Not One Damsel in Distress

by Jane Yolen

  “I will surely try,” said Molly Whuppie. Oh, that Molly Whuppie was a courageous girl!

  SO SHE WENT BACK for the purse and hid in the giant’s house without the giant or his wife knowing. And she bided her time till they slept again. Then she slipped her hand beneath the giant’s pillow, and had just gotten her hand on the purse, when the bed rattled again. So she had to just grab the purse and run, for the giant awoke.

  Out the door she went, with the giant right behind her. She ran and he ran, but she ran faster till she came again to the bridge that was made of just one hair. Molly took a great deep breath and ran across it. She was so light, she skipped right over, but the giant did not dare go across.

  He shook his great fist at her. “Ye near killed my girls, ye stole my sword, and now ye have my purse!” he cried. “Woe unto ye, Molly Whuppie, if ye ever come here again.”

  But Molly only laughed and called back, “Once yet I’ll come to Spain!”

  When she gave the purse to the king, he was good as his word, and her second sister was wed to his second son that very day. And the dancing and feasting went on for seven.

  After it was done, the king said to Molly, “You have managed well, young Molly Whuppie. But you can do better yet. Go back and steal the finger ring that the giant wears, and I will give you my youngest son.”

  “I will surely try,” said Molly Whuppie. Oh, that Molly Whuppie was an amazing girl!

  So, back she went to the giant’s house, and the giant ate and drank and went to bed with his wife. And once they were a-snoring, Molly went to the bed. With a touch as light as feather down, she picked up his hand. Then she pulled and pulled and pulled at the ring. But just as she got it off and placed it on her own hand as if it were a bracelet, the bed rattled and the giant awoke—​and he gripped her by the hand.

  “I have ye now, Molly Whuppie. Ye near killed my girls and stole my sword and purse. But ye shall not go unpunished. I would do as much to ye as ye have done to me. Now, what would ye do to me?”

  Molly spoke up at once. “I would put you in a sack. I’d put the cat inside with you and the dog beside the cat, that they could gnaw on your bones. I’d add a needle to prick you, thread to tie you, shears to cut you. Then I’d hang that sack up on the wall. And then I’d go into the wood to choose the biggest stick I could find. A tree trunk would do. And home I’d come to bang that sack with the stick till you were dead as dead.”

  “Well, Molly ye have said it well. I will do just that to ye.” So he got the sack and put Molly in it, with his ugly cat and the dog beside her. Then he popped in the needle and thread and shears. He hung the sack on the wall, told his wife to watch it carefully, and then off he went to the wood.

  “Oh, do you see what I see?” sang out Molly Whuppie from the sack.

  “Oh, what do ye see?” asked the giant’s wife.

  “The most beautiful thing in the world,” said Molly Whuppie.

  “Let me see, too!” cried the giant’s wife.

  “You’d have to be here with me,” said Molly.

  “I can’t take the sack down,” said the giant’s wife.

  “Then I shall take you up,” said Molly. She took out the shears, cut a hole in the sack just big enough for herself, and jumped out, carrying the needle and thread. She boosted the giant’s wife into the sack and quickly sewed up the hole.

  “I don’t see a thing,” said the giant’s wife.

  “Keep looking!” cried Molly. Then she hid herself behind the door, for just then, in came the giant carrying a great tree.

  He took down the sack and began to batter it.

  His wife cried out, “Stop! Stop, ye old fool! It’s me! It’s me!” But the dog barked so and the cat mewed so, the giant could not hear her.

  Molly Whuppie ran out the door, and just then the giant saw her. He was so mad, he bit down on his knuckle and stopped beating the sack. Then he ran out after her.

  Molly ran and he ran, but she ran faster till she came to the bridge of one hair. She was so light, she just skipped over, but the giant did not dare go across.

  He shook his big fist at her. “Ye near killed my girls, ye stole my sword and purse and ring, and now ye have had me beat my wife!” he cried. “Woe unto ye, Molly Whuppie, if ye ever come here again.”

