Murderer, come over here.
Alas! You killed the Night Beauty
All because of a bouquet of roses!
He stopped up his ears to drown out the song and raced away. He ran through the town like a fish darting through water. Still running, he reached the country and the hills. He ran onward to another town and kept running until he reached some hills. Whenever he felt like he was about to drop dead, he would stop, catch his breath, and start running again. One day it was thundering, and he got lost in the woods, forever.
The mother returned home, but she was haunted by her daughter’s death. It gnawed at her every moment of the day. Not even a month went by from the time that the bone began singing when they brought the woman to the cemetery.
SOURCE: Adapted from Suzanne Comhaire-Sylvain, Creole Tales from Haiti, 215–17.
Many Haitian fairy tales turn on sibling rivalry or intergenerational conflict, with lurid descriptions of violence. In this story, both brothers and sisters gang up on the beautiful heroine. Tales about “singing bones” that proclaim guilt can be found the world over, and, in this one, crime and punishment take center stage, leaving little room for the elaboration of courtship and romance.
“The Night Beauty,” from Suzanne Comhaire-Sylvain, “Creole Tales from Haiti,” Journal of American Folklore 50 (1937): 215–17. Reprinted with permission of Indiana University Press.
MAN-CROW
Once there was a bird in the wood name Man-crow, an’ the world was in darkness because of that bird.
So the King offer thousands of pounds to kill him to make the world in light again.
An’ the King have t’ree daughter, an’ he promise that, if anyone kill Man-crow, he will make them a very rich man an’ give one of his daughter to marry.
So t’ousands of soldiers go in the wood to kill Man-crow. An’ they found him on one of the tallest trees in the woods. An’ no one could kill him, an’ they come home back.
So there was a little yawzy1 fellah call Soliday.
An’ he say to his grandmother: “Gran’mother I am very poor. I am going in the wood to see if I can kill Man-crow.”
An’ the grandmother answer: “Tche, boy, you better go sleep a fireside than you go to the wood fe go dead.”
“Gran’mother, I goin’ to town fe buy six bow an’ arrow.”
So he went to Kingston an’ bought them.
An’ when him return home he ask his grandmother to get six Johnny-cake2 roast, an’ he put it in his namsack, an’ he travel in the wood.
He s’arch until he find the spot a place where Man-crow is, an’ he see Man-crow to the highest part of the tree.
An’ he call to him with this song:
Good mornin’ to you, Man-crow,
Good mornin’ to you, Man-crow,
Good mornin’ to you, Man-crow,
How are you this mornin’?
An’ the bird answer:
Good mornin’ to you, Soliday,
Good mornin’ to you, Soliday,
Good mornin’ to you, Soliday,
How are you this mornin’?
An’ Soliday shot with his arrow at Man-crow an’ two of his feather come out.
An’ Man-crow come down to the second bough.
An’ Soliday sing again:
Good mornin’ to you, Man-crow,
Good mornin’ to you, Man-crow
Good mornin’ to you, Man-crow,
How are you this mornin’?
An’ Man-crow answer as before:
Good mornin’ to you, Soliday,
Good mornin’ to you, Soliday,
Good mornin’ to you, Soliday,
How are you this mornin’?
An’ he fire after Man-crow an’ two more feather fly out.
An’ so the singing an’ shooting go on.
At every song Man-crow come down one branch, an’ Soliday fire an arrow an’ knock out two feather, till five arrows gone.
So Brother Annancy was on a tree watching Soliday what he is doing.
An’ the song sing for the sixth time, an’ Man-crow jump down one more branch.
An’ Soliday put his last arrow in the bow an’ took good aim an’ shot after Man-crow.
So he killed him an’ he drop off the tree.
An’ Soliday go an’ pick up the bird an’ take out the golden tongue an’ the golden teeth, an’ shove it in a him pocket, an’ Soliday come straight home to his grandmother.
An’ Annancy come off the tree an’ take up the bird, put ahm a him shoulder, cut through bush until he get to the King gate, an’ he rakkle at the gate.
They ask: “Who come?”
He say: “Me, Mr. Annancy.”
An’ they say: “Come in.”
An’ the King said: “What do you want?”
“I am the man that kill Man-crow.”
An’ they take him in an’ marry him to one of the King daughter an’ make a very big table for him an’ his family.
They put him in the middle of the table, but he refuse from sit there. He sit to the doorway to look when Soliday coming. (The King then do know that that fellah up to a trick.) An’ directly Annancy see Soliday was coming, he stop eating, ask excuse, “I will soon be back.” An’ at the same time he gone outside into the kitchen.
An’ Soliday knock at the gate.
An’ someone answer him an’ ask: “What do you want?”
“I am the boy that kill Man-crow.”
An’ they said: “No, impossible! Mr. Annancy kill Man-crow.”
An’ he take out the golden tongue an’ teeth an’ show it to the King, an’ ask the question: “How can a bird live without teeth an’ tongue?”
So they look in the bird mouth an’ found it was true.
An’ they call Annancy.
An’ Annancy give answer: “I will soon be there.”
An’ they call him again.
An’ he shut the kitchen door an’ said: “Me no feel well.”
