too. It could mean any
of six things: an invitation to sex; deep thought; uncertainty; I'm hungry; I
don't know what to say next; my lip is dry. I was so used to watching her,
sensing her, being her, that I forgot we were in the middle of a conversation.
One didn't talk during a sensie; one just sat back and felt, and waited for
whatever would happen next.

Her eyes clouded. "I can't even --" she said. She touched my hand. She reached
out and rolled my coverall sleeve up, stared at the bruises around my wrist.
"That was real," she whispered. She touched it and I winced. She glanced back at
her .own wrist, the same color as the rest of her perfect skin. "But now it's
not." She let go of my arm and covered her eyes with her hands.

Patrick talked to his wristcom some more. Finally he opened the door and there
was no one outside but some security people, and someone Livida called Zachary.
She ran to him, and he embraced her; it looked like what happened at the end of
most of her sensies.

"They've caught him," someone said. "The stalker. They've caught him, Livida."

She wasn't listening, though. She was gripping Zachary's arm. She was walking
away. She never looked back.

I never wanted to go for facesculpting, but after that newsbyte from Tell-All
played on the hour and on the half for a week, people noticed the body on the
street. "Livida! Livida!" they yelled, and I didn't know how to answer. They
asked for autographs.

So I took some of my savings and had the nose thinned and the eyecolor changed,
and I augmented the cheekbones just enough to look like someone else. I kept the
plain, though.

April still watches Livida's sensies, but I take myself out of the net when they
come on.

I know her. I know her better than I know myself. She was inside the body. So
many times I was inside her image, living her manufactured life because it was
better than my real one. I wasn't in the body while she was, but I lived with
the aftereffects of what had happened to her, and that made me feel even more as
though I know her.

I watched a replay of her press conference after the hop, and I knew her mind.
We'd shared the pain and the crystal and the confusion.

Somehow I no longer know who I am. I don't think she knows who she is either.

Oh, I don't want to be her. It's okay if one person at a time wants to be me,
whoever they are when they're being me. But I don't ever want the whole world
wanting me. Not like that.

PUSS IN BOOTS

2010-11-29T03:10:00.003-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . a miller died leaving the mill to his eldest son,
his donkey to his second son and . . . a cat to his youngest son.
   "Now that's some difference!" you might say; but there you are, that's how
the miller was!
   The eldest son kept the mill, the second son took the donkey and set off in
search of his fortune . . . while the third sat down on a stone and sighed,
   "A cat! What am I going to do with that?" But the cat heard his words and
said,
   "Don't worry, Master. What do you think? That I'm worth less than a
half-ruined mill or a mangy donkey? Give me a cloak, a hat with a feather in
it, a bag and a pair of boots, and you will see what I can do." The young man,
by no means surprised, for it was quite common for cats to talk in those days,
gave the cat what he asked for, and as he strode away, confident and cheerful.
the cat said. "Don't look so glum, Master. See you soon!"
   Swift of foot as he was, the cat caught a fat wild rabbit, popped it into
his bag, knocked at the castle gate, went before the King and, removing his
hat, with a sweeping bow, he said:
   "Sire, the famous Marquis of Carabas sends you this fine plump rabbit as a
gift."
   "Oh," said the King, "thanks so much."
   "Till tomorrow," replied the cat as he went out. And the next day, back he
came with some partridges tucked away in his bag. "Another gift from the brave
Marquis of Carabas," he announced. The Queen remarked,
   "This Marquis of Carabas is indeed a very courteous gentleman."
   In the days that followed, Puss in Boots regularly visited the castle,
carrying rabbits, hares, partridges and skylarks, presenting them all to the
King in the name of the Marquis of Carabas. Folk at the palace began to talk
about this noble gentleman.
   "He must be a great hunter," someone remarked. "He must be very loyal to
the King," said someone else. And yet another, "But who is he? I've never
heard of him." At this someone who wanted to show people how much he knew,
replied,
   "Oh, yes, I've heard his name before. In fact, I knew his father."
   The Queen was very interested in this generous man who sent these gifts.
"Is your master young and handsome?" she asked the cat.
   "Oh yes. And very rich, too," answered Puss in Boots. "In fact, he would be
very honoured if you and the King called to see him in his castle." When the
cat returned home and told his master that the King and Queen were going to
visit him, he was horrified.
   "Whatever shall we do?" he cried. "As soon as they see me they will know
how poor I am."
   "Leave everything to me," replied Puss in Boots. "I have a plan." For
several days, the crafty cat kept on taking gifts to the King and Queen, and
one day he discovered that they were taking the Princess on a carriage ride
that very afternoon.
   The cat hurried home in great excitement. "Master, come along," he cried.
"It is time to carry out my plan. You must go for a swim in the river."
   "But I can't swim," replied the young man.
   "That's all right," replied Puss in Boots. "Just trust me." So they went to
the river and when the King's carriage appeared the cat pushed his master into
the water.
   "Help!" cried the cat. "The Marquis of Carabas is drowning." The King heard
his cries and sent his escorts to the rescue. They arrived just in time to
save the poor man, who really was drowning. The King, the Queen and the
Princess fussed around and ordered new clothes to be brought for the Marquis
of Carabas.
   "Wouldn't you like to marry such a handsome man?" the Queen asked her
daughter.
   "Oh, yes," replied the Princess. However, the cat overheard one of the
ministers remark that they must find out how rich he was.
   "He is very rich indeed," said Puss in Boots. "He owns the castle and all
this land. Come and see for yourself. I will meet you at the castle."
   And with these words, the cat rushed off in the direction of the castle,
shouting at the peasants working in the fields, "If anyone asks you who your
master is, answer: the Marquis of Carabas. Otherwise you will all be sorry."
And so, when the King's carriage swept past, the peasants told the King that
their master was the Marquis of Carabas.
   In the meantime, Puss in Boots had arrived at the castle, the home of a
huge, cruel ogre. Before knocking at the gate, the cat said to himself, "I
must be very careful, or I'll never get out of here alive." When the door
opened, Puss in Boots removed his feather hat, exclaiming, "My Lord Ogre, my
respects!"
   "What do you want, cat?" asked the ogre rudely.
   "Sire, I've heard you possess great powers. That, for instance, you can
change into a lion or an elephant."
   "That's perfectly true," said the ogre, "and so what?"
   "Well," said the cat, "I was talking to certain friends of mine who said
that you can't turn into a tiny little creature, like a mouse."
   "Oh, so that's what they say, is it?" exclaimed the ogre. The cat nodded,
   "Well, Sire, that's my opinion too, because folk that can do big things
never can manage little ones."
   "Oh, yes? Well, just watch this!" retorted the ogre, turning into a mouse.
In a flash, the cat leapt on the mouse and ate it whole. Then he dashed to the
castle gate, just in time, for the King's carriage was drawing up. With a bow,
Puss in Boots said,
   "Sire, welcome to the castle of the Marquis of Carabas!" The King and
Queen, the Princess and the miller's son who, dressed in his princely clothes,
really did look like a marquis, got out of the carriage and the King spoke:
   "My dear Marquis, you're a fine, handsome, young man, you have a great deal
of land and a magnificent castle. Tell me, are you married?"
   "No," the young man answered, "but I would like to find a wife." He looked
at the Princess as he spoke. She in turn smiled at him.
   To cut a long story short, the miller's son, now Marquis of Carabas,
married the Princess and lived happily with her in the castle. And from time
to time, the cat would wink and whisper, "You see, Master, I am worth a lot
more than any mangy donkey or half-ruined mill, aren't I?"
.

THE RUBY PRINCE

2010-11-29T03:10:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . a beggar in faraway Persia had a stroke of luck.
After a sudden flood, the fast-flowing river near the capital city shrank back
to its old bed, leaving mud and sllme behind it on the banks. In the dirt, the
beggar caught slght of a sparkling red stone. He picked it up and hurried off
to visit one of his friends who worked in the royal kitchens.
   "How many dinners would you give me for this shining stone?" he asked the
man hopefully.
   "But this is a ruby!" exclaimed the cook. "You must take it to the Shah at
once!" So next day, the beggar took the stone to the Shah, who asked him:
"Where did you find this?"
   "Lying in the mud on the bank of the river, Sire! he said.
   "Hmm!" mused the Shah. "Now why did the great river leave such a treasure
to you? I'll give you a bag of gold for the stone. Will that do?" The beggar
could scarcely belleve his ears.
   "Sire, this is the most wonderful day of my life," he stammered. "My
humblest thanks!"
   Before the Shah locked the big stone in his treasure box, he called Fatima,
his daughter and said: "This is the biggest ruby I've ever seen. I shall give
it to you for your 18th birthday!"
   Fatima admired the gem in her hand and happily threw her arms round her
father's neck.
   "It's marvellous! Thank you so much. I know it will bring me good luck!"
   Some months later, on Fatima's birthday, the Shah went to fetch the ruby as
promised. But when he lifted the lid of the box, he leapt in surprise, for out
stepped a handsome young man, who smilingly said, "The ruby you want no longer
exists! I've taken its place. I'm the Ruby Prince. Please don't ask me how
this miracle took place. It's a secret I can never tell!"
   When the Shah got over his shock, he went into a towering rage.
   "I lose a precious gem, find a prince, and l'm not allowed to ask the
reason why?" he roared.
   "I'm sorry, Sire," replied the prince, "but nothing and nobody will make me
tell how I got here."
   Furious at these words, the Shah instantly decided to punish the young man
for his impertinence.
   "Since you've taken the place of my ruby," he thundered, "you are now my
servant, I presume."
   "Of course, Sire," replied the young man confidently.
   "Good!" exclaimed the Shah. "Then take my gold sword. I'll reward you with
the hand of my daughter Fatima if you succeed in killing the dragon of Death
Valley that's stopping the caravans from passing through the forest."
   As it happens, many a brave young man had lost his life trying to kill the
terrible dragon, and the Shah was quite sure that the Ruby Prince would share
their fate.
   Armed with the Shah's sword, the Ruby Prince set off for Death Valley. When
he reached the edge of the thick dark forest, he loudly called for the dragon
to show itself. But the only reply was the echo of his own voice. He leant
against a tree trunk and was about to drop off to sleep when the sound of
snapping branches brought him to his feet. A frightful hissing grew louder and
louder and the earth trembled. The terrible dragon was on its way.
   Before him the huge horrible beast reared with open jaws. Unlike all the
other brave warriors who had gone before him, the prince stoutly stood his
ground; he took a step forward and struck first one heavy blow at the dragon's
throat, then another, till at last the monster lay dead at his feet.
   When he returned to the palace carrying the dragon s head, the Ruby Prince
was hailed as a hero. And so Fatima and the Ruby Prince were married and lived
happily together. However, as time passed, Fatima became more and more curious
about her husband's past.
   "I know nothing about you," she complained. "At least tell me who you
really are and where you once lived!"
   But every time the Ruby Prince heard such remarks, he went white and said,
"I can't tell you. You mustn't ask, or you'll run the risk of losing me for
ever!"
   But Fatima was tormented by the desire to know. One day, as they sat by the
river that flowed through the Shah's gardens, Fatima pleaded with him to
reveal his secret.
   White-faced, the young man replied, "I can't!"
   But Fatima only pleaded more: "Oh, please! Please tell me!"
   "You know I can't . . ."
   The Ruby Prince hesitated, gazing at his dearly loved wife and gently
stroking her hair. Then he made his decision.
   "I don't want to see you suffer like this. If you really must know, then
I'll tell you that I'm . . ."
   At the very second he was about to reveal his secret, a huge wave swept him
into the river and dragged him under the water.
   The horrified Princess rushed vainly along the bank, crying loudly for her
husband. But he had vanished. Fatima called the guards and even the Shah
himself ran up to comfort her. But the Princess became very depressed, for she
knew that her foollsh questioning had been the cause of the tragedy. One day,
her favourite handmaiden hurried up to her.
   "Your Highness!" she exclaimed. "I saw the most amazing thing last night. A
host of tiny lights appeared on the river, then a thousand little genies
draped the river bank with flowers. Such a handsome young man then began to dance in honour of an old man who seemed to be a king. And beside the king stood
a young man with a ruby on his forehead. I thought he was . . ."
   Fatima's heart leapt: could the young man with the ruby be her husband?
   That night, the Princess and her handmaiden went into the garden and hid
behind a tree close to the water's edge. On the stroke of midnight, tiny
lights began to twinkle on the river, then a stately old man with a white
beard, dressed in a golden robe and holding a sceptre, rose from the water.
   In the young man beside the throne, Fatima recognlzed her husband. Covering
her face with her vell, she left her hiding place and gracefully began to
dance. Wild applause greeted her at the end. Then from the throne came a
voice.
   "For such a divine dance, ask us whatever you wlsh for and it will be
granted!"
   Fatima tore the veil from her face and cried, "Give me back myhusband!"
   The old king rose to his feet. "The King of the Waters of Persia gave his
word. Take back your husband, the Ruby Prince. But do not forget how you lost
him and be wiser in future!"
   Then the waters opened once more and closed over the King and his Court,
leaving Fatima and the Ruby Prince on the bank, reunited and happy at last.
.

THE TIN SOLDIER

2010-11-29T03:09:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . there lived a child who had a lot of toys. The child
kept his toys in his room and spent many happy hours everyday playing with
them. One of his favourite games was the battle with the tin soldiers. He
arranged the little toy soldiers in their respective ranks and fought
imaginary battles.
   When the boy received the soldiers, as a present, he noticed that one of
them had been made, by mistake, with just one leg. Despite the missing limb,
the boy placed the little mutilated soldier in the front lines, encouraging
him to be the most valorous of all the little soldiers. The child did not know
that, at night, the toys became animated and talked between themselves.
   It often happened that, when lining up the soldiers after playing with
them, the little boy would forget about the little tin soldier without a leg
and left him with all the other toys. It was thus that the little metal
soldier got to talk to a pretty tin ballerina.
   A great friendship was born between the two, and pretty soon the little
soldier fell in love with the ballerina. But the nights went by quickly, and
he did not find the courage to declare his love to her. When the child played
with the soldiers and positioned him in the front lines, the little soldier
hoped that the ballerina would notice his courage in battle. And in the
evening, when the ballerina asked the soldier if he had been afraid, he
proudly answered, "No."
   But the loving stares and sighs of the little soldier did not go unnoticed
by the jack-in-the-box. One night, the jackin-the-box said to the little
soldier: "Hey you! Don't look at the ballerina like that!" The poor little
soldier was confused and he blushed, but the kind ballerina cheered him up.
   "Don't listen to him, he is ugly and jealous. I am very happy to talk to
you," she said blushing too. The two little tin flgurines were both too shy to
speak of their love.
   One day they were separated. The boy picked up the tin soldier and placed
him on the window-sill.
   "You stay here and watch for the enemy," he said. Then the boy played
inside with the other soliders.
   It was summer and in the days that followed the soldier remained on the
window-sill. But one afternoon there was a sudden storm and a strong wind
shook the windows. The Iittle soldier fell head first off the window-sill. His
bayonet stuck into the ground. It kept raining and storming and pretty soon
the rain formed big puddles and the gutters were full. A group of boys in the
nearby school waited for the storm to end and when it stopped raining hard
they ran outdoors.
   Joking and laughing, the boys hopped over the bigger puddles while two of
them cautiously walked next to the wall so that the sprinkling rain wouldn't
wet them. These two boys noticed the little tin soldier stuck in the sodden
earth.
   "Too bad he has just one leg. Otherwise, I'd take him home with me," one of
the boys said. The other boy picked him up and put him in his pocket.
   "Let's take him anyway," he said. "We could use him for something." On the
other side of the street, the gutter was overflowing and the current carried a
little paper boat.
   "Let's put the little soldier in the boat and make him a sailor," said the
boy who had picked up the tin soldier.And so the little soldier became a
sailor.
   The whirling gutter flowed into a sewer and the little boat was carried
down the drain. The water in the underground sewage was deep and muddy. Big
rats gnashed their teeth as the vessel and its unusual passenger flowed by.
The boat was soaked and about to sink. But the little soldier, who had faced
far greater dangers in battle, was not afraid. The water of the sewer then
flowed into the river and the little boat, now overturned, was swept by the
high waves. The little tin soldier realized his end was near. After the paper
boat was wrecked, he sank in deep waters. A thousand thoughts went through the
little soldier's mind, but one in particular anguished him:
   "I will never see my sweet little ballerina again!" But a huge mouth
swallowed the little tin soldier and, once again, his destiny took an
unexpected turn.
   The little soldier found himself in the stomach of a large fish who had
been lured by the glittering colours of his uniform. The fish, however, did
not even have time to digest his meal because, shortly after having swallowed
the soldier, he was caught in the net of a fisherman. Shortly after, the
gasping fish ended up in a big basket and was brought to the market.
   Meanwhile, a cook was on her way to the market. She worked in the very same
house where the little soldier used to live.
   "This fish will be perfect for tonight's guests," the cook said when she
saw the big fish on the fish market's counter. The fish ended up in the
kitchen and when the cook slit its belly to clean it she found the little tin
soldier.
   "This looks like one of our boy's toy soldiers . . ." she thought, and ran
to the boy to show him her discovery.
   "That's right, it's my soldier!" the little boy cheered, when he recognized
the soldier with the missing leg.
   "I wonder how he got into the fish's belly? Poor soldier, he must have gone
through a lot of trouble since he fell off the window-sill!" The little boy
placed the soldier on the mantle, right next to his sister's ballerina.
   The amazing ways of destiny had once again reunited the two lovers. The
little soldier and the ballerina were very happy to be close to each other. At
night they talked about what had happened after their separation. But the ill
disposition of fate had another surprise in store for them.
   One day a sudden gust of wind lifted the heavy drape of the window and hit
the ballerina, who fell into the flreplace. The little soldier saw his friend
fall into the fireplace and he was frightened. He knew a fire was lit because
he could feel its warmth. He was desperate, conscious of not being able to do
anything to save the ballerina. In fact, fire is the greatest enemy of tin
figurines because it melts metals. Rocking back and forth on his one leg, the
little soldier tried to move the metal base under his feet that held him in
place.
   He kept trying to move until he fell into the fire as well. The two
figurines were reunited in their misfortune. They were so close to each other
now, that their metal bases began melting together. The tin of one base melted
with the metal of the other, and the metal strangely moulded into the shape of
a heart. As their bodies were about to begin melting as well, the little boy
went by the fireplace and saw the two little figurines enveloped by the flames
and moved them away from the blaze with his foot.
   Ever since then the soldier and the ballerina have been melted close to
each other, sharing their destiny and a common base shaped like a heart.
.

HANSEL AND GRETEL

2010-11-29T03:08:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . a very poor woodcutter lived in a tiny cottage in
the forest with his two children, Hansel and Gretel. His second wife often
ill-treated the children and was forever nagging the woodcutter.
   "There is not enough food in the house for us all. There are too many
mouths to feed! We must get rid of the two brats," she declared. And she kept
on trying to persuade her husband to abandon his children in the forest.
   "Take them miles from home, so far that they can never find their way back!
Maybe someone will find them and give them a home." The downcast woodcutter
didn't know what to do. Hansel who, one evening, had overheard his parents'
conversation, comforted Gretel. =--=
   "Don't worry! If they do leave us in the forest, we'll find the way home,"
he said. And slipping out of the house he filled his pockets with little white
pebbles, then went back to bed.
   All night long, the woodcutter's wife harped on and on at her husband till,
at dawn, he led Hansel and Gretel away into the forest. But as they went into
the depths of the trees, Hansel dropped a little white pebble here and there
on the mossy green ground. At a certain point, the two children found they
really were alone: the woodcutter had plucked up enough courage to desert
them, had mumbled an excuse and was gone.
   Night fell but the woodcutter did not return. Gretel began to sob bitterly.
Hansel too felt scared but he tried to hide his feelings and comfort his
sister.
   "Don't cry, trust me! I swear I'll take you home even if Father doesn t
come back for us!" Luckily the moon was full that night and Hansel waited till
its cold light filtered through the trees.
   "Now give me your hand!" he said. "We'll get home safely, you'll see!" The
tiny white pebbles gleamed in the moonlight, and the children found their
way home. They crept through a half-open window, without wakening their
parents. Cold, tired but thankful to be home again, they slipped into bed.
   Next day, when their stepmother discovered that Hansel and Gretel had
returned, she went into a rage. Stifling her anger in front of the children,
she locked her bedroom door, reproachlng her husband for failing to carry out
her orders. The weak woodcutter protested, torn as he was between shame and
fear of disobeying his cruel wife. The wicked stepmother kept Hansel and
Gretel under lock and key all day with nothing for supper but a sip of water
and some hard bread. All night, husband and wife quarrelled, and when dawn
came, the woodcutter led the children out into the forest.
   Hansel, however, had not eaten his bread, and as he walked through the
trees, he left a trail of crumbs behind him to mark the way. But the little
boy had forgotten about the hungry birds that lived in the forest. When they
saw him, they flew along behind and in no time at all, had eaten all the
crumbs. Again, with a lame excuse, the woodcutter left his two children by
themselves.
   "I've left a trail, like last time!" Hansel whispered to Gretel,
consolingly. But when night fell, they saw to their horror, that all the
crumbs had gone.
   "I'm frightened!" wept Gretel bitterly. "I'm cold and hungry and I want to
go home!"
   "Don't be afraid. I'm here to look after you!" Hansel tried to encourage
his sister, but he too shivered when he glimpsed frightening shadows and evil
eyes around them in the darkness. All night the two children huddled together
for warmth at the foot of a large tree.
   When dawn broke, they started to wander about the forest, seeking a path,
but all hope soon faded. They were well and truly lost. On they walked and
walked, till suddenly they came upon a strange cottaae in the middle of a
glade.
   "This is chocolate!" gasped Hansel as he broke a lump of plaster from the
wall.
   "And this is icing!" exclaimed Gretel, putting another piece of wall in her
mouth. Starving but delighted, the children began to eat pieces of candy
broken off the cottage.
   "Isn't this delicious?" said Gretel, with her mouth full. She had never
tasted anything so nice.
   "We'll stay here," Hansel declared, munching a bit of nougat. They were
just about to try a piece of the biscuit door when it quietly swung open.
   "Well, well!" said an old woman, peering out with a crafty look. "And
haven't you children a sweet tooth?"
   "Come in! Come in, you've nothing to fear!" went on the old woman.
Unluckily for Hansel and Gretel, however, the sugar candy cottage belonged to
an old witch, her trap for catching unwary victims. The two children had come
to a really nasty place . . .
   "You're nothing but skin and bones!" said the witch, locking Hansel into a
cage. I shall fatten you up and eat you!"
   "You can do the housework," she told Gretel grimly, "then I'll make a meal
of you too!" As luck would have it, the witch had very bad eyesight, an when
Gretel smeared butter on her glasses, she could see even less.
   "Let me feel your finger!" said the witch to Hansel every day to check if
he was getting any fatter. Now, Gretel had brought her brother a chicken bone,
and when the witch went to touch his finger, Hansel held out the bone.
   "You're still much too thin!" she complained. When will you become plump?"
One day the witch grew tired of waltlng.
   "Light the oven," she told Gretel. "We're going to have a tasty roasted boy
today!" A little later, hungry and impatient, she went on: "Run and see if the
oven is hot enough." Gretel returned, whimpering: "I can't tell if it is hot
enough or not." Angrily, the wltch screamed at the little girl: "Useless
child! All right, I'll see for myself." But when the witch bent down to peer
inside the oven and check the heat, Gretel gave her a tremendous push and
slammed the oven door shut. The witch had come to a fit and proper end. Gretel
ran to set her brother free and they made quite sure that the oven door was
tightly shut behind the witch. Indeed, just to be on the safe side, they
fastened it firmly with a large padlock. Then they stayed for several days to
eat some more of the house, till they discovered amongst the witch's
belongings, a huge chocolate egg. Inside lay a casket of gold coins.
   "The witch is now burnt to a cinder," said Hansel, "so we'll take this
treasure with us." They filled a large basket with food and set off into the
forest to search for the way home. This time, luck was with them, and on the
second day, they saw their father come out of the house towards them, weeping.
   "Your stepmother is dead. Come home with me now, my dear children!" The two
children hugged the woodcutter.
   "Promise you'll never ever desert us again," said Gretel, throwing her arms
round her father's neck. Hansel opened the casket.
   "Look, Father! We're rich now . . . You'll never have to chop wood
again . . ."
   And they all lived happily together ever after.
.