  But Molly only laughed. “Never more will I come to Spain!” she told him.

  Then she took the ring to the king, and she married the king’s youngest son that very day. And there was feasting and dancing for a month.

  Molly and the youngest son ruled in the kingdom ever after. And she never saw the giant again. Lucky for him. That Molly Whuppie was a hero!

  INDONESIA

  The Princess Kemang

  Sometimes a hero needs to use a quick wit instead of a sword

  IN A KINGDOM next to a dense forest lived a princess who loved hunting and fishing and hiking in the woods. She had even served in her father’s army. Princess Kemang was her name, and she was as good with a bow and spear as any soldier. Maybe better, because she was as smart as she was tough.

  One day, when she was on furlough from the army, she took her sword and spear and bow, whistled up her dog, and off they went on an adventure. They climbed hills, rafted rivers, and eventually came to a strange meadow with a border of trees that seemed to be made more of shadow than wood.

  Suddenly, a striped-leg deer crossed before her. Princess Kemang slipped an arrow out of her quiver, aimed, and shot.

  Much to her surprise, she missed the deer entirely. Undeterred, and with her dog at her side, she began to track the deer, never taking her eye off it. Finally, she saw it resting beneath a wild mango tree—​the kemang tree, the very one she was named for.

  The dog shook with fear, but Princess Kemang raised her weapon once again.

  At that same moment, a voice came out of the tree, saying, “Do not chase this deer, princess. It is really a tiger in disguise.”

  If anything, this mysterious voice only made Princess Kemang more eager to slay the deer. So, leaving the dog below, she climbed up the tree—​for though tigers can climb, a deer cannot. Then she shot straight at the enchanted beast and killed it with a single arrow.

  The instant it died, the deer turned back into a tiger—​a very large and very dead tiger. Princess Kemang took out her knife and skinned it.

  At that, the tree itself gave a shudder and turned into a handsome young man, who identified himself immediately to the startled young woman. “Do not be afraid, princess, I am the Guardian of the Forest.”

  With one look, Princess Kemang was slain with love’s dart. “Come home with me,” she said, her voice soft.

  The Guardian shook his head. “I cannot leave this place to be with you. Everything here lies under a terrible enchantment and I am its ruler. So, until the enchantment is broken and the forest can turn back into the kingdom it truly is, I must remain here.”

  Princess Kemang understood. It was not her place to stay. “But I will return someday,” she promised.

  “Be careful,” warned the Guardian, “for there are still evil forces in these woods. You must use your wits instead of your bow or sword.” And with that, he turned back into the tree.

  Princess Kemang left with the Guardian’s words ringing like a clear temple bell in her head. She whistled to her dog, and they raced along the track.

  But suddenly, a cat, small and cunning, crossed in front of them. The dog barked furiously at it, though the princess tried to calm him down.

  Instead of running away, the cat turned and began to growl and then to grow even bigger than the tiger. With one gulp, the beast swallowed the princess’s dog.

  The princess put her hand on her sword. She’d already killed the tiger. She would kill this cat, too.

  But then she heard again in her head, You must use your wits instead of your sword, princess.

  So she did not let anger and pain turn her into the beast before her, but instead ran back down the path toward her home.

&n
bsp; Surprisingly, as if tied to that part of the land, the beast didn’t follow.

  PRINCESS KEMANG WAS RELIEVED. But when she got to the river she’d crossed only hours before, she saw it was now full of crocodiles. Very hungry-looking crocodiles.

  The biggest crocodile looked at her and grinned. “Princess, you see before you a thousand crocodiles. Try to cross this river and you will be our next meal.”

  She knew this was the only crossing point in the river. Again her hand went to her sword, and again the Guardian’s voice came into her head. Use your wits, princess. Only this time it sounded like her own voice.

  She let her hand drop and spoke back to the crocodile. “Surely you don’t mean to stand against me,” she said. “Why, I can fight a thousand crocodiles all by myself and never tire.” Though she didn’t actually believe that, she said it as if she did.

