The boy closed his eyes and thought of his beloved parents…
When he dared to open his eyes once more, he was standing alone on a white sandy beach, his left hand clasping the copper coin. There was no sign of the town of Wineta. Everything had gone: the clipper ships, the busy harbour, the flamboyant buildings, the marble lighthouse.
Slawek lifted his arm and flung the coin out into the sea. Terrible greed had driven these people mad. Now he wanted nothing to do with the money.
Relief flooded through him. Feeling light and hopeful, he turned quickly and made his way home. He longed to be back with his dear parents, working hard on their farm.
Never again did Slawek return to the coast. But one hundred years later, a young sailor claimed he had seen the mirage of a ghost town while out fishing in the Baltic Sea. He spoke of a giant harbour and colourful stalls with rich produce laid out in the crowded town square, a place where everyone seemed intent on just one thing – money.
King Fish
In the murky depths of Lake Sniardwy, the water was pitch black and clouds of sand and mud swirled around the tendrils of luminous green weeds growing beside a castle of rocks. All the little fish knew the castle.
Sum the cat-fish twitched his wiry moustache as he stood on his tail before this underwater fortress, waiting to be summoned inside.
The stone drawbridge was down, the coral portcullis up and the pink anemone was flying from the tower. King Fish was at home, and the catfish imagined the monarch with huge fins, perched upon his throne, a crown of coral upon his head.
And Sum thought, “How does my own little moustache compare with His Majesty’s magnificent grey whiskers? Who am I to tell the king about that strange thing that has appeared on the far side of the lake? It’s probably nothing – and then, just think how angry he’ll be if I’ve disturbed his afternoon rest! But what if it turns out to be something, and I haven’t told him? Just imagine how angry he’ll be then… and what will happen to me?”
The gloomy dungeons beneath the castle were rumoured to contain the bones of many unfortunate fishermen who had trespassed into these waters, and Sum imagined there was plenty more room where a troublesome little fish could be locked away.
“There is a cat-fish to see you, my Lord.”
Sum’s bristly whiskers twitched nervously as he was ushered in.
“What is it, my little chap? Speak up,” bellowed King Fish.
“Your Majesty, on the far side of the lake a huge iron monster has invaded the water. None of us knows what it is.”
King Fish opened one eye wider than the other.
“A monster? In my lake? We’ll see about that!” And with an angry flap of his fins which sent bubbles coursing through the castle corridors, the great white fish, big as a shark, burst out through the portcullis and into the open water.
Tribes of little creatures who lived in the lake followed, singing cautionary songs that warned the king to take care. But King Fish was angry, and he swam right up to the monster – straight into the heavy iron net which the fishermen had laid to trap him.
CLANG! went the giant bars, as the locks snapped shut. King Fish roared and thrashed around wildly, but the metal was too strong for him and all he did was move the net closer to the shore.
“Hey, look! We’ve got a catch!” shouted the excited fishermen on the bank.
It took twelve strong men to hoist the enormous fish in and they gasped as they hauled him ashore.
“Wow! Have you ever seen such a monster? Just look at the size of his whiskers!”
King Fish thrashed around as they hauled him on to a cart and wheeled him to the courtroom. They sat him in the dock before three wizened judges with grey wigs and powdered faces.
One by one they read out accusations.
“You stand accused of disturbing fishing in this lake! And by doing so, you are making people hungry. Don’t you know that fish is like bread?” declared the first judge.
“You are also accused of wilfully damaging nets and boats belonging to the fishermen, thus allowing their catch to escape,” said the second judge. He added, “And here in this idyllic land of lakes and forests, we can do without a monster like you disturbing the peace!”
“Lastly, you are accused of coveting things which belong to everyone,” declared the third judge.
King Fish stared defiantly at his accusers, and with hardly a twitch of his long, grey whiskers, he replied:
“Let me put this to you three judges. Why is it that my fish, those whom I guard within this lake, never trespass into fishermen’s territory – and yet these pirates have brought their boats, nets and rods into our waters without stopping to consider that the lake does not belong to them.”