SIX ABLE MEN

2010-11-29T03:07:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time there lived a young soldier named Martin who had enlisted
in the royal army to flght a war. The war was long but victorious and when the
King abandoned the enemy's territory and returned with his troops to the
homeland, he left Martin to guard the only bridge on the river that separated
the two nations.
   "Stay on watch on the bridge," the King ordered. "Don't let any enemy
soldier go by." Days and then months passed, and the soldier kept his watch on
the bridge. He survived by asking the passers-by for food and, after two
years, thought that the authorities had probably forgotten him. He then headed
towards the capital, where he would ask the King for all his back pay. His
pockets were empty and his only possessions were a pipe, a bit of tobacco and
his sword.
   A couple of days later he arrived in a valley where a stream crossed his
path. A big man with hands as big as hams, large shoulders and a bull's neck
was sitting by the stream. The man, who had a strangely soft and kind voice,
asked him:
   "Would you like to cross the stream?" The soldier couldn't ask for more.
The man effortlessly uprooted a huge tree and laid it across the stream.
Martin offered the man some of his tobacco in return and when he found out
that the man had nothing to do, Martin asked him to come along.
   "You'll see all the things we can do together!"
   They had just begun walking away when they met a hunter who was aiming his
rifle at a faraway hill.
   "What are you aiming at?"
   "Do you see that cobweb on that tree on top of the hill?" the hunter asked.
"I want to get the spider!" The hunter shot and when the three men got to the
top of the hill they found a big hole in the middle of the cobweb and no more
spider. Martin had never seen anyone shoot that well and he asked the hunter
to join them.
   "Come with us and you'll be in luck!" The three men walked and walked until
they arrived at a windmill. The wheel of the mill was turning even though
there was no wind. The men were puzzled but further up the road they found a
fat man sitting on a tree stump. The man was blowing through one of his
nostrils in the mill's direction. The fat man explained to the three amazed
fellow travellers that his strength was such that he could sneeze up a
hurricane. The soldier convinced him to follow them. As they approached the
city, they were approached by a man who hopped about with his legs tied
together.
   "Who tied you up?" they asked in unison.
   "I did it myself," the man, who was very young and very thin, answered. "If
I untied myself I would run as fast as the wind and would not enjoy the
sights." And so it was that even this character, nicknamed Fastfoot by the
others, joined the group.
   But the surprises of that extraordinary day were far from over. A little
man with a round face sat under a tree. He held his hat over his left ear. "If
I straighten my hat," he explained, "I will freeze everything around me."
Naturally, everybody took his word for it and the stranger was asked to join
the group. The bizarre company finally arrived at the city. A public notice
was hung outside the city walls. The princess announced that whoever would
beat her in a race could marry her.
   The soldier dusted his uniform, cleaned himself up after the long trip and
ran to the palace. He wanted to challenge the princess but said that one of
his servants would run in his place. The princess accepted his challenge. The
morning after, at the starting line, Fastfoot untied his legs and took off
like a rocket. Each one of the contestants had a jug that had to be filled at
a nearby stream and brought back full to the finish line. On his way back,
Fastfoot stopped to pick a flower and after carefully setting the jug on the
ground and realizing that the princess was still far away, he decided to lie
down and rest for a while. Unfortunately, he fell asleep.
   Later on, when the princess caught up with him and saw that he had fallen
asleep, she kicked down his jug and ran away. She was sure of her victory.
From far away the sharp sighted hunter shot and hit a spot near Fastfoot's
ear. Fastfoot woke up all of a sudden and saw the princess approaching the
finish line. He quickly ran back to the stream, filled the jug and reached the
finish line as fast as lightning. The King was furious. He would never let his
daughter marry a miserable soldier.
   He invited the unsuspecting Martin to the palace. Martin told him about his
two years watching over the river, which made the King ever angrier. The King,
however, pretended to feel guilty and invited the soldier and his friends to a
banquet in a strange dining room. In fact the dining room was lined with iron
walls and was built over a huge furnace. The King ordered his men to seal the
dining room's door and to light the furnace. Then he proceeded to watch the
slow death of the group through an unbreakable glass. The six men began eating
but suddenly felt the floor grow very hot, while the room's temperature
rapidly increased.
   But Martin did not lose his head. He straightened the hat of the round
faced little man and pretty soon they were all shivering from the cold. The
King uselessly urged his men to throw more and more wood in the furnace, but
the soldier and his fnends had found a remedy to the King's wickedness. No one
had ever come out of this torture chamber alive, but this time the King had to
accept defeat, even though he was still determined not to let his daughter go.
He offered the soldier a large sum of money as long as he gave up the wedding.
   "I will fill you a bag of gold and other riches if you forget the wedding."
   "That's fine with me," Martin said, "and I accept your offer but as long as
I pick the bag and the man who will carry it away." The poor King was unaware
of the strength of one of the six friends. When he began filling the sack, all
of his gold was not enough to fill it. Martin and his friends were rich. When
they left court, the King had become very poor.
   The monarch lost his temper and realized the soldier had fooled him. He
called the army commander and ordered two battalions to chase Martin. "Bring
them back dead or alive and at all costs!" Later on, the soldiers caught up
with the six young men and surrounded them.
   "Give us back the gold and surrender," they demanded. But the fattest of the
men began blowing so hard that horses and soldiers were carried away. In just a
few minutes the wounded soldiers were scattered all over the plain and the
battalions were no longer a threat to the six extraordinary friends who
continued their journey.
   Then they divided the gold and jewels in equal parts and each one of them
went his own separate way. Martin crossed the bridge where he had been on
watch for so long without any reward and never turned back again.
.

THE PEASANT, THE SNAKE AND THE FOX

2010-11-29T02:52:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, a peasant on his way home heard a feeble voice calling
"Help! Help!" He looked round, took a careful step or two then realised that
the sound was coming from beneath a large boulder. He asked in amazement:
"Who's that calling?" And a voice replied,
   "It's me. The rock rolled down over my hole and I'm shut in. I can't get
out, I'm going to die. Please help me. Move the boulder." The peasant then
asked:
   "But who are you?"
   "I'm a poor snake," came the reply.
   "A snake? But if I let you out you will bite me."
   "No, no, I promise I won't. Get me out, please!" The peasant allowed
himself to be persuaded and he shifted the boulder . . . and out of a hole in
the ground slid a snake which darted towards the peasant and tried to bite
him. The man jumped back and cried,
   "Why did you do that?" The snake replied, "Because every good deed is
rewarded by an evil one, didn't you know that?"
   "No, I didn't. I don't think that's so," said the peasant.
   "Very well," said the snake. "Let's go and ask someone. If we come across
someone who thinks as you do, well, that's it, but if people say I'm right,
then I shall bite you. Agreed?"
   "Agreed," said the peasant, and off they went.
   A little later, they met an old mangy lame horse, thin and covered in
scratches, with an uncombed mane and dirty tail. The peasant spoke to him.
   "Listen, friend. If someone does a good deed, what does he get as his
reward?" Without a moment's hesitation, the horse replied.
   "A bad deed. Look at me! I served my master faithfully for years and now
that I'm old, he has left me to die of starvation!" At these words, the snake
turned to the peasant and hissed, "Did you hear that? I shall bite you now!"
But the man exclaimed: "Wait! One question isn't enough! We have to ask
someone else."
   "Bother!" exclaimed the snake. "Very well, let's look for someone else, but
wait and see, I'm right and I'll get my bite!" So, leaving the horse behind,
the pair went on their way.
   They met a sheep which, at the peasant's question, said: "A good deed is
always repaid with a bad deed. Look at me, I always follow my master and never
complain. I obey him all the time and what does he do? He shears my fleece in
winter, so I feel the cold, and makes me keep it in summer, so I melt with the
heat!"
   "Get ready," said the snake, "I'm about to bite!" But the peasant said,
   "Please! We've had the first round, and the second one as well, now let's
play the deciding round. If I'm wrong at the third question, then I'll let you
bite me."
   On they went, and in the wood, the peasant caught sight of a fox. Suddenly
he had an idea. With an excuse, he left the snake on the road and ran into the
wood to speak to the fox.
   "Listen, fox, do you too think that a good deed is always rewarded by a bad
one?"
   "Of course!" replied the fox. Then the man went on.
   "Well, listen, I'm going to ask you the same question in front of a snake.
If you say that one good deed is rewarded by another good deed, I'll give you
a present of a piglet, a lamb or a goose. How's that?"
   "Good," said the fox. The peasant went back to the snake.
   "I saw a fox over there," he said. "As you know, foxes are wise. Let's go
and hear what he thinks about it." A little later they asked the fox the same
question and the fox replied as had been agreed.
   "A good deed is always rewarded with another good deed, but," he went on,
"why ask me that question?"
   "Because this snake, that I helped to escape from his hole blocked by a
boulder, wants to bite me," replied the peasant. The fox looked at the snake
and said, "Hmm! I think a snake can manage to slither under a boulder."
   "But it was a big boulder," the snake protested, "and, it was blocking the
entrance to my den."
   "I don't believe you!"
   "Oh, don't you? Well come and see then," said the snake, setting off for
his den with the fox and the peasant. Pointing to the boulder, he said, "See?
That boulder fell just there," and he pointed to the entrance.
   But the fox shook his head. "A big snake like you couldn't get into such a
little hole," he said. Annoyed, the snake retorted,
   "Don't you think so?" and slid swiftly into the hole. Then the fox shouted,
   "Quick, peasant man! Shut him in!" and the peasant rolled the boulder back
across the mouth of the den, imprisoning the snake (and I think he's in there
yet!).
   "Ah, fox," said the peasant happily, "now that was a good deed! You got rid
of that wicked snake for me! Thanks a million!"
   "Oh, it was nothing," replied the fox, "but don't forget that piglet, the
lamb and the goose you promised me."
   "No, I won't. Come to the farm this evening and you shall have them," said
the man.
   That same evening, the fox went to the farm, but the peasant appeared with
two snarling dogs and a gun, shouting, "Get out of here, you horrible beast,
if you don't want to get into trouble!"
   The fox trotted away, sad and disappointed, muttering, "and they say I'm
cunning! The cunning one is that peasant. Oh, well, that poor snake was
probably right, good deeds are repaid with bad deeds," and off he went, his
tail between his legs, into the wood.
.

THE THREE LITTLE PIGS

2010-11-29T02:51:00.003-08:00

  Once upon a time . . . there were three little pigs, who left their mummy
and daddy to see the world.
   All summer long, they roamed through the woods and over the plains,playing
games and having fun. None were happier than the three little pigs, and they
easily made friends with everyone. Wherever they went, they were given a warm
welcome, but as summer drew to a close, they realized that folk were drifting
back to their usual jobs, and preparing for winter. Autumn came and it began
to rain. The three little pigs started to feel they needed a real home. Sadly
they knew that the fun was over now and they must set to work like the others,
or they'd be left in the cold and rain, with no roof over their heads. They
talked about what to do, but each decided for himself. The laziest little pig
said he'd build a straw hut.
   "It wlll only take a day,' he said. The others disagreed.
   "It's too fragile," they said disapprovingly, but he refused to listen. Not
quite so lazy, the second little pig went in search of planks of seasoned
wood.
   "Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!" It took him two days to nail them together. But the
third little pig did not like the wooden house.
   "That's not the way to build a house!" he said. "It takes time, patience
and hard work to buiid a house that is strong enough to stand up to wind,
rain, and snow, and most of all, protect us from the wolf!"
   The days went by, and the wisest little pig's house took shape, brick by
brick. From time to time, his brothers visited him, saying with a chuckle:
   "Why are you working so hard? Why don't you come and play?" But the
stubborn bricklayer pig just said "no".
   "I shall finish my house first. It must be solid and sturdy. And then I'll
come and play!" he said. "I shall not be foolish like you! For he who laughs
last, laughs longest!"
   It was the wisest little pig that found the tracks of a big wolf in the
neighbourhood.
   The little pigs rushed home in alarm. Along came the wolf, scowling
fiercely at the laziest pig's straw hut.
   "Come out!" ordered the wolf, his mouth watering. I want to speak to you!"
   "I'd rather stay where I am!" replied the little pig in a tiny voice.
   "I'll make you come out!" growled the wolf angrily, and puffing out his
chest, he took a very deep breath. Then he blew wlth all his might, right onto
the house. And all the straw the silly pig had heaped against some thin poles,
fell down in the great blast. Excited by his own cleverness, the wolf did not
notice that the little pig had slithered out from underneath the heap of
straw, and was dashing towards his brother's wooden house. When he realized
that the little pig was escaping, the wolf grew wild with rage.
   "Come back!" he roared, trying to catch the pig as he ran into the wooden
house. The other little pig greeted his brother, shaking like a leaf.
   "I hope this house won't fall down! Let's lean against the door so he can't
break in!"
   Outside, the wolf could hear the little pigs' words. Starving as he was, at
the idea of a two-course meal, he rained blows on the door.
   "Open up! Open up! I only want to speak to you!"
   Inside, the two brothers wept in fear and did their best to hold the door
fast against the blows. Then the furious wolf braced himself a new effort: he
drew in a really enormous breath, and went ... WHOOOOO! The wooden house
collapsed like a pack of cards.
   Luckily, the wisest little pig had been watching the scene from the window
of his own brick house, and he rapidly opened the door to his fleeing
brothers. And not a moment too soon, for the wolf was already hammering
furiously on the door. This time, the wolf had grave doubts. This house had a
much more solid air than the others. He blew once, he blew again and then for
a third time. But all was in vain. For the house did not budge an lnch. The
three little pigs watched him and their fear began to fade. Quite exhausted by
his efforts, the wolf decided to try one of his tricks. He scrambled up a
nearby ladder, on to the roof to have a look at the chimney. However, the
wisest little pig had seen thls ploy, and he quickly said:
   "Quick! Light the fire!" With his long legs thrust down the chimney, the
wolf was not sure if he should slide down the black hole. It wouldn'tbe easy
to get in, but the sound of the little pigs' voices below only made him feel
hungrier.
   "I'm dying of hunger! I'm goin to try and get down." And he let himself
drop. But landing was rather hot, too hot! The wolf landed in the fire, stunned
by his fall.
   The flames licked his hairy coat and his tail became a flaring torch.
   "Never again! Never again will I go down a chimneyl" he squealed, as he
tried to put out the flames in his tail. Then he ran away as fast as he could.
   The three happy little pigs, dancing round and round the yard, began to
sing:
   "Tra-la-la! Tra-la-la! The wicked black wolf will never come back...!"
   From that terrible day on, the wisest little pig's brothers set to work
with a will. In less than no time, up went the two new brick houses. The wolf
did return once to roam in the neighbourhood, but when he caught sight of
three chimneys, he remembered the terrible pain of a burnt tail, and he left
for good.
   Now safe and happy, the wisest little pig called to his brothers:
   "No more work! Come on, let's go and play!"
.

THE WEEPING PRINCESS

2010-11-29T02:51:00.001-08:00

  Once upon a time . . . a greedy emperor forced his subjects to pay heavy
taxes. Not only the poor were squeezed, but the nobles in this immense empire
were highly taxed too. At last, tired of being crushed by taxes, the nobles
held a protest meeting. When the emperor heard about this, he took fright for
he feared a rebellion. So he sent out this proclamation to put an end to their
complaints:
   "The nobleman that can make my daughter Sarah smile again, for she's
mourning the loss of her fiance. will never pay taxes again."
   This caused an uproar at the protest meeting. Most of the princes decided
there was no need now to complain, for each was quite sure he would succeed
where others might fail. So off they went to get ready to try and make Sarah
smile. But some of the nobles warned their fellows that, with his words, the
emperor was not really abolishing any taxes at all. From that day on, a long
procession of noble knights trooped from all over the empire to the palace to
try and console the weeping princess.
   The crowds cheered them as they passed, but when they returned with bowed
heads, the same crowds booed and whistled at their failure. The days went by
and the list of defeated knights grew longer . . . Indians, Circassians, Arabs
and Turks . . . from all over the provinces came bold young men, bouncing with
confidence and hope. But the minute the princess set eyes on them, she just
wept and wept. The emperor was delighted, for each failure meant another
taxpayer. Even the common folk seemed contented to see that the rich too did
not always get what they wanted. The only unhappy person among them was Sarah,
who went on weeping.
   One day, a Mongol prince seemed to be on the point of winning a smile. He
thrummed his balalaika for hours, playing first a sad tune, then a more
cheerful one, till he finished by playing a merry jig. The princess sat for
ages staring at him eyed and the onlookers thought she was about to smile.
Instead she burst into floods of tears, to everyone's disappointment. A
Kurdish chief, famed for his humour, who had already kept the court in fits of
laughter, tried to steal a smile from Sarah with his witty remarks. But the
princess's dark eyes filled with tears. Noblemen came from as far away as
Persia, but in vain.
   The only person who had not yet appeared was Omar, the chief of the tiniest
farthest away province. A bright, intelligent young man, he had cleverly got
the better of certain greedy ambitious relatives that tried to take away his
power when he succeeded his uncle as chief. The emperor's messengers had taken
a long time to reach this remote realm, and though Omar set out at once, on
hearing the news, he rode for many days on his fine black horse. Then, one
evening, he reached the palace. When the tired and dusty traveller explained
to the stable boys why he had come, they laughed in scorn. But they had orders
to obey, so they told him to enter.
   "It's late," they said, "and you won't see the princess till tomorrow."
   The emperor's other daughters, however, were soon told of the new arrival.
"He's the most handsome of them all!" exclaimed one of the servants. So
Marika, the emperor's youngest and prettiest daughter, with her sisters,
peeked through a window at the sleeping Omar. Next morning, the emperor
ordered the newcomer to be led before Sarah. The court crowded round to watch.
Unlike all the other suitors, Omar did nothing at all to amuse the princess.
He stared at Sarah without saying a word. And she stared back, with an empty
look on her face. The two young people stared silently at each other. Then
Omar went back to the emperor and said:
   "Sire! Give me your sceptre and I will solve the problem of Sarah."
Surprised at such an odd request, the emperor followed Omar into Sarah's room.
The other princesses clustered round, smiling and admiring the handsome young
man. With a deep bow to Sarah, Omar straightened up and dealt her a blow on
the head with the sceptre. Screams filled the air the emperor threw up hls
arms in rage and his daughters fled in all directions. The guards drew their
swords. Then the whole room stopped in amazement. For, out of Sarah's head,
which had been chopped off by the blow, rolled broken springs and pieces of
metal. The princess that never smiled was a doll! A perfect dolll And nobody
had ever been aware of it except Omar.
   The only princess that couldn't stop laughing was Marika. The emperor
glared at her.
   "Be quiet . . ." he ordered. But he too saw the funny side of it. For the
crafty emperor had been making use of Sarah the doll as a way of guaranteeing
himself a steady flow of taxes from all his subjects. And now, a man more
cunning than himself had exposed his trick. The emperor had a sudden thought:
he would rid himself of the cheeky Marika and gain an astute son-in-law able
to help him hold onto his kingdom.
   "You should be put to death for this insolence," he said, "but I'm going to
spare your life, if you marry my youngest daughter. Of course, you won't need
to pay taxes!" Smiling at a happy Marika, Omar nodded silently. Down in the
depths of his mind he was thinking:
   "One day, dear father-in-law, I'll be sitting on your Imperial throne." And
he was, a few years later.
.

THE SLEEPING PRINCESS

2010-11-29T02:50:00.003-08:00

   Once upon a time there was a Queen who had a beautiful baby daughter. She
asked all the fairies in the kingdom to the christening, but unfortunately
forgot to invite one of them, who was a bit of a witch as well. She came
anyway, but as she passed the baby's cradle, she said:
   "When you are sixteen, you will injure yourself with a spindle and die!"
   "Oh, no!" screamed the Queen in horror. A good fairy quickly chanted a
magic spell to change the curse. When she hurt herself, the girl would fall
into a very deep sleep instead of dying.
   The years went by, the little Princess grew and became the most beautiful
girl in the whole kingdom. Her mother was always very careful to keep her away
from spindles, but the Princess, on her sixteenth birthday, as she wandered
through the castle, came into a room where an old servant was spinning.
   "What are you doing?" she asked the servant.
   "I'm spinning. Haven't you seen a spindle before?"
   "No. Let me see it!" The servant handed the girl the spindle ... and she
pricked herself with it and. with a sigh, dropped to the floor.
   The terrified old woman hurried to tell the Queen. Beside herself with
anguish, the Queen did her best to awaken her daughter but in vain. The court
doctors and wizards were called, but there was nothing they could do. The girl
could not be wakened from her deep sleep. The good fairy who managed to avoid
the worst of the curse came too, and the Queen said to her,
   "When will my daughter waken?"
   "I don't know," the fairy admitted sadly.
   "In a year's time, ten years or twenty?" the Queen went on.
   "Maybe in a hundred years' time. Who knows?" said the fairy.
   "Oh! What would make her waken?" asked the Queen weeplng.
   "Love," replied the fairy. "If a man of pure heart were to fall in love
with her, that would bring her back to life!"
   "How can a man fall in love with a sleeping girl?" sobbed the Queen, and so
heart-broken was she that, a few days later, she died. The sleeping Princess
was taken to her room and laid on the bed surrounded by garlands of flowers.
She was so beautiful, with a sweet face, not like those of the dead, but pink
like those who are sleeping peacefully. The good fairy said to herself,
   "When she wakens, who is she going to see around her? Strange faces and
people she doesn't know? I can never let that happen. It would be too painful
for this unfortunate girl."
   So the fairy cast a spell; and everyone that lived in the castle -
soldiers, ministers, guards, servants, ladies, pages, cooks, maids and
knights - all fell into a deep sleep, wherever they were at that very moment.
   "Now," thought the fairy, "when the Princess wakes up, they too will
awaken, and life will go on from there." And she left the castle, now wrapped
in silence. Not a sound was to be heard, nothing moved except for the clocks,
but when they too ran down, they stopped, and time stopped with them. Not even
the faintest rustle was to be heard, only the wind whistling round the
turrets, not a single voice, only the cry of birds.
   The years sped past. In the castle grounds, the trees grew tall. The bushes
became thick and straggling, the grass invaded the courtyards and the creepers
spread up the walls. In a hundred years, a dense forest grew up.
   Now, it so happened that a Prince arrived in these parts. He was the son of
a king in a country close by. Young, handsome and melancholy, he sought in
solitude everything he could not find in the company of other men: serenity,
sincerity and purity. Wandering on his trusty steed he arrived, one day, at
the dark forest. Being adventurous, he decided to explore it. He made his way
through slowly and with a struggle, for the trees and bushes grew in a thick
tangle. A few hours later, now losing heart, he was about to turn his horse
and go back when he thought he could see something through the trees . . . He
pushed back the branches . . . Wonder of wonders! There in front of him stood
a castle with high towers. The young man stood stock still in amazement,
   "I wonder who this castle belongs to?" he thought.
   The young Prince rode on towards the castle. The drawbridge was down and,
holding his horse by the reins, he crossed over it. Immediately he saw the
inhabitants draped all over the steps, the halls and courtyards, and said to
himself,
   "Good heavens! They're dead!" But in a moment, he realised that they were
sound asleep. "Wake up! Wake up!" he shouted, but nobody moved. Still
thoroughly astonished, he went into the castle and again discovered more
people, lying fast asleep on the floor. As though led by a hand in the
complete silence, the Prince finally reached the room where the beautiful
Princess lay fast asleep. For a long time he stood gazing at her face, so full
of serenity, so peaceful, lovely and pure, and he felt spring to his heart
that love he had always been searching for and never found. Overcome by
emotion, he went close, lifted the girl's little white hand and gently kissed
it . . .
   At that kiss, the prlncess qulckly opened her eyes, and wakening from her
long long sleep, seeing the Prince beside her, murmured:
   "Oh, you have come at last! I was waiting for you in my dream. I've waited
so long!"
   Just then, the spell was broken. The Princess rose to her feet, holding out
her hand to the Prince. And the whole castle woke up too. Everybody rose to
their feet and they all stared round in amazement, wondering what had
happened. When they finally realised, they rushed to the Princess, more
beautiful and happier then ever.
   A few days later, the castle that only a short time before had lain in
silence, now rang with the sound of singing, music and happy laughter at the
great party given in honour of the Prince and Princess, who were getting
married. They lived happily ever after, as they always do in fairy tales, not
quite so often, however, in real life.

.

