by Jan Andrews
“It’s your daughter,” said Jesper.
The baron’s daughter blushed from her chin to the roots of her hair. A bigger laugh swelled up.
The lumber baron peered into the barrel. “It’s still almost empty,” he declared.
“Well,” said Jesper, “Here’s another thing. It was a very busy day there, with the jackrabbits. Your daughter had hardly gone when a woman came after her. She was in rags as well — only her rags were worse. She said she had nothing to feed her children. She wanted me to give her a jackrabbit. I told her I couldn’t unless she would go round me three times flapping her arms and squatting down here and there and clucking like a hen. I thought she wouldn’t, but she did.”
“You can’t prove that,” said the lumber baron.
“I can,” said Jesper. “For I can see the woman right here.”
“Which one is she?” said the lumber baron.
“It’s your wife,” said Jesper.
By then, the face of the lumber baron’s wife was even redder than her daughter’s. It looked like fire had come to it. The laughter swelled up louder. People were clutching their sides.
The lumber baron didn’t just peer into the barrel. He felt about in it.
“Not even the bottom is covered yet,” the lumber baron said.
“Try this then,” said Jesper. “It might take up more room. After your wife was gone, a man came. He was wearing a jerkin, like a servant’s. He told me he needed a jackrabbit for his master to put in a pie, or something. He said if I didn’t give him one, he’d lose his job. I didn’t want him to get into trouble. Of course I didn’t. I told him I’d give him a jackrabbit if he’d stand on his head and kick his heels together and call out ‘Hurrah.’ I thought he wouldn’t, but he did.”
“You can’t prove that,” said the lumber baron.
“I can,” said Jesper. “For I can see the man right here.”
“The barrel is full! The barrel is full!” shouted the lumber baron.
“Can I marry your daughter then?” Jesper asked him.
“I’ll pay for the wedding,” the lumber baron said.
Jesper scratched his head, but not for very long.
“I don’t think we should marry until we’ve had time to find out if we like each other,” he announced.
The lumber baron’s daughter couldn’t believe her ears. She was so pleased, she kissed Jesper on the cheek again. She did it twice for all the world to see.
Turned out she was more than willing to take all the time that was needed. Both of them were, in fact. That’s how they came to love each other. That’s how they came to live together happy as may be, and happy as might.
What’s that at the door?
It’s a story! A story by golly, by gee.
I can tell from its long dangly earlobes,
And from how it’s sat down on my knee.
It’s taken a turn round the kitchen.
It’s nibbled on cookies and cake.
I’m certain that now it is ready.
It’s starting to tremble and shake.
You can believe this or not, as you’ve a fancy. But it’s as true as the nose on your face.
Once upon a time — that wasn’t your time or my time — there were two sisters. The older one was a bit of a meanie. She scratched and scraped for every cent and penny. Jacinthe, she was the younger one, and she was very generous. She shared whatever she had.
The two sisters worked in a part of town where there was a market. They both had different jobs. The older sister, her job was in a store. The store sold fruits and flowers and vegetables. She’d done very well for herself. She was the manager — the one in charge.
Jacinthe wasn’t so lucky. Her job was outside, at a stall. The stall had scarves and beads and funny little toys that didn’t bring in much money. In the summer, the sun beat down on it so Jacinthe would be sweating and burning, even under her great, big, straw sun hat; in the winter the cold would make it so her toes and fingers ached and tingled. She always had to be swinging her arms about and stamping her feet.
The two sisters didn’t live together. They had their own apartments, although the older sister’s was much finer. Jacinthe lived in a basement where the windows weren’t big enough and she had to keep folding her bed up to make space.
Mostly, the hours Jacinthe worked were very long, but on this one day, she got Off early. She thought how she hadn’t seen her older sister for ages. She decided she’d go and find out how she was. There were a lot of people about. There always were in the market. Jacinthe had to push her way through the crowds, but she didn’t mind that. She greeted the ones who knew her. She even helped some of them carry their groceries and choose their bread and meat and fish.
At last, she came to where her sister’s store was. As she walked through the door, she saw a pile of red, red pomegranates — the very first pomegranates of the season. They were heaped up in a pyramid.
Jacinthe went toward them. She picked one up. She touched it to her cheek. She checked in her change purse. She saw she hardly had enough money to buy her supper. She put the pomegranate back.
Her sister was watching all of this. She could have taken a pomegranate to the cash and paid for it and given it to Jacinthe and never known the difference.
Instead, she thought to herself, Is it my fault if my younger sister has so little money? Then she thought, What does she need with pomegranates anyway? Then: If I bought her one, I know what she’d do with it. She’d give it away.
That was it for Jacinthe’s pomegranate.
The two sisters visited together for a while and Jacinthe went home. But she couldn’t forget about those fruits. She just couldn’t. She knew they’d be so sweet and juicy on her tongue.