The judges turned purple when they heard this, and decided to punish the monstrous fish once and for all.
Together they cried, “For showing such contempt, you shall die a horrible death!”
King Fish did not move.
“Go on, then. Kill me! But remember all the followers I have in this lake. When word gets round that you have murdered me in cold blood, your supper might not be so easy to catch. Kill me, and see how quickly famine spreads throughout your land.”
The judges whispered among themselves, “This King Fish is no fool. It might be better to change the sentence without, of course, making it any more lenient…”
They turned once more to the prisoner.
“Very well,” they cried. “You shall keep your life, but we will tie you to the bridge with an iron chain for the rest of your life. When you die of natural causes, a wooden fish will be chained to the bridge in your place. Let the world remember that you cannot make the fish in this lake rebel against us.”
So they carried the giant creature back to the lake on a rusty cart, lashed a chain around him and secured it to the bridge.
As King Fish was chained up, he declared, “This chain shall remain to remind the world how you seek to impose your will upon it!”
And with these words, he slipped out of the chain and disappeared beneath the surface of the lake.
Nobody ever saw him again.
Water of Life
Maciek laid a soft rag soaked in cool water on his mother’s forehead. His hands trembled and he felt tears welling up in his eyes, for he had already tried many different herbs and prepared all kinds of tinctures, infusions and tonics – but all in vain. His mother showed no sign of improvement.
Gently closing the door of their wooden cottage behind him, he walked towards the ancient forest and followed the winding mountain stream to the old healer’s hut. Most people kept away from the place – but Maciek was desperate…
“You’ve tried all the usual herbs, you say? What – even columbine and plantain? And nothing happens? No improvement? Well, my lad, there is only one thing left…” The wrinkled crone wheezed, her voice creaky like a jackdaw.
Maciek stared at her hopefully.
“Whatever it is, I need to know. I’ll do anything… anything at all, only help me,” he pleaded.
The old woman lowered her voice as if she didn’t want the creatures of the forest to hear…
“Far away from here is a huge mountain called Sobotka. On its summit you will find a talking tree and a miraculous spring bursting out of the ground. It’s the water of life. This is the only thing which can help your poor mother. It brings back health and is reputed to…” – the old woman paused, drew a breath, leaned closer to the young boy and then whispered eagerly in his ear – “bring the dead to life again!”
She went on, “Reputed, because no one has ever found it. The mountain lies beyond three dark forests and three deep rivers…”
Maciek’s eyes sparkled with hope.
“I will go immediately, if it can save my dear mother’s life!”
“Ah, my boy, it is not so easy. Many have set out with the same thought, and never returned. You can’t imagine how many foul monsters and wicked temptations are hiding along the way. Fall prey t
o any of them, and you will be turned to stone,” warned the old woman.
Young Maciek thought again of his poor mother confined so pitifully to her sick bed. Nothing would stop him from finding the mountain and spring. He thanked the old healer and ran home like the wind.
He tried to feed his mother a small bowl of vegetable broth. Then, promising he would not be gone long, he picked up a wooden stick, wrapped a few provisions in a yellow scarf and tied his bundle to the end.
Maciek kept the image of his mother at the front of his mind as he walked beneath the towering firs, giant oaks and slender beeches. He crossed three deep rivers on flimsy rafts and seemed to see his mother’s face in the bubbling water of the mountain streams.
One morning, when the dew was still fresh upon the ground, the boy left the last forest and found himself staring up at the most sinister mountain he’d ever seen – Mount Sobotka. Its rugged sides were covered with trees clustered together in tufts, like knotted hair sprouting from a giant head. Maciek couldn’t see the summit, but he knew he had to reach the top fast. He began his ascent up a narrow winding path.