TIL ULENSPIGHEL

2010-11-29T02:50:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time there lived a little boy called Til Ulenspighel. His
father was a good blacksmith, his mother a kindly woman but they never
imagined that they had brought into the world naughtiest rascal ever heard of!
Til had such a lively personality, bright and naughty, that people couldn't
help smiling when they saw him. And he got up to such mischief and all sorts
of tricks that we can't help smiling to ourselves . . . But as you'll soon
see, the ones who didn't see the funny side of things were his fellow
citizens. The minute he learned to speak, Til pulled people's legs. If a man,
for instance, had flat feet, Til would greet him by saying,
   "Good day, Mr. Flatfeet!" And if a lady had a red nose, he would say, "Good
evening, Mrs. Rednose!" He enjoyed playing tricks and teasing everyone. Of
course, the neighbours complained to his father, saying,
   "Mr. Ulenspighel, what a rude son you have!" And so, one day, Til's father
said to him,
   "Listen, son, why don't people like you? Do you annoy them?"
   "Who, me?" said Til with an innocent air. "I never bother anyone. It's
other people that shake their fists at me whenever they see me and say nasty
things."
   "Hmm!" said his father. "I wonder if that's really so. l'm going to market
with the donkey. Get up behind!" Till didn't need to be told twice and he
clambered behind his father.
   But the second he was on the donkey's back, he hung a notice on his
shoulders on which he had written: 'Whoever reads this is a donkey.' People
did read it and they were offended, so they shook their fists and shouted,
"Oh, you horrid boy, Til! What a little horror you are!" On hearing these
shouts, Til's father, who knew nothing about the notice, muttered:
   "You're right, Til. People are angry with you, though goodness knows why!
Don't worry," he added, "come and sit in front and we'll see if they still
call you names." Til did as he was told and slung the notice over his chest.
Though his father couldn't see it, he could see other people as they shook
their fists, scowled, shouted and yelled insults, and he said, "Folk don't
like you, Til. But pay no attention to them and go your own way!" And Til
laughed up his sleeve....
   Time went by and Til began to weary of long faces every time people saw
him. He joked and teased folk now and again, but what harm was there in that?
All he wanted to do was amuse himself and others as well. One day, a company
of wandering entertainers came to the town: actors, sword swallowers and
acrobats. They made a great impression on the lad, who stared at them
open-mouthed. While holding a pole in their hands, they kept their balance as
they walked the tightrope across the road. How he would love to do the same.
The people who now shook their fists at him would clap their hands. No sooner
thought than done, the boy picked up a pole, stretched a rope between two
trees in the wood and started to practise. Of course, it wasn't easy and he
fell more than once. But in the end, he felt pretty secure and decided to hold
a show. He went through the streets crying,
   "Tomorrow, Til Ulenspighel, the acrobat, will walk the tightrope!" Filled
with curiosity, everyone came to watch.
   Til had stretched the rope between his balcony and a tree in the nearby
wood: the rope lay above the river and the young lad climbed on. The crowd
that, at first had laughed and made a noise, grew quiet after a while, and
were impressed:
   "He's clever all right," someone said. "He's a real acrobat," said someone
else. "We were wrong about him!"
   At that moment, Til's mother, who knew nothing about her son's gymnastics,
hearing the murmur of the crowd, went onto the balcony . . . and saw her son
walking the rope suspended over empty space. Frightened, she shouted,
   "Til, come down at once!" And seeing that the boy was not doing as he was
told, she picked up the scissors and cut the rope. Til fell with a splash into
the river. You can imagine the people! First they started to laugh, snigger
and make fun of the poor lad as he struggled soaking from the water.
   "Hey, acrobat! If that had been the ground instead of water, you'd have had
a cracked head, wouldn't you?" they called, chuckling, and Til said to
himself, "Laugh if you want to, he who laughs last laughs longest! . . ."
   Some days later, Til announced he was going to repeat the show, this time
not over the river but above the main road. Everyone rushed to watch, hoping
to see him fall off and hurt himself. Before he ventured on to the rope, Til
called out, "To make it more difficult for me, I'm going to carry a sack on my
back. Every spectator will give me his left shoe. I'll put it in the sack and
hand it back at the end of the show." Everyone did this. Til walked the
tightrope until he reached the middle of the road, and from the heights he
said, "Now I'm going to give vou back your shoes. There they are!" and opening
the sack, he emptied out the shoes.
   You can picture the confusion that reigned then. Not only did the onlookers
get hit on the head by shoes, but everyone hunted for his own shoe without
managing to find it; he'd pick one up, but it belonged to somebody else, and
he'd throw it down again, and start to look for another, argue, exchange
insults . . . and Til, from a window on high looked down on the pandemonium
and chuckling said,
   "Ha! He who laughs last laughs longest!"
.

THE STORY OF THUMBELINA

2010-11-29T02:49:00.003-08:00

   Once upon atime . . . there lived a woman who had no children. She dreamed
of having a little girl, but time went by, and her dream never came true.
   She then went to visit a witch, who gave her a magic grain of barley. She
planted it in a flower pot. And the very next day, the grain had turned into a
lovely flower, rather like a tulip. The woman softly kissed its half-shut
petals. And as though by magic, the flower opened in full blossom. Inside sat
a tiny girl, no bigger than a thumb. The woman called her Thumbelina. For a
bed she had a walnut shell, violet petals for her mattress and a rose petal
blanket. In the daytime, she played in a tulip petal boat, floating on a plate
of water. Using two horse hairs as oars, Thumbelina sailed around her little
lake, singing and singing in a gentle sweet voice.
   Then one night, as she lay fast asleep in her walnut shell, a large frog
hopped through a hole in the window pane. As she gazed down at Thumbelina, she
said to herself: "How pretty she is! She'd make the perfect bride for my own
dear son!"
   She picked up Thumbelina, walnut shell and all, and hopped into the garden.
Nobody saw her go.Back at the pond, her fat ugly son, who always did as mother
told him, was pleased with her choice. But mother frog was afraid that her
pretty prisoner might run away. So she carried Thumbellna out to a water lily
leaf ln the middle of the pond.
   "She can never escape us now," said the frog to her son.
   "And we have plenty of time to prepare a new home for you and your bride."
Thumbelina was left all alone. She felt so desperate. She knew she would never
be able to escape the fate that awaited her with the two horrid fat frogs. All
she could do was cry her eyes out. However, one or two minnows who had been
enjoying the shade below the water lily leaf, had overheard the two frogs
talking, and the little girl's bitter sobs. They decided to do something about
it. So they nibbled away at the lily stem till it broke and drifted away in
the weak current. A dancing butterfly had an idea: "Throw me the end of your
belt! I'll help you to move a little faster!" Thumbelina gratefully did so,
and the leaf soon floated away from the frog pond.
   But other dangers lay ahead. A large beetle snatched Thumbelina with his
strong feet and took her away to his home at the top of a leafy tree.
   "Isn't she pretty?" he said to his friends. But they pointed out that she
was far too different. So the beetle took her down the tree and set her free.
   It was summertime, and Thumbelina wandered all by herself amongst the
flowers and through the long grass. She had pollen for her meals and drank the
dew. Then the rainy season came, bringing nastyweather. The poor child found
it hard to find food and shelter. When winter set in, she suffered from the
cold and felt terrible pangs of hunger.
   One day, as Thumbelina roamed helplessly over the bare meadows, she met a
large spider who promised to help her. He took her to a hollow tree and
guarded the door with a stout web. Then he brought her some dried chestnuts
and called his friends to come and admire her beauty. But just like the
beetles, all the other spiders persuaded Thumbelina's rescuer to let her go.
Crying her heart out, and quite certain that nobody wanted her because she was
ugly, Thumbelina left the spider's house.
   As she wandered, shivering with the cold, suddenly she came across a solid
little cottage, made of twigs and dead leaves. Hopefully, she knocked on the
door. It was opened by a field mouse.
   "What are you doing outside in this weather?" he asked. "Come in and warm
yourself." Comfortable and cozy, the field mouse's home was stocked with food.
For her keep, Thumbelina did the housework and told the mouse stories. One
day, the field mouse said a friend was coming to visit them.
   "He's a very rich mole, and has a lovely house. He wears a splendid black
fur coat, but he's dreadfully shortsighted. He needs company and he'd like to
marry you!" Thumbelina did not relish the idea. However, when the mole came,
she sang sweetly to him and he fell head over heels in love. The mole invited
Thumbelina and the field mouse to visit him, but . . . to their surprise and
horror, they came upon a swallow in the tunnel. It looked dead. Mole nudged it
wi his foot, saying: "That'll teach her! She should have come underground
instead of darting about the sky all summer!" Thumbelina was so shocked by
such cruel words that later, she crept back unseen to the tunnel.
   And every day, the little girl went to nurse the swallow and tenderly give
it food.
   In the meantime, the swallow told Thumbelina its tale. Jagged by a thorn,
it had been unable to follow its companions to a warmer climate.
   "It's kind of you to nurse me," it told Thumbelina. But, in spring, the
swallow flew away, after offering to take the little girl with it. All summer,
Thumbelina did her best to avoid marrying the mole. The little girl thought
fearfully of how she'd have to live underground forever. On the eve of her
wedding, she asked to spend a day in the open air. As she gently fingered a
flower, she heard a familiar song: "Winter's on its way and I'll be off to
warmer lands. Come with me!" Thumbelina quickly clung to her swallow friend,
and the bird soared into the sky. They flew over plains and hills till they
reached a country of flowers. The swallow gently laid Thumbelina in a blossom.
There she met a tiny, white-winged fairy: the King of the Flower Fairies.
Instantly, he asked her to marry him. Thumbelina eagerly said "yes", and
sprouting tiny white wings, she became the Flower Queen!
.

GOLDILOCKS AND THE THREE BEARS

2010-11-29T02:49:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . in a large forest, close to a village, stood the
cottage where the Teddy Bear family lived. They were not really proper Teddy
Bears, for Father Bear was very big, Mother Bear was middling in size, and
only Baby Bear could be described as a Teddy Bear.
   Each bear had its own size of bed. Father Bear's was large and nice and
comfy. Mother Bear's bed was middling in size, while Baby Bear had a fine
little cherrywood bed that Father Bear had ordered from a couple of beaver
friends.
   Beside the fireplace, around which the family sat in the evenings, stood a
large carved chair for the head of the house, a delightful blue velvet
armchair for Mother Bear, and a very little chair for Baby Bear.
   Neatly laid out on the kitchen table stood three china bowls. A large one
for Father Bear, a smaller one for Mother Bear, and a little bowl for Baby
Bear.
   The neighbours were all very respectful to Father Bear and people raised
their hats when he went by. Father Bear liked that and he always politely
replied to their greetings. Mother Bear had lots of friends. She visited them
in the afternoons to exchange good advice and recipes for jam and bottled
fruit. Baby Bear, however, had hardly any friends. This was partly because he
was rather a bully and liked to win games and arguments. He was a pest too and
always getting into mischief. Not far away, lived a fair-haired little girl
who had a similar nature to Baby Bear, only she was haughty and stuck-up as
well, and though Baby Bear often asked her to come and play at his house, she
always said no.
   One day, Mother Bear made a nice pudding. It was a new recipe, with
blueberries and other crushed berries. Her friends told her it was delicious.
When it was ready, she said to the family:
   "It has to be left to cool now, otherwise it won't taste nice. That will
take at least an hour. Why don't we go and visit the Beavers' new baby? Mummy
Beaver will be pleased to see us." Father Bear and Baby Bear would much rather
have tucked into the pudding, warm or not, but they liked the thought of
visiting the new baby.
   'We must wear our best clothes, even for such a short visit. Everyone at
the Beavers' will be very busy now, and we must not stay too long!" And so
they set off along the pathway towards the river bank. A short time later, the
stuck-up little girl, whose name was Goldilocks, passed by the Bears' house as
she picked flowers.
   "Oh, what an ugly house the Bears have!" said Goldilocks to herself as she
went down the hill. "I'm going to peep inside! It won't be beautiful like my
house, but I'm dying to see where Baby Bear lives.' Knock! Knock! The little
girl tapped on the door. Knock! Knock! Not a sound...
   "Surely someone will hear me knocking," Goldilocks said herself,
impatiently. "Anyone at home?" she called, peering round the door. Then she
went into the empty house and started to explore the kitchen.
   "A pudding!" she cried, dipping her finger into the pudding Mother Bear had
left to cool. "Quite nice!" she murmured, spooning it from Baby Bear's bowl.
In a twinkling, the bowl lay empty on a messy table. With a full tummy,
Goldilocks went on exploring.
   "Now then, this must be Father Bear's chair, this will be Mother Bear's,
and this one . . . must belong to my friend, Baby Bear. I'll just sit on it a
while!" With these words, Goldilocks sat herself down onto the little chair
which, quite unused to such a sudden weight, promptly broke a leg. Goldilocks
crashed to the floor, but not in the least dismayed by the damage she had done,
she went upstalrs. '~
   There was no mistaklng which was Baby Bear's bed.
   "Mm! Quite comfy!" she said, I bouncing on it. "Not as nice as mine, but
nearly! Then she yawned. I think I'll lie down, only for a minute . . . just
to try the bed." And in next to no time, Goldilocks lay fast asleep in Baby
Bear's bed. In the meantime, the Bears weer on their way home.
   "Wasn't the new Beaver baby ever so small?" said Baby Bear to his mother.
Was I as tiny as that when I was born?"
   "Not quite, but almost," came the reply, with a fond caress. From a
distance, Father Bear noticed the door was ajar.
   "Hurry!" he cried. "Someone is in our house . . ." Was Father Bear hungry
or did a thought strike him? Anyway, he dashed into the kitchen. "I knew it!
Somebody has gobbled up the pudding..."
   "Someone has been jumping up and down on my armchair!" complained Mother
Bear.
   ". . . and somebody's broken my chair!" wailed Baby Bear.
   Where could the culprit be? They all ran upstairs and tiptoed in amazement
over to Baby Bear's bed. In it lay Goldilocks, sound asleep. Baby Bear prodded
her toe...
   "Who's that? Where am I?" shrieked the little girl, waking with a start.
Taking fright at the scowling faces bending over her, she clutched the
bedclothes up to her chin. Then she jumped out of bed and fled down the
stairs.
   "Get away! Away from that house!" she told herself as she ran, forgetful of
all the trouble she had so unkindly caused. But Baby Bear called from the
door, waving his arm:
   "Don't run away! Come back! I forgive you... come and play wlth me!"
   And this is how it all ended. From that day onwards, haughty rude
Goldilocks became a pleasant little girl. She made friends with Baby Bear and
often went to his house. She invited him to her house too, and they remained
good friends, always.
.

THE MAGIC TINDERBOX

2010-11-29T02:48:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . a brave soldier returned from the wars. In spite of
his courage, his pockets were empty and hls only possession was his sword. As
he walked through a forest, he met a witch, who said to him: "I say, good
soldier, would you like to earn a bag of money?"
   "Money? I'd do anything for money . . ."
   "Good!" went on the witch. "It won't be difficult, you'll see! All you have
to do is go down that hollow tree till you reach a cave. There, you'll find
three doorways. When you open the first door, you'll see a big dog with eyes
like saucers, guarding a large chest of copper coins. Behind the second door
lies a treasure of silver coins, guarded by a dog with eyes the size of mill
stones. When you open the third door, you'll come upon another dog, with eyes
the size of a castle tower, beside a treasure of gold. Now, if you lay this
old apron of mine before these dogs, they'll crouch on it and do you no harm.
You'll be able to carry away all the coins you want. What do think of that?"
   However, the soldier suspiciously asked: "What do you want in return?"
   "Just bring me back an old tinderbox my grandfather left down there, long
ago!"
   So the young soldier tied a rope round his waist and, not forgetting his
trusty sword, he lowered himself into the hollow tree. To his great surprise,
he found the three doorways and the three dogs, just as the witch had said.
Soon he was back, his pockets bulging with coins, but before he handed the
tinderbox to the old witch, he asked her: "What do you want it for?"
   The witch hurled herself at the soldier, screaming: "Give it to me! Give it
to me at once, or else . . .", as she tried to scratch him. When the witch
attacked him, the soldier exclaimed: "Aha! So this is the thanks I get! Now
I'll show you!"
   He undid the rope from around his waist and tied up the old woman. Then
away he went, whistling cheerfully.
   When he reached the town, he said to himself: "Now I can feast as much as I
like - at last!"
   After years of scrimping on a miserable pay, with his sudden wealth, the
soldier felt like a prince. He bought a new pair of boots and he went to the
best tailor in the town. Some days later, he was clad in a fine new uniform
and people turned in the street to admire him. Lavish with his money, the
soldier was surrounded by folk quick to tell him how to spend his coins, and
it all went on a round of dances, fine carriages, theatres and, most of all,
on drinking sprees. Of course, his money soon ran out and when this happened,
his "friends" vanished. When the innkeeper discovered that the soldier could
no longer pay his board, he rudely put him out. So the poor soldier ended up
in a garret and every day he had to draw in his belt a little more. All the
fun was over.
   One evening, he realized he had never used the old witch's tinderbox. So he
rubbed it, and as it sparked, the dog with the eyes like saucers suddenly
appeared.
   "Tell me your wish, sir," it said.
   ". . . bring me heaps of money!" gasped the soldier in amazement. A second
later, the dog was back with a bag of coins. Every time he rubbed the
tinderbox, the dog brought him more money. Then when he rubbed it quickly
twice in succession, the dog with eyes like mill stones stood before him,
carrying silver coins. And when the soldier rubbed the tinderbox three times
in a row, the third dog came carrying gold. Rich all over again, the soldier
chose the best hotel in the town and went back to leading the life of a fine
gentleman.
   The soldier was told that the King would not allow anyone to meet his
beatufil daughter, for he believed in a saying that the Princess's destiny was
to marry a slmple soldler. That evening, the soldier rubbed the tinderbox.
   "Bring me the Princess," was his new order. Immediately the dog returned
with the beautiful Princess, fast asleep. The soldier kissed her. Next
morning, the girl told her parents that she had had a dream. But the Queen,
suspiciously ordered one of the ladies-in-waiting to guard her daughter day
and night. The dog was seen when it came next evening and the alarm raised.
The king's guards followed the dog and the soldier was arrested at dawn.
   The King's revenge was terrible: the soldier was to be hanged!
   In a dark prison, the soldier calmly awaited his fate. When the day of
execution came, a mob crushed round the scaffold.
   The soldier asked if he could smoke his pipe, and placed it between his
lips, as he rubbed the tinderbox over and over again. In a flash, the three
dogs appeared with gaping jaws and bloodshot eyes. At the soldier's sharp
command, they leapt on the guards and the crowd cheered in delight.
   Awestruck at this magic feat, the King bowed his head and whispered to the
Queen. "The saying is true!" he said. A little while after, the young soldier
married the Princess and the tinderbox was rubbed and rubbed, but this time to
invite the three dogs to the splendid wedding. I
.

LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD

2010-11-29T02:47:00.002-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . in the middle of a thick forest stood a small
cottage, the home of a pretty little girl known to everyone as Little Red
Riding Hood. One day, her Mummy waved her goodbye at the garden gate, saying:
"Grandma is ill. Take her this basket of cakes, but be very careful. Keep to
the path through the wood and don't ever stop. That way, you will come to no
harm."
   Little Red Riding Hood kissed her mother and ran off. "Don't worry,' she
said, "I'll run all the way to Grandma's without stopping."
   Full of good intentions, the little girl made her way through the wood, but
she was soon to forget her mother's wise words. "What lovely strawberries! And
so red . . ."
   Laying her basket on the ground, Little Red Riding Hood bent over the
strawberry plants. "They're nice and ripe, and so big! Yummy! Delicious! Just
another one. And one more. This is the last . . . Well, this one . . . Mmmm."
   The red fruit peeped invitingly through the leaves in the grassy glade, and
Little Red Riding Hood ran back and forth popping strawberries into her mouth.
Suddenly she remembered her mother, her promise, Grandma and the basket . . .
and hurried back towards the path. The basket was still in the grass and,
humming to herself, Little Red Riding Hood walked on.
   The wood became thicker and thicker. Suddenly a yellow butterfly fluttered
down through the trees. Little Red Riding Hood started to chase the butterfly.
   "I'll catch you! I'll catch you!" she called. Suddenly she saw some large
daisies in the grass.
   "Oh, how sweet!" she exclaimed and, thinking of Grandma, she picked a large
bunch of flowers.
   In the meantime, two wicked eyes were spying on her from behind a tree . .
a strange rustling in the woods made Little Red Riding Hood's heart thump.
   Now quite afraid she said to herself. "I must find the path and run away
from here!"
   At last she reached the path again but her heart leapt into her mouth at
the sound of a gruff voice which said: "Where ' . . are you going, my pretty
girl, all alone in the woods?"
   "I'm taking Grandma some cakes. She lives at the end of the path," said
Little Riding Hood in a faint voice.
   When he heard this, the wolf (for it was the big bad wolf himself) politely
asked: "Does Grandma live by herself?"
   "Oh, yes," replied Little Red Riding Hood, "and she never opens the door to
strangers!"
   "Goodbye. Perhaps we'll meet again," replied the wolf. Then he loped away
thinking to himself "I'll gobble the grandmother first, then lie in wait for
the grandchild!" At last, the cottage came in sight. Knock! Knock! The wolf
rapped on the door. --~ "Who's there?" cried Grandma from her bed.
   "It's me, Little Red Riding Hood. I've brought you some cakes because
you're ill," replied the wolf, trying hard to hide his gruff voice.
   "Lift the latch and come in," said Grandma, unaware of anything amiss, till
a horrible shadow appeared on the wall. Poor Grandma! For in one bound, the
wolf leapt across the room and, in a single mouthful, swallowed the old lady.
Soon after, Little Red Riding Hood tapped on the door.
   "Grandma, can I come in?" she called.
   Now, the wolf had put on the old lady's shawl and cap and slipped into the
bed. Trying to imitate Grandma's quavering little voice, he replied: "Open the latch and come in!
   "What a deep voice you have," said the little girl in surpnse.
   "The better to greet you with," said the wolf.
   "Goodness, what big eyes you have."
   "The better to see you with."
   "And what big hands you have!" exclaimed Little Red Riding Hood, stepping
over to the bed.
   "The better to hug you with," said the wolf.
   "What a big mouth you have," the little girl murmured in a weak voice.
   "The better to eat you with!" growled the wolf, and jumping out of bed, he
swallowed her up too. Then, with a fat full tummy, he fell fast asleep.
   In the meantime, a hunter had emerged from the wood, and on noticing the
cottage, he decided to stop and ask for a drink. He had spent a lot of time
trying to catch a large wolf that had been terrorizing the neighbourhood, but
had lost its tracks. The hunter could hear a strange whistling sound; it
seemed to be coming from inside the cottage. He peered through the window ...
and saw the large wolf himself, with a fat full tummy, snoring away in
Grandma's bed.
   "The wolf! He won't get away this time!"
   Without making a sound, the hunter carefully loaded his gun and gently
opened the window. He pointed the barrel straight at the wolf's head and . . .
BANG! The wolf was dead.
   "Got you at last!" shouted the hunter in glee. "You'll never frighten
anyone agaln.
   He cut open the wolf's stomach and to his amazement, out popped Grandma and
Little Red Riding Hood, safe and unharmed.
   "You arrived just in time," murmured the old lady, quite overcome by all
the excitement. ~
   "It's safe to go home now," the hunter told Little Red Riding Hood. "The
big bad wolf is dead and gone, and there is no danger on the path.
   Still scared, the little girl hugged her grandmother. Oh, what a dreadful
fright!"
   Much later, as dusk was falling, Little Red Riding Hood's mother arrived,
all out of breath, worried because her llttle girl had not come home. And when
she saw Little Red Riding Hood, safe and sound, she burst into tears of joy.
   After thanking the hunter again, Little Red Rldlng Hood and her mother set
off towards the wood. As they walked quickly through the trees, the little
girl told her mother: "We must always keep to the path and never stop. That
way, we come to no harm!"
.