The next day was payday. As soon as she’d got her wages, she went to her sister’s store. She chose the pomegranate that looked best to her. She put her money down. She didn’t even wait to get home. She cut the pomegranate in half with a little knife she kept in her pocket. She went walking through the market, sucking the pomegranate pulp and keeping the pomegranate seeds in her hand to put in the garbage later, like the careful person that she was.
The pomegranate tasted even better than she’d expected. The first half was just about gone when she saw a young man walking toward her. He came to the market often. She’d been watching him and wanting to talk properly to him for a long, long while. And now, she had something to give him.
“Would you like a piece of my pomegranate?” she asked him, once they’d said their hellos.
“I would,” the young man answered.
Jacinthe cut the second half of the pomegranate into two pieces. She and the young man kept walking. Only now they were together, both of them sucking the pomegranate pulp and keeping the seeds safe in their hands. Jacinthe thought maybe the young man was beginning to enjoy her company. She was certainly enjoying his. He was like the man of her dreams — the handsomest thing in all the world to her. He asked her if she’d like to go and have a cup of coffee with him.
“Oh, yes, I would,” she said.
Into the restaurant they went; down they sat. The coffee came. They were having a lovely time, the two of them, when the worst thing ever happened. Jacinthe felt a rumbling in her tummy. She let out this great big fart.
She was sure it was the end of everything between them.
Why can’t the earth just swallow me up? she thought.
The earth did. Before she knew it, she was in another marketplace. It was very much like the one she’d come from. Everything was bright and fair. There were people jostling and shoving and calling out to one another and laughing at this, that, and the other thing, just the same way.
She was so upset about the fart she decided she’d look for it.
“Have you seen a fart?” she started asking passersby.
“Why would you search for a fart?” someone demanded.
Jacinthe explained about how she’d been embarrassed.
“The fart must be
punished! The fart must be punished!” the people round her cried.
Soon there was a whole great crowd of them; they were charging about in all directions. They were all of them yelling and shouting: “Find the fart! Find the fart! Find the fart!”
Finally, a cry went up that was louder than any of the others. “We have him! We have him! He’s here!”
The fart was there, too. He was a big, strong fellow. He was dressed in a fine, new set of clothing, with a tie and a jacket. He was sitting on a bench and enjoying himself, eating a piece of blueberry pie.
The crowd pushed Jacinthe forward. “Shame on you for harming her!” the people raged.
“What did I do?” the fart demanded.
“You escaped! You came out against her will! You embarrassed her!”
“But I was so crushed and uncomfortable. If I’d stayed where I was a minute longer, I’d have suffocated.”
“That is only an excuse!”
“Can you not see that I made the right decision? Do you not know that I am better Off out here?”
The members of the crowd weren’t satisfied. All in a group, they went looking for the mayor. The mayor was brought back, wearing his chain of offce.
“You must do something for this young woman to make amends,” he decreed.
“I shall see to it that whenever she speaks, her words bring rewards to her,” the fart said.
The mayor asked Jacinthe if this would be suffcient. Jacinthe said that it would. The mayor and the crowd were pleased. Jacinthe thanked the fart and the mayor and everyone else who had helped her.
“But how am I to get home again?” she asked.
“That’s not diffcult,” said the fart. “All you have to do is say ‘Let the earth bring me up.’ ”
Jacinthe decided she’d try it. “Let the earth bring me up,” she said.
As she spoke, she felt her lips grow warmer. It was a good feeling. She was really too busy to notice much, however, for quick as a wink, she was back in the restaurant. Hardly any time had passed, in fact. The young man was still there. He thought she’d just gone to the washroom. He smiled his lovely smile at her. They drank their coffee. They decided they should meet again.
Jacinthe was so delighted, she didn’t give the fart’s promise another thought — not till the next day. Then, she found that people were buying twice as much as they ever did from her. They were happier about it, too. She told her boss; he gave her a raise without her even asking. She saw she’d been given a gift.
She could hardly wait to tell her sister all about it. On her way home she went to her sister’s store.
“You’ll never guess what happened!” she burst out.
Her sister listened. She wasn’t the only one, though. Everyone else stopped what they were doing so they wouldn’t miss anything Jacinthe was saying. All of them clapped and cheered when she was done. An important man was among the shoppers.
“I’ll make you famous,” he said.
The older sister was angry. If all I have to do to become famous is to fart and be embarrassed, then tomorrow I shall fart as well, she thought.
The trouble was, she couldn’t get a fart out of herself. Not one. She tried when she was taking orders from the store’s owner; she tried when she was helping the store’s richest customer. She tried when she was in a meeting telling everyone else who worked with her what to do. She was about to give up, when the richest man in the city entered.
This is the moment, the older sister thought.
She huffed and she puffed; she squeezed till her face was purple with the effort. At last, she managed it. It was only a short squeak. She didn’t know whether the rich man had heard, or whether he hadn’t. She wasn’t going to wait to find out.
“May the earth swallow me up,” she said.
The earth did. She, too, was in a marketplace, except this one was very cold and very dark. Rain was falling. Everything was poor and wretched. Everyone looked as if what they wanted most of all in all the world was to be somewhere else.
