How to Fracture a Fairy Tale

by Jane Yolen

  Look at the story you know. Who is the moral center of it? Is it the miller who lies and his daughter who is complicitous in the lie? Is it the king who wants her for commercial purposes only? Or is it the dark, ugly little man with the unpronounceable name who promises to change flax into gold—and does exactly what he promises?

  Stories are told one way, history another. But for the Jews—despite their long association with the Lord G-d—the endings have always been the same.

  One Ox, Two Ox,

  Three Ox,

  and the Dragon King

  THERE WAS ONCE A poor farmer who had but a small farm and no beasts to help him plow. When his wife gave birth to a son, the farmer insisted on calling the boy One Ox. “For,” the farmer said, “someday he will work with me in the field.”

  When his wife gave birth a year later to a second son, the boy was called Two Ox.

  And a year after that, their third son was named Three Ox.

  But before the boys were old enough to help, the farmer died, leaving the poor farm to his wife. She worked hard and the farm managed to support the four of them, but barely. And when the boys were big enough, they worked harder still.

  Each evening after toiling all day in the fields, the boys would sit by the fire eating their rice and drinking their tea. To make them laugh and to teach them of the great wide world, their mother would tell them stories. Some of the stories were of wizards and some of the stories were of warriors; some of the stories were of kinship and some of the stories were of kings. But at the end of each tale, she would sigh and say, “Alas that all I have to give to you, my sons, are these tales. The farm is so small and so poor, it cannot be shared. Only one of you can inherit it when I die.”

  “Which one?” they would ask every night.

  But each night her answer was the same: “Whoever works the hardest.”

  “And the one who works the hardest—that one you love the best?” they would ask.

  “How can I choose between my dear sons?” she always answered. “I love you each the best.” And with that answer, they had to be content.

  Now one year the farmer’s wife caught a chill, grew sick, and all but died. The boys went without rice in order to pay for a doctor. But after he examined her, the old potion-maker shook his head. “Nothing in the world can save her.”

  “If nothing in the world can save her,” said One Ox, “then is there something out of it?”

  “Name it and we will find it,” said Two Ox.

  “Though we must go to the ends of the earth,” added Three Ox. “For just so much do we love our mother.”

  “Only the Waters of Life can save her now,” the doctor said.

  “And where can the waters be found?” the three boys asked together.

  “In the cave of the Dragon King,” the old man answered, packing up his potions and pins, “is a ring of power. Put that ring in a glass of clear water, and when it is drunk, the sick are made well.”

  “Where is this cave?” asked One Ox.

  “And who is the Dragon King?” asked Two Ox.

  Three Ox was silent.

  “As to the cave,” the old doctor said, “it is beyond the farthest mountains and then one mountain farther And as to the Dragon King, I would not want to meet him myself. His name is Lung-Wang, and he is said to be more than a li in length—five hundred yards. He has horns on top of his head, and he is covered with scales. It is bad enough to meet one of the lesser kings, the Nagas. Do not seek out Lung-Wang if you value your lives.”

  Only then did Three Ox speak. “Our mother’s life is our lives, and you have said only the Waters of Life will save her.”

  The doctor pulled his long beard and looked both sad and wise. “That is merely a way of saying that she is beyond help, my son.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Three Ox, “we will help her. We could do nothing for our father when he died for we were too young. But now we are older and stronger. We will find these waters or die.”

  “Then,” the doctor said solemnly, “you may very well die. Lung-Wang will not give up the Waters of Life, his most precious gift, just for the asking. He will demand three magical objects in trade. To get one is difficult; to get two is nearly impossible; to get three is beyond belief.”

  One Ox looked sad.

  Two Ox looked puzzled.

  “Nevertheless,” said Three Ox, “it will be done.” And his brothers nodded quickly. They commended their mother to the doctor’s good care and set out within the hour.

  Following the sun, the boys walked toward the nearest mountains. Each had but a single coin in his pocket; the rest of the family’s small savings had been left to pay the doctor’s fee.

