Latin American Folktales

by John Bierhorst

  “My son, a man would kill you.”

  “I’m strong.”

  “But men have ideas that are greater than your strength. Even if they don’t kill you, with their ideas they make you do things you don’t want to do. Go, but I warn you.”

  He made her promise to wait for him in the little cabin. She wept and said, “God protect you.”

  He walked for a while, came to a clearing, and saw an ox. From his mother’s description he knew that men were smaller than this, but he decided to take no chances. “Are you a man?” The ox shook its head. Its master had just unyoked it after a day’s work.

  “Look at the back of my neck,” said the ox. “All the hair’s worn off! It’s the man’s doing. You never know what to expect!”

  “But you’re bigger than he is.”

  “It doesn’t matter. He has the ideas. When he takes the yoke off, he puts me on a rope and ties it to that stake over there. Always another idea!”

  “When I find him, I’ll kill him and set you free.”

  The ox just shook its head, and the boy walked on.

  He came to a pasture where a horse was grazing. This could be it. This could be the man. The ears were fairly small, as the boy had been told to expect. “Are you a man?” The horse spoke up, “The man is the one who just took off my saddlebags. Look where my hair is rubbed off. When he rides me, I can throw him, and I can kick him with my hooves. But it doesn’t help me. He has a whip and makes me carry heavy loads.”

  The boy walked on. He came to a house with some outbuildings. There was a burro chained in the yard. The boy thought, “This is it. Look at that white belly! That worried face!” He said, “Are you a man?”

  “The man is the one who puts me on this chain. Just look at it! It’s made of iron. He knows if he uses a rope I’ll chew it.”

  “I’m going to set you free,” said the boy. “Not possible,” said the burro. And the boy walked on. A dog was barking. Could it be a man?

  “Who are you barking at?”

  “You, in case you’re a thief. Master’s orders!”

  “And who’s your master.”

  “The man.”

  Already a man was running out of the house. He came and greeted the bear’s son, and they shook hands. He asked the boy, “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m here to fight. One of us will kill the other.”

  “Kill?” said the man. He was carrying an ax on his shoulder. “But aren’t you looking for work? I need help. Work first. We’ll fight later.” He lifted the ax and drove the blade into a pine log. “Here, put your hands next to the blade, so you can pick up this log. We’ll see how strong you are.”

  “Both hands?” asked the boy.

  “Yes, with your arms crossed.” Then the man removed the blade, and the log snapped shut on the boy’s hands. He shouted for help as the man put the ax on his shoulder again and slowly walked back to the house, ate his lunch, took his nap; got up, had his dinner, and went to bed. In the morning he freed the boy, sending him off to his mother with crushed hands. As he passed by the burro, it said, “Didn’t I tell you?” And the horse and the ox said the same, “Didn’t I tell you?”

  When he reached the cabin, his mother greeted him: “Didn’t I tell you?” Then she rubbed his hands with grease and healed him. “Now enough of this!” she said. “I’m taking you to be baptized.”

  When they got to the church, the priest eyed the strapping young man and said, “I’ll not only baptize him, I’ll be his godfather. Just leave him with me.” The priest found him a bed in a little room in the parish house and gave him food. That day the bear’s son became acquainted with tortillas. Whatever he was given he ate. And he worked without pay.

  “Son, I have workers making a cornfield. Go give them a hand.”

  “Yes, father.” And when breakfast was finished, he went off to the forest without any tools, not even a machete. He got to the little clearing, where the priest had twenty-five men. The overseer greeted him, “We’ve been at it for five days.” Yet practically nothing had been cleared.

  The bear’s son stared at the enormous trees all around him. They reminded him of the forest where he had lived with his mother and his father the bear. He told the men, “I was born in a place like this.” He felt comfortable there, and he walked around, sizing up the trees.

  When he got back to the priest, he said, “You have twenty-five men, and they’ve done almost nothing. Give me a fifty-pound machete and I’ll do the work myself.”

