The Witch in the Broom Cupboard and Other Tales

by Pierre Gripari

  Contents

  Title Page

  The Witch of Rue Mouffetard

  The Giant Who Wore Red Socks

  Scoobidoo, the Doll Who Could See Everything

  The Witch in the Broom Cupboard

  The Love Story of a Potato

  The Cunning Little Pig

  Afterword

  Translator’s Acknowledgements

  Pierre Gripari, the Author

  Puig Rosado, the Illustrator

  About the Publisher

  Copyright

  The Witch of Rue Mouffetard

  There was once an old witch living in the Gobelins neighbourhood in Paris; she was a dreadfully old and ugly witch, but she really did want to be the most beautiful girl in the world!

  One sunny day, while reading the Witches’ Times, she came across the following advertisement:

  MADAME

  You who are OLD and UGLY

  You shall become YOUNG and PRETTY!

  To achieve this:

  EAT A LITTLE GIRL

  In tomato sauce!

  Underneath, in small letters, it said:

  BUT TAKE CARE!

  YOUR LITTLE GIRL’S FIRST NAME

  ABSOLUTELY MUST BEGIN

  WITH THE LETTER N!

  Now, a little girl whose name was Nadia happened to be living in the very same neighbourhood as the witch. She was the eldest daughter of Papa Sayeed (perhaps you know him?), who kept the cafe-grocer’s on rue Broca.

  “I shall have to eat Nadia,” the witch decided.

  One fine day, Nadia had gone out to get some bread from the bakery when an old lady stopped and spoke to her:

  “Good morning, young Nadia!”

  “Good morning, madame!”

  “Would you like to do me a good turn?”

  “What is it?”

  “Would you go and fetch a tin of tomato sauce from your daddy’s shop for me? It would save me going, and I’m so tired today!”

  Nadia agreed right away; she was a good-hearted girl. As soon as she had gone, the witch—for it was she—began to laugh and rub her hands together:

  “Oh, I am so cunning!” she said. “Young Nadia is going to bring me the very sauce that I shall eat her with!”

  As soon as she had come back home with the bread, Nadia took a tin of tomato sauce from the shelves, and she was just getting ready to go out again when her father stopped her:

  “And where are you off to, with that?”

  “I am taking this tin of tomato sauce to an old lady who asked me for it.”

  “You stay here,” said Papa Sayeed. “If your old lady wants something, she has only to come here herself.”

  Nadia, being also a very obedient girl, did not argue. But the next day, while out shopping, she was stopped by the old lady once again:

  “Well, Nadia? What about my tomato sauce?”

  “Sorry,” said Nadia, blushing from head to foot, “but my daddy didn’t want me to bring it. He said you should come to the shop yourself.”

  “Very well,” said the old lady, “I’ll come, then.”

  Indeed, she walked into the shop that very same day:

  “Good morning, Monsieur Sayeed.”

  “Good morning, madame. What can I get you?”

  “I would like Nadia.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, forgive me! I meant to say: a tin of tomato sauce, please.”

  “Of course! A small one or a large one?”

  “A large one, it’s for Nadia…”

  “What?”

  “No, no! I meant to say: it’s to have with some spaghetti…”

  “I see! Talking of which, we also have spaghetti…”

  “Oh, there’s no need, I’ll have Nadia…”

  “What?”

  “Do forgive me! I meant to say: the spaghetti, I already have some at home…”

  “If you’re sure… Here is your tomato sauce.”

  The old lady took the tin and paid for it, but then, instead of leaving, she began to look doubtful:

  “Hm! Perhaps it is a little heavy… Do you think you might perhaps…”

  “Might what?”

  “Let Nadia carry it home for me?”

  But Papa Sayeed had his suspicions.

  “No, madame, we don’t deliver. Besides, Nadia has other things to be getting on with. If this tin is too heavy for you, well, too bad: you’ll just have to leave it behind!”

  “Never mind,” said the witch, “I’ll take it. Goodbye, Monsieur Sayeed!”

  “Goodbye, madame!”

  And the witch went away, with her tin of tomato sauce. As soon as she was home, she said to herself:

  “Here’s an idea: tomorrow morning, I shall disguise myself as a butcher, then go to rue Mouffetard and sell some meat in the market. When Nadia comes out to do the shopping for her parents, I’ll nab her.”

  The following day, the witch appeared on rue Mouffetard disguised as a market butcher, when Nadia happened to go by.

  “Hello, little girl. Would you like some meat?”

  “Oh no, madame, I’ve just bought a chicken.”

  “Shoot!” thought the witch.

  Next day, back in the market, she had disguised herself as a poultry butcher.

  “Hello, dear. Will you buy one of my chickens?”

  “Oh no, madame. Today I’m looking for some red meat.”

  “Blast!” thought the witch.

  On the third day, in a fresh disguise, she was selling both red meat and poultry.

  “Hello Nadia, hello my dear! What would you like? You see, today I have something for everyone: beef, mutton, chicken, rabbit…”

  “Yes, but we’re having fish today!”

  “Drat!”

