Scrapbook

by Michael White

“Never knew that, Charlie.” said Tom.

  “Yes. Made originally in London too.”

  “There’s a question for the Wednesday quiz if I ever heard one.” winked Tom and Charlie looked around at the rapidly filling lounge and made a beeline back to the bar to make sure that his vast array of pickled eggs and salted nuts were as prominent as he wanted them to be.

  “Who are the other two storytellers then?” called Charlie from behind the bar and Tom walked across, empty glass in hand, placing it on the bar in front of him and rifling in his pocket for money. Tom had made the slight mistake when he had first approached Charlie with the idea of hosting the competition at the Bucket and Shovel that because he was providing Charlie with a lot of business and so therefore should be entitled to a free pint or two. The very fact that he was even now, some six years later looking in his pocket for money would give a general pointer to the way that the rest of the conversation had proceeded.

  “Martin Waysmith and Sid Cooper.” said Tom.

  “Never heard of them.” said Charlie.

  “Well Martin is new to the competition, but Sid was in the finals a few years ago.” Tom paused as if trying to recall as Charlie poured his pint, totally unaware that Charlie had already counted the money on the bar and found it to be correct. “He told a story about the spider who owned too many boots.” It was now Charlie’s turn to ponder.

  “Oh I remember.” said Charlie. “A bit weak that one I think. Who is the favourite to win?”

  “Kevin.” said Tom. “Bookies wouldn’t like to take a bet on this year’s final.” he said, winking as he did so.

  “Kevin your nephew?” smirked Charlie, and Tom nodded. “I bet they wouldn’t.” said Charlie, and although Tom was perfectly aware that the landlord was having a go at him, he was not actually one hundred percent sure because of the big wide grin on Charlie's face.

  “Well we shall see.” said Charlie, and turning from Tom made a show of checking on the three real ale punters who, he overheard, seeming to be having quite a heated argument about gas fired barbeques.

  Over the course of the next half hour the pub slowly filled up, the seats around the area that Charlie had set up for the competition being now completely occupied. On the podium sat the three judges, with Tom in the middle holding court, and beside them were three men on stools with sheaves of paper in one hand, pints in the other. Two of them looked extremely nervous but Kevin Goodenough sat at the end of the row smirking. Charlie snorted. The man was even too stupid to know that he shouldn’t really make it look as if his Uncle Tom was going to give him the title even if he told a story about his longest piss.

  “Stupid sod!” laughed Charlie out loud and as he stood laughing Tom stood and gave his usual speech of welcome and talked about the winner of last year and also the other two competitors. As Charlie watched, the competition started.

  Martin approached the microphone almost timidly, the sheaf of notes in his hand waving about slightly as his hands were trembling fiercely. He looked down at the papers as if his life depended on it and did not look up at all. He fiddled with his cardigan button and began slowly to speak. Charlie looked on amazed as Martin broke every rule in the public speaking bible one by one.

  “Once in a faraway village long ago there lived a woman and her daughter. The woman was not old, nor young, but her daughter was young, and was called Pina.

  The village in which they lived was extremely isolated and far off the beaten track, and Pina and her mother had very little food and struggled to feed themselves almost day to day. Their home was basic too; no more than a hut. Pina’s mother worked very hard to sustain their daily needs, and usually she had found that she had to toil day and night to make both ends meet.

  However hard she worked though, she never received any help from her daughter, whether in harvesting food to eat or keeping their small home clean and tidy. No. Pina was a lazy, spoiled child who liked to do nothing more than play in the backyard all day. Whenever her mother asked for help around the house or tried to send her on an errand, she would always find an excuse by saying she could not find the object that was needed to complete the work. If her mother asked her to sweep the house she would say she could not find the broom, even if it was right there in front of her. If she was asked to clean a plate she could never find the cloth to clean them and so on. Needless to say, her mother always ended up doing the work herself.” Martin paused for a second nervously and took a sip of the pint that he had placed on the table near to hand, then looking at his feet and mumbling just as badly before he was off again.

  “One day, her mother became very ill. She called out to Pina, who as usual was playing in the backyard.

  “Pina! Pina! Come over here, my daughter. I am very sick. Can you cook some food for me please? I am too weak to get up.”

  Pina ignored her mother and continued to play.

  “Pina, come over here this very instant, or else!” Pina’s mother mustered all her strength just to say this, but it worked. Pina get irritated and stopped playing and went inside the house. She poked her head inside the hut for there was only one room and she lay off to one side, along the wall on her makeshift bed.

  “What do you want, mother? You really expect me to cook for you? That’s too hard,” protested Pina, pouting and stomping her feet.

  “Pina, it is very simple. There is some thin soup in the pot. Once the soup boils, let it simmer for a while. Stir it occasionally with a ladle. Everything you need should be right there in the kitchen.”

  Pina reluctantly left and went to the kitchen. Her mother could hear her banging the drawers and cabinets. So Pina did cook but she let her attention wander and unfortunately the soup burnt as Pina was back outside playing in the yard again, the soup long forgotten as she played her games.