The older sister didn’t care about that.
“Have you seen a fart?” she demanded of the people passing by.
Before they even asked, she told them how she’d been embarrassed.
There weren’t that many of them. Still, “The fart must be punished! The fart must be punished!” they agreed.
Off they went too, crying, “Find the fart! Find the fart!” just as she’d hoped they would.
They searched until the shout came. “We have him! We have him! He’s here.”
They brought her to where the fart was. They pushed her forward.
The fart was so weak and thin, he was huddled in a corner. His rags hardly covered him. He was shivering. His hair was sodden from the rain.
“What do you want with me?” he asked.
“You embarrassed this woman.”
“Do you think I wanted to?”
“How should we know?”
“Why should I want to when I was warm and happy inside her? When I would have stayed there forever if she hadn’t worked and worked to force me out?”
The members of the crowd didn’t know what to do. They went to find the mayor. The mayor was a little puzzled but at last he decided, “You must give this woman something for her trouble.”
“I will make it so that, whenever she speaks, her words will be like wasp stings,” the fart said.
“Let the earth take me up,” the older sister cried quickly. Even as she did so, she felt a fiery stabbing on her lips.
That’s how it was from then on, always. Her words brought pain to her; they brought pain to everyone else as well.
As for Jacinthe, she liked being famous. She also liked having more money, but she didn’t let it change her. She went on being kind and she went on sharing; she went on coming to the marketplace and meeting people. Why wouldn’t she? For her, the best reward was cheering people up.
She and the young man got to be the best of friends but they never did marry. Why they didn’t is really their own business, so most like we shouldn’t even try to find out.
What’s that at the door?
It’s a story. I can tell that at once — by a glance.
I can see from its long curly toenails,
And from how it’s beginning to dance.
I think we should give it a welcome.
I think we should make it some tea.
I think we should say we’ll be listening.
We’re not heading off up a tree.
Once upon a time — that wasn’t your time or my time — but was long enough ago that folks were still spinning their wool into yarn in their own homes; once upon a time, if you’re ready to imagine it, there was a cat.
She had this spinning wheel and she was always using it. She’d sit by the stove with it. She’d spin and spin. She’d set the wheel whirring and thrumming so the whole house was filled up with the noise.
There was a little, wee mouse that lived in a hole in the wall, and he was being driven crazy by the sound. He ran out and he bit Off the cat’s thread. The cat had to stop her work, even if it was only for a minute.
“If you do that again, I’ll bite your tail off,” she said.
The very next day, as soon as the cat started spinning, the mouse got this terrible headache. Out he ran.
“I warned you, didn’t I?” the cat said.
The mouse bit her thread Off anyway. He couldn’t help himself.
Just as the cat had promised, she bit Off his tail. All he had left was this little, small stump of a thing.
“Oh, please,” said the mouse. “Give me my nice, long tail back. I need it to wrap around me when I’m sleeping in the winter that is so icy and so cold.”
“I will give you back your tail,” said the cat, “but you must do something for me. You must go to the cow and bring me a saucer of milk.”
“I will! I will!” said the mouse.
He went to the cow as quick as he could run there.
&nbs
p; “Cow,” he said, “I must have a saucer of milk to take to the cat, so she’ll give me my nice, long tail back that I need to wrap around me when I’m sleeping in the winter that is so icy and so cold.”
“I will give you a saucer of milk,” said the cow, “but you must do something for me. You must go to the barn and bring me a bale of hay.”
“I will! I will!” said the mouse.
He went to the barn as quick as he could run there.
“Barn,” he said, “I must have a bale of hay to take to the cow, so she’ll give me a saucer of milk to take to the cat, so she’ll give me my nice, long tail back that I need to wrap around me when I’m sleeping in the winter that is so icy and so cold.”
“I will give you a bale of hay,” said the barn, “but you must do something for me. You must go to the locksmith and bring me a key for my lock.”
“I will! I will!” said the mouse.
He went to the locksmith as quick as he could run there.
“Locksmith,” he said, “I must have a key to take to the barn, so the barn will give me a bale of hay to take to the cow, so the cow will give me a saucer of milk to take to the cat, so the cat will give me my nice, long tail back that I need to wrap around me when I’m sleeping in the winter that is so icy and so cold.”
“I will give you a key,” said the locksmith, “but you must do something for me. You must go to the mine and bring me a sack of coal.”
“I will! I will!” said the mouse.
He went to the mine as quick as he could run there.
“Mine,” he said, “I must have a sack of coal to take to the locksmith, so the locksmith will give me a key to take to the barn, so the barn will give me a bale of hay to take to the cow, so the cow will give me a saucer of milk to take to the cat, so the cat will give me my nice, long tail back that I need to wrap around me when I’m sleeping in the winter that is so icy and so cold.”
“I will give you a sack of coal,” said the mine, “but you must do something for me. You must go to the raven and bring me one of his feathers.”