  They had not been gone but an hour past noon when One Ox turned to his brothers.

  “The doctor has said we need three magical objects to trade, but he did not say which three, nor where they might be found. Perhaps we should separate and each search for one. That way our chances will be tripled. We could meet back here in seven days.”

  Two Ox nodded. “A fine plan, my brother, but for this one thing: our dear mother is much too weak to last that long. I propose we meet back in five days.”

  Three Ox likewise nodded, adding, “There is, of course, still the Dragon King’s cave to find. Perhaps we should meet back here in three days, not five, else our dear mother will be in her grave and all the Waters of Life will not save her then.”

  So they agreed on three, and at a triple fork in the road, One Ox went east, Two Ox went west, and Three Ox went forward toward the nearest hills. They did not even take the time to wave good-bye.

  To the east were the high towers of the city of Kai-lung. It was the city in which the Master of Masters, the magician Kuang-li, lived. It was said of her that if she called a man blind, that man would become blind in an instant; if she called him emperor, he would be crowned within the week.

  One Ox walked toward Kai-lung until his feet ached and his stomach proclaimed its emptiness, but he did not dare rest. He thought only of his sick mother and the magic gift he might find within the city walls.

  It was near dark when he reached Kai-lung and full night before he found a place to sleep in a narrow niche within a wall. “In the morning,” he told himself, “I will seek out a magician and see if I can beg a gift of him.”

  The morning dawned early and One Ox looked out from the niche, seeing for the first time how a city stirs in the light. Carters pulled and pushed their creaking wagons; vendors began to call out their wares; and a little flower girl, no more than five years old, stood below the window of the tallest of the tall towers crying up, “Peonies for the Master of Masters. Flowers for the Dragon of Kai-lung.”

  A hand with nails as long as knives extended out of the tower window and lowered a willow basket on a rope. When the basket settled on the ground, the child knelt down, extracted a single coin from it, and placed a bunch of flowers in the coin’s stead. Then she pulled three times on the rope. Slowly the long-nailed hand drew up the rope and basket to the window and, with a wink, rope, basket, and all were gone.

  One Ox stood and brushed his dark hair back with his hands. Going over to the child, he asked, “Who is this Master of Masters? Who is this Dragon of Kai-lung?”

  The girl looked surprised. “Everyone knows that.”

  “I am not everyone,” said One Ox. “And I assure you that I do not know.”

  The child looked guilelessly into his eyes. “Kuang-li is one of the Nagas, a dragon master of the highest degree. If Kuangli calls you by your true name, you will belong to the Master forever.”

  “Then I shall not say my name,” said One Ox, “for I have no time to remain in this city for more than a single day and surely not forever. But I would like to purchase a piece of this Master’s magic.”

  “Then,” the child said before turning away, “you will have to get into the tower, though it has no stairs, for Kuang-li does not come out during the day, and at night in dragon form flies over
our city, guarding it from the dangers of the dark.”

  One Ox thought long and hard about this, and by evening he had an idea. With his single coin, he purchased a bunch of flowers from another flower seller. Then, just before the sun went down, he stood directly under the tower so that he could not be seen from above, and cried out in imitation of the child, “Peonies for the Master of Masters. Flowers for the Dragon of Kai-lung.”

  For a long moment he waited, wondering if his coin had been spent in vain. But at last the hand with the long nails extended out of the tower window, lowering the willow basket. One Ox did not take time even to extract the coin inside. Instead, placing the flowers in the basket, he grabbed hold of the rope and quickly, hand over hand, climbed up the tower wall. Once at the window, he flung himself over the sill.

  “You look little like a peony, my eager friend,” said a voice as old and cracked as leather.

  When One Ox looked up, there was a serving woman whose face was as lined as a map, but whether amusement or condemnation was written there, he could not tell. She turned from him and brought up the basket, then took the flowers out and placed them in a blue-glazed jar.