  The crocodile’s mouth opened and closed and opened again and his teeth sounded like a thousand knives being sharpened. “I would like to see that!” he snarled.

  “Well, first I have to count to be sure there really are a thousand of you. Why waste my time with less?” said Princess Kemang. “All of you—​line up there in the river and let me start with you, number one.”

  So the crocodiles—​who were not very smart—​lined up, and there were so many of them, they reached from one side of the river to the other.

  Princess Kemang jumped onto the back of the big crocodile and said, as she touched his scales, “One!” Then she jumped on the back of the second. “Two!” she called. Then three, and four, and five, and as she jumped and counted out loud, all the time she was inching closer and closer to the other side of the river.

  The crocodiles were so intent on hearing the count, they didn’t notice what Princess Kemang was doing.

  But she reached land long before she reached a thousand. In fact, she’d only called out ninety-seven when, with a great leap, she was on the shore. Safely landed, she called over her back, “You are too greedy, crocodiles. Besides, I would have been barely a snack for one. You should have eaten me when you had the chance! Now you have nothing.” And she ran off faster than any of them could get out of the water.

  She ran all the way home.

  When she told her parents of her adventures, they gave thanks at their shrine to the Guardian of the Forest, who had given Princess Kemang such good advice.

  IN THE MORNING, none of them was surprised when a handsome young man knocked at their palace door.

  “Princess Kemang’s escape from the tiger and the crocodiles has broken the spell,” he said. “All in my kingdom is as it once was. All it needs is a queen.”

  So Princess Kemang and the Guardian married, and for the rest of their lives they walked the hills together without fear of tigers, and swam the rivers, now clear of crocodiles. They climbed trees and sat hand-in-hand in the meadows.

  They had three daughters, who all grew strong like their mother and wise like their father.

  And after their parents grew old and died within a day of each other, the three daughters ruled in peace, together.

  AZERBAIJAN

  Masha and the Bear

  A hero can be any size at all, as long as she keeps her courage and wits sharp

  ONCE, LONG AGO, when people still believed in the gods of fire and lightning, of mountains and sky, an old man and an old woman lived with their granddaughter, Masha. All three of them crowded into a tiny house in a village nestled on the outskirts of a deep wood. They sat by the stove of a winter evening telling stories about the Firebird and Kostchai the Deathless, about courageous princes and the beautiful maidens they rescued. And all the while, they sipped tea from the samovar, which was always kept hot.

  Masha loved her grands, and in the old Russian way, she called her grandmother Babushka and her grandfather Dedushka.

  Because Masha’s parents were both dead, the grands were always careful with her, and hardly let her go out of sight of the house.

  So no one knew Masha could be brave, because she’d never needed to be. But she was quick-witted and bright, and as you will see, sometimes that’s enough.

  NOW, ONE DAY, Masha’s three friends in the village—​Miska, Diska, and Dani—​were going out to pick berries and mushrooms and begged Masha to go with them. And though their own parents had sent them off without a word of caution, Babushka and Dedushka were reluctant to let Masha go.

  But she pleaded this one time to be with her friends.

  Finally Dedushka said, “Caution is a virtue.”

  And Babushka said, “Use your wits.”

  In that way, Masha knew that they were letting her go berrying with her friends.

  SO OFF THE GIRLS WENT, bush to bush, tree to tree, and Masha went with them. However, she stayed too long picking blueberries from one particularly fruitful bush, and when she looked up, Miska, Diska, and Dani had disappeared.

  She called out their names, but either they were too far away to hear her or they didn’t want to answer.

  Masha realized that she was all alone and it was beginning to get dark.

  She went left and right, front and back, but got more and more lost in the darkening wood. Was she worried? A bit. Frightened? A bit more. But at last she saw a cozy little hut with a curl of smoke coming from the chimney.