He hadn’t gone far, when he heard the hiss of snakes. He froze on the spot as he saw several vipers in the dense undergrowth poking long pink tongues out of their brown-and-green-mottled heads. For an instant he wanted to turn back, but the thought of his poor mother spurred him on. He closed his eyes tightly and passed unhurt through the venomous snakes’ den.
The gnarled trees grew closer together in this part of the wood, and the narrow path wound steeply over gravel and loose boulders. All at once Maciek slipped, losing his footing and almost crashing to the ground. “Surely”, he whispered to himself, “there must be an easier way up than this.” And as he spoke, strange voices started to plague him. Haunting words sailed in on the wind, squeezing their way through the jungle of firs and pines.
“Why labour up such a difficult path, Maciek?”
“Turn round. Behind you is an easier way…”
Maciek cupped his hands over his ears…
“Look at the wide path on your left. It’s easier. Follow it, follow it…”
But no temptation could win the boy over. He ignored the voices and kept walking along the same track. And as he ventured deeper into the dark forest, a terrible fear overcame him. A hungry wolf howled, a piercing cry that made the hairs on the back of his neck stick up. At times it was so gloomy, it felt like night, but the thought of his mother led Maciek on towards the light.
A second wolf howled. The dark forest was suddenly lit up, and out of a tree hung a dozen goggling imps with horns. Dread gripped Maciek. He wanted to turn back and run, but the frail voice of his mother pleaded with him to carry on.
“My dear son, you are my only hope! If you turn back, I will surely die…”
All at once Maciek felt hot air on his face, like a gust of tropical wind. Surely, the higher he climbed, the cooler it should be. With a dry mouth and stinging eyes he wrestled his way onwards in the sweltering heat.
A flicker of red danced in the distance. Maciek shouted, “FIRE!”
Yellow, orange and red flames were spreading across the whole mountainside. But still Maciek struggled on. And to his surprise, he noticed that despite the fire, the flames did not touch him.
It wasn’t long before he spotted a vast limestone cave. Inside, a huge yellow and green beast lay sleeping, smoke trailing from its nostrils. A dragon! Maciek felt a sudden pain in his legs. Looking down, he saw hundreds of lizard-like creatures with tiny razor teeth snapping at his ankles. He clenched his teeth, brushed the monsters off and kept walking. Nothing was going to stop him reaching the top now.
But just as he thought the worst was over, an enormous crash sent him diving for cover. A great boulder was rolling down through the dark forest flattening the trees on its path to the bottom of the mountain. Maciek thanked the skies he wasn’t down there.
He was nearing the top. All he had to do now was get through the gully ahead.
Out of nowhere, a well-dressed man in a gold hat stepped into his path, his teeth glinting in a sneer. He thrust a leather bag into Maciek’s path.
“Here, take these gold coins, and go. Leave this mountain now, and you can go home a rich man…”
For a moment Maciek hesitated, thinking of all the wonderful things he could buy for himself. But would a bag of coins buy his mother’s health? Waving the man away, he walked firmly forward, only to bump into a blue-eyed, fair-haired young girl so beautiful that he couldn’t help stopping to gaze at her.
“Come with me! Forget all your troubles. We will run away together and be happy…”
Maciek felt a strong desire to take her hand. Oh, how he longed to escape with this beautiful woman! But deep inside, he knew he only had one mother and he could not abandon her, having come so far. He closed his eyes and grimly walked on.
When he looked up again, he saw the elusive mountain peak above him. Only a tiny stream strewn with pebbles and boulders lay between young Maciek and his goal. He set foot on a rock – and reeled backwards, for as he touched it, water began to seep out.
“Help me, Maciek!” cried a voice.
As he crossed, placing his feet carefully on one rock and then another, the voice was joined by a chorus of weeping and wailing.
“So long have we lain here, turned to stone for our weakness. Please help us!”
But Maciek wouldn’t stop.
I will remember you on my way down. I promise,” he called back.