  It was the same even if Pina’s mother was not ill. If she was ever asked to do the chores at home, then she would always find an excuse not to be able to complete the task. It seemed to Pina’s mother that the girl just did not look hard enough for the things that she needed to do the jobs that were given to her. On one day for example when Pina was asked to cook some food she couldn't find the matches. One other time she did not sweep the floor as she could not find the broom, and on another she did not light the fire because she could not find the matches. So on it went.

  One time however her mother asked her to cook and she could not find the ladle. She asked her mother, “Mother where's is the ladle?” Her mother was angry.

  “You always pretend you cannot find something when I ask you to do something for me.”

  There was no reply however as Pina’s mother heard her daughter open the back door and sneak out into the backyard. Her mother waited and waited. Finally, she called out to Pina again.

  Pina, did you cook like I told you to?”

  “No,” was the defiant response.

  “And why not?” said her mother in exasperation.

  “Because I could not find the ladle,” was her flippant reply.

  Finally, Pina’s mother lost her temper with her.

  “Oh, you lazy child! You probably did not even bother to look for it! What am I going to do with you? Here I am, sick, and I cannot even count on you!”

  Her mother wept bitterly. In her anger, she shouted, “I wish you would grow a thousand eyes all over your head! Then you can find what you’re looking for. Maybe then you won’t have any more excuses.”

  As soon as she said this, there was complete silence.

  Her mother thought, “She is trying to be quiet so I will forget about asking her again.” She sighed.

  She waited a little bit to see if Pina would come back. Realizing the wait was futile, she wearily got up to do the cooking herself. When she looked out into the backyard, Pina was nowhere to be found. She sighed again and said to herself, “That lazy kid probably went to a friend’s house so she did not have to do any more errands for me.”

  Exhausted from the exertion, she soon went back to her ro
om for a much-needed rest. Weak as she was, she just tried to do everything by herself, having given up on any help from Pina. Hours passed by, and then days, and there was still no sign of her wayward daughter. With a heavy heart, she thought that Pina had run away for sure.

  When she finally recovered from her illness, the first thing she did was look for Pina. She asked her neighbors but no one had seen or heard from her. It was like she disappeared into thin air. Months passed and still no sign of her. The mother felt bad for her angry outburst, and she feared that she might probably never see her daughter again.

  One day she was sweeping the backyard where Pina used to play. For months now, she had noticed this strange plant growing on the very spot where she last saw Pina. By this time, the leaves of the plant had fully opened. Inside, she saw this strange yellow fruit that resembled a child’s head with what looked like a thousand eyes. In her mind she recalled the spiteful words she had used that fateful day. With horror, she realized that in the same way her mother’s love had spoiled her daughter, so did her anger unwittingly curse her. Somehow, her daughter had been turned into this plant.

  “I will name this plant, “Pina”.” she said, and she took such loving care of it that it was as if the plant really was her own daughter. The fruit flourished so well that it bore more and more fruits, and became popular among the village and the entire country. Its name later evolved to Pinya, or pineapple.

  And so that is how the pineapple came to be, according to folklore, named after a spoiled child who was cursed with a thousand eyes…”

  Martin nodded and picking up his pint returned to his seat as loud applause rung around the Bucket and Shovel. As was the usual tradition there was a five-minute break between tales to allow everyone to visit the toilet or, much more to Charlie’s liking, to stock up on beer. After this it was Sid’s turn. He had done this before, Charlie knew, but he seemed to be no less nervous for it. He slowly pulled the microphone towards him, giving off a low hum that was threatening to turn into a feedback driven high pitched squeal. Nervously he let go of the microphone and the stand as if it had bitten him, obviously now having decided to leave it exactly where it currently was.

  Gulping loudly, he began his tale.

  “There was once a rich couple named Dodong and Iska. They had a twelve-year-old daughter named Maria whom they loved deeply. Luckily, Maria was a responsible daughter, hardworking and kindhearted. Because of her traits everybody loved her. She was however very shy, and because of her shyness she was not fond of speaking with other people. She would blush every time somebody would greet her and she would just nod her head and would not utter a word. Because of this, she would often hide herself in her room so she wouldn’t have any chance of mingling with other people. When it was festival time in their town she would never go out and watch any of the events, preferring instead to hide inside her room all alone.

  One of Maria’s great hobbies was that she loved to take care of and nurture flowers. She had a Beautiful garden that was regarded by many of her town to be the most beautiful for miles around, and if she was not in her room hiding then it was in the garden that she could be found, taking good care of her flowers. She loved it there, for it was in her garden that she found refuge and happiness.

  One day however it came to pass that the townspeople heard horrifying news. A group of bandits had arrived at a nearby town and had killed all the people who tried to hide their money and other belongings from them. The next day, the group of bandits had reached the town where the family of Dondong, Iska and their daughter Maria lived, and Dodong knew that it would not be long before the group of bandits were heading their way. His first thought was to protect his little daughter from them, and so,they decided to hide Maria in her flower garden to protect her from being killed by the bandits.

  Iska and Dondong hid inside their house, frightened and shaking. They heard the bandits break down their door and at that moment they both silently prayed to protect them from whatever the bandits would do to them.

