Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘grimm’

Katie and Freddy were a pair of fools, or so the people of the village thought. They seemed to have fool’s luck, the kind of luck that only a fool would have. Their worthless piece of farm land became fertile when the river changed its course, never mind that Freddy dammed up and diverted the river himself. And when there was record rainfall one season all the other homes in the village sprang leaks in their roofs while the fools stayed dry, no doubt the copper lining to their shingled roof helped.

So when Freddy and Katie came into town with a sack full of gold the people of the village assumed the fools had once again found their luck. As the spent the night in a tavern, buying drinks for all, they refused to tell a soul how they came upon their money until they were good and drunk. That is, they pretended to be drunk and then chose one person in whom they felt the could confide.

“In the woods there is a tree marked with an X carved into its trunk. At the base of the tree is a hollow and inside that hollow is where a band of local robbers stash their loot. As they have just left for another round of looting it is probably safe to go and help yourself to a sack or two of coins. But tell no one else! If too many were to know of this then surely the robbers will notice and look elsewhere for a hiding place!”

The villager, usually overcome with greed or desiring to stake their claim before the fools sobered up and came to their senses, would make their haste in finding the tree almost immediately. Into the dark woods they went, in search of the marked tree, usually finding it within the course of an hour.

And they were never heard from again.

Katie and Freddy never worried when the villagers would take their leave, they never hurried themselves out of the tavern, and often they spent the night in town and returned home the next day. It was with a secret smile that Freddy and Katie would wake up the next day and go to the home of the villager before returning to their own cottage. They knew they would not be disturbed, or caught, as they ransacked the homes of those who they tempted away with the lure of easy money.

Because they knew that person was dead, at the bottom of a dead-fall trap, impaled by sharpened spikes. This was what Katie and Freddy did.

After finding a suitable spot in the woods they would carve an X in a tree and dig a large pit in front of it. The bottom of the pit with fitted with sharpened rods of steel and spikes of the hardest wood. Then over the pit would be stretched a linen cloth which was covered with a thin layer of earth from the forest so that it looked natural. As the unsuspecting villagers saw the X in the tree they would quicken their pace, tumbling with their full weight into the pit and onto the spikes. After ransacking the villager’s home of all their valuables Katie and Freddy would travel to distant towns and sell off the valuables for more gold. In the time they spent away from the trap wolves and other animals would come and clean the bones of the fallen villager. All that remained for Freddy to do when they returned home was collect whatever valuable rings or gold hadn’t been eaten by the animals and to burn the clothing before rebuilding the trap.

Month after month the fools would come into town, arousing the greed and suspicion of villagers, and month after month another citizen of the village would mysteriously disappear. Because Freddy and Katie were careful in choosing their victims – telling only those who lived alone, or sending family members a day apart after resetting the dead-fall – few in the village saw the connection between the two incidents.

Soon the remaining villagers became spooked. People were disappearing and without a word, without a sound. Families would move away in the dead of night without warning, sometimes leaving behind their possessions. And with fewer and fewer people around the artisans and craftsmen and guildsmen left to ply their trades elsewhere. The last remaining villager was the owner of the inn connected to the tavern. The fools, taking pity on him, offered him all the money they had plus what the robber had hidden in the tree in exchange for the inn and tavern. It would be money enough to start anew in another town and the innkeeper jumped at the opportunity… and fell to his death just like all the others.

But the fools, they made sure the inn that had been formally signed over to them before they told the innkeeper where to go, and with no one else around to contradict or lay claim, they assumed ownership of all the buildings in the village and the surrounding land. From their dealings with the far away villages where the sold their pillaged goods, the fools spread word that they had inherited an empty village and were looking to populate it with good people. They sold the homes and business stalls for a good price and ran the inn for themselves. Freddy and Katie often entertained their new neighbors with fables, including one about   a couple who had allegedly lured unsuspecting villagers to their death in the woods. In turn the villagers told the story to their children to keep them from going there, and when those children grew up they told a pair of brothers the tale for a collection they were compiling. The new occupants of the village were all warmly received by Freddy and Katie, thought they were two of the nicest people they’d ever met, and none ever thought them fools.

Though there was a pit in the forest waiting, just in case these new neighbors turned out to be as rude as the old ones.

.

.

“Fool’s Gold” can be found in The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm translated and edited by Jack Zipes. It’s story #247 and if you’re having a sense of deja vu the way I did, this is a varaition of the story that I reimagined as “Dumb Luck: A Rube Goldberg Grimmoire” which was story #265. Oh, and also, both of these are variants of story #59 called “Freddy and Katie” which, at the rate of one story a week, I’ll probably hit around this time in 2015.

Read Full Post »

A wealthy merchant had cause to visit a neighboring town but before he left he asked his three daughters if they wished for him to bring anything home. The oldest daughter asked for a dress, the middle daughter asked for shoes, and the youngest, who was the merchant’s favorite, asked for a single red rose.

“A rose in winter!” the oldest daughter laughed.

“Who does she think she is?” said the middle daughter.

The merchant promised his youngest daughter he would do his best and left to tend to his business. In short order he was able to find a dress and a pair of shoes for his older daughters, but finding a rose in winter eluded the merchant. The keeper of the inn where the merchant was staying overheard the merchant discussing the matter with another and recommended a craftsman in town who specialized in flowers made of silk. The merchant was so thrilled he rushed straight to the craftsman’s shop.

The shop was bursting with bouquets of the most beautiful flowers in every shade and color imaginable. The innkeeper had not exaggerated the craftsman’s art, for the flowers had been installed on the ends of twigs and stems that made their appearance near-perfect, and the air was thick with the perfume of every bud as if in a meadow in spring. At first the merchant didn’t even see the craftsman at his bench behind an explosion of gardenias piled high before him.

“Excuse the mess,” the craftsman said. “I’m just finishing up an order for a wedding. How may I help you?”

“My youngest daughter has charged me with finding her a red rose in winter,” the merchant said. “You can appreciate the impossibility of this task.”