  Only when she was done did she turn to him again. “Come, speak quickly, tell me what you want.”

  “Old mother, I wish to speak to your master, the Master of Masters,” One Ox said. “I wish to speak to Kuang-li.”

  “Are you not afraid of the dragon?” asked the old woman.

  “My need is greater than my fear,” said One Ox.

  “And your ignorance exceeds them both,” said the old woman. “But I will forgive you this once.”

  One Ox stood, towering over the old woman. “I ask you again, mother of mothers, take me to Kuang-li.”

  “And I will forgive you twice,” said the old woman. “But not once more. Do you speak to all mothers this way?”

  Suddenly remembering his manners, One Ox bowed his head.

  “Forgive me, but it is because my own mother lies sick that I must see the Dragon of Kai-lung.”

  “Then listen well, son of a dying mother, I am the Master of Masters. I am the Dragon of Kai-lung. And when the sun goes down and I become the Naga in truth, I will be much tempted by the meat in your young arms and thighs still warm from the heat of the sun.” She reached out with her long nails and pinched his arm as she spoke.

  One Ox shivered. “O mighty dragon,” he began, terrified at how badly he had started and not at all sure there was any way to change what had begun. “The doctor says that my mother is beyond all help save that of the Waters of Life. But we cannot get the waters without three magical objects in exchange. My brothers and I have each gone out on the road to find such pieces of magic to trade with the Dragon King.”

  “And you thought . . .” the old woman said, turning her head to look out of the window, where the sun was fast fading behind the hills, “that I would give you such a thing.”

  “I was hoping . . .” One Ox said, his head bowed low.

  “And what will you give me?” she asked, her voice beginning to roughen. When One Ox dared to look up, he saw she had sprouted a horn on each side of her head.

  “I have . . . I have only myself,” he said, looking down again quickly. “But you may have that if it will save my mother. I will give you myself—and my name. I am called One Ox.”

  “Good answer,” the old woman said. “I will not eat you now.” Only this time, her tongue stuck out as she spoke, and it was red and forked. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny folded packet, not quite paper and not quite skin. “When you get to the ground unfold this. It is a bit of magic that even the Dragon King will envy. And when your mother is well again, come back to Kai-lung.”

  She handed him the packet. “I will work you hard for a year.”

  “I am not afraid of hard work,” One Ox said, his eyes on the ground.

  “But be afraid of me,” came the response.

  When One Ox looked up, a dragon the blue-black of midnight stood before him.

  “Be very afraid.” Its silver teeth glittered like stars in that night sky.

  One Ox’s knees trembled and there was a bitter taste in his mouth. As he watched, the dragon shook out its great blue-black wings, arched its back, and ran its claws along the floor. The claws drew runnels like rivers in the wood. Then the dragon leaped through the tower window and was gone.

  One Ox drew in a long breath, and by the time he had let it out again, the full moon had risen over the hills. He could see the silhouette of the dragon as it sailed across the sky, as clean and crisp as if cut from paper.

  The dragon will not return until morning, One Ox thought. I should leave at once. But when he looked around the tower room, his old habits claimed him. He found a broom and swept away the petals from the peonies that had fallen in the rush of air from the dragon’s wings. He washed out a teacup. He straightened the dragon’s bed. What with one thing and another, he was not finished in the tower until almost dawn and was so tired he lay down on the floor and fell fast asleep. He did not see the dragon return, nor did he see it change back into the old woman. He woke only when she touched his arm.

  “Come, my good worker, come,” she said. “You have pleased me well. But now you must go. Your brothers will be waiting.” And she held the rope for him so that he might reach the ground in safety.

  No sooner did his feet touch the street than the Master of Masters pulled up the rope and basket and they disappeared in a wink.

  One Ox took the packet from his pocket. It weighed hardly an ounce. Slowly he began to unfold it, one piece at a time. He was halfway through the unfolding before he realized it was a tiny pony made of cloth as brown as earth, with a foam-colored mane and tail. When the last fold lay flat in his hand, the pony gave a high-pitched whinny. This so startled One Ox that he dropped it to the ground.