  Iska cried out, “Oh Lord, my Lord, please save my daughter Maria. Please hide her Lord so none can ever find her.”

  By now the bandits had already broken down their door. They went in and hit Dondong on his head, he lost consciousness and fell down on the floor. Iska, on the other hand, tried to run and escape but she too was hit on her head and fell down and also lost consciousness.

  The bandits were clever though. They saw three plates set on the table and so they knew that they had missed one occupant of the house. They searched the whole house to find who the missing person was but they could not find Maria. They did however take all of Maria’s family’s money and belongings and they left.

  When Dondong and Iska regained consciousness, the bandits had already fled. They immediately ran towards the flower garden to find their young daughter Maria. Much to their surprise, Maria was gone! They looked for her everywhere but still they did not find Maria. They went back to the flower garden and searched on every corner but she was quite simply nowhere to be found.

  “My daughter! They took away my daughter!” screamed Iska, who was frightened and scared.

  Suddenly, Dodong felt something prick his foot. He was shocked with what he saw. As he looked down he noticed a small plant that quickly closed its leaves as he stared at it. It was the first time they ever saw such a unique plant. He stooped down to look at it more closely; Iska did the same thing too. They saw that the plant would open up and will close its leaves again once touched. Because of this, they now knew that their prayers had been answered, but had been answered harshly, for now they knew that the plant was Maria, for God had turned their daughter into a plant to save her from the bandits.

  Both Dondong and Iska could not stop their tears from falling. As their tears dropped on the plant, they became little flowers that looked like little roses.

  From then on, Dondong and Iska took good care of the plant. They believed and they knew that the plant was indeed their daughter Maria. Just like their daughter, the plant was also quite shy. Because of that, they called the plant “makahiya”, because they believe the plant was as shy as Maria. And from that day to this the plant has always been called “makahiya”.”

  Sid bowed and to light applause made his way back to his seat. From the bar Charlie saw Tom approach with his empty glass.

  “Bit of a horticultural theme tonight.” said Charlie, pouring Tom’s pint. Around him the other three members of staff were frantically trying to cope with the sudden rush now another story was done with.

  “That’s about to change.” winked Tom. “Kevin’s story is a cracker.”

  “You’ve heard it already?” asked Charlie, registering a fake look of shock. He couldn’t care less whether Tom had or he hadn’t, but Tom had slipped up and Charlie was keen to make him squirm.

  “Only a little.” lied Tom.

  “Doesn’t that make your position as head judge more than a little precarious then, Tom?” enquired Charlie, raising an eyebrow,

  “Both you and I know that’s hardly an issue.” snarled Tom suddenly, banging his money down on the bar as Charlie placed his new pint in front of him. “You just keep raking in the money for the beer and leave the rest of it to them who know what's best.” he said, and snatching his pint off the bar stalked his way back to the podium across the lounge, muttering loudly to himself as he did so.

  “You’ll get what’s coming to you one day.” smiled Charlie to Tom’s retreating back, “Mark my words.” and he rang the beer into the till and placed Tom’s money inside.

  Eventually the crowd returned to their seats, eager for the last tale to be told and hopefully improve on what they had heard so far. They all knew that Kevin had won the storytelling competition every year for the past five of course, but not everyone was also aware of the relationship between Kevin and Tom, and so there was a large part of the audience that were expecting something special.

  Kevin made his way to the microphone smiling wildly, a
nd quickly giving his notes a last glance began his tale.

  “In the villages and towns there came one day a terrifying whisper of strange occurrences that were taking place during the night all over the neighbouring counties. In the night something would happen to a random house. In the morning the neighbours would notice that there was no smoke rising from the chimney, nobody milking the cows or feeding the chickens. In fact, there was no sign of life at all. Eventually a kindly neighbour would go to the house and perhaps pry open the door and inside there was nobody. The house itself however was completely free of any signs of trouble or disturbance. Often there would be a half-eaten meal on the table, or there was a radio playing, but of the occupants of the house there was no sign, and they would never appear again.

  The number of incidents was small, and never in the same village twice. It was as if whatever it was that was happening was fleeing after the event and never returning. So far anyway.

  The stories of the strange events spread like an unattended fire across the many villages and towns until one day it came to be the ears of Popu, an eleven-year-old boy who tended his family's fields and animals and took a little education from the local school whenever he had time and was not too tired from all of the chores that his family laid upon him. Yet Popu was not a bitter boy. He knew his family was poor and that his aging parents could no longer tend the animals or the fields, and so he did what he could. Popu did not believe the story however, for he was a practical boy who believed only what his eyes and ears could show him. He had no time for fancies or tall tales, and so when the children gathered around wide eyed and related the story to him he merely laughed and walked away.

  “Nonsense.” he said to them as he walked away, “Tales to scare children with and nothing more.”

  So it came that one evening as night was drawing in Popu was returning along the country road to his parents’ house. They had few neighbours, but as he walked in the growing darkness along the lane he was surprised to see a small figure crouched at the door of his neighbours house.