THE WOLF AND THE SEVEN KIDS

2010-11-29T02:47:00.000-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . a Mother Goat lived in a pretty little house with
her seven kids. Mother often had to leave home to do the shopping, and on that
fateful day, she had given her children the usual warnings, before setting off
to market.
   "You mustn't open the door to anyone. Don't forget, there's a wicked wolf
lurking about here. It's black, with horrible paws and a nasty deep voice. If
it knocks, keep the door tightly shut!" Mother Goat's words were wise indeed,
for as she was telling one of her neighbours about her fears, the wolf
disguised as a peasant was hiding close by, listening to every word.
   "Good! Very good!" said the wolf to himself."If the goat goes market, I'II
drop by her house and gobble the kids!' Then,trying not to look too
conspicuous, the wolf hurried along to the goat's house. There, he threw off
his disguise. He then growled in a deep voice: "Open the door! Open the door!
It's Mother! I've just come back from market! Open the door!" When the kids
heard the deep voice, they remembered their mother's warning. From behind the
barred door, they said to the wolf: "We know who you are! You're the wolf! Our
mother has a sweet gentle voice, not a deep nasty one like yours! Go away!
We'll never open the door to you!"
   And though the wolf banged furiously on the door, the kids, though
trembling with terror, refused to let him into the house, and so the door
remained shut. Then the wolf had a brainwave. He dashed off to the baker's and
got a big cake dripping with honey. He hoped this would sweeten his voice. And
in fact, after eating it, his voice didn't sound quite so deep. Over and over
again, he practised imitating Mother Goat's voice. You see, he'd heard it in
the woods. When he felt certain he could easily be mistaken for Mother Goat
herself, he rushed back to the house and the seven kids.
   "Open the door! Open the door! It's Mother! I've just come back from
market! Open the door!" he called. This time, the kids had doubts: the voice
did rather sound like mother's, and they were about to unlock the door, when
the black kid suspiciously cried: "Mother, let us see your foot!" Without
thinking, the wolf raised a black hairy paw. And the kids knew that the wolf
had come back.
   "You're not our mother! She doesn't have horrid black paws!" cried the
kids. "Go away, you wicked wolf!"
   And once more, in spite of all his hard work, the wolf found the door
locked against him. The wolf ran down to the mlll, and found a sack of flour.
He thrust his paws into it until they were pure white.
   "I'll trick them this time," he said. "Mmm! My mouth's watering already!
I'm hungry! My tummy's empty and my trousers are falling off! I'll swallow
these tender kids whole!" Again he knocked on the door.
   "Open the door! Open the door! It's Mother! I've just come back from
market! Open the door!" The voice seemed exactly like mother's, but the wary
kids quickly called out: "Mother, let us see your foot!" The wily wolf lifted
a snow white paw, and the kids, now reassured, threw open the door. What a
shock they received! An enormous set of jaws with sharp fangs growled
fiercely. Cruel claws reached out for their prey. The kids scattered in
terror. One dived under the table, while other crawled below the bed. Another
kid hid in the cupboard and one tried to hide in the oven, though the stove
was still hot. One kid crouched inside a barrel and one hid in the grandfather
clock. There he huddled, holding his breath, as the wolf hunted down his
brothers. One by one, the kids were pulled from their hiding places. All
except for the kid in the clock. The wicked wolf's appetite did not pass until
he had found them and swallowed each in a single gulp.
   The only one to escape was the little black kid, for the wolf never
imagined that there was room for a kid inside the very narrow grandfather
clock. In the meantime, Mother Goat had really come back from market. When,
from a distance, she noticed that the door was ajar, she rushed home, her
heart in her mouth. She had a sinking feeling: what she feared had really
happened. The wicked wolf had gobbled up all her children. She dropped into a
chair, sobbing bitterly, but as she cried, the door of the grandfather clock
swung open and out ran the black kid.
   "Mummy! Mummy!" wept the kid. "It was terrible! The wolf came, and I think
he's eaten all my brothers!"
   "My poor child!" sobbed Mother Goat. "You're the only one left! That evil
brute has gobbled them all!"
   Not long after, Mother Goat and her son left the house to take a stroll in
the garden. Suddenly, she heard a low wheezing sound: someone was snoring
heavily. It was the greedy wolf. His feast of kids had been too much for him
and he was fast asleep, dead to the world. In a flash, Mother Goat had a
brainwave. She said to her son: "Run and fetch me a needle and thread and a
pair of scissors!" With these, she swiftly slit open the wolf's stomach. As
she had hoped, the ravenous brute had swallowed every kid whole. There they
were all stlll alive alive inside his tummy. One by one, out they popped from
the wolf's tummy.
   "Hurry! Hurry! Not a sound! We must get away before he wakens up! Wait!
Fetch me a heap of stones!" And so they filled the wolf's stomach with stones
and stitched it up again. The wolf woke later with a raging thirst.
   "What a heavy tummy I have!" he said. "I've eaten too much! All these
kids!" But when he went down the river to drink, his tummy full of stones
tipped him over and he fell into the water. The weight took him straight to
the bottom, and the goat and her kids shrieked with joy as he sank. The
wicked wolf was dead and the kids trotted home happily with Mother.
.

THE LlTTLE PEAR GIRL

2010-11-29T02:46:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time, a peasant worked hard to make a living from his land.
Every year his pear tree produced four basketfuls of fruit which had to be
given to the king, a greedy ruler who grew rich at the expense of the poor.
   One year, part of the pear harvest went bad and the peasant was able to
pick only three and a half baskets of fruit. The poor man was beside himself
with fear, for the king refused to take less than four basketfuls, and the
peasant would be cruelly punished.
   All he could do was put his youngest daughter into one of the baskets and
cover her with a layer of pears, so that the basket looked full. The king's
servants took away the four baskets without ever noticing the trick, and the
little girl found herself all alone in the pantry, under the pears.
   One day, the cook went into the pantry and discovered her. Nobody could
understand where on earth she had come from, and not knowing what to do with
her, it was decided she should become a maid in the castle. Folk called her
Violetta, for her eyes reminded them of the colour of violets.
   Violetta was a pretty girl, sweet and generous. One day, as she was
watering the flowers in the royal gardens, she met the king's son, a youth of
her own age, and the two became friends. The other maids, jealous of
Violetta's beauty and of the affection many people in the castle felt for the
girl, did everything they could to get her into trouble, by spreading nasty
rumours about her. One day, the king sent for her and said severely:
   "I'm told you boast of being able to steal the witches' treasure trove. Is
that true?" Violetta said 'no,' but the king refused to believe her and drove
her out of his kingdom.
   "You may return only when you have laid hands on the treasure," he said.
All Violetta's fondest friends, including the prince, were sorry to hear of
the king's decision, but could do nothing to stop her going. The girl wandered
through the forest and, when she came to a pear tree, she climbed into its
branches and fell asleep. She was wakened at dawn by an old woman calling her:
   "What are you doing up there, all by yourself?" Violetta told the old woman
her tale. She offered to help the little girl, gave her some round loaves, a
broom, a little oil and some good advice, and the girl again set off. She
reached a clearing with a large wood stove and saw three women tearing their
hair, using it to sweep the ashes from the stove. Violetta offered them the
broom and the women pointed out the way to the witches' palace.
   Suddenly, two hungry mastiffs blocked her path. Violetta threw them the
loaves, the dogs ate them and let her pass. Then she came to the bank of a
river in flood, but remembering the old woman's advice, she sang:
   Clear sparkling river
   Let me cross over,
and the minute her song wafted into the air, the water stopped flowing.
Violetta thus crossed the river and at last reached the witches' palace. The
door was unlocked, but Violetta could not push it open for the hinges were
rusted. So she rubbed on a little oil and the door swung open. The little girl
walked through the empty halls till she came to a splendid room in wich lay a
magnificent coffer full of jewels. Holding the coffer under her arm, Violetta
made for the door, but the coffer, being enchanted, cried out:
   "Door! Don't let her out!" However, the door did open, for Violetta had
oiled the hinges. Down at the river, the coffer cried out. This time it said:
   "Water! Drown her!" But the river did not stop the little girl from
crossing; the two mastiffs did not attack ant the three strange women did not
burn her in their stove. For each, in its own way, repaid the girl's courtesy.
Back at the king's palace again, the prince ran happily to meet Violetta,
telling her:
   "When my father asks you what you want as a reward, ask him for the basket
of pears in the pantry!" And this Violetta did. Pleased at paying such a
modest price, the king instantly ordered the humble basket to be brought. But
nobody ever imagined for a minute that underneath the pears lay the prince.
The young man came out of his hiding place, swore he was in love with Violetta
and that he wanted to marry her.
   In this way, the king was forced to give his consent. Violetta brought her
family to court and they all began a new and happy life.

.

THE HARE AND THE PORCUPINE

2010-11-29T02:45:00.005-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . an old porcupine lived in a large wood with his twin
sons. Apples were their favourite dish, but the youngsters sometimes raided a
neighbouring vegetable plot for the turnips Dad loved to munch. One day, one
of the young porcupines set off as usual to fetch the turnips. Like all
porcupines, he was a slow walker, and he had just reached a large cabbage,
when from behind the leaves, out popped a hare.
   "So you have arrived at last!" said the hare. "I've been watching you for
half an hour. Do you always dawdle? I hope you're quicker at eating, or it
will take you a year to finish the turnips!" Instead of going into a huff at
being teased, the porcupine decided to get his own back by being very crafty.
   Slow on his feet but a quick thinker, he rapidly hit on a plan. So the hare
sneered at the slow porcupine, did he? Well, the hare's own turn of speed would
be his downfall!
   "I can run faster than you if I try," said the porcuplne "Ha! Ha!" the hare
shrieked with laughter, raising a large paw. "You can't compete with this! My
grandad was the speediest hare of his day. He even won a gold penny. He used
to be my coach. And you tell me you can run faster than me? Well, I bet my
grandad's gold penny that I can win without even trying!"
   The porcupine paid little heed to the hare's boastful words and quietly
acccepted the challenge. "I'll meet you tomorrow down at the ploughed field.
We'll race in parallel furrows. And see wins!"
   The hare went away laughing.
   "Better stay here all night! You'll never get home and back in time for the
race!" he told the porcupine. The porcupine, however, had a bright idea. When
he arrived home, he told his twin brother what had happened. Just before dawn
next day, he gave his instructions, and off they set for the field. Hare
appeared, rudely remarking: "I'll take off my jacket so I can run faster!"
   Ready! Steady! Go! And in a flash, the hare streaked to the other end of
the field. There, waiting for him was a porcupine, which tesingly said:
   "Rather late, aren't you? I've been here for ages!" Gasping and so
breathless his throat was dry, the hare whispered: "Let's try again!"
   "All right," agreed the porcupine, "we'll run the race again." Never in all
his life had the hare run so fast. Not even with the hounds snapping at his
heels. But every time he reached the other end of the ploughed field, what did
he flnd but the porcupine, who laughingly exclaimed: "What? Late again? I
keep on getting here first!" Racing up and down the field the hare sped,
trying to beat the porcupine. His legs grew terribly tired and he began to
sag. And every time he came to the end of the field there stood a porcupine
calling himself the winner.
   "Perhaps I ought to mention, friend hare, that my grandad was the fastest
porcupine of his day. He didn't win a gold penny, but he won apples, and after
the race, he ate them. But I don't want apples. I'd rather have the nice gold
penny you promised me!" said one of the porcupine twins.
   The hare slid to the ground, dead tired. His head was spinning and his legs
felt like rubber.
   "This race is the end of me! I shall die here in this field, where I really
believed I was a sprinter! The shame of it! What a disgrace!" The hare
staggered home, hot and sticky, to fetch the gold penny that he had never for
a moment ever imagined he would lose. His eyes brimming with tears, he handed
it over to the porcupines.
   "Thank goodness my grandad isn't alive to see this!" he said. "Whatever
would he say? After all his coaching, here I am, beaten by a porcupine!"
   That evening, a party was held at the porcupines' house. The twins danced
triumphantly in turn, waving aloft the gold penny. Father Porcupine brought
out his old accordion for the special occasion, and the fun went on all night.
As luck would have it, the hare never did find out the secret of how the race
had been rigged. Which was just as well! . . .
.

THE POPLAR AND THE STREAM

2010-11-29T02:45:00.003-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . a woodcutter called Ivan lived ln a huge forest in
the north of Russia. A sturdy young man, with his bare hands he built himself
a stout log cabin and when it was finished, he thought he would look for a
wife. His dream was of a beautiful maiden, tall, slender and fair, with blue
eyes and a creamy skin.
   On Sundays he roamed to distant villages looking for the girl of his
dreams. But the only girls he ever saw were dull and not pretty enough.
   As it so happened, the path he took to work passed close to a pretty little
house with green shutters. Often, the corner of a curtain would be raised and
a sweet-faced girl would watch the woodcutter as he went by. For he had
unwittingly lit the flames of love in a maiden's heart. This young girl c
alled Natasha; she was very shy, but her love for the woodcutter was so great
that, one day, she plucked up enough courage to stop him on the path.
   "I picked this basket of strawberries myself," she said. "Please eat them
and think of me!"
   "Well, she's not exactly ugly," said Ivan to himself as he stared woodenly
at Natasha, who was blushing to the roots of her hair.
   "I don't like strawberries," he replied bluntly. "But thanks all the same!"
   Tears sprang to Natasha's eyes as she watched him stride away. A few days
later, the girl again stopped Ivan and held out a woolen jacket saying: "The
air will be chilly tonight when you go home. This will keep you warm. I made it
myself."
   But Ivan coldly replied: "What makes you think that a man like me is afraid
of the cold?"
   And this time, at Ivan's refusal, two tears rolled down Natasha's rosy
cheeks and she fled sobbing into the house.
   However, Natasha again watched for the woodcutter. This time, she held out
a bottle and said: "You can t refuse a liqueur that I distilled from all the
fruits of the forest! It will ..." But Ivan broke in saying: "I don't like
liqueurs," and I marched straight on. However, he realized he had been very
rude, so he turned round, but Natasha had gone. As he walked, he said to
himself: " She has gentle eyes . . . and she must be very kind-hearted!
Perhaps I should take at least one of her gifts, but . . ." The picture of his
dream girl slipped into his mind. "I'm so unhappy!" he sighed.
   At that very moment, on a golden cloud appeared a beautiful lady. "Will you
sing a song for me? I'm Rosalka, one of the woodland fairies!" Ivan stood
thunderstruck.
   "I'd sing for you for the rest of my life!" he exclaimed "If only I could
. . ." and he stretched out his hand to touch the fairy, but she floated out
of reach amongst the branches.
   "Sing then! Sing! Only the sound of your voice will ever send me to sleep!"
So Ivan happily sang all the old lullabies and love songs, while the drowsy
fairy urged him on: "Sing! Sing!"
   Cold and weary, his voice getting hoarser the woodcutter sang till evening,
as he tried to help the fairy to fall asleep. But when night fell, Rosalka was
still demanding: "If you love me, sing on! Sing!"
   As the woodcutter sang on, in a feeble voice, he kept thinking: "I wish I
had a jacket to keep me warm!"
   Suddenly he remembered Natasha.
   "What a fool I am!" he told himself. "I should have chosen her as my bride,
not this woman who asks and gives nothing in return!"
   Ivan felt that only the gentle-faced Natasha could fill his empty heart. He
fled into the darkness, but he heard a cruel voice call: ". . . you'll never
see her again! All her tears for her great love have turned her into a stream!
You'll never see her again!"
   It was dawn when Ivan knocked at Natasha's door. No one answered. And the
woodcutter saw, with fear, that close by flowed a tiny sparkling stream he had
never noticed before. Weeping sorrowfully, he plunged his face into the water.
   "Oh, Natasha, how could I have been so blind! And I love you now!" Lifting
his gaze to the sky, he silently said a prayer:"Let me stay beside her
forever! " ||
   Ivan was magically turned into a young poplar tree and the stream bathed its
roots. Natasha had, at last, her beloved Ivan by her side for ever.
.

THE GOLDEN GOOSE

2010-11-29T02:45:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . there was a woodcutter called Thaddeus, a dreamy,
foolish-looking lad though good-hearted. One day, his father sent him to a
distant wood to chop down trees. Thaddeus thought that these trees were a kind
he had never seen before and that it was hard work trying to hack through
their hard trunks. Sweating after all his efforts, he had barely sat down
against a sawn-off trunk to have a meal, when a strange old man with a white
beard popped out from behind a bush and asked him for a bite to eat. Kindly
Thaddeus gave him some bread and cheese and together they cheerily drank a
flask of wine.
   "Of all the woodcutters that have tried to fell these trees, you're the
first one who has been nice to me," said the old man, stuttering, perhaps
after all the wine. "You deserve a reward. If you cut down that tree in the
centre of the wood, you'll find that all the others will fall down by
themselves. Have a look in its roots where there's a gift for you! You see,
I'm the Wizard of the Woods!"
   Not particularly surprised, Thaddeus did as he was told, and in a flash,
his work was done. From the roots of the tree the Wizard had pointed towards,
the woodcutter took a golden goose. Slipping the bird under hls arm, Thaddeus
set off homewards. Now, it may have been too much wine, or maybe the fact he
was new to these parts, but the fact remains that Thaddeus lost his way. At
dead of night, he reached a strange village. A tavern was still open, so the
woodcutter went in.
   "Something to eat for myself and for the Golden Goose that the Wizard of
the Woods gave me," he ordered the innkeeper's daughter. "That's a bite for me
and a bite for you," he said, sharing his food with the goose across the
table. The innkeeper's other two daughters came to stare at the strange sight,
then all three dared ask: "Why are you so kind to a goose?"
   "This is a magic goose," replied Thaddeus, "and worth a fortune. I shall
stay the night here and I need a secure room, for I don't want to be robbed."
   However, during the night, one of the sisters was persuaded to steal at
least one goose feather.
   "If it's a magic bird, then one of its feathers will be precious too!" But
the second her hand touched the goose's tail, it stuck fast, and nothing would
unstick it. In a low voice, she called her sisters, but when they tried to
pull her free, they too stuck fast. A little later, Thaddeus woke, not at all
surprised to see the three sisters, ashamed at being discovered, stuck to the
golden goose.
   "How can we get free?" they wailed. But the woodcutter coolly replied:
   "I have to leave with my goose. Too bad for you if you're stuck to her.
You'll just have to come too!" And when the innkeeper saw the strange little
procession trip past, he shouted "What's up?" and grabbed the last sister by
the arm. It was the worst thing he could have done! For he too found himself
attached to the tail of the little group. The same fate awaited a nosy village
woman, the plump curate and the baker who had placed a hand on the curate's
shoulder as he rushed past. Last of all came a guard who had tried to stop the
procession. People laughed as Thaddeus and his row of followers went by, and
crowds soon flocked the roads.
   Close to the village where Thaddeus had spent the night stood the Royal
Palace. Though rich and powerful, the King had a great sorrow: his only
daughter suffered from a strange illness that no doctor had been able to cure.
She was always sad and unhappy. The King had once proclaimed that the man who
succeeded in making his daughter laugh would be granted her hand in marriage.
But so far, nobody had so much as brought a smile to the Princess's lips.
   As it so happened, the Princess chose that day to drive through the village
square, just as the woodcutter with the goose under his arm, solemnly marched
by with his line of unwilling followers. When she heard the people chuckle,
the Princess raised the carriage curtains. The minute she set eyes on the
amazing sight, she burst into peals of laughter.
   Everyone was amazed to hear the Princess laugh for the first time. She
stepped down from the carriage for a closer look at the golden goose and
that's how she got stuck to the baker! Laughing and chattering, the procession
headed towards the palace, with the crowds at their heels. When the King saw
his daughter in fits of laughter, he could hardly believe it.
   "How amazing! How amazing!" he said.
   But in spite of all the mirth, it was a serious situation. That is, until a
large man with a tall peaked hat and a white beard stepped forward and snapped
his fingers three times. Suddenly, Thaddeus and the others all became unstuck.
The woodcutter was about to thank the Wizard of the Woods, for it could be
none other, but he had vanished into thin air. And that's how the simple
woodcutter, Thaddeus, found himself married to the King's daughter.
.

A SHREWD FARMER'S STORY

2010-11-29T02:44:00.003-08:00

   Once upon a time there lived a farmer who worked far from his home in the
fields of a rich baron.
   In the past, gangs of bandits hid in the mountains rising behind the plain
but the emperor had sent his soldiers to find and kill the thieves and now the
area was safe and quiet. Every once in a while, however, old weapons from past
battles could be found in the fields.
   While he was chopping a stump one day, the farmer found a bag full of gold.
The farmer had only ever seen silver coins in his life, and he was so
astonished to find all that gold, that when he started walking home it was
already dark. On his way home, the farmer thought about the problems that this
sudden wealth could cause him.
   First of all, everything found on the baron's territory belonged to the
baron. By law, the farmer had to hand the gold over to the baron. The farmer
decided that it was much more fair for him to keep the treasure because he was
very poor, rather than giving it to the baron who already had a lot of money.
He realized the risk he would run if anyone found out about his luck. He would
never tell anyone, of course, but his wife had a reputation for talking too
much and she would never keep a secret. Sooner or later he would end up in
jail.
   He thought the problem over and over until he found a solution. Before
getting home he left the bag full of gold in a bush next to some pine trees
and the day after, instead of going to work, he went by the village to buy a
few nice trout, some doughnuts and a rabbit. In the afternoon he went home and
said to his wife:
   "Get your wicker basket and come with me. Yesterday it rained and the wood
is full of mushrooms. We must get to them before someone else does!" The wife,
who loved mushrooms, picked up her basket and followed her husband. When they
got to the woods the farmer ran to his wife shouting:
   "Look! Look! We have found a doughnut tree!" and he showed her the branches
he previously loaded with doughnuts.
   The wife was astonished but she was even more puzzled when, instead of
mushrooms, she found trout in the grass. The farmer laughed happily.
   "Today is our lucky day! My grandfather said that everyone has one lucky
day. We might even find a treasure!" In addition to being a gossip, the
farmer's wife was also a sucker. So she believed her husband and repeated,
while looking around: "This is our lucky day, this is our lucky day."
   The basket of the woman was full of fish by now. When she and her husband
reached the banks the farmer ran ahead of her, looked into the thicket and
said:
   "Yesterday I laid out my nets and I want to check whether I've caught any
fish or shrimps." A few minutes later the wife heard the husband shout:
   "Run and see what I've caught! What extraordinary luck! I've fished a
rabbit!" They were walking back home and the wife kept talking excitedly about
the great dinner with the doughnuts, the fish and the rabbit. The husband
said: "Let's go by the wood again. We could find other doughnuts!"
   They went to the spot where the farmer had hidden his gold coins. The farmer
pretended to find something.
   "Look over here! There's a strange bag and... it's full of gold! This is an
enchanted forest. We found the doughnuts on the trees, then we found the trout
in the grass and now... gold." The poor woman was so excited that tears filled
her eyes. She could not utter another word and gulped as she touched the shiny
coins.
   At home, after dinner, neither of the two could fall asleep. The farmer and
his wife kept getting up to look over the treasure they had hidden in an old
boot. The day after the farmer went back to work, but first said to his wife:
   "Don't tell anybody about what happened yesterday." And he repeated the
same recommendation every day after that. Pretty soon, however, the entire
village had heard about the treasure. The farmer and his wife were called by
the baron and when they went in to see him the farmer tried to stand behind
his wife. His wife, at the request of the baron, spoke first of the doughnuts,
then of the trout on the grass and lastly of the rabbit in the river.
Meanwhile, behind her, the husband kept tapping his forehead with his finger
and gesticulating to the baron. The baron began looking at the woman with pity.
   "And then I bet you found a treasure, too."
   "That's right, Sir!" the woman said. The baron turned to the farmer and,
tapping his finger on his forehead sympathetically said:
   "I see what you mean. Unfortunately, I have the same problem with my
wife . . ."
   The farmers were sent home and no one believed their story. And so the
shrewd farmer didn't go to jail and spent his money wisely.
.