With one last push, the boy heaved himself up on to the mountain peak. But it wasn’t the view of the dazzling forest below, or the snowy white clouds in the sky which caught the young man’s attention. He was too busy staring at the lone fir tree in the midst of the peak, and the great white-and-grey hawk that perched in its branches. Underneath, in a narrow cleft, Maciek saw a tiny mountain spring from which water as pure as the sky flowed. All around the thick base of the lonely fir and scattered over the summit lay hundreds of boulders similar to those Maciek had passed on his way up. The young man stared in wonder as the enormous hawk stretched out its wings and flew up into the blue sky beyond the clouds.
“This is it! This is what I’ve come for!” he cried, but his words were interrupted. The great bird had flown back to the tree carrying a golden jug in its claws.
The fir tree began to move its crooked branches. Maciek stared in wonder as a strange voice boomed out.
“I can see you’ve never heard a tree talk, my boy. Well, believe me, we do occasionally, when we have something important to say. Now, you look at that jug which my friend is holding. Take it, and fill it with water from this spring. Dip a branch in the water, then go home and sprinkle it on your mother’s forehead.”
Nervously, Maciek took the heavy jug from the hawk and did exactly as the tree had said. As he filled the golden vessel to the rim, he accidentally spilt a little of the water on some of the rocks. Imagine his surprise when they began to change into human beings, and proceeded to follow him down the steep mountain. Crowds of poor folk who had been turned to stone for giving in to temptation and fear on their way to the mountain peak, were now freed – and all this, thanks to one brave boy!
Maciek’s journey back through the dark forests and across the deep rivers didn’t seem as long as before. When he arrived at his mother’s cottage, he stood outside and called out, “Mother! Mother! It’s your son, Maciek. I’m back!”
But there was no answer.
He pushed open the door, trying not to spill the precious water, and found his mother lying motionless on the bed. Was he too late?
“I did it, mother. I brought this back for you,” he cried. And he sprinkled a few drops of water on her face.
For some time he sat with his head in his hands.
All at once, he heard a voice say weakly, “Have I been asleep long, my son?”
Words cannot describe young Maciek’s joy. From then on, he knew what real happiness was – and if he hadn’t travelled s
o far, he would never have found it.
About the stories
My wife Malgosia and her mother, Joanna Hoscilowicz, have told me many Polish stories, including those in this collection. I have also referred to the following:
The Turnip-Counter
W Gorach Olbrzymich
Stanislaw Belza (1849-1929)
(published Krakow, Gebethner i Wolff, 1898)
The Karkonosze Mountains are the highest in the Sudeten Chain, criss-crossed by winding footpaths. The upper parts are a national park, recognised by UNESCO as a World Biosphere Reserve.
The Mermaid of Warsaw
Syrena
Artur Oppman (1867-1931)
Today the mermaid is a symbol of Warsaw, appearing on postcards, flags and many other souvenirs in the craft shops of the city.
Skarbnik’s Second Breakfast
Legendy i Basnie Slaskie,
Stanislaw Wasylewski (1885-1953) (published Slask, Katowice, 1957)
Visit the Wieliczka Salt Mine at www.kopalnia.pl
Jegle and the King of the Lakes
Litwa, Dziela wszystkie, t.53,
Henryk Oskar Kolberg (1814-90)
(published Ossolineum, Wroclaw, 1966)
The Copper Coin of Wineta
Legenda Winety: Studium historyczne
Ryszard Kiersnowski (1926-2006)
(published Ossolineum, Krakow, 1950)
Chronicles of Adam of Bremen, circa 1075
The Goats of Poznan
Oral tradition
Visit the Poznan History Museum in the Town Hall at www.mnp.art.pl/oddzialy/ratusz
The goats you see today butting their heads beneath the clock face are not the original ones carved by Pietrek. Those were destroyed around 1551 by a violent thunderbolt.
The Mermaid of Warsaw Page 5