  The priest went to the blacksmith and ordered the machete. “But who could lift such a thing?” asked the smith. “My beautiful godson!” said the priest. “He’s half a bear and half a man.”

  The next morning the workers saw the godson coming with a fiftypound machete and fled in terror. In just one day he cleared the entire two-acre plot, leaving only the largest trees. “For these I’ll need a hundred-pound ax,” he said. So the priest went back to the blacksmith and ordered the ax. The day after that, the trees were felled. The following day he did the burning. The day after that, the planting. And then the weeding. Finally the harvesting.

  “My son, you’ve done all this work without any payment,” said the priest.

  “What do you mean by ‘payment,’ father?”

  “Here!” He took two pesos out of the drawer. “Go get yourself a drink of rum.”

  “What’s ‘rum,’ father?”

  “Go over to the cantina. The cantinero will sell it to you.”

  He went into the cantina and ordered rum. When he returned, he asked his godfather for two more pesos. Then two more, and two more after that. When he’d finished his last glass, he reached for a jug and drained it. “Enough of that!” said the cantinero. “I’m calling the authorities.”

  “What are ‘authorities’?”

  The cantinero sent his little boy to bring the police. But the police couldn’t capture the bear’s son. He pulled all the rum off the shelf, five kegs, and finished it up. When he got back to the priest, the cantinero and the police were running up behind him. “Don’t worry,” said the priest. “I’ll pay for it. You’ll get your money.” To himself he said, “Money? You won’t get any from me.” Then he thought, “I’ve got to get rid of this godson. What a worker! He’s good. But he’s an animal. I can’t keep him here.”

  Out in the bush there were tigers, the worst of them a tigress that had given birth to three cubs. She dragged people to her den to feed the little ones. The priest said to his godson, “Tomorrow morning I want you out in the bush to bring back a cow I’ve got and three calves. Be careful of the cow. She has a hot temper.”

  “Father, how do you get a cow to come to you?”

  “Call to her, ton-ton-ton.”

  He got his ropes ready, a long, heavy one and three lighter ones, and went out to the bush. Ton-ton-ton. Before he knew it, he’d almost stepped on the tigress. He lassoed her, but she wouldn’t lie still. “She’s just as mean as my godfather said she was.” He punched her, reminding himself, “Easy! I mustn’t kill her. She’s my godfather’s cow.” Punching her gently, he tied her up until she couldn’t move. He jumped! One of the little cubs was behind him, then another and then another. He tied up all three and dragged the four of them back to town. People were gasping. They couldn’t believe what they saw.

  “Father, here’s your cow. What a temper! And these calves!” But when he turned his back, the priest called the police. Four shots, and the mother and her cubs lay dead. “Father, what have you done? Poor creatures! I brought them to you so they could live!” He held the animals in his arms. “The little calves, how I loved them! Father, it would have been better to leave them in the bush.” He went to his room and lay down on his bed, angry.

  The next day he was still miserable. But the priest wasn’t finished. He said, “Tomorrow I have another job for you. There’s an old farmhouse I own, out in the country. Spend the night there and rid the place of ghosts!” Then to himself he said, “He’ll die of
fright. No one who goes there comes back alive.”

  The following day the boy set out with a blanket and a machete and reached the old farmhouse shortly after dark. He went in and lay down, and in less than a minute he was snoring. Suddenly he woke up. There was a light in the next room. “Well, it’s about time. My godfather said there were ghosts.”

  He put on his shoes and went to investigate. A steer was being hoisted onto a huge dining table. “Whoever you are, out!” said the boy. “This is my godfather’s house.”

  “Come eat,” said a voice.

  “Not hungry,” said the boy. “I came with a full stomach. And you! Clear out! I’m warning you!” But he could see that the table was nicely set. There were knives all in a row, and already the steer was being carved. The voice kept urging him, “Eat!” He pulled up a chair and in spite of himself ate everything that dropped on his plate. When he’d finished the last mouthful, he felt sleepy again and went back to his blanket. This time he locked the door, but again he was awakened. The voice was calling down to him from the ceiling:

  “I’m about to fall!”