The craftsman smiled and nodded. Then, without another word, he removed a ribbon of red silk and brushed one of the edges with a small glue brush. Then he removed a thorny rose branch from a bin behind him and began winding and binding the ribbon around the edge of the rose branch. In a matter of moments before the merchant’s eye he had produced a single, perfect red rose bud. The merchant looked at it with an amazement that begged the craftsman to speak.

“I have soaked and dried the stem in rosewater so that when it is placed in a vase with water is will not only smell like a rose but will cause the bud to open to its fullest bloom.”

As if to prove himself the craftsman took a silk tulip from his stock and placed it in a glass of water. Slowly the flower opened up and the gentle smell of tulips seemed to burst forth and fill the shop.

“Miraculous!” said the merchant. “What will such a thing as this rose cost me?”

“Well…” the craftsman considered. “I am looking for a wife. You bring this rose home and your daughter would be willing to meet with me I would consider that payment enough. If she will not meet me than we can arrange a fair amount the next time you come to town.”

The merchant was pleased with this offer, for not only would he return home with a rose for his daughter but he stood to gain a brilliant (and by all accounts handsome) craftsman as a son-in-law. At home his two older daughters loved their gifts but when the youngest daughter saw the rose she scoffed.

“You didn’t bring a paper dress or toy shoes home for my sisters, but you mock me with a ball of ribbon on a stick?”

The merchant begged her to wait until her could show her the majesty of the craftsman art. He placed the rose in a vase and, as promised, the bud sprang open and the air filled with the gentle caress of roses. The older girls were impressed but the younger daughter smirked.

“A clever parlor trick, but it isn’t any closer to being the rose I asked for. I trust you didn’t spend too much on this.”

The merchant explained the terms of his agreement with the craftsman and this time all three girls laughed.

“Oh father!” said the oldest.

“You honestly don’t think us so desperate that we would need to have our marriages arranged, do you?” said the middle daughter.

“Seriously,” said the youngest, “You would trade my happiness for this? Find this craftsman the next time you are in that town and pay him whatever he demands. There would be no price to high for this lesson.”

It was many months before the merchant returned, but when he did the following summer he found the neighboring town festooned with flowers and decorations all made of the finest silk. The merchant recognized instantly the decorations as the handiwork of the craftsman he sought.

“What is the occasion?” the merchant asked the innkeeper from his previous visit.

“The prince is getting married today.”

Satisfied with this explanation the merchant went in search of the craftsman to pay both for the rose of his last visit but in compliment for his latest accomplishment in decorating the village. At the craftsman’s quarters he found footmen of the palace exiting with armfuls of bouquets intended for the wedding banquet.

“Excuse me, but can you point me in the direction of the craftsman,” said the merchant. “I have a debt to settle with him.”

“Out of the question,” said one of the footman, “As the prince is busy getting ready for his wedding ceremony.”

The merchant was naturally confused so he returned to the innkeeper for confirmation.

“Indeed! The prince lived among us as a simple craftsman for years without betraying his true station. And today he marries the daughter of a merchant who graciously conceded to meet him in payment for a silk lotus flower he created…”

The merchant fell into an instant funk as he realized his daughter had spurned a prince. He stayed in town for the wedding and in the receiving line he found the craftsman prince recognized him immediately.

“Thank you for attending my wedding, though I suspect by the dour look on your face you have come to settle our accounts.”

“It is unfortunate that my daughter could not appreciate all you had to offer. What will this insult to your highness cost me?”

“It is too joyous an occasion for me to feel insulted. Return home and tell your daughters of all you have learned and we shall consider the matter settled.”

Which he did. And when the merchant’s daughters heard it all they wept for days on end, especially the younger daughter who never married and was buried holding a single rose that had been spun from silk.

And the rose still smelled as sweet as the day it was created.

.

.

“The Winter Rose” is adapted from The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm edited by Jack Zipes, part of a very long project to adapt and revise all the tales collected therein.

The original of “The Winter Rose” is the Grimm version of the story better known as “La Belle et la Bête” often credited to Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont though hers was an adaptation of a much longer version by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve. So I’m just part of a grand tradition of revising and reinterpreting tales!

Actually, it always bothered me that Belle made such a seemingly absurd demand that put her father at such risk. In the Grimm version the father dies before Belle can save him from destitution and death, and she returns to her prince and lives happily ever after. No, no prince for you, Belle, not this time.

Read Full Post »

“I had a strange and wondrous dream,” Julianne told her mother upon waking. “In it met a beautiful swan who was unable to fly because it was tangled in yarn. As I collected and balled the yarn the swan became free and flew off into the sky. As it circled overhead the swan said it was a prince caught in an evil spell and he begged me to come free him, then he flew off to who-knows-where.”

“If there’s anyone who can make sense of such things it would be your aunties,” said Julianne’s mother.

“But they’ve each married cannibals!” Julianne cried. “Surely you wouldn’t send me to risk my life simply to learn the message of a dream?”

“Darling one, they’re omnivores, not cannibals. You know that everyone in the world isn’t vegetarian like we are.”

So Julianne packed herself off to visit her aunties in turn, beginning first with Auntie Sun. As she related her dream Auntie Sun sat and rocked with her eyes closed, imagining the scene as is was described to her.

“Yes, yes,” said Auntie Sun, “I can see why this dream left such a strong impression on you. I can only explain part of the dream to you, my sisters will have to explain the rest, but you have to be sure this is really what you want.”

“I do, I do!” said Julianne.

Then Auntie Sun hands Julianne a necklace with a golden ring hanging from it.

“The swan is indeed a prince, that much is clear from the dream. He did not seek you out but he was grateful you found him, and so he shall be if you seek him out now. This golden ring will help you gain access to him.”

Julianne was grateful for her auntie’s help and skipped off to see her Auntie Moon. She told Auntie Moon of her dream and of Auntie’s Sun’s interpretation of the dream.

“Very well,” said Auntie Moon, “I suspect that you like what you heard and wish to hear more? That’s what you have come to me?”

“I do, I do!” said Julianne.