THE THREE WISHES

2010-11-29T02:44:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . a woodcutter lived happily with his wife in a pretty
little log cabin in the middle of a thick forest. Each morning he set off
singing to work, and when he came home in the evening, a plate of hot steaming
soup was always waiting for him.
   One day, however, he had a strange surprise. He came upon a big fir tree
with strange open holes on the trunk. It looked somehow different from the
other trees, and just as he was about to chop it down, the alarmed face of an
elf popped out of a hole.
   "What's all this banging?" asked the elf. "You're not thinking of cutting
down this tree, are you? It's my home. I live here!" The woodcutter dropped
his axe in astonlshment.
   "Well, I . . ." he stammered.
   "With all the other trees there are in this forest, you have to pick this
one. Lucky I was in, or I would have found myself homeless."
   Taken aback at these words, the woodcutter qulckly recovered, for after all
the elf was quite tiny, while he himself was a big hefty chap, and he boldly
replied: "I'll cut down any tree I like, so . . ."
   "All right! All right!" broke in the elf. "Shall we put it this way: if you
don't cut down this tree, I grant you three wishes. Agreed?" The woodcutter
scratched his head.
   "Three wishes, you say? Yes, I agree." And he began to hack at another
tree. As he worked and sweated at his task, the woodcutter kept thinking about
the magic wishes.
   "I'll see what my wife thinks..."
   The woodcutter's wife was busily cleaning a pot outside the house when her
husband arrived. Grabbing her round the waist, he twirled her in delight.
   "Hooray! Hooray! Our luck is in!"
   The woman could not understand why her husband was so pleased with himself
and she shrugged herself free. Later, however, over a glass of fine wine at
the table, the woodcutter told his wife of his meeting with the elf, and she
too began to picture the wonderful things that the elf's three wishes might
give them. The woodcutter's wife took a first sip of wine from her husband's
glass.
   "Nice," she said, smacking her lips. "I wish I had a string of sausages to
go with it, though..."
   Instantly she bit her tongue, but too late. Out of the air appeared the
sausages while the woodcutter stuttered with rage.
   ". . . what have you done! Sausages . . . What a stupid waste of a wish!
You foollsh woman. I wish they would stick up your nose!" No sooner sald than
done. For the sausages leapt up and stuck fast to the end of the woman's nose.
This time, the woodcutter's wife flew into a rage.
   "You idiot, what have you done? With all the things we could have wished
for . . ." The mortified woodcutter, who had just repeated his wife's own
mistake, exclaimed:
   "I'd chop . . ." Luckily he stopped himself in time, realizing with horror
that he'd been on the point of having his tongue chopped off. As his wife
complained and blamed him, the poor man burst out laughing.
   "If only you knew how funny you look with those sausages on the end of your
nose!" Now that really upset the woodcutter's wife. She hadn't thought of her
looks. She tried to tug away the sausages but they would not budge. She pulled
again and again, but in vain. The sausages were firmly attached to her nose.
Terrified, she exclaimed: "They'll be there for the rest of my life!"
   Feeling sorry for his wife and wondering how he could ever put up with a
woman with such an awkward nose, the woodcutter said: "I'll try." Grasping the
string of sausages, he tugged with all his might. But he simply pulled his
wife over on top of him. The pair sat on the floor, gazing sadly at each other.
   "What shall we do now?" they said, each thinking the same thought.
   "There's only one thing we can do . . ." ventured the woodcutter's wife
timidly.
   "Yes, I'm afraid so . . ." her husband sighed, remembering their dreams of
riches, and he bravely wished the third and last wish "I wish the sausages
would leave my wife's nose."
   And they did. Instantly, husband and wife hugged each other tearfully,
saying "Maybe we'll be poor, but we'll be happy again!"
   That evening, the only reminder of the woodcutter's meeting with the elf
was the string of sausages. So the couple fried them, gloomily thinking of
what that meal had cost them.
.

THE LITTLE GOLD FISH

2010-11-29T02:43:00.002-08:00

   Once upon a time...a poor fisherman lived in a humble cottage near the sea.
One day, he set off as usual with his load of nets to go fishing.
   "Don't you dare come home empty-handed!" shouted his nagging wife from the
door. Down on the shore, he had just thrown the nets into the sea, when
something glittering in the meshes caught his eye.
   "What a strange fish!" he said to himself, picking up a golden yellow fish.
And his amazement grew when he heard the fish say these words:
   "Kind fisherman, let me go free! I'm the son of the Sea King, and if you
let me go, I'll grant any wish you care to make!" Alarmed at this miracle,
without a second thought, the fisherman tossed the fish back into the water.
But when he went home and told his wife what had happened she scolded him
soundly:
   "What! When the fish said your wishes could come true, you should have
asked it for something! Go back to the beach and if you see it, ask for a new
washtub! Just look at the state of ours!"
   The poorman went back to the shore. As soon as he called the fish, it
popped up from the water.
   "Where you calling me? Here I am!" it said. The fisherman explained what
his wife wanted, and the fish quickly replied:
   "You were very good to me! Go home, and you'll see that your wish has come
true!" Certain that his wife would be pleased, the fisherman hurried home. But
the minute he opened the door, his wife screeched:
   "So it really is a magic fish that you allowed to go free! Just look at
that old washtub! It's brand new! But if that little fish has such powers, you
can't possibly be content with such a miserable little wish! Go straight back
and get it to give you a new house!"
   The fisherman hurried back to the shore.
   "I wonder if I'll see it again! I hope it hasn't gone away! Little fish!
Little fish!" he began to call from the water's edge.
   "Here I am! What do you want this time?" he heard it ask.
   "Well, my wife would like . . ."
   "I can imagine!" remarked the fish. "And what does she want now?"
   "A big house!" murmured the fisherman, hesitantly.
   "All right! You were kind to me and you shall have your wish!" The
fisherman lingered on the way home, enjoying the feeling of making his wife
happy with a new house. The roof of the splendid new house was already in
sight, when his wife rushed up to him in a fury.
   "Look herel Now that we know how really powerfull this fish is, we can't be
content with only a house! We must ask for more! Run back and ask for a real
palace, not an ordinary house like this one! And fine clothes! And jewels
too!" The fisherman was quite upset. However, he had been henpecked for so
many years that he was unable to say "no", so he trudged back to the water's
edge. Full of doubts, he called the little fish, but it was some time before
it leapt from waves. In the meantime, the sea had begun to foam . . .
   "I'm sorry to trouble you again, but my wife has had second thoughts, and
she'd like a fine palace, and . . . and also. . ." Again the little fish
granted fisherman his wishes, but he seemed less friendly than before. At
last, relieved at having been able to see his wife's desires fulfilled, the
good fisherman turned homewards. Home was now a magnificent palace. How
wonderful it was! At the top of a flight of steps leading to the palace, stood
his wife, dressed like a great lady and dripping with jewels, impatiently
waiting for him. -_
   "Go back and ask for . . ." But the fisherman broke in:
   "What? Such a fine palace! We must be content with what we have! Don't you
think that's asking too much? . . ."
   "Go back, I said! Do as you're told! And ask the fish to make me an
Empress!" The poor fisherman set off unhappily for the seashore. In the
meantime, a storm had blown up. The sky was black and terrible flashes of
lightning lit the darkness, while the waves crashed angrily on the beach.
Kneeling on the rock amidst the spray, in a low voice the fisherman began to
call the little fish. And when it came, he told it his wife's latest request.
But this time, after listening in silence, the little gold fish disappeared
beneath the waves without saying a word. And though the fisherman waited, the
little fish never came back. A great flash of lightning, much brighter than
all the others lit up the sky, and the fisherman saw that both the new house
and the palace had vanished without trace. The humble old cottage stood where
it had always been. But this time, his wife was waiting for him in tears.
   "It serves you right! We should have been pleased with what we had, instead
of always asking for more!" grumbled the fisherman angrily. But in the depths
of his heart, he was glad that everything had gone back to normal.
   Next day and every day, he went back to his fishing, but he never saw the
little goldfish again.
.

THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN

2010-11-29T02:43:00.000-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . on the banks of a great river in the north of
Germany lay a town called Hamelin. The citizens of Hamelin were honest folk
who lived contentedly in their grey stone houses. The years went by, and the
town grew very rich. Then one day, an extraordinary thing happened to disturb
the peace. Hamelin had always had rats, and a lot too. But they had never been
a danger, for the cats had always solved the rat problem in the usual way - by
killing them. All at once, however, the rats began to multiply.
   In the end, a black sea of rats swarmed over the whole town. First, they
attacked the barns and storehouses, then, for lack of anything better, they
gnawed the wood, cloth or anything at all. The one thing they didn't eat was
metal. The terrified citizens flocked to plead with the town councillors to
free them from the plague of rats. But the council had, for a long time, been
sitting in the Mayor's room, trying to think of a plan.
   "What we need is an army of cats!"
   But all the cats were dead.
   "We'll put down poisoned food then . . ."
   But most of the food was already gone and even poison did not stop the rats.
   "It just can't be done without help!" said the Mayor sadly.
   Just then, while the citizens milled around outside, there was a loud knock
at the door. "Who can that be?" the city fathers wondered uneasily, mindful of
the angry crowds. They gingerly opened the door. And to their surprise, there
stood a tall thin man dressed in brightly coloured clothes, with a long
feather in his hat, and waving a gold pipe at them.
   "I've freed other towns of beetles and bats," the stranger announced, "and
for a thousand florins, I'll rid you of your rats!"
   "A thousand florins!" exclaimed the Mayor. "We'll give you fifty thousand
if you succeed!" At once the stranger hurried away, saying: "It's late now,
but at dawn tomorrow, there won't be a rat left in Hamelin!"
   The sun was still below the horizon, when the sound of a pipe wafted
through the streets of Hamelin. The pied piper slowly made his way through the
houses and behind him flocked the rats. Out they scampered from doors, windows
and gutters, rats of every size, all after the piper. And as he played, the
stranger marched down to the river and straight into the water, up to his
middle. Behind him swarmed the rats and every one was drowned and swept away
by the current.
   By the time the sun was high in the sky, there was not a single rat in the
town. There was even greater delight at the town hall, until the piper tried
to claim his payment.
   "Fifty thousand florins?" exclaimed the councillors, "Never..."
   " A thousand florins at least!" cried the pied piper angrily. But the Mayor
broke in. "The rats are all dead now and they can never come back. So be
grateful for fifty florins, or you'll not get even that . . ."
   His eyes flashing with rage, the pied piper pointed a threatening finger at
the Mayor.
   "You'll bitterly regret ever breaking your promise," he said, and vanished.
   A shiver of fear ran through the councillors, but the Mayor shrugged and
said excitedly: "We've saved fifty thousand florins!"
   That night, freed from the nightmare of the rats, the citizens of Hamelin
slept more soundly than ever. And when the strange sound of piping wafted
through the streets at dawn, only the children heard it. Drawn as by magic,
they hurried out of their homes. Again, the pied piper paced through the town,
this time, it was children of all sizes that flocked at his heels to the sound
of his strange piping. The long procession soon left the town and made its way
through the wood and across the forest till it reached the foot of a huge
mountain. When the piper came to the dark rock, he played his pipe even louder
still and a great door creaked open. Beyond lay a cave. In trooped the
children behind the pied piper, and when the last child had gone into the
darkness, the door reaked shut. A great landslide came down the mountain
blocking the entrance to the cave forever. Only one little lame boy escaped
this fate. It was he who told the anxious citizens, searching for their
children, what had happened. And no matter what people did, the mountain never
gave up its victims. Many years were to pass before the merry voices of other
children would ring through the streets of Hamelin but the memory of the harsh
lesson lingered in everyone's heart and was passed down from father to son t
hrough the centuries.
.

THE MUSICIANS OF BREMEN

2010-11-29T02:42:00.003-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . an old donkey was ill-treated by his master. Tired
of such unkindness, he decided to run away, and when he heard that Bremen was
looking for singers with the town band, he decided that someone with a fine
braying voice like his might be accepted.
   As he went along the road, the donkey met a skinny dog, covered with sores.
   "Come with me. If you have a good bark, you'll find a job with the band
too. Just wait and see!"
   A little later, a stray cat, no longer able to catch mice, joined them and
the trio trotted hopefully on towards the town. As they passed a farmyard,
they stopped to admire an elderly cockerel who, with outstretched wings, was
crowing to the skies.
   "You sing well," they told him. "What are you so happy about?"
   "Happy?" muttered the cockerel with tears in his eyes. "They want to put me
in the pot and make broth of me. I'm singing as hard as I can today, for
tomorrow I'll be gone." But the donkey told him, "Run away with us. With a
voice like yours, you'll be famous in Bremen!"
   Now there were four of them. The way was long, night fell, and very
frightened, the four creatures found themselves in a thick forest.
   They scarcely knew whether to press on or to hide in some caves and rest.
Suddenly, in the distance they saw a light amongst the trees. It came from a
little cottage and they crept up to the window. The donkey placed his front
hoofs on the window ledge. Anxious to see, the dog jumped on the donkey's
back, the cat climbed onto the dog and the cockerel flew on top of the cat to
watch what was going on inside.
   Now, the cottage was the hideaway of a gang of bandits who were busily
celebrating their latest robbery. The hungry donkey and his friends became
excited when they saw the food on the table. Upset by the Jittery crew on his
back, the donkey stuck his head through the window and toppled his three
companions on to the lamp. The light went out and the room rang with the
braying of the donkey who had cut his nose on the glass, the barking of the
dog and the snarling of the cat. The cockerel screeched along with the others.
   Taken completely by surprise, the terrified bandits fled screaming: "The
Devil! The Devil!" And their abandoned meal ended up in the four friends'
stomachs.
   Later, however, just as the donkey and his companions were dropping off to
sleep, one of the bandits crept back to the now quiet house and went in to
find out what had taken place. He opened the door, and with his pistol in his
hand, he stepped trembling towards the fire. However, mistaking the glow of
the cat's eyes for burning coals, he thrust a candle between them and
instantly the furious cat sank its claws into the bandit's face. The man fell
backwards on to the dog, dropping his gun, which went off, and the animal's
sharp teeth sank into his leg. When the donkey saw the bandit's figure at the
door, he gave a tremendous kick, sending the man flying right through the
doorway. The cockerel greeted this feat with a grim crowing sound.
   "Run!" screamed the bandit. "Run! A horrible witch in there scratched my
face, a demon bit me on the leg and a monster beat me with a stick! And . . ."
But the other bandits were no longer listening, for they had taken to their
heels and fled.
   And so the donkey, the dog, the cat and the cockerel took over the house
without any trouble and, with the booty left behind by the bandits, always had
food on the table, and lived happy and contented for many years.
.

THE HOLE THAT WAS TOO NARROW

2010-11-29T02:42:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time. . . a stoat was so greedy that he would eat anything that
came his way. But he was punished for his greed. He found some old stale eggs
in a barn and, as usual, gobbled the lot. However, he soon started to feel
agonizing pains in his tummy, his eyes grew dim and he broke out in a cold
sweat. For days, he lay between life and death, then the fever dropped. The
first time he dared climb a tree to rob a nest, thin and weak with his
trousers dangling over an empty stomach, he became dizzy and fell. That is how
he twisted his ankle. Sick with hunger, he limped about in search of food, but
that made him feel even hungrier than before. Then good luck came his way.
Although wary of venturing too close to human habitations, he was so hungry he
went up to a tavern on the outskirts of the village. The air was full of
lovely smells and the poor stoat felt his mouth watering as he pictured all
the nice things inslde. An inviting smell coming from a crack in the wall
seemed to be stronger than the others. Thrusting his nose into the crack, he
was greeted by a waft of delicious scents. The stoat frantically clawed at the
crack with his paws and teeth, trying to widen it. Slowly the plaster between
the blocks of rubble began to crumble, till all he had to do was move a stone.
Shoving with all his might, the stoat made a hole. And then a really wonderful
sight met his gaze. He was inside the pantry, where hams, salamis, cheeses,
honey, jam and nuts were stored. Overwhelmed by it all, the stoat could not
make up his mind what to taste first. He jumped from one thing to another,
munching all the time, till his tummy was full. Satisfied at last, he fell
asleep. Then he woke again, had another feast and went back to sleep. With all
this food, his strength returned, and next day, the stoat was strong enough to
climb up to the topmost shelves and select the tastiest delicacies. By this
time, he was just having a nibble here and a nibble there. But he never
stopped eating: he went on and on and on. By now, he was very full indeed, as
he chattered to himself: "Salami for starters . . . no, the ham's better! Some
soft cheese and a spot of mature cheese as well . . . I think I'll have a
pickled sausage too . . ."
   In only a few days, the stoat had become very fat and his trouser button
had popped off over a bulging tummy. But of course, the stoat's fantastic luck
could not last for ever.
   One afternoon, the stoat froze in mid-munch at the creak of a door. Heavy
footsteps thumped down the stairs, and the stoat looked helplessly round. Fear
of discovery sent him hunting for a way to escape. He ran towards the hole in
the wall through which he had come. But though his head and shoulders entered
the hole, his tummy, which had grown much larger since the day he had come in,
slmply would not pass. The stoat was in a dangerous position: he was stuck!
Two thick hands grabbed him by the tail.
   "You horrid little robber! So you thought you'd get away, did you? I'll
soon deal with you!"
   Strange though it may sound, the only thought in the greedy stoat's head
was a longing to be starving of hunger again . . .
.

THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER

2010-11-29T02:41:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time there lived a poor shoemaker. He lived in misery because
as he grew old he could not see all that well anymore and, consequently he
could not work like he used to.
   One night he went to bed sad, without finishing a repair job he had begun.
In the morning he found the job done.
   During the day he set out all the tools and material necessary to make a
new pair of shoes for a rich customer.
   "Tomorrow morning, when it will be sunny and bright, I will begin working
on them," he thought. But the morning after, instead of the leather he had
left the night before, the shoemaker was very surprised to find a beautiful
pair of brand new shoes. Later on in the day, the customer went by the shop to
see how his new shoes were coming along. When he found a very nice pair of
shoes ready, he was very happy and paid the shoemaker twice the price they had
agreed upon.
   The shoemaker was very confused and wondered what had happened. That night,
he left out some more leather and the next morning he found another shiny and
perfect pair of new shoes. These shoes were sold at an even higher price. Now
the shoemaker left out leather and tools to his mysterious helper every night,
and, every morning, he found a new pair of shoes. Pretty soon, the shoemaker
was able to save a good sum of money. When the shoemaker's wife noticed all
the money the shoemaker had saved, she grew suspicious and demanded an
explanation. When she was informed of the unusual nocturnal occurrences, she
proposed:
   "Let's wait until nightfall. We will hide and find out what's happening."
   And so the shoemaker and his wife hid and, around midnight, saw two elves
sneak into the shoemaker's shop. The quick and skilled elves made a new pair
of shoes in a flsh. It was winter and the elves, dressed in ragged clothes,
shivered while they worked.
   "Poor fellows! They must be very cold," the shoemaker's wife whispered to
her husband. "Tomorrow I will make them two heavy wool jackets. That way they
will be warmer and maybe, instead of one pair of shoes, they will make two!"
   The following midnight, next to the leather, the two elves found two
elegant red jackets with gold buttons. They put on the jackets and were very
happy. They danced shouting:
   "What beautiful jackets! We'll never be cold again." But when one of the
elves said:
   "Let's get to work now," the other answered:
   "Work? What for? With two jackets like these we are rich. We will never
have to work again."
   The two elves left the shop of the astonished shoemaker and his even more
puzzled wife and were never seen agin.
.

THE SEVEN OLD SAMURAI

2010-11-29T02:40:00.003-08:00

   Once upon a time, in far off Japan, a band of fierce robbers had their
hiding place on top of a mountain almost always covered with grey clouds,
windswept and battered by storms. The robbers lived in a large cave where they
had piled their spoils. Now and again, they went down the mountain, attacked a
village, murdered the poor folk they chanced upon, stole whatever they could
lay hands on and burned it to the ground. Wherever the robbers passed, there
was nothing but smoking ruins, weeping men and women, misery, mournlng and
desolation.
   The Emperor, worried at this, had sent his soldiers to attack the mountain,
but the robbers had always managed to drive them off. The Emperor sent for one
of the last remaining Samurai, old Raiko, and said to him:
   "Raiko, you've served me for many years. Do my bidding for one last time.
Go to the mountain at the head of an army and wipe out these bloodthirsty
bandits." Raiko sighed.
   "Your Majesty, if I were young again I'd do it alone. Today I'm too old,
far too old to do that, or to command an army."
   "Must I then," said the Emperor, "submit to the force of these marauding
robbers?" The old Samurai replied:
   "No, I'll go up there with six Samurai like myself."
   "But if they're all as old as you, how can they help you?"
   "Have faith in us!" said Raiko.
   A few days later, the seven Samurai set off on their journey, not with
horses, swords, shields and armour, which they could no longer have worn
anyway, but dressed as humble pilgrims. From the summit, the bandits watched
them come, and their leader said,
   "Who cares about seven beggars. Let them climb up." The seven reached the
cave and Raiko humbly said,
   "Let us come in, it's cold outside. There's a wind blowing and we, as you
can see, are old men. We'll be no trouble to you." The leader of the gang
scornfully replied:
   "Come in, old men, and stay in a corner." And so. the seven pilgrims
huddled in a corner while the bandits ate their meal of food stolen from the
villages nearby.
   Now and again, they threw scraps of food and leftovers to the old men,
saying: "Eat this, and it is much too good for you." A few hours later, Raiko
rose to his feet saying:
   "The wind has dropped. We can go on our way. In thanks. for your
hospitality, we would like to offer you this liqueur, it is sake, rice wine.
Drink our health with it." The robbers needed no second telling. In the blink
of an eye, they had emptied the goatskin bottle Raika held out to them. And in
the blink of an eye they all lay dead, for the sake contained a very potent
poison. And so, the seven Samurai, too old to wield a sword, served the
Emperor for the last time.
.

THE TAIL OF THE BEAR

2010-11-29T02:40:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time there lived a fisherman who earned a living selling fish,
making his rounds to the customers on a horse-drawn cart loaded with his catch
of the day.
   One cold winter day, while the fisherman was crossing the woods, a fox
smelled the fish and began following the cart at a close distance. The
fisherman kept his trout in long wicker baskets and the sight of the fish made
the fox's mouth water. The fox, however, was reluctant to jump on the cart to
steal a fish because the fisherman had a long whip that he cracked from time
to time to spur on the horse. But the smell of fresh fish was so enticing that
the fox overcame her fear of the whip, leapt on to the cart and with a quick
blow of her paw, dropped a wicker basket on the snow. The fisherman did not
notice anything and continued his journey undisturbed.
   The fox was very happy. She opened the basket and got ready to enjoy her
meal. She was about to taste the first bite when a bear appeared.
   "Where did you get all that marvellous trout?" the big bear asked with a
hungry look on its face.
   "I've been fishing," the fox answered, unperturbed.
   "Fishing? How? The lake is frozen over," the bear said, incredulously. "How
did you manage to fish?"
   The fox was aware that, unless she could get rid of the bear with some kind
of excuse, she would have had to share her fish. But the only plausible answer
she could come up with was:
   "I fished with my tail."
   "With your tail?" said the bear, who was even more astonished.
   "Sure, with my tail. I made a hole in the ice, I dropped my tail in the
water and when I felt a bite I pulled it out and a fish was stuck on its end,"
the fox told the bear. The bear touched his tail and his mouth began watering.
He said:
   "Thanks for the tip. I'm going fishing too."
   The lake was not too far away, but the ice was very thick and the bear had
a hard time making a hole in it. Finally, his long claws got the job done. As
time went by and evening approached, it got colder and colder. The bear
shivered but he kept sitting by the hole with his tail in the water. No fish
had bitten yet.
   The bear was very cold and the water of the lake began freezing again
around his tail. It was then that the bear felt something like a bite on the
end of his frozen tail. The bear pulled with all his strength, heard something
tear and at the same time felt a very sharp pain. He turned around to find out
what kind of fish he had caught, and right then he realized that his tail,
trapped in the ice, had been torn off.
   Ever since then, bears have had a little stump instead of a long and thick
tail.

.