  Back at home, the witch thought and thought. Then she had a new idea:

  “Well, if this is how things are, I will use some stronger magic. Tomorrow morning I shall turn myself into EVERY SINGLE ONE of the food-sellers on rue Mouffetard AT THE SAME TIME!”

  And indeed, the following day, the witch had turned into every single one of the food-sellers on rue Mouffetard (there were exactly 267 of them), in disguise.

  Nadia came along as usual and, quite unsuspecting, went up to a vegetable stall—to buy some green beans, this time—and was about to pay when the shopkeeper caught her by the wrist, snatched her away and ker-CHING! shut her up in the till.

  Luckily, Nadia had a little brother whose name was Bashir. Noticing that his big sister had not come home, Bashir said to himself:

  “That witch must have taken her. I have to go and save her.”

  He picked up his guitar and headed off to rue Mouffetard. Seeing him approach, the 267 food-sellers (remember: every single one of them was actually the witch) began to call out:

  “Where are you off to like that, Bashir?”

  Bashir closed his eyes tight and answered:

  “I am a poor blind musician; all I want is to sing a little song and earn myself a few pennies.”

  “What song?” the food-sellers asked.

  “I want to sing a song called: Nadia, Where Are You?”

  “No, not that one! Sing another!”

  “But I don’t know another song!”

  “Then sing it really softly!”

  “All right! I’ll sing it really softly.”

  And Bashir began to sing as loudly as he could:

  Nadia, where are you?

  Nadia, where are you?

  Reply so I can spy you!

  Nadia, where are you?

  Nadia, where are you?

  You’ve vanished from view!

  “Softer! Softer!” cr
ied the 267 food-sellers. “You’re hurting our ears!”

  But Bashir went on singing:

  Nadia, where are you?

  Nadia, where are you?

  When suddenly a little voice replied:

  Bashir, Bashir, set me free

  Or the witch will kill me!

  At these words, Bashir opened his eyes and all of the 267 food-sellers leapt upon him, screeching:

  “He’s faking! He’s faking! He can see!”

  But Bashir, who was a brave boy, swung his small guitar and knocked over the nearest stallholder with a single blow. She fell flat on the ground, and the other 266 fell over all at once too, stunned just like their colleague.

  Now Bashir went into all the shops on the street, one after the other, singing:

  Nadia, where are you?

  Nadia, where are you?

  Once more, the little voice replied:

  Bashir, Bashir, set me free

  Or the witch will kill me!

  This time there was no doubt: the voice was coming from the grocer’s shop. Bashir raced inside, leaping over the vegetable display, just as, coming round from her faint, the witch-grocer opened her eyes. And, just as she came to, the other 266 food-sellers also opened their eyes. Luckily, Bashir saw her in time and, with a well-aimed blow from his guitar, he knocked them all out again for a few minutes longer.

  Then, he tried to open the till, while Nadia continued to sing:

  Bashir, Bashir, set me free

  Or the witch will kill me!

  But the drawer was too tightly closed; it wouldn’t move an inch. Nadia was singing and Bashir was struggling, and all the while the 267 witch-food-sellers were waking up again. But this time, they took good care not to start opening their eyes! Instead, they kept their eyes closed and began to crawl towards the grocer’s where Bashir was working away, so as to surround him.

  Just then, when exhausted Bashir couldn’t think which way to turn next, he saw a tall sailor go past, a well-built young man, walking down the street.

  “Hello, sailor. Would you mind helping me out?”

  “What can I do?”

  “Could you carry this shop’s till all the way to our house? My sister is stuck inside it.”

  “And what will my reward be?”

  “You shall have the money and I’ll have my sister.”

  “It’s a deal!”

  Bashir lifted the till and was just about to pass it over to the sailor when the witch-grocer, who had crept up quietly as a mouse, caught him by the foot and began to squeal:

  “Ah, you thief, I have you now!”

  Bashir lost his balance and dropped the till. Being very heavy indeed, when the till fell straight onto the witch-grocer’s head, the single blow cracked open the heads of all 267 witch-food-sellers and knocked their brains out. This time the witch was dead, well and truly dead.

  And that’s not all: with the force of the impact, the till drawer flew open—ker-CHING! And Nadia stepped out.

  She hugged and thanked her little brother, and the pair of them went home to their parents, while the sailor gathered up all the witch’s blood-spattered money.

  The Giant Who Wore Red Socks

  There was once a giant who always wore bright-red socks. He was three storeys tall and lived underground.

  One fine day, he said to himself:

  “It’s boring to stay a bachelor! Let me take a look around up there and see if I can get myself a wife.”

  No sooner said than done: he knocked a big hole in the ground above his head… but unfortunately, instead of popping up out among meadows, he ended up in the middle of a village.

  In this village there was a young girl whose name was Mireille and who loved eating soft-boiled eggs. That particular morning, she was in fact sitting down with an egg in its egg cup, getting ready to crack it open with a teaspoon.

  At the first tap of the spoon, the house began to shake.

  “Gosh! Have I suddenly got stronger?” Mireille wondered.