“Very well. The swan-prince of your dream is indeed entangled, bound by a spell of words, but he agreed to the terms of this spell without giving it much thought. If you continue to seek him out the prince will understand the true weight of this spell and will be released. That is all I can tell you, child.”

With this Auntie Moon gave Julianne a bracelet full of green emeralds. “This will help you to weaken the spell, but I must warn you that you put yourself in danger if you proceed. My other sister will explain it to you no doubt.”

Julianne didn’t care about danger. She had reimagined the swan-prince in her mind over and over to the point where he would be worth any risk she might have to undertake. She anxiously went to her Auntie Star and related her dream, as well as the interpretations by her sisters Sun and Moon, and grunted in response.

“My foolish sisters have done you a disservice be filling you head with romantic notions,” Auntie Star said. “This dream is a warning, for you and your swan prince, and no good can come from all this.”

“But Auntie Moon said that my prince is indeed entangled in a spell, and Auntie Sun said he would be grateful that I should find him. Are you saying they weren’t telling the truth?”

“Child, you aren’t seeing the clear picture here. The swan in your dream was grateful, and you did release him, but you yourself said he flew off without you.”

“But clearly he couldn’t stay with me in the dream because he was still bound by the spell in real life. Only his spirit in the shape of a swan could come and show me what was necessary for me to see. Now, what is this danger that Auntie Moon spoke of?”

“There are guardians at the gate of the prince’s palace. Every kingdom has guardians at the gate.”

“Fierce monsters, like dragons and lions?” said Julianne.

“They make take that shape in your mind, but I promise you nothing more than ugly men. You will need to get past them, and when you do is when you will face your greatest danger. That is when you will meet the one who has cast the spell over your prince and as bound him in place. But beware, she will not be what you expect, and in fact you will doubt everything my sisters and I have told you. Nonetheless, she will help you get near enough to the prince that you may undo the spell. Once free, however, the prince will do as he did in the dream and fly off without you.”

“Impossible! Auntie, if everything else turns out to be as you and your sisters have said it then in the end the prince will be mine. Now, what do you have to help me get past the guardians?”

With a weary sigh Auntie Star gave a basket full of stinking cheeses and savory pies made with organ meats. Julianne found the meal revolting but understood the power it would have in attracting the guardians.

“You will see when I return, Auntie Star, that I was right and you were wrong.”

“I hope so, child, for if I am right you will never return.”

Undaunted, Julianne headed off toward the castle on the mountain where Auntie Star said she would find the swan-prince. As she neared the front gate she saw two very large guards whose faces had been scarred and ruined from many a battle. She set out a small blanket like a picnic and unpacked the meats and cheeses and then retreated to a hiding place. In time the guards smelled the food and went to investigate. Satisfied no one was around they presumed it had been set for them through some sort of magic and set in to eating. While they ate Julianne silently crept away and entered the unguarded castle.

Wandering the grounds of the castle Julianne was surveying the palace to determine where the prince might be located when she was stopped by the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

“Are you lost, dear?” the woman said.

“I have traveled far, following instructions from a dream, and have come to free one who is bound by a spell.”

“Well, then! You should meet my husband, the prince, and tell him of your mission! He will be most astonished!”

Julianne hadn’t thought to wonder if the prince was married and now realized that the beautiful woman, a princess is ever there was one, had been the one that placed the spell over the prince. As they entered the throne room the prince sat up when he saw Julianne enter with his wife.

“Husband, this child has come claiming to have followed instructions from a dream. It is just as you said!”

Julianne was taken aback. The prince had dreamed of her arrival and told his wife? What hadn’t her Auntie’s told her this would be the case, or that the prince was married and that his wife’s spell was surely her beauty? She wanted to escape, to run away, but she had come this far and couldn’t do so without being rude to the prince.

“It is true!” the prince said. “I dreamed a maiden would come and speak to me of having met in a dream, but I fear I don’t understand the rest of it. In the dream you were as you are but I was a large bird and could not understand what you said.”

“A swan, your highness. You were a swan, and…” Julianne was unsure how much to disclose in front of the prince’s wife. “And I could not understand you as well.” A strange welling of guilt caught in Julianne’s throat. She had never lied before, and now she was sure that lying might possibly bring about the dangers she had been warned of. She noticed the princess couldn’t remove her eyes from the emerald bracelet so she removed it.

“In my dream I was to give you this gift. I know not why, but the dream hasn’t led me astray thus far…”

Julianne handed the princess the bracelet and was thanked with a warm embrace.

“It is the most exquisite thing I have ever seen! And to think I feared what you might be when my husband told me of his dream.”

“What was it you feared, your highness?”

“That you had come to steal my prince from me!”

And though they all laughed at such a thought, Julianne’s heart broke inside at the realization that she had been foolish to ignore her Auntie Star, foolish to think a dream like that had only one interpretation.

That night they feasted and Julianne played the part of a gracious guest, promising herself that she would stay a reasonable length of time and then beg her leave in a way that didn’t seem suspicious. As the night wore on the princess insisted Julianne spend the night. While she lay in her bed truing to decide whether or not to leave at first light before everyone else woke up, or to make a more dignified exit later in the morning, Julianne jumped as a secret door of her room opened and the prince entered.

“You and I both know there is more to the dream than we would ever admit in public,” the prince said as he sat on the edge of Julianne’s bed.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The prince reached over and pulled out the necklace with the ring on it from beneath her dressing gown.

“Why else would you be wearing this,” the prince said. “In my dream you came to the palace with this ring intended as a wedding band.”

“Impossible,” Julianne said. “You are already married, and to the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

“Yes, but what is beauty compared with the power of a dream that comes true? There is a reason the fates have brought us together like this, and I have to believe this is a powerful magic that supercedes all others.”

Julianne took a breath in an attempt to harness her fear. She smiled and patted the prince’s hand.

“I have a plan” said Julianne. “In the morning you shall offer to take me on a walk and we will use that opportunity to run off together.”

The prince smiled and leaned in for a kiss but Julianne turned away.

“Very well, my sweet Julianne. Until the morrow when we shall be free to fly off together.”