THE MONKEY KING

2010-11-29T02:39:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . a long time ago, there was a thick jungle where many
kinds of animals lived in harmony together. Their ruler was a wise old lion.
But one sad day, the king died and the animals had to decide who was to be
their new ruler. The dead king had a gold crown, encrusted with precious gems,
and it was decided that all the candidates for the throne were to come forward
and each would try on the crown, and the ruler would be the animal whose head
it fitted. Now, though many tried on the crown, it fitted no one. Some heads
were too big, others too small, a few had horns and some had big ears. The
fact was that the old king's crown did not fit any of the animals. Then a
cheeky monkey snatched up the crown and started to amuse the crowd with clever
tricks. First, he slipped the crown round his waist and whirled it round and
round his middle without letting it fall to the ground. Then he tossed it
higher and higher into the air and caught it as it came down. He then stood on
his head and twirled the crown on the tips of his toes, before jumping to his
feet again and catching it in his hands. All the animals laughed delightedly
at the nimble monkey's skill and clapped in excitement. Pleased at the great
applause, the monkey went on with his show, till the enthusiastic crowd
decided to award him the crown and proclaim him king.
   The only animal to disagree was the fox. "A silly creature like that can't
be our king!" he said. "I'm going to do all I can to make him lose the throne."
   One day, having just managed to avoid a trap that men had set at the edge
of the jungle, the fox took it unseen to the tree where the monkey lived.
Covering the trap with dead leaves, the fox picked a large bunch of bananas
and called up to the monkey: "Sire! Sire! Can you help me? I have some ripe
bananas I'd like to present you with, but I can't climb trees as easily as you
do! Would you please come down and accept my gift?" The unsuspecting monkey
shinned down the tree, and just as he reached for the bananas, the trap
suddenly clamped shut over his legs. The fox began to laugh: "What a foolish
king we have! Fancy falling into a trap for a handful of bananas!" And calling
all the other animals, he went on: "Just look at our sovereign! Isn't he
stupid? He can't even avoid being caught in a trap. If he isn't able to watch
out for himself, how can we expect him to look after us?" All the animals let
themselves be persuaded by the fox's words, and in a twinkling the monkey king
was deprived of the crown. And from that day on, this particular jungle was
the only one whose animals made do without a king.
.

THE VAIN CROW

2010-11-29T02:38:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . a restless crow decided to go farther away than
usual from home and friends. Suddenly, in a farmyard, he met a pair of
peacocks. What wonderful birds they were! The crow had never seen such
beautiful feathers, and he timidly asked the regal-looking birds what they
were.
   "We're peacocks," one of them replied, spreading its tail. And as the
peacock strutted about, showing the crow his magnificent feathers, he
screamed, as peacocks do. Bursting with admiration, the crow said goodbye and
flapped away, but as he flew home, he could not forget the two peacocks. "What
fine feathers! They must be so happy, being so beautiful." And he gazed down
sadly at his own ugly plumes. From that day on, he could not help thinking
about the spiendour of the peacocks and his own plain feathers. He even
stopped looking at himself in the pond water, for every time he did so, it
made him even more depressed. He got into the habit of spying on the peacocks,
and the more he watched them strut royally around, the more envious he was of
their beauty.
   One day, he noticed that one of the peacocks had dropped a feather. When
the sun went down, the crow picked it up and hid it away. For days on end, he
watched the peacocks and found another feather. When he had four, he could
wait no longer: he stuck the peacock feathers onto his own tail, using pine
resin, and started to parade up and down for his friends to admire.
   "Just look at my gorgeous tail!" he said proudly.
   "I'm not ugly like you! Out of my way, you moth eaten crows!" The crows'
amazement soon changed to indignation, then they started to laugh and jeer at
their vain companion. "You're nothing but a crow yourself, even with those
flashy feathers!" they jeered.
   "And you're silly as well as ugly," replied the conceited crow haughtily,
and off he went to live with the peacocks. When the peacocks set eyes on the
stranger, they thought the crow was just another peacock who, for some reason,
had lost most of his feathers, and they felt sorry for him. But the crow,
vainer than ever, wanted to attract greater admiration and a foolish idea came
into his head. He tried to scream the way the peacocks do when they fan their
tails. But the harsh "Craw! Craw! Craw!" quickly betrayed the crow. The
furious peacocks pecked the stolen feathers off and chased the crow away. Poor
crow! For when, sad and downcast, he went back to his frlends, he was given
exactly the same rough treatment. Nobody would speak to him and all the crows
turned their backs on him for trying to be what he was not.
.

THE HORSE AND THE DONKEY

2010-11-29T02:37:00.003-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . an old carter kept a horse and a donkey in the same
stable. He was equally fond of both his animals, but as he used the horse to
pull his trap, he gave it better food and more attention than he did the
donkey. However, the donkey, knowing he was not so precious as his stablemate,
ate straw instead of corn and hay, without complaining. Even when both animals
carried sacks to market, the donkey's was the heavier load, for the carter did
not want to overwork his noble horse, though he had no such feelings about the
donkey. As time went by, the horse grew more handsome and robust, while the
donkey became thin and weak. One day, on their way to market, the donkey was
carrying his usual heavy load, while the horse had only two lightweight sacks
tied to the saddle.
   "I can't go much further!" moaned the donkey. "I'm much weaker today! I can
hardly stand and unless I can get rid of some of this weight, I won't be able
to go on. Couldn't you take some of my load?"
   When the horse heard this, he looked the donkey up and down in disdain, for
he considered himself much superior, and said: "Our master gave you the heavy
load, because he knows that donkeys are beasts of burden. Their loads ought to
be heavier than those of noble horses!"
   So the wretched donkey stumbled on. But after a short distance, he stopped
again, bleary-eyed, his tongue hanging out.
   "Please, please listen! If you don't help me, I'll never reach market
alive." But without even a glance, the horse haughtily replied: "Rubbish! Come
on, you'll manage this time too!" But this time, after a few tottering steps,
the donkey dropped dead to the ground. The donkey's master, who had lingered
to pick mushrooms, ran up when he saw the animal fall.
   "Poor thing!" he said. "He served me well for so many years. His load must
have been too heavy."
   Then he turned to the horse: "Come here! You'll have to carry your
companion's load too now!" And he hoisted the donkey's sacks onto the horse's
back.
   "I'd have done better to help the donkey when he was alive," said the horse
to himself. "A little more weight wouldn't have done me any harm. Now, I'm
frightened of collapsing myself under a double load!" But feeling sorry too
late did nothing to lighten his load.
.

THE RED DRAGON

2010-11-29T02:37:00.001-08:00

   Once there was a time, thousands of years ago, when animals were not the
same as they are now. Except for a few like the lion, the tiger and the
butterflies, they all looked alike. All were more or less the same height,
everyone had four legs and it wasn't easy to tell which was which, even though
the elephant did weigh more than the hyena, and the hippo more than the
gazelle. One day, while all the animals were relaxing in a field, along came a
red dragon, out of breath, crying,
   "We're in danger, folks! The world is about to come to an end!"
   "How do you know?" everyone asked. The dragon replied,
   "I read it in the stars. We must escape!"
   "But where can we go?" they asked him.
   "To another world," he replied. "I'll take you there. I can fly and I'll
take you to a planet that is safer than this one." Frightened, as they were,
all the animals climbed on to the dragon's back.
   With a bored look, the lion said, "I'm not scared of anything, so I'll just
stay here on Earth." The others, however, were fighting to get on the dragon's
back.
   "Don't push, you behind!" shouted the crocodile.
   "Hey, move that paw!" It was just like people today pushing and shoving to
get onto an overcrowded train. At last the dragon cried,
   "Ready! Off we go," and started to run for takeoff. The first and the
second runs weren't fast enough, but at the third try he finally got off the
ground, flapping his wings and waving his tail.
   "Not so fast!" shouted somebody, and another voice yelled: "Faster, or we
will end up in the trees!" The dragon replied,
   "Oh, bother! I'm doing the best I can. Why don't you lot keep still, for
once." The fact was that because they were frightened, they did everything but
keep still, and so, after a while, the poor red dragon, now very tired, simply
could not flap his wings any longer . . . and crashed on a lovely green meadow.
   All the animals shrieked with terror. Nobody lost his life . . but the
snake lost his legs and slithered away through the grass. The rhino bumped his
head and grew a horn. All the elephant's teeth fell out, except for two which
became very long. The giraffe sprained his neck and it grew to a great length.
The hippo rolled about so much he became nearly round, ended up in a pond and
didn't come out, he was too ashamed to be seen . . . Well, in that fall, all
the animals took on a different appearance and became what they are today. And
when the lion saw them, what he said was:
   "Oh, how funny you look!"
.

THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE

2010-11-29T02:36:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time .... there was a hare who, boasting how he could run
faster than anyone else, was forever teasing tortoise for its slowness. Then
one day, the irate tortoise answered back: "Who do you think you are? There's
no denying you're swift, but even you can be beaten!" The hare squealed with
laughter.
   "Beaten in a race? By whom? Not you, surely! I bet there's nobody in the
world that can win against me, I'm so speedy. Now, why don't you try?"
   Annoyed by such bragging, the tortoise accepted the challenge. A course was
planned, and next day at dawn they stood at the startiny line. The hare yawned
sleepily as the meek tortoise trudged slowly off. When the hare saw how
painfully slow his rival was, he decided, half asleep on his feet, to have a
quick nap. "Take your time!" he said. "I'll have forty winks and catch up with
you in a minute."
   The hare woke with a start from a fitful sleep and gazed round, looking for
the tortoise. But the creature was only a short distance away, having barely
covered a third of the course. Breathing a sigh of relief, the hare decided he
might as well have breakfast too, and off he went to munch some cabbages he
had noticed in a nearby field. But the heavy meal and the hot sun made his
eyelids droop. With a careless glance at the tortoise, now halfway along the
course, he decided to have another snooze before flashing past the winning
post. And smiling at the thought of the look on the tortoise's face when it
saw the hare speed by, he fell fast asleep and was soon snoring happily. The
sun started to sink, below the horizon, and the tortoise, who had been
plodding towards the winning post since morning, was scarcely a yard from the
finish. At that very point, the hare woke with a jolt. He could see the
tortoise a speck in the distance and away he dashed. He leapt and bounded at a
great rate, his tongue lolling, and gasping for breath. Just a little more and
he'd be first at the finish. But the hare's last leap was just too late, for
the tortoise had beaten him to the winning post. Poor hare! Tired and in
disgrace, he slumped down beside the tortoise who was silently smiling at him.
   "Slowly does it every time!" he said.
.

THE WITCH IN THE TOWER

2010-11-29T02:35:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time... people in the Japanese city of Kyoto were terribly
afraid; they shook with fear. A fierce witch had taken possession of the tower
over the city gate which she opened and closed whenever she felt like it. She
was capable of locking the gate in the face of travellers bringing food and
merchandise, or throwing it wide open to savage tribes from the north. Many
brave Samurai, the strongest and best fighters, had faced up to the witch, but
the minute she set eyes on them, she hurled herself out of the tower, hair
flying in the wind, screeching furiously and brandishing a fiery sword.
Attacking them one by one, she left them lying dead in the dust. No, there was
no hope for the city of Kyoto, and many people began to think of leaving it.
The folk were murmuring,
   "All our Samurai are dead. If only Watanabi were still here, the bravest
of them all! But all that remains is his sword, and there's no one able to use
it."
   However, the sword was not all that remained of valiant Watanabi, there was
also his son, a young boy. On hearing what the citizens were saying, he
wondered,
   "My father has gone, he died fighting, but we still have his sword. I shall
take it and face the witch. Win or die, I shall be a credit to my father's
memory." So the boy bravely armed himself and went off to the tower. The witch
saw him arrive and she grinned, but did not make a move. She wouldn't even
bother using her fiery sword on that snivelling youngster, she would wither
him with a glance. So she paid little heed to Watanabi's son as he quietly
crept into the tower, climbed the stairs without makining the slightest sound
and entered the witch's room. When, however, the witch heard the door close,
she turned round and laid her wild burning gaze on the boy but the splendour
of Watanabi's sword blinded her.
   "This is Watanabi's sword!" shouted the young boy, and before the witch
could defend herself, he struck a blow and ended her life. In his father's
memory and in honour of his sword, the boy had freed the city of Kyoto.
.

THE HORSE AND THE WOLF

2010-11-29T02:34:00.003-08:00

   Once upon a time... a horse was gazing peacefully in a rolling green meadow.
A famished wolf passing by saw the horse and his mouth began to water.
   "That's a fine horse! And will taste good too! He'd make a juicy steak!
Pity he's so big. I don't think I'd manage to bring him down, though you never
know..."
   The wolf approached the horse, which continued to eat the grass. "...maybe,
if I take him by surprise."
   Now quite close, the wolf spoke to the horse, trying to sound as pleasant as
he could.
   "Good day, Mr. Horse, I see you're enjoying a meal. Is the grass good? I
must say you're looking rather pale. Aren't you well?"
   His mouth fool of grass, the horse replied: "Pale? Oh, no, that's my natural
colour. I was born white and grey."
   The wolf pretended not to understand what the horse had said. "Yes, indeed,
very pale. It's just as well your master has given you a holiday in the field,
instead of working."
   "A holiday in the field? But I'm the picture of health!..."
   The wolf was now circling round the horse, trying to find the best point to
attack.
   "I'm a doctor," he went on. "I can treat you. If you tell me where the pain
is. I'm sure I can cure it. Take my advice. Let me examine you!"
   The horse, who was not usually wary of others, became suspicious of the
wolf's persistent remarks, and thought he had better be on his guard. The wolf
was now very close and carefully biding his time, when the horse said, in
alarm: "Yes! Now that think of it, I have a sore hind foot. It's been swollen
for ages..."
   Without a moment's thought, the wolf trotted up to the hoof which the horse
had obligingly raised into the air. And when he was certain that the wolf had
come within range, the horse gave a mighty kick, catching the wolf on the
jawbone and sending him flying.
   "Would like to examine me again?" The wolf heard the words as he struggled
to his feet with spinning head.
   "No thanks! That's enough for one day1" he mumbled, limping away, with no
further thought for horse steaks.

.

SALEM AND THE NAIL

2010-11-29T02:34:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . the shop belonging to an astute merchant called
Salem, and all the carpets in it, were burnt in a fire. Salem was left with
nothing but his house, and since he was a trader he decided to sell it. With
the money he would be able to buy a new shop and more carpets. Salem did not
ask a high price for his house. However, he had a most unusual request to make
of would-be buyers: "I'll sell you the house, except for that nail in the
wall. That remains mine!" And as they all went off, shaking their heads, they
wondered what he meant by this strange
   Abraham, however, more miserly than all the others, thought the price was
fair, and he even haggled it down further. A bargain was struck and the new
owner took over the whole house, except for the nail. A week later, Salem
knocked at the door.
   "I've come to hang something on my nail," he said. Abraham let him in and
Salem hung up a large empty bag, said goodbye and left. A few days later, he
appeared again, and this time hung an old cloak on the nail. From then on,
Salem's visits became regular; he was forever coming and going, taking things
off the nail or hanging something else up.
   One evening, in front of the stunned eyes of Abraham and his family, Salem
arrived dragging a dead donkey. With a struggle, he hoisted it up and roped it
to the nail. The occupants of the house complained about the smell and the
sight of the dead beast, but Salem calmly said: "It's my nail and I can hang
anything I like on it!"
   Abraham, naturally, could no longer live in the house under such
conditions. But Salem refused to remove the donkey.
   "If you don't like it," he said, "you can get out of my house, but I'll not
pay you back a penny!"
   Abraham did his best to persuade Salem to take the donkey down, for it
smelt to high heaven. He even consulted a judge, but the terms of the bargain
were clear. The house belonged to Abraham, but Salem kept the nail.
   In the end, Abraham was forced to leave, and Salem got his house back
without paying a penny for it!
.

THE FLYING TRUNK

2010-11-29T02:33:00.003-08:00

   Once upon a time, many years ago in Copenhagen, in Denmark, a wealthy
merchant had a son called Erik. Erik was a good-looking lad, intelligent too,
but very lazy. Instead of studying or doing some work, he liked to spend his
days roaming about, amusing himself with his friends and squandering his
father's money on unnecessary luxuries. When the merchant died, he left all
his money to Erik, who frittered it away in a matter of months.
   The only thing left was an empty magic trunk. The minute anyone stepped
inside, it rose into the air. One day, Erik, who had no intention of working
for a living, decided to face the unknown and seek his fortune. So he stepped
into the trunk and, for days on end, flew across the seas and over woodlands
and deserts. At last, he found himself above a city in the East and ordered
the trunk to land on the terrace of a wonderful palace. Erik stepped out of
the trunk and there in front of him stood a girl, staring at him in amazement.
   "I'm Tamara, the Sultan's daughter," she said. "Who are you?" Quick to turn
the situation to his own advantage, Erik replied:
   "I'm the god of your people, come to ask your hand in marriage." Fascinated
by the handsome stranger and certain that he really was a god, she happily
said 'yes' and called her family. The Sultan welcomed the youth with great
honours and immediately started to make arranaements for the wedding.
   The day before the ceremony, Erik stuffed the trunk full of jewels, golden
candle sticks and fine damasks and flew away from the palace towards
Copenhagen. However, weighed down by its valuable load, the trunk fell into
the sea off the Danish coast. Erik managed to swim ashore and return to
Copenhagen, where he sang sad songs at street corners for a living. In the
East, on the terrace of a magnificent palace, a young girl sadly glanced at the
sky from time to time, hoping that the god who had suddenly disappeared, would
come back again.
.

WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK

2010-11-29T02:33:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . a farmer and his son went to market to sell a
donkey. However, they loaded the beast into the wheelbarrow, so that it would
not reach market tired and worn out, and pushed it along the road. When people
saw such a peculiar sight, they loudly remarked: "That man is mad! Whoever saw
a donkey being taken to market in a wheelbarrow!"
   The poor farmer became more and more confused, for the farther he went, the
louder the comments became and the more people gossiped. It was the last straw
when, as they passed the blacksmith's forge, the smith jeeringly asked the
farmer if he wanted shoeing, since he was doing the donkey work! So the farmer
stopped, heaved the animal out of the wheelbarrow and climbed onto its back,
while his son walked behind.
   But that made matters even worse!
   A group of women going home from market instantly complained: "You cruel
man! Fancy a great lump like you riding a donkey, while your poor little boy
runs along behind! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"
   People heaped insult upon insult, till the unhappy farmer slid off the
donkey . He simply did not know what to do next. He took off his cap and
mopped his brow.
   "Whew!" he exclaimed. "I never imagined it could be so difficult to take a
donkey to market."
   Then he hoisted his little boy onto the donkey and walked along behind.
This time, a cluster of men began to protest.
   "Look at that! There's a young lad sitting pretty as you please , on top of
a donkey, while his weary old father has to go on foot!" "It's a disgrace."
   Once again, father and son came to a halt. How on earth could they stop
people from criticizing everything they did? Well, in the end, they both got
on the donkey.
   "What heartless folk!" exclaimed the passers-by. "Two riders on one little
donkey!" But by now the farmer had lost his patience. He gave the donkey a
terrible kick, saying:
   "Giddy up! From now on, I'll do things my way, and pay no attention to what
other people think!"
.

THE MOUSE AND THE LION

2010-11-29T02:32:00.003-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . a little mouse, scampering over a lion he had
chanced upon, happened to wake him up. The angry lion grabbed the mouse and
held it to his jaws. "Don't eat me, Your Majesty!" the mouse pleaded: "Forgive
me! If you let me go, I'll never bother you again. I'll always be grateful,
and will do you a good turn one day."
   The lion, who had no intention of eating such a little scrap, and only
wanted to frighten the mouse, chuckled: "Well, well. A mouse that hopes to do
a lion a good turn! By helping me to hunt, maybe? Or would you rather roar in
my place?" The mouse was at a loss for words. "Sire, I really . . ."
   "All right. You can go," said the lion, shortly, opening his paw. The mouse
scurried thankfully away.
   Some days later, the lion fell into a trap and found he was caught fast in
a stout net. Try as he might, he could not a escape. And the more he
struggled, the more he became entangled in the mesh, till even his paws were
held fast. He could not move an inch: it was the end. His strength, claws and
fearsome fangs gave him no help in freeing himself from the tangle. He was
about to resign himself to a cruel fate when he heard a small voice: "Do you
need help, Sire?"
   Exhausted by his struggles, his eyes wet with rage, the lion looked round.
"Oh, it's you! I'm afraid there's little you can do for me . . ."
   But the mouse broke in: "I can gnaw the ropes. I have strong teeth and,
though it will take me some time, I'll manage." So the little mouse quickly
gnawed at the meshes and soon the lion tugged a paw free, then another, till
he finally succeeded in working himself free of the net.
   "You see, Sire, said tne mouse, "I've cone you a good turn in exchange for
the favour you did me in letting me go unharmed."
   "How right you are. Never before has a big animal like myself had to be so
grateful to a little scrap like you!"
.

THE LION AND THE MOSQUITO

2010-11-29T02:32:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . a tiny mosquito started to buzz round a lion he met.
"Go away!" grumbled the sleepy lion, smacking his own cheek in an attempt to
drive the insect away.
   "Why should I?" demanded the mosquito. "You're king of the jungle, not of
the air! I'll fly wherever I want and land wherever I please." And so saying,
he tickled the lion's ear. In the hope of crushing the insect, the lion boxed
his own ears, but the mosquito slipped away from the now dazed lion.
   "I don't feel it any more. Either it's squashed or it's gone away." But at
that very moment, the irritating buzz began again, and the mosquito flew into
the lion's nose. Wild with rage, the lion leapt to his hind legs and started
to rain punches on his own nose. But the insect, safe inside, refused to
budge. With a swollen nose and watery eyes, the lion gave a terrific sneeze,
blasting the mosquito out. Angry at being dislodged so abruptly, the mosquito
returned to the attack: BUZZ . . . BUZZZ! . . . it whizzed round the lion's
head. Large and tough as the lion was, he could not rid himself of his tiny
tormenter. This made him angrier still, and he roared fiercely. At the sound
of his terrible voice, all the forest creatures fled in fear, but paying no
heed to the exhausted lion, the mosquito said triumphantly: "There you are,
king of the jungle! Foiled by a tiny mosquito like me!" And highly delighted
with his victory, off he buzzed. But he did not notice a spider's web hanging
close by, and soon he was turning and twisting, trying to escape from the trap
set by a large spider. "Bah!" said the spider in disgust, as he ate it.
"Another tiny mosquito. Not much to get excited about, but better than
nothing. I was hoping for something more substantial..."
   And that's what became of the mosquito that foiled the lion!
.

THE LITTLE GOLDEN BIRD

2010-11-29T02:31:00.003-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . several Buddhist monks lived in a great temple that
stood in a magnificent garden full of flowers and rare plants. The monks spent
their days contentedly in prayer and meditation, and the beauty of their
surroundings was all they needed to make them forget the world. Then one day,
something happened to change their life in this peaceful corner, making the
days seem shorter and not so monotonous. No longer did they live peacefully
together, indeed they started to quarrel. But what had happened?
   A young monk had arrived, upsetting their lives by telling them all about
the outside world beyond the garden wall. He told them about cities, the
bright lights, everyday life full of entertainments and pleasure. And when the
monks heard about this different world, they no longer wanted to remain in
what had, till then, seemed paradise, but now turned into a lonely existence.
   With the young monk as their leader, first one group then another left the
temple. Weeds began to sprout on the paths and the temple was almost deserted.
Then the last five monks, torn between their love for the sacred spot and the
wish to see the new world they'd heard about, sadly got ready to leave.
   But just as they were about to turn their backs on the temple, a golden
bird, dangling five long white strings, fluttered over their heads. Each monk
felt himself drawn to clasp one of the strings, and suddenly the little group
found itself carried away to the land of their dreams. And there, they saw the
outside world as it really was, full of hate, misery and violence, a world
without scruples, where peace was forever banned.
   It was a long journey, and when the golden bird brought them back to the
temple garden, they decided never to leave it again. Three times the bird
circled overhead before it vanished into the sky. And the monks knew then that
Buddha had come to help them find the pathway to true happiness.
.

THE OX AND THE FROG

2010-11-29T02:31:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . a conceited frog never missed an opportunlty to show
hls fnends how different he was, and how much better than everyone else. When
folk were jumping, he always tried to do the highest jump, when it was a
question of diving, he was first into the water. In other words, he had to be
tops all the time. One day, a big ox carne to drink at the pond. Frightened,
all the frogs hopped away to hide in the reeds, but when they saw that the ox
was harmless, they came out again to watch the huge beast. "Isn't he
whopping!" they exclaimed to each other. One frog then said: "It would take
hundreds of frogs like us to make one of him!"
   Now, the conceited frog, far more scared than the others, had dived into
the water at the sight of the ox. But a little later he returned and, after
listening to his friends' remarks, he said: "He's certainly bigger than we
are. But he's not enormous!"
   But nobody was paying any attention to the conceited frog, so he raised his
voice . . . and puffing out his chest, announced: "I could easily become as
big as that ox! Look!"
   The frogs began to smirk. "You're very little, far too little!" But the
frog just blew himself out even more. "Now look," he whispered, as he tried
not to lose air. His friends giggled. h "What about now?" he managed to gasp,
as he blew some more. "The ox is much bigger," came the reply. The onceited
frog made a last great effort: taking an extra deep breath, he blew himself up
until . . . BANG! His skin burst! The astonished frogs saw their friend
disappear from sight, for nothin was left of the conceited frog but scraps of
green skin. The ox, who had raised his head when he heard the bang, went back
to his drinking, and the frogs hopped away, remarking: "It dosn't do to
become too swollen-headed . . ."
.