  “How did you get in here?”

  “I’m falling!”

  “All right, fall! And get out, so I can sleep.”

  An arm dropped to the floor, then another arm.

  “What’s this? Piece by piece? Get it over with and clear out, so I can get back to sleep.”

  A thigh came down and hit the floor with a thud. Then a shank, then the other thigh and the other shank. Then the head, pum! And at once the pieces rejoined and made a man.

  “All right, so you pulled yourself apart and now you’re together again. I’m trying to sleep!”

  “Don’t you know I’m a ghost?”

  “Ghost? I can’t be bothered.”

  “Not even if there’s buried treasure? Go cut a pine stick and make me a torch. I’ll show you.”

  “Make it yourself.”

  The ghost cut a stick and made the torch as best it could. Then it led the boy to where the treasure was hidden. “Here it is, all my silver. It’s for the priest to say a Mass for my sake on the feast of St. Anthony. Whatever is left over is for you.”

  “You mean you played those tricks on me just because of this?”

  “Yes, because I am a soul in torment.”

  “Then go. I’ll take care of the rest.” The ghost disappeared, and the boy went back to his blanket. The next morning, when he saw the priest again, he told the whole story, not forgetting the treasure, and together they went back to the farmhouse with iron tools. The boy showed the priest where he had eaten the steer and where he had slept on the blanket. The priest blessed both rooms, then got out the tools and started digging. The chest was so heavy the boy had to lift it for him. Then he carried it home to the parish house on his back.

  When the feast of St. Anthony arrived, the priest said a Mass for the soul in torment, who years before had been owner of the farmhouse. Now the poor soul could rest in the hands of God; and the money, in the hands of the priest, for what was left from the Mass he kept for himself.

  And this priest, mind you, did not pay wages. He said, “Dear godson! How hard I’ve made you work! You’ve done everything I’ve asked. It hurts me to think how you could have been killed.”

  “It’s all right, father. I’m leaving now.”

  “My dear son! If you must! Here, take a few tortillas.” But the boy refused. He was annoyed. He had gotten up angry that morning. And still he said, “Look, you are my godfather. You baptized me. My mother brought me to you for baptism, and you took me in. God protect you.”

  “Go, my son. God protect you.”

  The boy disappeared, and nobody knows where he went. That’s the story, just to here and no further.

  Honduras (Lenca) / Hipólito Lara

  87. Charity

  A certain king was devoted to the poor. On Friday of each week he fed the needy people in his town. He ordered his servants to prepare the meals, then he himself handed them out.

  All the poor came regularly except one man, who had not been informed. When at last the news reached him, he presented himself, and the king, seeing him for the first time, said, “Tell me, are you one of the poor?”

  “Poorer than the mice themselves,” answered the man. “I have a wife to provide for and my parents, too. And so many children! And so little to give them!”

  Hearing all this, the king commanded his servants to make meat pies for the following Friday. He wanted to help the man who had waited so long to come forward, but he didn’t want to cause a stir among the rest of the poor. When the pies were done, the king opened one of them and slipped a gold doubloon inside. Then he put the crust back and set the pie aside.

  When the time came to hand out the food, the king gave the desperately poor man two pies instead of one, without saying a word. The man was glad to get them and started for home. On the way he met another poor man headed for the palace and, realizing that this man would get there too late to receive a pie, gave him one of his own, keeping the other for himself.

  The following Friday the king was astounded to see the man he had treated so generously returning for more. Thinking the man had frittered away the doubloon, he said to him angrily, “What did you do with the gold doubloon I put in your pie last week?”

  “Doubloon? I didn’t find it,” said the man. “But I gave one of the pies to another man who was poor and in need.”

  “Then I’ve helped someone without intending to!” cried the king. He was pleased and asked the man to follow him. He led him to his treasure room, thinking to save him from his poverty once and for all. But when he tried his keys, none would turn in the lock. Suddenly a voice spoke to him from the crucifix attached to the wall. It was Our Lord, saying, “He whom I have made poor you may not make rich.”