  The minute it touched the ground, the tiny pony began to grow. Bigger and bigger it grew until it was the size of a large horse. One Ox put his hand on its back, and the horse turned its head toward him. Its eyes were like black gems with a red fire at each center.

  Though he had never ridden a horse before, One Ox had seen men ride by the farm, and he knew just what to do. Leaping onto its back, he threaded his fingers into its foam-colored mane. The horse reared once, then raced down the road, swift as the east wind, to the place of the three forks.

  In the meanwhile, Two Ox had gone west, and to the west was the sea, down in whose depths lived the Master of Masters, the wizard Kuang-jun. It was said of Kuang-jun that if he called a man old, that man would wither as the words were spoken; and if he called a man living, even a corpse would kick up its heels.

  Two Ox walked toward the Western Sea until his feet ached and his stomach proclaimed its emptiness, but he did not dare rest. He thought only of his sick mother and the magic gift he might find on the banks of the sea.

  It was near dark when he reached the shore, and he stood a long time watching the waves as they stretched and flattened upon the sand. He saw no one near and no one far away, so he lay down and slept on a gray rock.

  The morning dawned early and Two Ox looked up from the rock, seeing for the first time how a beach stirs in the morning’s light. Crabs scuttled across the sand; gulls dived down to pick them up; and a little fisher lad, no more than five years old, threw an orange net filled with gray stones into the sea, crying, “Silver coins for silver cockles, O Master of Masters. Silver coins for silver fish, O Dragon of the Western Sea.” When he drew in his net, it was filled with cockleshells and tiny fish leaping up as if on the boil. But of the silver stones there was no sign.

  Two Ox stood up and smoothed down his shirt and pants. Going over to the child, he asked, “Who is this Master of Masters? Who is the Dragon of the Western Sea?”

  The boy looked surprised. “Everyone knows that.”

  “I am not everyone,” said Two Ox. “And I assure you I do not know.”

  The boy looked innocently into Two Ox’s eye
s. “Kuang-jun is one of the Nagas, a dragon master of the highest degree. If Kuang-jun calls you by your true name, you will belong to the Master forever.”

  “Then I shall not say my name,” said Two Ox, “for I do not have time to remain by the sea for more than this one day, and surely not forever. But I would like to purchase a piece of this Master’s magic.”

  The child spread out his net to dry in the sun. “Then you will have to throw yourself into the water and learn to breathe it, for Kuang-jun lives beneath the waves. Except at night, when he flies in dragon form up and down the western shore, he does not come up out of the sea.”

  Two Ox thought long and hard about this. At last he said to the child, “I have but a single coin. If you would give me the loan of your net for the rest of this day and this night, I will give the coin to you. Tomorrow, whatever my fate, you will have your net back.”

  The child nodded solemnly, took the coin, picked up his fish basket, and went away.

  Two Ox contemplated the ocean all that afternoon, but at last he knew there was no other way. Wrapping himself in the net, with silver beach stones for weights, he waded out into the ocean. The water was cold and final around his legs.

  Then, in imitation of the child, he cried out, “Silver coins for silver cockles, O Master of Masters. Silver coins for silver fish, O Dragon of the Western Sea.” His voice seemed to sink down, down, down into the dark water and he flung himself after it.

  The waves tumbled him over and over, stripping away the netting and his shirt and trousers and shoes. It scoured his skin and the shells of his ears, it rubbed away and scrubbed away all thoughts of the shore. And when it was done with him, it dumped him down upon a broad white road underneath the sea. He took a deep breath and, surprised to find it was air, opened his eyes. At the end of the road was a castle made of shells. He pushed his way through the water toward it and, upon entering, found himself face to face with an old, old serving man in a bright red robe. The man’s face was the color of weak tea, and his shoulders were bowed with age.