THE SNOW MAIDEN

2010-11-29T02:30:00.003-08:00

   Once upon a time there was a beautiful garden which became even more
beautiful that day, after a heavy fall of snow covered the ground, the trees
and bushes in a soft white mantle. A little boy and girl were playing happily
in the garden, they were brother and sister.
   They chased each other, threw snowballs and played hide and seek under the
fir trees. Then the little girl said,
   "Let's make a snow doll."
   They began to make a snow doll and decided it would be a girl.
   "So there will be three of us and we'll have more fun!" said the little
girl. So they carefully built a doll made of snow, with a pretty oval face,
long hair, large eyes and a delicate little mouth. It looked just like a real
little girl.
   "Let's give her a kiss and maybe her lips will turn red like ours," said the
sister. So they kissed the doll... and lo and behold, its lips turned red!
   And the snow doll's cheeks turned pink. When a sudden gust of wind blew from
the north, the doll came to life. It moved, smiled at the two children and
started to play with them.
   Some time later, the children's father returned from town. When he saw the
girl in white playing with his own children, he said to himself,
   "It must be one of the neighbour's daughters." Then he said to the little
snow doll, "Come into the house and get warm." But the snow maiden made a
frightened sign as though to say "No!" The man, however led her into the house,
saying,
   "Oh, you're so cold! The fire will soon warm you up!" But the snow maiden
sighed sadly, though she didn't have the courage to speak. In she went and
stood by the window, looking out at the white garden. Then she began to wep -
as slowly and gently, she began to melt... until nothing was left of her except
a trace of white snow on the floor...

.

THE LION GOES TO WAR

2010-11-29T02:30:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time... a lion decided to go to war. He summoned his ministers,
and called together his army with this proclamation: "King Lion commands taht
all animals in the forest must come before him tomorrow to go to war. Nobody
must fail to appear."
   The lion's subjects all presented themselves punctually and the lion issued
the orders: "Elephant, you're the largest, you'll transport the guns and all
the supplies. You, fox, have a reputation for cunning, so you'll help me draw
up the plans of battle to beat off enemy attacks. You, monkey, nimble and good
at climbing trees, will act as lookout and spy the enemy's movements from
above. Bear, you're strong and agile, so you'll scale the fortress walls and
terrorize the enemy."
   Amongst those present were also the rabbit and the donkey. When the king's
ministers saw them, they shook their heads, then one said: "Sire, I don't think
the donkey will make a good soldier. They say he is easily frightened."
   The lion looked at the donkey, then turning to his ministers, he remarked:
   "He brays louder than I can roar. He'll stay at my side and be the trumpet
that will arlly the troops."
   The ministers then pointed to the rabbit: "He's even more nervous than the
donkey. We should send him home!"
   Again the lion stood thoughtfully for a moment, then going over to the
rabbit he said: "You always flee from your enemies, so you've learned that you
have to be faster than the others if you're to survive. So you'll act as
messenger, and within seconds, all the soldiers will receive my orders." Then,
turning to the crowd, he said: "Everyone can make himself useful in a war;
everyone can help the common cause at best he is able!"
.

THE HARE AND THE ELEPHANT

2010-11-29T02:29:00.003-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . in the Indian jungle, lived a young elephant whose
playmate was a very large hare. In spite of the difference in size, they were
great friends and had fun playing strange guessing games. One day, the hare
said to his chum:
   "Which of us is bigger: you or me?" At that silly question, the little
elephant nearly choked on his banana.
   "You must be joking!" he exclaimed. "Why, even on tiptoe, you re not as
high as my knee!" But the hare went on:
   "That's what you think! Since I say that I'm bigger than you, we need a
judge. Don't you agree?"
   "Oh, yes," said the elephant in surprise.
   "Well, let's go along to the village and see what the Humans have to say.
They're the cleverest of all the animals, and the best judges!" As they
reached the village, they met some of the villagers.
   "Look at that young elephant! Isn't he small?" folk remarked as the unusual
couple strolled by.
   "Yes, he is indeed! But he'll soon grow up," said others. Then somebody
noticed the hare.
   "What a huge hare!" they all cried. Now, the hare tried to keep in front of
elephant and puffed out his chest. As he passed, all the villagers exclaimed:
   "Look at his paws! And those ears! That's the biggest hare we've ever
seen!" When he heard this, the hare turned to his friend, saying,
   "We can go home now! That's settled! I'm huge and you're tiny!" The
elephant tossed his heavy head. At a loss for words, he knew the hare had won
by low cunning. But back on the jungle path, he lifted his foot and said to
the hare, walking ahead, "Get out of my way before a tiny elephant crushes a
big hare like you!"
.

NARClSSUS

2010-11-29T02:29:00.001-08:00

   Once upon a time . . . in Ancient Greece lived a young man called
Narcissus, who was greatly admired, for he was very handsome. Narcissus was
very proud of his perfect face and graceful body, and never lost the chance to
look at hls reflection in any sheet of water he happened to pass. He would lie
for hours admiring his gleaming dark eyes, slender nose, slim hips and the mop
of curly hair that crowned the perfect oval of his face. You would think a
sculptor had come down from heaven to carve such a faultless body as a llvlng
image of mankind's love of beauty.
   One day, Narcissus was walking close to a precipice where the clear waters
of a cold mountain pool mirrored hls beautiful face.
   "You are handsome, Narcissus!" he told himself as he bent down to admire
his reflection. "There's nobody so handsome in the whole world! I'd love to
kiss you."
   Narcissus was suddenly seized by the desire to kiss his own reflection and
he leant closer to the water. But he lost his balance and toppled into the
pool. Narcissus could not swim and so he drowned. But when the gods discovered
that the most beautiful being on earth had died, they decided that such beauty
could not be forgotten.
   The gods turned Narcissus into a scented flower which, to this day,
blossoms in the mountains in spring, and which is still called Narcissus.
.

THE GREEDY DOG

2010-11-29T02:28:00.003-08:00

Once upon a time . . . a dog managed to steal a large steak from a
butcher's shop, and ran into the woods to eat it in peace. On reaching the
banks of a stream, he happened to see his face reflected in the water. Never
for a moment thinking that he was looking at himself in the water, what he
thought he saw was another dog, holding a large steak in its mouth.
Being a greedy dog, he jumped into the stream to snatch the other dog's
meat. Of course, the reflection vanished and he could see no sign of dog or
steak.
Only then did he realize that, when he barked to frighten the other, he had
dropped his stolen meat. Unluckily for him, the current was swift and the
steak had been carried away. And though the dog hunted all over, he couldn't
find a trace of it. Which meant, that instead of having two steaks. he was
left with nothing.
.

THE OBSTINATE GOATS

2010-11-29T02:28:00.001-08:00

Once upon a time . . . two mountain goats happened to be going down the
opposite slopes of a valley, through which flowed a rushing river.
Now, some of the mountain dwellers had bridged the river by placing a large
tree trunk that had been struck by lightning, to join the steep rocky banks.
The two goats met head on half way across the tree trunk for each wanted to
cross to the other side. But the trunk was not nearly wide enough for them to
pass each other, and neither goat was inclined to give way. Obstinately, they
began to bicker, but neither would budge an inch. Words soon led to action and
they started to fight, till finally both tumbled off the tree trunk into the
river below. Wouldn't it have been much simpler if only one of the goats had
been courteous enough to allow the other to pass.
.

THE DONKEY THAT THOUGHT HE WAS CLEVER

2010-08-26T09:36:00.000-07:00

   Once upon a time . . . a donkey thought he was very clever. Every day, his master harnessed him to a cart loaded with goods. They always went the same way to the village: along a wide path through the wood, down a gentle slope into farmland, then along the river to the ford and over the plain to the village.
   Since the route was always the same, the donkey's master had got into the habit of having a snooze on top of the cart while the donkey, who knew the way by heart plodded on.
   Feeling unwell one day, the man decided to risk sending the donkey by himself with a load for urgent delivery. When the animal returned, he was given a double ration of oats as reward.
   "Since you're so clever at remembering the way," the man said, "I'm going to send you alone always, then I can do other jobs!" And from then on, in all kinds of weather, the donkey travelled to the village by himself. His master was delighted.
   However, one morning, when the donkey reached the river, he decided to shorten his journey by wading across the water. But he entered the river at a deep spot, much deeper than the donkey expected, and he had to swim against the current.
   Luckily, he was carrying a load of salt day, and some of it dissolved in the water, easing the donkey's load, so that he reached the other side without much difficulty. "I am clever," said the donkey, pleased with himself. "I've found short cut."
   Next day, the man loaded the cart with sponges, and the donkey set off as usual. When he arrived at the river, he again thought he would take the short cut, and entered the water as he had done the day before. But this time, the sponges soaked up the water and made the cart heavy, so that the poor animal could not keep his head above water. And in spite of all his efforts, the donkey that thought he was so clever, sank below the surface of the water together with his load.

THE CRAB AND THE HERON

2010-08-26T09:32:00.001-07:00

   Once upon a time . . . an elderly heron made his home in a pond full of fish. He was stiff and slow in his old age, and he didn't find it easy to catch his lunch.
   However, he decided to use his wits: he went to see a crab, said to be a great chatterbox, and in a mock frightened volce, told him the latest rumour.
   "Certain birds, friends of mine, say that the lakeside fishermen will be coming here soon with their nets. They're going to take away all the fish.
I'll have no meals left. Everything will be gone and the fish will end up in the frying pan!"
   The crab quickly scuttled away to the banks of the pond and dived in to tell the fish the awful news. The frightened fish begged the crab for good advice, and he returned to the heron.
   ". . . they're all scared stiff and don't know which way to turn. While you yourself snap up a few now and again, it's against your interests if they go. So what shall we do?" The heron pretended to be lost in thought. Then he said:
"I'll tell you what! I can carry them, a few at a time, to a pond hidden in the forest. They'll be quite safe there. But will the fish trust me?"
   Whether they were scared of the fishermen, or maybe the crab had a glib tongue, at any rate, the fish agreed to this strange offer. The heron began his trips between pond and forest. But the crab noticed that the heron made excuses for dallying on the way. What was more, the crab's keen eye noticed that the heron's tummy was now a good deal plumper. Days later, when all the fish had been rescued from the pond, the heron said to the crab: "Don't you want to be rescued too?" he asked.
   "Certainly!" replied the crab.
   "Bend over. I'll climb on to your neck. I'd hate to make your beak tired!"
   When they were far from the pond, the crab saw that the ground was littered with fish bones. He clung tightly to the heron's neck and said: "I've no intention of coming to the same end as the fish! Now, just deposit me gently into the water. I'm not letting go of your neck till I feel safe!"
   And from that day on, crabs and herons have always loathed each other and try to avoid meeting.

THE CONFERENCE OF THE MICE

2010-08-26T09:31:00.000-07:00

   Once upon a time . . . there was a large tabby cat which, from the minute she arrived at the farm, spread terror among the mice that lived in the cellar. Nobody dared go outside for fear of falling into the clutches of the awful cat.
   The fast-shrinking mouse colony decided to hold a conference to seek a way of stopping themselves from becoming extinct. Taking advantage of the cat's absence one day, mice of all ages streamed into the conference room. And certain that they could solve the matter, each one put forward a suggestion, but none of the ideas were really practical.
   "Let's build an outsize trap," one mouse suggested. When this idea was turned down, another said: "What about poisoning her?" But nobody knew of a poison that would kill cats. One young widow, whose husband had fallen prey to the ferocious cat, angrily proposed: "Let's cut her claws and teeth, so she can do no more harm." But the conference did not approve of the widow's idea.
   At last, one of the mice, wiser than the rest, scrambled to the top of the lantern that shone over the meeting. Waving a bell, he called for silence:
"We'll tie this bell to the cat's tail, so we'll always know where she is!
We'll have time to escape, and the slow and weaker mice will hear her coming and be able to hide!"
   A round of hearty applause met the wise mouse's words, and everyonecongratulated him on his original idea.
   "...We'll tie it so tightly that it will never come off!"
   ". . . She'll never be able to sneak quietly up on us again! Why, the other day, she suddenly loomed up right in front of me! Just imagine..."
   However, the wise mouse rang the bell again for sllence "We must decide who is going to tie the bell on the cat's tail," he said. There was not a sound in the room except for a faint murmur: "I can't, because . . "
   "Not me!" "I'd do it willingly,but . . ." "Neither can I . . ." "Not me!"   "Not me!"
   Nobody wasbrave enough to come forward to put the plan into action, and the conference of the mice ended without any decision being made. It's often very easy to have bright ideas, but putting them into practice is a more difficult matter...

THE CONCEITED STAG

2010-08-26T09:29:00.001-07:00

  Once upon a time... there was a stag with splendidly long antlers, who was very conceited. Every time he drank at a pool, he would stand and admire his reflection in the water. "I am handsome," he would tell himself. "There's no finer set of antlers in the forest!" And off he would prance. Like all stags, he had long slender legs, but folk said he'd rather break a leg than lose a single branch of his splendid antlers. Poor foolish stag! How vain he was.
   One day, as he gazed peacefully on the tender shoots on some low branches, he heard a distant shot. He heard with fear the baying of the hounds. Terrified, he knew what terrible enemies the hounds were and that, if they caught his scent, it would not be easy to outrun them. He had to flee at once, and as quickly as possible. Faster and faster, he sped along the woodland track, his heart in his mouth. He could hear the baying of the pack at his heels. Without ever looking back, he ran in a straight line, trying to shake off his pursuers. Then the wood thinned out into a clearing. "With luck I'll be safe now," he said to himself, running swiftly over the smooth ground. And indeed, the yelping of the hounds seemed to die away in the distance.
   Only a little further now, and the stag would reach safety. Suddenly, as he swept under a tree, his antlers caught in the low-hanging branches. He shook his head desperately, trying to break free, but although he struggled, his antlers were held fast. The hounds were coming closer and closer. Just before the stag met his doom, he had time to think: "What a mistake I made in regarding my antlers as the best and most precious part of my body. I should have had more respect for my legs. They tried to carry me to safety, while my
antlers will be the death of me!"

THE COCK, THE CAT, AND THE MOUSE

2010-08-26T09:28:00.000-07:00

   Once upon a time . . . a little mouse decided to go and see the world. Packing some food for the journey, he carefully locked his door and set off for the unknown. And what a wonderful world he saw! Tall trees, rolling countryside, flowers and butterflies he had never set eyes on before. On he hiked till, tired out, he came to a peasant's cottage. After eating some of his packed lunch, he thought he would inspect what, to him, was a peculiar sort of building. He entered the farmyard and his eyes grew round as saucers: there in front of him were two strange animals he had never seen before. One was large and handsome, with four legs, covered all over with soft fur, and sporting splendid white whiskers that gave it a solemn respectable air. It was dozing against the wall. The other, a two-legged creature, had red, yellow and green feathers and a fierce, bad-tempered look. A pair of cruel eyes in a red-crested head glared at the little mouse.
   "How do you do, sir! How do you do..." began the mouse's greeting, as he felt foollsh at not knowing the stranger's name. But the feathered creature simply puffed out its chest, screeched a loud "Cocka-doodle-doo!" and strutted towards the mouse, now paralyzed with fear. The little mouse saw the big yellow beak hovering over him. "I must run!" he squeaked, turning tail and fleeing as fast as his legs would carry him. He spied a hole in the wall and dived into it. Inside, three faces stared at him in amazement.
   "Where did you appear from?" they asked.
   "I've come . . ." gasped the little mouse breathlessly, ". . . from far away! Where am I now?"
   "This is our home. We're field mice. What happened?" And the little mouse told them about the animals he had met in the farmyard: one handsome and harmless, the other brightly coloured and ferocious. The three field mice laughed. "Calm down," they said. "Have a cup of coffee. Don't you realize the danger you were in? The creature that frightened you is only a cock, but the nice harmless one is our deadliest enemy, the cat! If he'd seen you, you wouldn't be here to tell the tale. As you see, you can't always judge by appearances!"

CINDERELLA

2010-08-26T07:28:00.000-07:00

   Once upon a time... there lived an unhappy young girl. Unhappy she was, for her mother was dead, her father had married another woman, a widow with two daughters, and her stepmother didn't like her one little bit. All the nice things, kind thoughts and loving touches were for her own daughters. And not just the kind thoughts and love, but also dresses, shoes, shawls, delicious food, comfy beds, as well as every home comfort. All this was laid on for her daughters. But, for the poor unhappy girl, there was nothing at all. No

dresses, only her stepsisters' hand-me-downs. No lovely dishes, nothing but scraps. No nice rests and comfort. For she had to work hard all day, and only when evening came was she allowed to sit for a while by the fire, near the cinders. That is how she got her nickname, for everybody called her Cinderella. Cinderella used to spend long hours all alonetalking to the cat. The cat said,
   "Miaow", which really meant, "Cheer up! You have something neither of your stepsisters have and that is beauty."
   It was quite true. Cinderella, even dressed in rags with a dusty grey face from the cinders, was a lovely girl. While her stepsisters, no matter how splendid and elegant thei clothes, were still clumsy, lumpy and ugly and
always would be.
   One day, beautiful new dresses arrived at the house. A ball was to be held at Court and the stepsisters were getting ready to go to it. Cinderella, didn't even dare ask, "What about me?" for she knew very well what the answer to that would be:
   "You? My dear girl, you're staying at home to wash the dishes, scrub the floors and turn down the beds for your stepsisters. They will come home tired and very sleepy." Cinderella sighed at the cat.
   "oh dear, I'm so unhappy!" and the cat murmured "Miaow".
   Suddenly something amazing happened. In the kitchen, where Cinderella was sitting all by herself, there was a burst of light and a fairy appeared.
   "Don't be alarmed, Cinderella," said the fairy. "The wind blew me your sighs. I know you would love to go to the ball. And so you shall!"
   "how can I, dressed in rags?" Cinderella replied. "The servants will turn me away!" The fairy smiled. With a flick of her magic wand... Cinderella found herself wearing the most beautiful dress, the loveliest ever seen in the realm.
   "Now that we have settled the matter of the dress," said the fairy, "we'll need to get you a coach. A real lady would never go to a ball on foot!"
   "Quick! Get me a pumpkin!" she ordered.
   "Oh of course," said Cinderella, rushing away. Then the fairy turned to the cat.
   "You, bring me seven mice!"
   "Seven mice!" said the cat. "I didn't know fairies ate mice too!"
   "They're not for eating, silly! Do as you are told!... and, remember they must be alive!"
   Cinderella soon returned with a fine pumpkin and the cat with seven mice he had caught in the cellar.
   "Good!" exclaimed the fairy. With a flick of her magic wand... wonder of wonders! The pumpkin turned into a sparkling coach and the mice became six white horses, while the seventh mouse turned into a coachman, in a smart uniform and carrying a whip. Cinderella could hardly believe her eyes.
   "I shall present you at Court. You will soon see that the Prince, in whose honour the ball is being held, will be enchanted by your loveliness. But remember! You must leave the ball at midnight and come home. For that is when the spell ends. Your coach will turn back into a pumpkin, the horses will become mice again and the coachman will turn back into a mouse... and you will be dressed again in rags and wearing clogs instead of these dainty little slippers! Do you understand?" Cinderella smiled and said,
   "Yes, I understand!"
   When Cinderella entered the ballroom at the palace, a hush fell. Everyone stopped in mid-sentence to admire her elegance, her beauty and grace.
   "Who can that be?" people asked each other. The two stepsisters also wondered who the newcomer was, for never in a month of Sundays, would they ever have guessed that the beautiful girl was really poor Cinderella who talked to the cat!
   When the prince set eyes on Cinderella, he was struck by her beauty. Walking over to her, he bowed deeply and asked her to dance. And to the great disappointment of all the young ladies, he danced with Cinderella all evening.
   "Who are you, fair maiden?" the Prince kept asking her. But Cinderella only replied:
   "What does it matter who I am! You will never see me again anyway."
   "Oh, but I shall, I'm quite certain!" he replied.
   Cinderella had a wonderful time at the ball... But, all of a sudden, she heard the sound of a clock: the first stroke of midnight! She remembered what the fairy had said, and without a word of goobye she slipped from the Prince's arms and ran down the steps. As she ran she lost one of her slippers, but not for a moment did she dream of stopping to pick it up! If the last stroke of midnight were to sound... oh... what a disaster that would be! Out she fled and vanished into the night.
   The Prince, who was now madly in love with her, picked up her slipper and said to his ministers,
   "Go and search everywhere for the girl whose foot this slipper fits. I will never be content until I find her!" So the ministers tried the slipper on the foot of all the girls... and on Cinderella's foot as well... Surprise! The slipper fitted perfectly.
   "That awful untidy girl simply cannot have been at the ball," snapped the stepmother. "Tell the Prince he ought to marry one of my two daughters! Can't you see how ugly Cinderella is! Can't you see?"
   Suddenly she broke off, for the fairy had appeared.
   "That's enough!" she exclaimed, raising her magic wand. In a flash, Cinderella appeared in a splendid dress,shining with youth and beauty. Her stepmother and stepsisters gaped at her in amazement, and the ministers said,
   "Come with us, fair maiden! The Prince awaits to present you with his engagement ring!" So Cinderella joyfully went with them, and lived happily ever after with her Prince. And as for the cat, he just said "Miaow"!

CHICO AND THE CRANE

2010-08-26T07:24:00.001-07:00

  Once upon a time . . in the city of Florence lived Mr Corrado, a nobleman famous for his love of hunting and for his banquets. One day, his falcon caught a beautiful crane, which Mr Corrado handed to the cook and told him to roast to perfection.
   The bird was almost done when a pretty young peasant girl entered the kitchen to visit the cook. When she sniffed the savoury smell of roasting, the girl persuaded Chico to give her one of the bird's legs. In due course, the crane was carried to the nobleman's table and Mr Corrado summoned the cook to explain what had happed to the missing leg. To his question, the unfortunate cook replied:
   "Sire! Cranes have only one leg!"
   "What? One leg?" exclaimed Mr Corrado. "Do you think I've never seen a
crane before?" But Chico insisted that these birds had only one leg: "If I had a live bird here, I'd show you!" However, the nobleman had no desire to argue in front of his guests, but he told the cook:
   "Very well. We'll go and see tomorrow morning, but woe betide you if it's not true."
   At sunrise, Mr Corrado, angrier than ever, gave the order to saddle the horses. "Now we'll see who's telling lies," he said grimly. Chico 'i would gladly have fled in fear, but he did not dare. However, as they approached the river, the cook spotted a flock of cranes, fast asleep. Of course, they were all standing on one leg, as they do when resting. "Sire! Sire!" Chico cried.
   "Look, I was right. They have only one leg."
   "Indeed!" snorted Mr Corrado. "I'll show you!" And so saying, he clapped his hands and gave a shout. At the sudden sound, the cranes uncurled the other leg and flapped away.
   "There you are, you scoundrel," growled the nobleman. "You see they have two legs!" To which Chico quickly retorted, "But Sire, if you had clapped and shouted at table yesterday, then the bird would have uncurled its other leg!"
   At such a clever reply, Mr Corrado's anger turned to amusement. "Yes, Chico, you're right. I should have done just that!" And he clapped the cook's shoulder, as they parted friends.

Reflections Of The Damned

2010-08-26T07:23:00.000-07:00

No one knew her name, so we just called her Sally. She didn't talk, not one word, not even when- well, she didn't talk, never.

She was a pretty little girl, surely no older than six, but she was always dirty. 'Course, all of us are. There ain't no clean water, not to bath in anyway, and besides, what's the use? We'll all die soon enough anyway.
But I was tellin' you about Sally.

When I woke up and realized that I had lived through the night, I was kinda glad about it, but kinda wished it was over at the same time. I pulled on my boots, pulled my tattered cap down over my eyes, and walked out the front door - and tripped over her.

She was lying there on the front porch with a little headless doll in her arms, asleep. Her dress was probably yellow once upon a time, but now it was little more than a rag, smeared with blood and dirt. Her bare feet had blisters on them, and her hair hadn't seen a brush for even longer than mine.
My surprised yell brought everyone out of the house, and startled Sally awake and into tears. She sat on the porch crying silently while the rest of us just looked at her, stunned.