As soon as the prince left Julianne made herself ready to escape the palace and return home under the cover of night. She made it past the sleeping guards at the gate and was about to enter the forest when the princess stepped out from the shadows of the trees.

“I had feared you might not come,” said the princess. “In my dream it wasn’t clear whether or not you would.”

“I don’t understand, your highness.”

“I, too, had a dream. I had a dream that my faithless husband had paid a call on an unsuspecting maiden in her bedchamber and had charmed her into running off together. In exchange she would give me a bracelet of emerald jewels and I was to be satisfied that a fair deal had been struck. I suspect that the dream you shared with my husband had a similar variation on that scheme. But unlike my husband, you and I have chosen not to accept our fanciful dreams as die-cast fate. I suspect this has something to do with the strength of our womanly character.”

Julianne fell to her knees and began to cry. “I’ve been so foolish,” she said. “Please forgive me.”

The princess handed Julianne back the emerald bracelet and begged her to rise. “Further along the trail you will find one of my footmen with a horse. He will accompany you to safety wherever you wish go. If necessary he is prepared to negotiate a fair trade on the value of that bracelet so that you may begin your life anew and in some comfort. He is instructed to stay as long as you need him and to come to me if you should ever require further assistance. And should you find happiness and a husband you are more than welcome to return here for a visit.”

Though it was unheard of to do so Julianne gave the princess a warm embrace and left without another word. She found the footman as promised and together they proceeded to a small village where he was able to acquire a small farm and a fair bit of coin in exchange for the bracelet. The footman stayed on to help Julianne run the farm and they eventually were married. For the rest of their lives Julianne and the princess – and later, queen – exchanged letters to one another and became close friends, though they never saw each other again.

Read Full Post »

A little hen’s
Discovery
Along the fens:
A little key!

A little cock
With puffed-out breast
Stumbled on
A little chest!

Inside the chest,
all stiff and dead;
A little tail
With fur of red!

That’s it?

Yes, it’s a short tale.

It’s not a tale at all! It stops just as it was getting interesting!

Well, what do you think happens next?

What do I think happens next? What about what happened before?! Someone had to have a reason to lock up that tail and toss the key somewhere else. Maybe no one was supposed to find that chest, maybe opening it let out some kind of evil!

That’s an interesting possibility.

And what happened to the chickens when they opened it up? Did they die of fright? Did the tail jump out at them and chase them around the woodlands? Maybe it was the devil’s tail!

All of these are equally plausible, little one.

I don’t like this tale, it cheats.

.

.

“The Short Tale,” story number 250 from The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm translated by Jack Zipes, as reinterpreted by me, David Elzey. Part of a complete breakfast an ongoing project to reinterpret the Grimm tales over the course of many, many Thursdays.

The original of this story is 43 words long and makes just as much sense as my rhymed verses. Two birds, a key, a chest, and a little red fur inside, the end. Woe to the child who was gyped at bedtime with this tale.

Read Full Post »

It was winter, a desperate call was made to Heaven for a child. But heaven did not answer and desperation turned to despair. The woman shed her own blood upon the snow, glistening spots of cherry red flowing out across sugar crystal banks, faded at the edges to sun-burnt peaches.

The bears came. They divided what they found and left only the heart behind. The heart froze throughout winter, sank into the snow banks, took root in the earth during the thaw, and with the shed blood raised a fairy ring of deadly red cap mushrooms in the spring.

A band of woodsmen and huntsman came upon the fairy ring, seven-strong in all, who knew better than to step into the ring for fear of entrapment. Combining their wits and strategies they dangled a carrot above the center of the ring from a tree branch then they took cover. In time a white rabbit came forth, stepping into the ring to sample the carrots, and upon standing on the spot where the heart was buried became instantly transformed into a small child. The seven men waited until the infant withdrew from the enchanted circle of her own accord and then brought her home with them.

They named the rabbit-child Snow.

The seven woodsmen and huntsmen raised Snow as their own, teaching her all a young woman should know, always with the message that the world outside the house was dangerous and she was not to leave under any circumstance. The seven men knew that despite her beauty she contained whatever heart had been at the center of the fairy ring and that she could bring about great danger. For her part Snow knew nothing about how she came to be, only that the seven men found her in the woods one day and rescued her from the elements. For that, Snow was most grateful.

In time the rabbit-girl grew to be the most beautiful of young women. Her voice could literally call water to spring forth from the ground and cause trees to bear ripened fruit within seconds. Logs wood split into firewood if she hummed to them, rocks would spark and create fires for her with a wink of he eye. Upon surveying her talents the seven huntsman and woodsmen knew that Snow’s heart contained a great yearning that they would be powerless to stop on their own.

And so the seven men went into various nearby towns with tales of a beauty in the woods so perfect and rare that surly she was the fairest child any would ever lay eyes on. Their hope had been to entice men to seek Snow out, to draw out the power of her bitter heart, because they believed that bitterness would take root and transform Snow into an evil sorceress. But in spreading the word the Queen had heard raves of Snow’s beauty and in her jealously insisted on seeing the child people considered most beautiful.

While the seven were away the Queen called upon Snow’s house in the woods in the guise of a weaver and mender of garments. Snow remembered her guardian’s warnings and refused to come out and speak to the Queen-in-disguise. Explaining that she was forbidden to speak with strangers the Queen caught a look of Snow in the window and was stunned beyond belief: she was the spitting image of her long-gone sister, the sister she had despised, the sister whose tea she had slowly poisoned over time to make her barren, the sister whose husband, the King, she had calmed in his grief and later married. It had been nearly seventeen years since her sister vanished and now here she was as if she hadn’t aged in all that time.

Frantically, the Queen returned home and told her husband that there was an evil spirit lurking in the woods. She had heard that there was a Harpy luring all the men from the village to trick them into killing themselves and then devour their remains. The King didn’t initially believe his wife’s story until he saw men in the villages making plans and setting out to find this mystical beauty named Snow. At once the King sent his fleetest messengers to announce that none would view Snow until the King had laid eyes upon her himself. If the Queen was right, and that the Harpy could read the minds of those it saw and take the shape of the dead, then the King would be the one to slay the Harpy and save the kingdom.