  At the second tap of the spoon, the house began to move.

  “If I go on like this,” she thought, “I shall bring the house right down. Perhaps it would be better if I stopped.”

  But since she was hungry, and she really did love soft-boiled eggs, she decided to go on all the same.

  At the third tap that Mireille gave her egg, the whole house flew into the air, like a champagne cork, and, in its place, poking out of the ground, appeared the giant’s head.

  The young lady was herself thrown into the air. Luckily she landed in the giant’s hair, so she wasn’t at all hurt.

  But now, running his fingers through his hair in order to shake the rubble out, the giant felt her wriggling there:

  “Goodness!” he thought. “What have I got in there? Feels like some kind of creature!”

  He pulled the creature out and peered at it:

  “What are you?”

  “I am a girl.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Mireille.”

  “Mireille, I love you. I want to marry you.”

  “First put me down, and then I’ll give my answer.”

  The giant put her back on the ground and Mireille ran away as fast as her legs could carry her, screaming: “Aaaaaaaaaah!”

  “What did she mean by that?” wondered the giant. “That’s not an answer!”

  All the same, he finished pulling himself out of the ground. He was just straightening his trousers when the village mayor and vicar came along. They were both very angry.

  “What on earth is this? A fine way to go about your business! Popping out of the ground like this, plumb in the middle of a residential area… Where exactly do you think you are?”

  “I do apologize,” replied the giant, “I didn’t do it on purpose, I promise.”

  “And poor Mireille!” exclaimed the vicar. “Her house is quite ruined!”

  “If that’s all,” said the giant, “then it isn’t so terrible. I’ll rebuild it myself!”

  And there and then, he spoke the following magic words:

  “By the power of my bright-red socks, let Mireille’s house be set aright!”

  Instantly, the house became just as it had been before, with all its walls, doors, windows and furniture, its dusty corners and even its spiderwebs! Mireille’s soft-boiled egg was back in its egg cup, piping hot all over again, ready for her to eat it!

  “That’s better,” said the vicar, calming down. “I see you’re not bad at heart. Now, be on your way.”

  “One moment, please,” said the giant. “I want to ask you something.”

  “What now?”

  “I would like to marry Mireille.”

  “That’s impossible,” the vicar replied.

  “Impossible? Why?”

  “Because you are too tall. You will never fit inside the church.”

  “It is true that the church is very small,” said the giant. “What if I blow some air inside to make it a little bigger?”

  “That would be cheating,” said the vicar. “The church must stay as it is. It is you who must shrink.”

  “I would like nothing better! How should I go about shrinking?”

  There was a silence. The mayor and the vicar exchanged looks.

  “Listen,” said the vicar, “I like you. Let me send you to see the great Chinese wizard. While you are away, I will speak to Mireille. Come back in one year and she will be ready to marry you. But take care! She will not wait longer than a year!”

  “And where does your Chinese wizard live?”

  “In China.”

  “Thank you.”

  And the giant set off. It took him three months to reach China and another three months to find the wizard. He spent this time learning to speak Chinese. Standing, at last, before the wizard’s house, he knocked at the door. The wizard answered the door and the giant said to him:

  “Yong cho-cho-cho kong kong ngo.”

  Which in Chinese means: “Are you the great wi
zard?” To which the wizard replied, in a slightly different tone:

  “Yong cho-cho-cho kong kong ngo.”

  Which means: “Yes, it’s me. So?”

  (Chinese is like that: you can say almost everything with a single sentence, as long as you change the intonation.)

  “I would like to be shrunk,” said the giant, still in Chinese.

  “Fine,” said the Chinese wizard, also in Chinese, “wait a minute.”

  He went inside, then came back with a cup full of magic potion. But the cup was too small: the giant couldn’t even see it. So the wizard vanished inside again and came back with a bottle. But the bottle was too small: the giant couldn’t even pick it up.

  Then the wizard had an idea. He rolled his big barrel of magic potion out of the front door, then set it upright and opened it up at the top. The giant drank from the barrel just as we drink from a glass.

  When he had finished drinking, he waited. Now, not only did he stay the same size but, from being bright red before, his socks turned green. The great Chinese wizard had simply given him the wrong magic potion.

  Then the giant got very angry and yelled very loudly:

  “Yong cho-cho-cho kong kong ngo!”

  Which means: “Are you trying to make a fool of me?”

  The wizard apologized and came back with another barrel, which the giant drank and his socks went red again, as they had been before.

  “Now, shrink me,” said the giant to the Chinese wizard, still in Chinese.

  “I do apologize,” said the wizard, “but I’ve run out of potion.”

  “Now what am I going to do?” cried the giant, in a desperate tone.

  “Listen,” said the Chinese wizard, “I like you. Let me send you to see the great Breton wizard.”

  “And where does your Breton wizard live?”

  “In Brittany.”

  So the giant went on his way, saying:

  “Yong cho-cho-cho kong kong ngo.”

  Which means “Thank you!” And the Chinese wizard watched him go, calling after him:

  “Yong cho-cho-cho kong kong ngo!”