We hadn't seen a kid in years, not since the war. All the kids and most of the adults had died in the first wave, and the rest of us were left sterile.
Gotta give the human race credit: when we decide to destroy the world, we do it right.

After a while, Thumb, our leader, walks over to Sally, and tries to comfort her, tells her its okay, nobody's gonna hurt her, things like that. She takes up with him instantly, latching onto his neck, and buries her face in his bare shoulders.

Thumb is a hard man, all of us are hard, and it's not a matter of choice now. He's hardest of all I've seen though, that's why he's the leader, so all of us are surprised to see how he cradles Sally in his arms, how he instantly assumes the role of father to her.

For the next few weeks everything is fine, and we all dote on Sally, bringing her new dolls and new clothes we find in the deserted, rotting stores in what used to be our town. She loves them all, but hangs on to the headless little doll all the more. I wonder where she got that doll, and why it means so much to her? Probably from Before. Before the war, I mean.

Anyway, everything is fine until Sally walks out of the house carrying Thumb's mirror. We're all careful not to look in mirrors anymore; we don't like what we see there. Thumb scrambles to grab the mirror away from Sally, but Robin gets to her first. God, if only Thumb had reached her before Robin!
Robin starts to pull the mirror away from Sally, then her face explodes into a scream of wonder, awe and surprise.

"Her reflection, oh god her REFLECTION!" Robin is almost hysterical, and Thumb grabs Sally and hugs her to himself tightly.

Amazingly, Thumb starts to cry, the tears leaving streaks of cleanness on his filthy face. He rubbed Sally's hair, and hugged her all the more tightly.
The rest of us ran over to Sally, and I managed to grab the mirror away from Robin before she broke it; it's the last mirror in existence as far as we know. We, and others like us, have long since broken all the rest of them. Thumb insisted on keeping just one, god knows why.

I took the mirror, and put it in front of Sally's dirty face, and for the first time since the war I saw the reflection of a human, of a little girl. A little girl being hugged by a demon.

It was like a breath of stale, rotted wind that ran across us, the jealously stealing into our hearts and souls before we even realized it. God, I would never have hurt that little angel, not for the world, but she had a reflection, a real reflection!

Robin grabbed the mirror from me, stared hard into it, and the pain and anguish was instantly back into her face; we all passed the mirror around, hoping beyond hope that we would see something human, something other than the grotesque demons we had somehow become.

Thumb grabbed Sally and started to run into the woods behind our old shack, screaming that we would not hurt her, we would never hurt his little angel. I think he lost his mind then, or part of it anyway, that small part doesn't let you see people for what they really are. He thought we were gonna hurt Sally just 'cause she had a reflection, a normal reflection.
And he was right.

We all ran after them, all of us did, it was madness, murder, lust, hatred, vengeance that drove us, screamed at us to make her pay for having a reflection, make her pay!

It wasn't long before we had Thumb tied with a thick rope to a tree, just a few yards from Sally. Sally was tied too, but unlike Thumb, she wasn't gagged. There was no need to gag her, after all.

I don't know what caused us to do it, I guess it was just our minds slipping a little more, but we did it. I did it, actually, it was my idea. I doused the wood and Sally with what little lantern oil we had left, and struck the match. I hated her in that instant, hated the way she just kept starting at Thumb like he was the Messiah or something, like he was better than us. I wanted her to hurt, I wanted to hear her scream, to beg and scream and die screaming. Just once I wanted to hear that voice of hers, and I wanted it to be full of fear and pain.

I gotta give it to her though, she didn't even whimper, not once.
The flames engulfed the oil-soaked wood and Sally instantly, and the whole time she just stared at Thumb. Long before her eyes burned out and started to run down her cheeks, she was dead, but still her eyes were locked on Thumb.
He tried to scream, tried to beg and plead for her, but the gag was tight, and all he could really do was stare at his little fiery angel and cry.

The fire went out after a while, and soon the embers didn't even glow. I sifted through the flames, and found a few bone fragments, but nothing more remained of Sally, the last human child on the known earth.

Two days later we let Thumb go, but the fight was gone from him by then. Too weak from screaming and crying, I guess. 'Course we didn't give him anything to eat or drink while he was tied up, neither. Guess he was weak from that too.

It has been four months since we killed Sally, and most of our "family" is dead now. I am still ticking, Alice and Trigger are still alive, and so is Roger and Francis. Thumb is, well, he's still alive, but he may as well be dead. All he does is rock back and forth on the porch holding that little headless doll Sally used to love so much. He don't talk at all no more. Just stares straight ahead and rocks that cursed doll.

I found Thumb's mirror today, and I finally got the courage to look in it. I didn't see the demon anymore, for whatever reason its gone, gone from all of us. We all took turns looking into the mirror, and all of us are free of the demon reflection.

Now it's something worse, something far, far worse.

Every time we look into the mirror we see Sally looking back at us.

THE BOOK OF SPELLS

2010-08-26T07:15:00.000-07:00

    Once upon a time... in the middle of a forest round whose edges lay scattered some peasants cottages, an ogre used to live. He was big, cruel and heartless, but he liked his house be tidy. So he said to himself,
   "I'm always out hunting, fishing and causing trouble. I need somebody to look after the house, clean the floors, wash the plates and do the laundry every week..." Out he went and crouched down near one of the cottages, belonging to certain poor peasants.
   When he saw their children come out, a boy and a girl, he streched out his big hand, grabbed them and carried them away.
   "You'll be my servants," he said, "and I will give you your food. But if you try to run away, you will be the next dish!" Terrified, the two children agreed, and they lived in the ogre's house for a long time. Then, they noticed that, every evening, the ogre pulled out a large book, which he would read carefully... it was the Book of Spells! The two children, who were intelligent, read the book when the ogre was away, and they too learned the magic spells. At last, the boy said,
   "Sister, I think I know enough now! Come on, let's run away!"
   "Oh! Are you sure you know how to cast spells?" asked the girl anxiously.
   "Of course!" said he. "Come on, before the ogre gets back!" So the pair ran out of the house into the forest. Suddenly, the girl cried out,
   "I can hear somebody running! The ogre's following us!" The ogre was determined to catch the pair and, without a doubt, with his long legs, he would soon catch up on them.
   So the young lad cast the first of the spells.He turned himself into a pound and his sister into a minnow! A moment later, the ogre rushed up, saw what had taken place and growled:
   "If only I had a line! I'll run and fetch one!" and off he went. The two children turned back into their normal selves and started to flee once more. But the ogre was soon on their heels and he was just about to lay hands on them, when the boy cast the second spell. He turned himself into a shrine and his sister into an angel painted on the wall. The ogre would have loved to kick the shrine to bits, but he didn't dare. He shouted,
   "I'll burn you down instead!" and ran to fetch a bundle of wood.
   In the meantime, however, the children were off again. They ran and ran, till they were exhausted and out of breath... And on the point of being snatched... the boy, working a third spell, turned himself and his sister into grains of corn, that mingled with thousands and thousands of other grains on the threshing floor... The ogre exclaimed:
   "You think you can beat me with my own spells, but I'm far more cunning than you!" and he turned into a cockerel that hurriedly began to peck all the grains. What awful danger. But a second before being pecked, the boy turned into a fox, pounced on the cockerel and gobbled him up!
   And now that the ogre was gone, the boy and his sister were able to go home again, safe and sound!

BLUEBEARD

2010-08-26T07:13:00.000-07:00

   Once upon a time... in the fair land of France, there lived a very powerful lord, the owner of estates, farms and a great splendid castle, and his name was Bluebeard. This wasn't his real name, it was a nickname, due to the fact he had a long shaggy black beard with glints of blue in it. He was very handsome and charming, but, if the truth be told, there was something about him that made you feel respect, and a little uneasy...
   Bluebeard often went away to war, and when he did, he left his wife in charge of the castle... He had had lots of wives, all young, pretty and noble. As bad luck would have it, one after the other, they had all died, and so the noble lord was forever getting married again.
   "Sire," someone would ask now and again, "what did your wives die of?"
   "Hah, my friend," Bluebeard would reply, "one died of smallpox, one of a hidden sickness, another of a high fever, another of a terrible infection...
Ah, I'm very unlucky, and they're unlucky too! They're all buried in the castle chapel," he added. Nobody found anything strange about that. Nor did the sweet and beautiful young girl that Bluebeard took as a wife think it strange either. She went to the castle accompanied by her sister Anna, who said:
   "Oh, aren't you lucky marrying a lord like Bluebeard?"
   "He really is very nice... and when you're close, his beard doesn't look as blue as folk say!" said the bride, and the two sisters giggled delightedly. Poor souls! They had no idea what lay in store for them!...
   A month or so later, Bluebeard had the carriage brought round and said to his wife, "Darling, I must leave you for a few weeks. But keep cheerful during that time, invite whoever you like and look after the castle. Here," he added, handing his bride a bunch of keys, "you'll need these, the keys of the safe, the armoury and the library keys, and this one, which opens all the room doors. Now, this little key here," and he pointed to a key that was much smalle than the others, "opens the little room at the end of the great ground floor corridor. Take your friends were you want, open any door you like, but not this one! Is that quite clear?" repeated Bluebeard.
"Not this one! Nobody at all is allowed to enter that little room. And if you ever did go into it, I would go into such a terrible rage that it's better that you don't!"
   "Don't worry, husband," said Bluebeard's wife as she took the keys, "I'll do as you say." After giving her a hug, Bluebeard got into his carriage, whipped up the horses and off he went.
   The days went by. The young girl invited her friends to the castle and showed them round all the rooms except the one at the end of the corridor.
   "Why shouldn't I see inside the little room? Why? Why is it forbidden?" Well, she thought about it so much that she ended up bursting with curiosity,until one day she opened the door and walked into the little room... Of all ghastly horrors! Inside, hanging on the walls were the bodies of Bluebeard's wivws: he had strangled them all with his own hands!
   Terror stricken, the girl ran out of the room, but the bunch of keys slipped from her grasp. She picked them up without a glance and hurried to her own room, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Horrors! She was living ina castle of the dead! So that is what had ahppened to Bluebeard's other wives!
   The girl summoned up her courage and she noticed that one of the keys - the very key to the little room - was stained with blood.
   "I must wipe it clean, before my husband comes back!" she said to herself. But try as she would, the blood stain wouldn't wash away. She washed, she scrubbed and she rinsed it; all in vain, for the key was still red. That very evening, Bluebeard came home. Just imagine the state his poor wife was in!
   Bluebeard did not ask his wife for the keys that same evening, but he remarked:
   "You look a little upset, darling. Has anything nasty happened?"
   "Oh, no! No!"
   "Are you sorry I came back so soon?"
   "Oh, no! I'm delighted!" But that night, the bride didn't sleep a wink. Next day, Bluebeard said:
   "Darling, give me back the keys," and his wife hurriedly did so. Bluebeard remarked: "There's one missing, the key to the little room!"
   "Is there?" said the young girl shaking,
   "I must have left it in my room!"
   "All right, go and get it." But when Bluebeard's wife put the key into his hand, Bluebeard turned white and in a deep hoarse voice demanded:
   "Why is this key stained with blood?"
   "I don't know..." stammered his wife.
   "You know very well!" he retorted. "You went into the little room, didn't you? Well, you'll go back again, this time for good, along with the other ladies in there. You must die!"
   "Oh no! I pray you!"
   "You must die!" he repeated. Just then, there was a knock at the door and Anna, Bluebeard's wife's sister, entered the castle.
   "Good morning," she said, "you seem rather pale."
   "Not at all, we're quite well," replied Bluebeard. His wife whispered in his ear:
   "Please, please give me ten minutes to live!" Bluebeard replied:
   "Not more than ten!" The girl ran to her sister Anna whohad gone up to one of the towers and asked her,
   "Anna, do you see ou brothers coming? They promised they would come and see me today!" But Anna replied"
   "No, I don't see anyone. What's wrong? You look agitated."
   "Anna, please," said the shaken girl, "look again! Are you sure you can't see someone?"
   "No," said her sister, "only one or two peasants." Just then the voice of Bluebeard boomed up to them:
   "Wife, your time is up! Come here!"
   "I'm coming!" she called, but then said to her sister: "Oh Anna, aren't our brothers coming?..."
   "No," replied Anna. Again Bluebeard shouted up.
   "Come down at once! Or I'll come up!" Trembling like a leaf, his wife went downstairs. Bluebeard was clutching a big knife and he grabbed his bride by the hair...
   "Sister, I can see two horsemen coming!" called out Anna from the tower that very moment. Bluebeard made a horrible face:
   "They too will die!" His wife knelt to implore:
   "Please, please don't kill me. I'll never tell anyone what I saw! I'll never say a word!"
   "Yes, you'll never say a word for eternity!" snarled Bluebeard, raising his knife. The poor girl screamed:
   "Have pity on me!" But he fiercely replied:
   "No! You must die!" He was about to bring the knife down on the girl's delicate neck, when two young men burst into the room: a dragoon and a musketeer. They were his wife's brothers.
   Drawing their swords, they leapt towards Bluebeard, who tried to flee up some stairs, but was caught and killed. And that was the end of the sad story.
Bluebeard's poor wives were given a Christian burial, the castle was completely renovated and the young widow, some time later, married a good and honest young man, who helped her to forget the terrible adventure. And that young lady completely lost all her sense of curiosity...

THE ANT AND THE CRICKET

2010-08-26T07:07:00.000-07:00

   Once upon a time... one hot summer, a cricket sang cheerfully on the branch of a tree, while down below, a long line of ants struggled damely under the weight of their load of grains; and between one song and the next, the cricket spoke to the ants. "Why are you working so hard? Come into the shade, away from the sun, and sing a song with me." But the tireless ants went on with the work... "We can't do that," they said, "We must store away food for the winter. When the weather`s cold and the ground white with snow, there's nothing to eat, and we'll survive the winter only if the pantry is full."
   "There's plenty of summer to come," replied the cricket, "and lots of time to fill the pantry before winter. I'd rather sing! How can anione work in this heat and sun?"
   And so all summer, the cricket sang while the ants laboured. But the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months. Autumn came, the leaves began to fall and the cricket left the bare tree. The grass too was turning thun and yellow. One morning, the cricket woke shivering with cold. An early frost tinged the fields with white and turned the last of the green leaves brown: winter had come at last. The cricket wandered, feeding on the few dry stalks left on the hard frozen ground. Then the snow fell and she could find nothing
at all to eat. Trembling and famished, she thought sadly of the warmth and her summer songs. One evening, she saw a speck of light in the distance, and trampling through the thick snow, made her way towards it.
   "Open the door! Please open the door! I'm starving. Give me some food!" An ant leant out of the window.
   "Who's there? Who is it?"
   "It's me - the cricket. I'm cold and hungry, with no roof over my head."
   "The cricket? Ah, yes! I remember you. And what were you doing all summer
while we were getting ready for winter?"
   "Me? I was singing and filling the whole earth and sky with my song!"
   "Singing, eh?" said the ant. "Well, try dancing now!"

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

2010-08-08T09:59:00.000-07:00

   Once upon a time . . . as a merchant set off for market, he asked each of his three daughters what she would like as a present on his return. The first daughter wanted a brocade dress, the second a pearl necklace, but the third, whose name was Beauty, the youngest, prettiest and sweetest of them all, said to her father:
   "All I'd like is a rose you've picked specially for me!"
   When the merchant had finished his business, he set off for home. However, a sudden storm blew up, and his horse could hardly make headway in the howling gale. Cold and weary, the merchant had lost all hope of reaching an inn when he suddenly noticed a bright light shining in the middle of a wood. As he drew near, he saw that it was a castle, bathed in light.
   "I hope I'll find shelter there for the night," he said to himself. When he reached the door, he saw it was open, but though he shouted, nobody came to greet him. Plucking up courage, he went inside, still calling out to attract attention. On a table in the main hall, a splendid dinner lay already served. The merchant lingered, still shouting for the owner of the castle. But no one came, and so the starving merchant sat down to a hearty meal.
   Overcome by curiosity, he ventured upstairs, where the corridor led into magnificent rooms and halls. A fire crackled in the first room and a soft bed looked very inviting. It was now late, and the merchant could not resist. He lay down on the bed and fell fast asleep. When he woke next morning, an unknown hand had placed a mug of steaming coffee and some fruit by his bedside.
   The merchant had breakfast and after tidying himself up, went downstairs to thank his generous host. But, as on the evening before, there was nobody in sight. Shaking his head in wonder at the strangeness of it all, he went towards the garden where he had left his horse, tethered to a tree. Suddenly, a large rose bush caught his eye.
   Remembering his promise to Beauty, he bent down to pick a rose. lnstantly, out of the rose garden, sprang a horrible beast, wearing splendid clothes. Two bloodshot eyes, gleaming angrily, glared at him and a deep, terrifying voice growled: "Ungrateful man! I gave you shelter, you ate at my table and slept in my own bed, but now all the thanks I get is the theft of my favourite flowers! I shall put you to death for this slight!" Trembling with fear, the merchant fell on his knees before the Beast.
   "Forgive me! Forgive me! Don't kill me! I'll do anything you say! The rose wasn't for me, it was for my daughter Beauty. I promised to bring her back a rose from my journey!" The Beast dropped the paw it had clamped on the unhappy merchant.
   "I shall spare your life, but on one condition, that you bring me your daughter!" The terror-stricken merchant, faced with certain death if he did not obey, promised that he would do so. When he reached home in tears, his three daughters ran to greet him. After he had told them of his dreadful adventure, Beauty put his mind at rest immediately.
   "Dear father, I'd do anything for you! Don't worry, you'll be able to keep your promise and save your life! Take me to the castle. I'll stay there in your place!" The merchant hugged his daughter.
   "I never did doubt your love for me. For the moment I can only thank you for saving my life." So Beauty was led to the castle. The Beast, however, had quite an unexpected greeting for the girl. Instead of menacing doom as it had done with her father, it was surprisingly pleasant.
   In the beginning, Beauty was frightened of the Beast, and shuddered at the sight of it. Then she found that, in spite of the monster's awful head, her horror of it was gradually fading as time went by. She had one of the finest rooms in the Castle, and sat for hours, embroidering in front of the fire. And the Beast would sit, for hours on end, only a short distance away, silently gazing at her. Then it started to say a few kind words, till in the end, Beauty was amazed to discover that she was actually enjoying its conversation.The days passed, and Beauty and the Beast became good friends. Then one day, the Beast asked the girl to be his wife.
   Taken by surprise, Beauty did not know what to say. Marry such an ugly monster? She would rather die! But she did not want to hurt the feelings of one who, after all, had been kind to her. And she remembered too that she owed it her own life as well as her father's.
   "I really can't say yes," she began shakily. "I'd so much like to . . ." The Beast interrupted her with an abrupt gesture.
   "I quite understand! And I'm not offended by your refusal!" Life went on as usual, and nothing further was said. One day, the Beast presented Beauty with a magnificent magic mirror. When Beauty peeped into it, she could see her family, far away.
   "You won't feel so lonely now," were the words that accompanied the gift. Beauty stared for hours at her distant family. Then she began to feel worried. One day, the Beast found her weeping beside the magic mirror.
   "What's wrong?" he asked, kindly as always.
   "My father is gravely ill and close to dying! Oh, how I wish I could see him again, before it's too late!" But the Beast only shook its head.
   "No! You will never leave this castle!" And off it stalked in a rage. However, a little later, it returned and spoke solemnly to the girl._
   "If you swear that you will return here in seven days time, I'll let you go and visit your father!" Beauty threw herself at the Beast's feet in delight.
   "I swear! I swear I will! How kind you are! You've made a loving daughter so happy!" In reality, the merchant had fallen ill from a broken heart at knowing his daughter was being kept prisoner. When he embraced her again, he was soon on the road to recovery. Beauty stayed beside him for hours on end,
describing her life at the Castle, and explaining that the Beast was really good and kind. The days flashed past, and at last the merchant was able to leave his bed. He was completely well again. Beauty was happy at last. However, she had failed to notice that seven days had gone by.
   Then one night she woke from a terrible nightmare. She had dreamt that the Beast was dying and calling for her, twisting in agony.
   "Come back! Come back to me!" it was pleading. The solem promise she had made drove her to leave home immediately.
   "Hurry! Hurry, good horse!" she said, whipping her steed onwards towards the castle, afraid that she might arrive too late. She rushed up the stairs, calling, but there was no reply. Her heart in her mouth, Beauty ran into the garden and there crouched the Beast, its eyes shut, as though dead. Beauty threw herself at it and hugged it tightly.
   "Don't die! Don't die! I'll marry you . . ." At these words, a miracle took place. The Beast's ugly snout turned magically into the face of a handsome young man.
   "How I've been longing for this moment!" he said. "I was suffering in silence, and couldn't tell my frightful secret. An evil witch turned me into a monster and only the love of a maiden willing to accept me as I was, could transform me back into my real self. My dearest! I'll be so happy if you'll marry me . . ."
   The wedding took place shortly after and, from that day on, the young Prince would have nothing but roses in his gardens. And that's why, to this day, the castle is known as the Castle of the Rose.
.

THE ANIMALS AND THE PLAGUE

2010-08-08T05:28:00.000-07:00

   Once upon a time . a terrible scourge swept through a huge forest, full of animals. It was the plague. One after the other all the animals, big and small, strong and weak, died of the dreadful disease. None could hope to escape such a horrible fate, not even the lion himself, king of the forest. Indeed, it was the lion who gathered together the survivors, and said in a trembling voice: "This disaster is a punishment for our wicked ways. And I forone will admit I've been wicked. If you find me guilty, I'll gladly give up my life if you think that would help you in making amends for your own sins. So I confess that, during my lifetime, I've eaten many an innocent sheep."
   "But, Sire," broke in one of the animals, "surely you don't think that eating sheep is a serious sin. We too . . . we too . . .'' And they all began to tell their own stories.
   One by one, the animals told of their crimes against their neighbours. The leopard had killed on more than one occasion, the eagle had snatched rabbits and lambs, the fox and the wolf had stolen and murdered. Even the placid-looking owl had little blrds and mlce on hls conscience. Everyone had some wicked deed, serious or otherwise, to confess. But each animal, after his confession, was forgiven by the others, all just as guilty, of course. Last came the donkey, who said with a mortified air: "I did a very wicked thing too. One day, instead of just grazing here and there, I ate two clumps of grass in a clover meadow, without permission. I was sorry afterwards, and I've had a guilty conscience about it ever since!"
   All the animals glared at the donkey and, shouting and calling insults, they chorussed: "So that's who brought the plague on us! Stealing grass from a poor peasant! Shame on you!" And the fate of the donkey was decided unanimously.
   How often are innocent folk made to pay for the wicked deeds of the guilty.

AMIN AND THE EGGS

2010-08-08T05:22:00.000-07:00

   Once upon a time . . . a peasant called Amin lost all his crops from his miserable little plot in a drought. He decided to seek his fortune in another village, and off he went on his donkey. On credit, he obtained a dozen
hard-boiled eggs from a merchant for his journey.
   Seven years later, Amin returned to his village. This time he was riding a fine black horse, followed by a servant on a camel laden with gold and silver coins. Amin had become a rich man and the news of this soon spread through the village. Straight away, the merchant who had given him the dozen eggs on credit knocked at Amin's door, asking for five hundred silver pieces in payment of the old debt. Amin of course refused to pay such a large sum and the matter was taken before the judge.
   On the day of the hearing, the merchant appeared in court at the appointed time, but of Amin there was no sign. The judge waited impatiently for a quarter of an hour, and was on the point of adjourning the hearing, when Amin dashed in, out of breath. At once, the merchant said, in defence of his demands:
   "I asked Amin for payment of five hundred silver coins, because twelve chickens might have hatched from the eggs he bought from me on credit, seven years ago. These chickens would have become hens and cockerels; more eggs would have been laid, these too would have hatched, and so on. After
seven years, I might have had a great flock of fowls!"
   "Of course," agreed the judge. "Perfectly right." And turning to Amin with a hostile air, he ordered: "What have you to say for yourself? And, by the way, why are you late?" Amin did not turn a halr.
   "I had a plate of boiled beans in the house and I planted them in the garden to have a good crop next year!"
   "Fool!" exclaimed the judge. "Since when do boiled beans grow?" To which Amin promptly retorted:
   "And since when do boiled eggs hatch into chickens?"
   He had won his case.