Hearing all this the huntsmen and woodsmen began to understand what the fairy ring had brought forth. They returned home before the King or any suitors could to tell Snow the truth of her providence. They explained that they did not know what would happen, or what she should do, only that they would be powerless to help her and that she should not be afraid. After all they had done for her Snow trusted the seven men and knew in her heart that what they said was right. A great calming peace came over Snow as she sat by the fire and tended to her sewing. The woodsmen and huntsmen each took a turn kissing Snow’s head before retreating to the edge of the clearing where they could secretly watch what happened.

The King arrived with his men, followed by the Queen and the men from the village curious to glimpse the one called Snow. Pounding on the door the King demanded Snow to step outside. He had repeated the conflicting rumors that she was most beautiful and that he had reason to suspect there was a Harpy in the woods and would get to the bottom of things. Slowly the door to the cottage opened and out stepped Snow. Those old enough to remember gasped as they saw the King’s long-lost wife appear before them, while the younger men were taken in by her beauty. Standing there, Snow felt as if she had known every single face in the crowd, as if from dreams or perhaps a secret life before this one.

The King’s heart filled with poisonous pain, a combination of rage and grief. “How dare you appear before me in that guise!” the King said. He turned and grabbed an ax he had strapped to his saddle and planted himself squarely before Snow. His eyes reddened as they flooded with tears. “Have you anything to say before I kill you, witch?”

Snow began to hum and a pile of logs nearby split of their own accord. She winked and the rocks tumbled together to send off sparks. She opened her mouth to sing and the trees burst with ripened fruit while pools of water created burbling hot springs all around. Then she stopped singing and nature calmed. “My heart is ready to be released,” she said.

Though it pained him to raise his ax against the image of his one true love, the King shifted his stance and prepared to fell Snow like a tree. He took careful aim at her chest, and deep breath, then closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to remember the image of what he was about to do. But the King’s gloves had been recently oiled and the ax flew from his hands as he drew back, sending the ax flying out of his hands and blade squarely into the chest of the Queen. In the commotion that followed, no one noticed that Snow seemed to have vanished into thin air, and they certainly didn’t notice the white rabbit that hopped back into the woods never to be seen again.

.

.

Freely adapted from “Snow White, Snow White, or The Unfortunate Child,” story number 251 in The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm translated and edited by Jack Zipes. This is part of a series of reinterpretations of every Grimm tale, usually appearing every Thursday though occasionally (like today) on Friday.

Some things I found interesting about the original tale: originally the Queen was from England, suggesting a certain regionalism where natives of the Grimmoire might have told tales of a vain and vengeful queen who was jealous of local beauty; that the Queen tries to kill Snow with a lace (corseting her so tight she cannot breath) and a comb (perhaps sticking its teeth into a nerve point at the neck that paralyzes her?) before finally poisoning her with an apple; and finally, that no prince comes to save her with a kiss, but instead it is her father and some experienced doctors who revive Snow (something to do with a rope) and they all return home to torture the Queen to dance to death.

I’m fairly certain this is a variant telling of the tale, that elsewhere (if memory serves) a version exists where a prince does come and removes the bite of poison apple from Snow’s mouth which brings about her revival. In the retelling I wanted Snow to be something more than beautiful, I wanted to find a way for her and the Queen to have some connection and thus a greater threat. I don’t imagine some people will appreciate my mixing a fairy ring and Harpies into the mix, but then things are always a little different in the Grimmoire than they are elsewhere in the fairy tale world.

 

Read Full Post »

Okay, so first, the name. It isn’t like I had a lot of choice in the matter.  Who does?  Apparently it’s an old family name, not that I believe that, but there you go.

Then there’s this whole ladle-riding business. That happened exactly once, at an office party, and I didn’t know the punch was spiked. Oh, look, Rumpenschtumpen’s plastered. Here, give the little guy this ladle and tell him it’s a hobby-horse! It’ll be a scream! Yeah. I guess some people are easily amused.

Now, this girl who could spin straw into gold thread, or so I heard. What’s her name? Eh, doesn’t matter. All I know is that the spinning wheel used to belong to my grandmother, it’s a family heirloom. I ran into my friend Khlamushka and he told me there’s some miller who claimed his daughter was magical and could spin gold. I only ever heard of one other person who could do that and that was Gran-Gran so I went to check things out.

I have to tell you, that girl was miserable. Her father was a brute and if I’d been a few yards taller I’d given him a knuckle sandwich for the stories that girl told me. He’d locked her up in a hayloft with that wheel and had her spinning spools until her fingers bled. Then he’d wallop her for not making his dinner fast enough, and send her to bed with only an old crust to gnaw on. You know, the kind of thing you hear in fairy tales, only this guy was the real deal.

So I came up with this plan. I’d find some guy from out-of-town to come and pretend to be a prince and whisk her away and in exchange she’d give me Gran-Gran’s wheel. Sounds fair, right? She agrees and off I go. It didn’t take long to find some yokel who’d take a bath and wear come clean breeches for a few hours work and I promised him a sackful of ducats if he pulled it off.

The whole thing went down just like I planned. Our fake prince swoops in and hauls the girl away, the father thinks he’s going to become part of a royal family, the kids split up in the woods, and I get my wheel back.

Except that’s not what went down.

Turns out our prince was some kind of wannabe Romeo and the girl falls in love. They hightail it out-of-town with my Gran-Gran’s wheel, and once I heard that there wasn’t much I could do. I wrote the whole thing off as a loss.

About a year later I’ve got the local constable at my door calling me some kind of a deadbeat dad. The way I pieced it together, this girl – the miller’s girl, the one I saved – she got herself with child and Prince Romeo freaked out and skedaddled. To save face she claimed I was the father and the constable tracked me down. Only she didn’t say Rumpleschtumpen knocked me up, no, what she said was You know, that little guy who used to ride around on a ladle?

There’s just no way I’m ever going to live that down, am I?