  She knocked on the door, and when there was no answer, she gave the door a push and it opened at once.

  The hut was one room wide and one room long, and no one seemed to be there. So Masha sat down on a bench by the window and ate a few of the blueberries and then a few more until she was quite full.

  Though she didn’t know it, that hut belonged to a great big bear—​only he was out in the forest just then, as he was every day, and wouldn’t be home until evening, when it was fully dark.

  WHEN HE CAME through the door in a rolling four-legged walk and found Masha there, he was very pleased.

  He said in a growly voice, “Little girl, little girl, you shall cook my dinner and my breakfast, too, and you will be my faithful servant.”

  As he was very huge and had such big teeth when he smiled, Masha had to do as he said.

  WHEN IT WAS QUIET the bear would have his cooked breakfast and then go off again into the forest. But before doing so, he would say to Masha, “Little girl, little girl, you must never go outside without me. For if you try, you’ll surely die, for I will find you and eat you up—​you and all your family.”

  And she would answer politely, “Go carefully, Bear, till I see you again.”

  So for many months, little Masha cooked for the bear and cleaned his house, and waited patiently for him to return by dark. But all the while, she remembered Babushka and Dedushka with great sadness and thought about how she might possibly escape.

  She knew the bear was too big for her to overpower, and too quick for her to run away. She suspected he could track her wherever she went. And anyway, she didn’t know which way to go through the woods.

  But then she remembered Dedushka saying, “Caution is a virtue.”

  And Babushka saying, “Use your wits.”

  And suddenly she had an idea . . .

  THAT DAY, WHEN THE BEAR RETURNED as usual from the forest, Masha said to him: “Bear, please let me to go to my village for just a day and a night. I want to take something good to eat to Babushka and Dedushka and maybe sit by the stove and sip tea from the samovar.”

  “No. That will not do at all,” said the bear, his face all frowns and growly. “Remember how you got lost coming. Surely you will get lost going. Give me what it is you want to take to them and I will bring it there myself.”

  Of course that was exactly what Masha had hoped he would say. So she baked four blueberry pies, with criss-cross crusts that let the smells fill the air. Then she put three of them on plates and put a fourth one aside to serve to the bear.

  Getting out a very large basket, she said to him, “I’ll put the pies in the basket and then you can carry them to the village on the edge of the
forest and give them to my Babushka and Dedushka.”

  Bear’s tongue came out and he slurped as if he could already taste the pies—​they smelled that good!

  Masha put her hands on her hips and said, “You are not to open the basket on the way, Bear, and you are not to eat any of the pies. You can hurry home, because the fourth pie will be waiting here for you. But these three are for my grands. As for me, I’m going to climb to the top of the big oak tree and watch that you don’t open the basket. And by the oak’s friend, the old god Perun, and by his fire and lightning, and his mighty eagle, I shall know if you open the basket up.”

  It was such a firm speech, and Perun was such a feisty god, that Bear nodded and did not scold his little servant for giving him orders.

  “Very well,” he said. “You pack the basket and I’ll go out and check the weather.” Off he went to do as he said.

  No sooner was he gone than Masha climbed into the basket, pulled the three pies over her body, and over them pulled a tablecloth as well. Then she snuggled down and lay very, very still.

  The bear came back in and saw the basket, but Masha was nowhere in sight. He grumbled a bit that she did not send him off with at least a courteous word, but he assumed she was already up the old oak tree.

  So without a goodbye, he strapped the basket onto his broad shoulders and away he went, slamming the door behind him.

  BEAR HIKED THROUGH THE FOREST, where the birch trees stood like ghostly maidens, past the tall fir trees shaking their green fists at the sky, past stands of beeches sunning themselves. He went up hills and down again till his legs—​all four of them—​got tired, so at last he sat down on the stump of an old oak tree to rest.

  “If I don’t take a moment, I think I will die. So I will sit on this stump and I’ll eat one of those delicious-smelling pies,” Bear said aloud, as if he were having a conversation with himself.