All this time Brother Annancy shame,3 take him own time fe make hole in the shingle get ’way.
They call him again, they no yerry4 him, an’ they shove the kitchen door.
Annancy lost in the shingle up to to-day.
An’ the King marry Soliday to his daughter an’ make him to be one of the richest man in the world.
Jack Mantora me no choose none.5
SOURCE: Walter Jekyll, Jamaican Song and Story, 54–57.
Impostors are legion in folktales, and in this story Annancy tries to take credit for the feats of Soliday, a fellow with a mysterious name. The term Man-crow suggests that the monster in the story is a hybrid of human and animal, a creature with the terrifying power to extinguish light and hope. Many Jamaican tales contain embedded songs, and the verses above can be imagined as melodies that can also migrate into other performative contexts.
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1 yawzy: Yaws is a disease in which ulcers form on the soles of feet.
2 Johnny-cake: cake made of flour and water and fried in lard
3 shame: felt ashamed
4 yerry: hear
5 Jack Mantora me no choose none: This standard way of closing a tale in Jamaica is connected with Jack Mantora, who stands at heaven’s gate. The phrase could suggest an appeal to leave narrators blameless—after all it is Annancy who is at fault, not the storyteller.
WORDS WITHOUT END
Once upon a time, there was a king who had only one daughter. The king said, “Any man who can give me a story without an end can marry the princess.” Many tried but did not succeed. There was one last man who came in after everyone else was done. He was introduced to the king, and right away started into his story. He told the king: “One man had some corn. Some locusts gathered around this corn, and one locust came and took a grain. Another locust came and took a grain of corn. Then another locust came and took a grain of corn. Then another locust came and took a grain of corn.” Soon the king grew tired. “I am sleepy. You
can go and come back another time.”
The man did so. And when he returned the following day, he started in: “And then another locust came and took a grain of corn. Another locust came and took a grain of corn. And then another locust came and took a grain of corn. And another locust came and took a grain of corn.”
The king grew tired and he said to the man, “Your story has no end. Take the princess and marry her.”
SOURCE: Roger D. Abrahams, African American Folktales, 2. Recorded in Tobago.
Anything to keep from being bored! The king in this tale poses a challenge that backfires in producing the exact opposite of the endless entertainment he desires. He becomes willing to do anything to end the drearily repetitious drumbeat about locusts and crop damage. Like the frame narrative in The Thousand and One Nights, this tale also reflects on the activity of storytelling, although in a way that perversely (and comically) emphasizes its deadening effect rather than its power to animate and arouse curiosity. Many cultures have similar tales in which a task is repeated ad infinitum. In a Japanese version, one rat after another jumps ship; in an Irish variant, ants take one piece of grain at a time. Vance Randolph calls these “teaser yarns” the perfect bedtime story, for the tales are “drawled out in a deliberately sedative hypnotic monotone” (1955, 192).
WHY PEOPLE DO NOT LIVE AGAIN AFTER DEATH
One day Cat met Dog, and they made conversation. They spoke of death, and Cat said, “Man is born, he dies, and when he dies he does not rise to lie again.”
Dog said, “No, people die, they rise again.”
They argued. Cat said, “Tomorrow let us go and see what God has to say about the matter.” Dog said, “Yes, let us go.”
But after Cat had left, Dog contrived to distract Cat on the journey. He placed bits of butter along the trail, thinking, “Cat will stop to eat some butter here, some butter there, and I will arrive at God’s house first.” Cat, on the other hand, placed fresh bones along the trail to distract Dog on the journey.
In the morning they set out. They came to where Dog had set out the butter, but Cat did not stop. They came to the place where Cat had set out a bone, Dog stopped. He could not resist the bone. He gnawed at it, while Cat went on. Each time Cat came to the butter he merely looked ahead and kept on the trail. But each time that Dog found a bone he stopped and gnawed on it. So it was that Cat arrived at God’s house first.
He asked God whether man died and remained dead, or whether he rose and lived again. God said, “What is your position on this matter?”
And Cat answered, “I contend that people die and do not arise from death, but remain dead.” God replied, “Well, then let us leave it that way.”
In time, Dog arrived. He put the same question to God. God said to him, “Well, the matter has been decided. Cat came. He contended that the dead should remain dead. I said ‘Very well, that is the way it will be.’ You, Dog, you are too late. Coming along the trail you did not keep your mind on your purpose. You stopped here and there, wherever you smelled something to eat. Therefore it shall be as Cat has said. People shall die and not live again.”
SOURCE: Harold Courlander, A Treasury of Afro-American Folklore, 90–91. Told in Guadeloupe.
The twin themes of death and resurrection are presented in a lighthearted but weighty manner through the dialogue between Cat and Dog. God’s momentous decision about whether to grant humans immortality ends up turning on a dog’s distractability and unbridled appetite, thereby undermining the notion of divine wisdom and validating its capriciousness.
“Why People Do Not Live Again After Death,” from Harold Courlander, ed., A Treasury of Afro-American Folklore, 1976. Reprinted by permission of the Emma Courlander Trust.