But suddenly I get an idea. I tell the constable that he’s got the wrong guy, and if in fact the girl he’s talking about is the miller’s daughter, then she stole something from me when she left town and I’d like to collect it. By this point I could tell the constable regretted getting involved, but I was fairly sure I could get my Gran-Gran’s spinning wheel back and teach this girl a lesson about respecting her elders in the process.

Now the version of this story that you might have heard is that I went to lay claim to the child, was defeated by the girl’s trickery, and sent packing on my ladle. That’s because in the end all she had was her story to cling to and she spent the rest of her life trying to sell it to the tabloids. Here’s what really happened.

We’re there, the three of us – me, the girl, and the constable – and she points me out like it’s some police line up, screeching That’s the one!  I smile, I only smile. Because I know in a minute this girl is going regret ever having crossed me. So I say I’d have thought you could at least remember the name of your child’s father. Boy, that stumped her. Then I rubbed it in a little. I tell you what. If you can remember my name within three tries I’ll take responsibility for that child of yours and we’ll call the whole thing settled.

Did she ever fume. Her face rippled like laundry in the breeze as she tried to conjure up some sort of name.

“It’s Hollingsworth,” she declared.

“Nope.”

“No, not Hollingsworth. I don’t know why I said that.”

“That’s your first guess.”

” It’s something else, right there on the tip of my tongue. I remember we used to sing a song about you when we were young and played in the woods.”

“Yes, I remember. You children could be so cruel. Here, let me give you a hint. He dances like a little flame, Something-something is his name!”

“Tricky Dicky!”

“Such a preposterous name, child. That was your second guess. One last chance.”

“Oh, wait! I remember now. Wrinkledinkle. That’s it, Wrinkledinkle.”

Needless to say the constable was not amused by the girl’s false accusations and demanded the return of my Gran-Gran’s spinning wheel. The last she saw of me I was on the next horse-drawn cart out of town – a proper cart, mind, and not a ladle. She never did get my name right when those brothers came around and paid her a five-spot to tell her tale.

.

.

This is story number 252, “Rumpenstunzchen,” from The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm edited by Jack Zipes.

This is one of the original versions of a tale known in the United States as “Rumpelstiltskin.” Something I’ve never understood what the how and why of name-changing from other languages into English. The name Rumpelstilzchen means “little rattle stick” and the other variations of his name tend to reference the main character as noisy little talker. It would seem that a proper transformation of the name should be something like Chitterchatterbox and not a nonsensical approximation of the original name. But then even the Brothers Grimm seemed to come up with a variant on the original.

As for riding around on a cooking ladle, I’ve always found that to be a baffling bit of nonsense. I hope my explanation clears this matter up once and for all.

Read Full Post »

Once upon a time there was a young boy, which means that he is not longer.

When his mother died his father took on a new wife, the boy’s new stepmother, and we can all pretty much guess how the story went from there.

Or can we?

The boy’s new stepmother had a daughter and both loved the young boy very much. During the day the girl would play with her new brother and they became close companions. The stepmother devoted herself to the children, baking cakes and other small treats for them. Together they were a happy family.

But we know the boy is no longer alive, so something must have happened that would cause us to tell his tale.

Ah, yes. The pear tree.

One day the young boy had traveled into the nearby woods on his own. Exploring, as young boys do, he imagined himself a brave prince climbing a tower to rescue a princess. He had found a pear tree with a stout trunk made for a perfect tower.  He was so overcome with victory at reaching the top that he lost his footing and tumbled down through the tree, breaking his neck as his body wedged in tight among the branches.

His family spent days looking for the young boy, the girl weeping for weeks on end after it had been concluded that he had been lost for good. Consumed with grief, the family fell out of their routines and failed to notice that their stores of rye grain had begun to sprout a fungus before the stepmother baked it into a loaf of bread. That night at dinner, and again the next morning when they ate the bread with breakfast, the family ingested the ergot and began to hallucinate wildly. The father imagined his ax in the corner taunting him to chop his family to bits. The stepmother became dizzy and saw the world in hues never before seen. And the girl heard her brother’s voice in the song of a little bird that alighted in their window.

If you want to know
What happened to me
Look to the boughs
Of the old pear tree!

The girl knew exactly which tree she imagined the bird was talking about. She rushed into the woods with her parents following and when they reached the tree they looked up and saw what was left of the boy among the branches. Another bird – or perhaps the same one – landed nearby and began singing.

Although she seems kind
And full of good cheer
Stepmother’s the one
Who threw me up here!

The girl, horrified, related what the bird had told her and demanded an explanation from her mother. Unclear in her own mind, the stepmother began weeping and confessed to having killed the boy and throwing his body up the tree, though she admitted not remembering doing so. While the girl and her mother wept the father returned home to ask the ax for advice. The ax suggested he hack his wife to bits, and the father had determined to do so, but when he returned to the pear tree he found both his wife and her daughter had been flattened by a boulder that rolled down the hill and came to a stop at the foot of the tree.
.
.
“Stepmother” freely adapted from The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brother Grimm, edited by Jack Zipes. This is story number 253.

Once again we have the evil stepmother character, and aside from being tired of the repeated notion that a not-of-blood parent is inherently evil, what most interested me about the original was the ending. In the original the stepmother secretly chops up and serves the boy for dinner, the girl ties the bones together and tosses them into a pear tree, and the boy turns into a bird that comes back to tell them all what has happened. Then, out of nowhere, the stepmother is flattened by a giant millstone. Where? How? What the hell? I get that the stepmother must be punished, but the overall effect was of an old Monty Python sketch where someone would suddenly have a 16 ton weight dropped onto them from out of the sky.

So instead, I went with a more common set of explanations in keeping with the time: death by misadventure, and ergot poisoning, similar to what probably was responsible for that unfortunate business with the witches of Salem.

And a bloody boulder-out-of-nowhere.