  The king heard the words and was taken aback. Then he understood that it was not proper to favor this man, and from that time on he helped him no more or less than he helped all the others.

  Argentina / Manuel de Jesús Aráoz

  88. Riches Without Working

  A little old woman had a son who never worked, but the son had a girlfriend whose father was a rich hacendado. The boy was eighteen, and it was time for him to have a wife. He told his mother to go to the hacendado with a marriage proposal.

  The mother refused. She said, “Why would they listen to a proposal from you? They’d run me off the property.” But the boy said, “Give it a try! When you get to the door, just ask if they wouldn’t mind talking to that boy’s mother.” The old woman kept refusing.

  But at last she went. When she got to the door of the hacendado ’s house, the servants paid no attention to her. Then after a while they asked her what she wanted. She answered, “Oh, a little something.”

  At that point the hacendado and his daughter came out, and the father said politely, “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to come here. You’ve been kind enough to bring us a message.” But then he said, “You people are dirt poor. You want riches without working. Work! If you’re not too lazy to try it. See if you can earn something for a change.”

  The little old woman trembled so hard she could scarcely hear the words. She hurried off to tell her son how she had been treated. The boy said, “That’s enough. Don’t go back. Tomorrow morning kill me a chicken to take to the woods. I’ll bring back a load of firewood so they won’t be able to say I’m lazy.”

  When the sun came up, the mother packed the chicken and a basket of tortillas, and the boy set off in high spirits. He walked for a while, not far enough to reach the edge of the forest, then he thought, “What’s the point? I’d better stop and eat. It’s getting late.” He broke the chicken into pieces, ate some, then laid the rest aside. When he reached for another piece, he saw that it had been nibbled.

  Cautiously he stood back and watched. He saw a mouse come out. He said to himself, “The mouse takes my food and runs off. Where does it go?” He searched until he found the nest. Then he s
aid to the mouse, “You thief! You’ve stolen my chicken. You and all your children are going to pay for this.”

  The mouse folded its hands together and prayed to him, “You won’t kill my children, will you?” The boy said, “Friend! You finished off my food!” But the mouse said, “Don’t kill us. Instead, take all of us home with you. Give us a bed and plenty to eat, and I’ll see to it that you marry the daughter of the hacendado who has rejected you.”

  “Can you mean it?” said the boy. Then he picked up the mouse and its family and tucked them into his serape. When he got back to the house, his mother asked, “Where’s the firewood? Did you bring it?” But the boy just said, “Hey! Get me some cotton.”

  “Why cotton?”

  “For the mouse’s bedclothes.”

  The mother said, “If you’ve got a mouse, put it here. I’ll kill it.” “No,” said the boy, “the mice are going to give us everything we need.” So the mother went out and bought a pound of cotton and hurried home. With the cotton the boy made a nest and put the mice to bed.

  That night, advised by the mouse, the boy went to his girlfriend’s. He knew that the hacendado kept all his money in a chest. He found the chest and made a small hole in it. Then he fished out a piece of silver, brought it home, and showed it to the mouse. From that night on, the mouse began carrying the silver, piece by piece, until not a single cent remained in the hacendado’s money chest.

  Soon the old woman was buying meat for the mouse family, and the boy was riding a fine horse. The horse pranced, and the boy would ride to his girlfriend’s like a prince.

  Before long the girlfriend’s mother took sick. The hacendado had to sell off part of his land to pay for a cure. The cure failed and the mother died. After that the hacendado himself became sick, and all the rest of his land was sold off to pay the expenses. They knew, at least, that there was money in the chest. But when they went to get it, the chest was empty.

  At last the girlfriend’s father died, and she became an orphan. She went to her boyfriend’s and asked if he had any money. The boy thought for a while, then said to himself, “If I don’t tell her the truth, I’ll never have what I want.” Finally he said yes, the two were married, and of course they were rich.