THE MAN WHO TOOK A WATER MOTHER FOR HIS BRIDE
There was a poor man named Domingos living alone in his cabin in the countryside not far from the edge of a certain river. He had no family whatever, and as for his garden, it barely produced enough to keep him alive. No matter how much he cared for his corn, it would not flourish. The other farmers who lived near Domingos were also poor and wretched, but Domingos was the most unlucky of them all.
One morning Domingos wanted to pick a few ears of corn. As he walked from one stalk to the next, he noticed that some of the ears had already been picked, and he wondered who had been so heartless as to take the food from his mouth. The next day he returned to the field and saw that more ears had been picked. Anger rose up in him, and he swore to catch the thief and punish him.
That night he took his cane knife and went out and hid in the cornfield in a place where he could see intruders. He covered himself in grass and straw so that he was not visible. He waited while the night grew long, and the moon moved across the sky. He was beginning to fall asleep, and his eyes started closing. Just then, on the side of the field near the river, there was a rustling sound, as if someone was walking through the cornstalks. He was now awake! He grabbed his knife, thinking: “I’m going to kill the person who has been robbing me.”
Domingos heard the person coming closer. Next came the sound of an ear being broken from its stalk. He heard another snap. He saw a shadow. Then he saw the person, and he ran out from his hiding place. What he saw surprised him, for the person taking his corn was a water woman who lived with others of her kind in the river. He grabbed her, shouting and threatening her, but he did not strike her. The moon was shining brightly, and he could see how beautiful she was. He asked: “Why do you steal from someone like me, who has barely enough to eat?”
The water woman answered, “I was hungry. I meant you no harm.”
Domingos replied, “I should punish you.” But she answered, “Let me go. I will return to the river. And from now on I will go elsewhere for food.” Domingo’s heart softened. It was warmed by the water woman’s voice and her appearance. He said, “Why should I let you go?”
The woman replied, “What good would it do you to keep me?” And Domingos said, “Why, if I kept you, I would no longer be alone. I would have a wife like everyone else.” She told him it was not possible. “When has a water person ever married a land person?”
But Domingos was captivated by the woman’s voice and by her beauty. He asked her to stay. He pleaded with her. At last, moved by the warmth of his pleas, the water woman said, “We have been told by our elders that those who live on land and those who live in the water may not mix. Once long ago it happened that a young water woman was taken as a wife by a land person. At first things went well. But after a while the man began to beat her. He did not treat her as well as he had at first. And as time went on he began to ridicule her for her origins. He spoke contemptuously with her, ‘What can I expect from someone who is a mere water woman?’ And he spoke like that among the others living in the village. One night he beat her and said, ‘Water woman! What are you doing living in my house among humans?’
“It was then that she left and returned to the river. The water people said, ‘It has always been like this. We should never try to live with the land people.’ ”
Domingos said, “In my eyes you are not a water woman. You are just a woman. Why would I care where you came from? Stay here and come live in my house.” And so the water woman stayed. She went to his house with him, and she became his wife. And because of that, Domingos’ fortunes changed. The corn in his field grew large ears. His goats and cattle multiplied. People who lived nearby began to praise Domingos for his hard work. Once he had been too poor for anyone to pay attention to him. Now people listened respectfully when he spoke, because he was a man of substance.
Domingos built a new house. People came to him for help when they were in need. He had plenty of extra corn hanging from the branches of the large tree that provided shade for his house. But Domingos never stopped to think about why his fortune had changed. He became arrogant. And one evening after he had been drinking, he became abusive to his wife. He said, “Our children have bad manners. Why do you set such a bad example for them?” He added, “
Why is it that I work hard in the field but you do nothing?” He went on, “The people who live nearby say bad things about you. Why are you so careless in your ways?” Domingos went on like that, accusing her of things and insulting her. She did not answer, and her silence angered Domingos all the more. He said, “Why don’t you speak when you are spoken to?” And still his wife remained silent. At last Domingos shouted at her, “Water woman! You who came out of the river!”
When his wife heard those words, she got up from where she was sitting. She opened the door of the cabin and walked out. Domingos followed her, shouting curses at the water people. But something happened to Domingos. Suddenly he found that he was unable to walk because his feet were rooted to the ground. He saw his wife walk toward the river. One by one his children left the house and followed their mother. When the woman reached the edge of the river, she walked into the water and disappeared. Her children followed her. Domingos saw that his goats and cattle were also moving toward the water. One by one his cattle went into the water. They descended into the depths. They could no longer be seen. Domingos cried out. He tried to follow, but he could not move from where he was rooted. Then he watched as the ears of corn hanging in the tree by his house began to move. One by one the ears moved through the air as if they were flying. They flew toward the river, landed on the water, and then disappeared. After that, Domingos’ house and everything in it began moving toward the river. Domingos cried out, “My house, my house!” But the house kept on moving and went into the river. The fences Domingos had built to hold his cattle began to move. Everything that had once belonged to Domingos left and followed the water woman into the river. Only then did Domingos’ feet become unrooted. He ran back and forth, looking for all the things that had once belonged to him.
Everything was gone. Domingos had nothing. And he lived as the poorest of all men until the end of his days.
The Annotated African American Folktales Page 60