Read Full Post »

There once was a Fox with nine tails. This Fox-o-nine-tails was special, well-loved and adored, but forever worried that he was loved and adored only for his tails. So it was that he decided to test his Vixen by trying her faith. Through an elaborate ruse he pretended to be dead, captured by a farmer, and sent word back with his friend Possum that he had been killed. Upon hearing this the Vixen collapsed in tears and began biting and rending the fur on her own tail in sorrow.

Possum returned and reported what he had seen but Fox was skeptical.

“The loss is immediate and her grief strong, but what if she were tempted, eh? What then?”

So Fox asked a vagabond cousin if he would do him a favor and comfort his Vixen in her grief. To make things interesting Fox cut off one of his tails and tied it to his cousin so he looked like he had two tails. His cousin made a call on the Vixen.

“I could never love another, and certainly none as vulgar as you!” the Vixen said.

When the cousin reported what had happened Fox cut off another tail and sent his cousin back. Again he was sent away. Fox did this a total of seven time and seven times the cousin was sent away. Then, with eight of Fox-o-nine-tails tails attached, he was warmly embraced and allowed into Vixen’s burrow. Fox-o-nine-tails had suspected this might happen and jumped out from behind a nearby bush.

“Ah-ha! Faithless Vixen, I see you for who you are now. You cared not for me and only for my nine tails, even when attached to this vagabond cousin of mine!”

“Ah-ha yourself, jealous fool. I thought you dead, and held myself in mourning long enough. I had no reason to suspect you were still alive and sent away seven suitors before my heart healed. I cared for you, yes, and when you were no longer around I needed to care for myself.”

“And you would take up with my cousin simply because of his silly decoration?”

“Your cousin remained kind in the face of my initial rudeness, genuine in his attention and affection over time, and far better in character and temperament than you ever were. In helping you he proved himself to be a more worthy companion. And as for his silly decoration, your precious tails, where are they now? Without them I can clearly see that you are no one special, perhaps never were, Fox-o-one-tail.”

With that Fox slunk deep into the woods never to be seen again, the entrance to his former borrow lined with his eight clipped tails.

.

.

Adapted from “The Fox and Mrs. Fox” from The Complete Tales of the Brothers Grimm translated by Jack Zipes. This is story number 255, part of my on-going series of reinterpreting the Grimm tales.

Read Full Post »

All night long the Moon dashed across the sky, from one horizon to the other, around and around the Earth. Then one day the Moon stopped and sang to his mother:

Mother, dear Mother
Please make me a coat!
The Nighttime is freezing
My face is like ice!

So she measured the Moon and began cutting and sewing pieces of the night sky to make him a coat. While she was busy working the Moon skimmed the cream off the Milky Way and drank it greedily. When he was full and grew cold again he returned home.

Mother, dear Mother
Please give me my coat!
The Nighttime is freezing
My face is like ice!

When the Moon tried on the coat he discovered that he had grown fuller and the coat did not fit him. While his mother tore the coat apart to make a larger one the Moon dashed over the horizon nibbled away at the candy Sunset. The more the Moon ate of the Sunset the colder he felt when he returned to the nighttime.

Mother, dear Mother
Have you fixed my coat?
The Nighttime is freezing
My face is like ice!

But the coat was too small, the Moon had grown from snacking on the Sunset. So his mother took the coat apart and began to make a larger coat with even more pieces of the night sky. Meanwhile the Moon ran off and played hide-and-seek behind the sun, eating up Stardrops and drinking in Earthshine. When he tired of playing and eating and drinking he returned home.

Mother, dear Mother,
Is my coat done yet?
This Nighttime is freezing
My face is like ice!

Once again he tried on the coat and once again it was too small for the Moon. With this his mother tore the coat to pieces and handed him only the back of the coat with its collar attached.

Darling, dear Darling
You don’t need a coat!
You’ve tried all my patience
This cape will suffice!

And so, in order to keep himself warm, the Moon was forced to keep moving his cape around his plump little body as he crossed the night sky. Which explains why when you see the Moon overhead sometimes he is partially covered, sometimes half covered, sometime three-quarters covered, and sometimes completely covered. The Moon’s cape cannot cover more than any half of him at one time.

Read Full Post »

A lunatic king was giving away his daughter for practically nothing. In exchange for spending three nights guarding an unused palace estate, any fellow of marrying age could have the girl and all rights and properties accorded the son-in-law of a king.

Now along came a young neer-do-well lad who was wise to world and knew how to carry himself. He’d spent many years wandering and thought it time to settle down, so with nothing to lose he applied to the king for a chance at the easy life.

“You may request three things to take into the palace with you, three inanimate objects,” the king said, “so choose wisely.”

The lad had heard tales of this king and his palace of madness and knew from the stories he would be best to take with him a carpenter’s bench with a blade, a lathe, and fire. The kind was impressed for it seemed the lad knew what he was up against, and he was not wrong. The lad had heard tales in a nearby tavern of others who had tried their hands at winning the king’s daughter, strange tales at that. Tales of disembodied legs tumbling out of the chimney, followed by heads, that could be carved into bowling pins and balls. This would be followed by cats who would challenge young men at cards but would require the trimming of their claws first.  In cards and bowling the lad had honed his skills in all the taverns of the land, and as for trimming cats claws, well, how hard could it be?

And so it was on that first night that the lad built a fire in the fireplace and say on the carpenter’s bench and waited.

At first he thought he head the sound of something coming down the chimney but instead it turned out to be someone knocking at the front door. When he opened in a man walked in dressed in a most unusual manner. He wore a lose-fitting tunic with the word STATE across the front of it, a pair of hose that hung loosely from his hips to his feet, and on his feet wore boots of such fine craftsmanship that the lad assumed they must have been enchanted. He had a sack of shiny cloth slung over one shoulder with openings that would yield and seal with the zip of his fingers.  Out of the sack her removed a pair of floppy bound manuscripts.

“How you doing? My name’s Brad. So listen, you’ve got a bit of catching up to do here.  Most of the other kids have been studying for the better part of the year so we’ve got a lot of ground to cover on these practice exams.”

The lad was puzzled. Where were the legs he could carve into bowling pins? “Practice for what?”

“Indeed, practice for what?” Brad said. “What are the SATs practice for? For going to college and taking more tests, so that you can prove you’re a good test taker and graduate and show the world your diploma and say ‘See? I am a master of test-taking!’”

The lad bent over and looked up the chimney.  “Hello? Anyone up there?”

“But then what?” said Brad. “They tell you that you can’t get a good job unless you go to college, but then you graduate college and there aren’t any jobs anyway. Then where are you?”

“Yes,” the lad said, perplexed by most of what Brad said. “Where am I?”

“Right back where you started from. Back to taking the GRE and the LSAT and the GME and getting into grad school because a graduate degree is the new undergrad degree in terms of getting a meaningful job. So it’s back to the tests to prove that you’re in the top percentile of test-takers and ready to get right back to it.”

“You don’t happen to be from St. Ives, by any chance? Maybe have some cats in that fine bag of yours?”

“But a graduate degree isn’t any better. There’s still no guarantee, and chances are good you’re going to end up like sixty percent of grads who end up working in a different field than the one they have degrees in.”

The lad began to get nervous. He understood magical bed that would romp through houses, and talking animals that would challenge him in games of chance, but the nonsense this Brad spewed sounds like the enchantments of a warlock. Clearly the palace had been abandoned for a reason and that reason was becoming clear to the lad; it had been cursed and this Brad must be the wizard who had laid the curse upon it. He picks up the knife from the bench and held it at arm’s length.

“Begone! I am not to be taken in by your spells and enchantments! I have come to spend three nights here and in doing so will win the king’s daughter!”

Brad paused and rolled his eyes. “Yes, and then what? No test no diploma, no diploma no job, no job no way to support your little princess. You ever think about that?”

“I shall share the king’s wealth… won’t I?”

Brad smiled and shook his head. “You kids. You think you know it all. I’ll leave these here and you can get started.  Try to have the first section in each book done by tomorrow.  We’ll see how you do and adjust your study strategies accordingly.”

Once Brad left the lad bolted the door and took the bewitched exam prep workbooks and threw them into the fire. Then he sat and waited all night for other strange things but none came. Soon enough he had fallen asleep.

The next morning the king arrived to see how the lad had done. Seeing the lad had sleep apnea he appeared to be dead and the king sighed. Just then the lad snorted and woke up.

“Holloa! You survived the first night!”

“Yes, and you shall find me long gone before the second night arrives! If this were the sort of place frequented by body parts and maniacal animals I could sort it out. I’m a fine kegler and a fair cardsharper and I could have at these sorts of trials.  But this place is haunted by an evil spectre that speaks in riddles and I swear attempted to steal my soul away. You may keep this madness to yourself, and good riddance to any bride that must be won through such trials.”

With that the lad returned to his wanderings and lived happily ever after.

As for the lunatic king and his daughter, who knows.

.

.

This is my adaptation of “Good Bowling and Card Playing” from The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm edited by Jack Zipes, part of a series. Collect them all!

Read Full Post »

The Deer welcomed a new Doe to their family and invited their good friend Fox to be the godfather. Fox was honored but wanted to share that honor with his good friend Sparrow, and likewise Sparrow wanted to share the honor with his good friend Dog. This all sounded fine to Deer but few knew that Dog was prone to drunkenness and had been tied up by his Master. Sparrow was certain that having Dog share godfather duties would help reform him and made quick work at the rope that kept his friend tied up. Together they attended Doe’s baptism and celebrated with a feast, at which Dog got stinking drunk.

Fortunately, Dog was a happy drunk and easily persuaded to leave the festivities before things got out of hand. Sparrow and Fox escorted their wobbly friend down the road to his home, which was fortunate because soon there came a Wagoner intent to run Dog down.

“Out of the way, Dog, or I’ll have you as wheel grease!”

“Don’t do it, Wagoner,” cried Sparrow, “or I’ll see to it that it cost you your life!”

But what did a Wagoner fear from a Sparrow’s threats? With a cry and a whip of the reigns the Wagoner drove his horses and cart right over Dog, shattering his legs. While Fox carefully dragged his friend the rest of the way home Sparrow flew around the head of the Wagoner.

“I warned you, Wagoner, and now this shall cost you your life!”

Sparrow flitted around the Wagoner’s head causing only mild irritation. Finally Sparrow landed on the head of one of the Wagoner’s horses and faced him.

“I warned you, Wagoner, and now this shall cost you your life!”

Vexed, the Wagoner reached for his ax and quickly dispatched it toward Sparrow. But Sparrow was quick to jump out of the way leaving the ax to cleave the skull of the horse, killing it instantly. The Wagoner stopped to retrieve his ax, cut free the dead horse, and proceed with his other two horses. Sparrow watched and waited from a nearby tree until the Wagoner was underway again then flew back and perched himself on the second horse’s head, and the third, as each time he repeated his taunt to the Wagoner and each time the Wagoner dispatched his ax.

“I warned you, Wagoner, and now this shall cost you your life!”

With no horses left the Wagoner abandoned his cart and walked the rest of the way home with the Sparrow following close by. Once home he sat down by the oven to warm his bones and chill his temper. Sparrow watched from the window until the Wagoner was calmed then began again with his promise.

“I warned you, Wagoner, and now this shall cost you your life!”

Instantly enraged the Wagoner grabbed his ax and hurled it at the window, shattering the glass and allowing the cold night air along with Sparrow into the room. The Wagoner grabbed a mallet and began chasing Sparrow around the room. Wherever Sparrow landed the Wagoner would bring down his mallet with a crushing blow that would destroy all it touched but always missed Sparrow. The mantel, the oven, tables and chairs, all of it destroyed in the Wagoner’s fury. Finally he tossed aside the mallet and caught Sparrow with his bare hands.

“Now I’ve got you!”

“I warned you, Wagoner, and now this shall cost you your life!”

And without a moment’s hesitation the Wagoner swallowed the bird whole. But Sparrow pecked and clawed his way around the Wagoner’s stomach, scratching and climbing his way back up the Wagoner’s throat until he was able to perch on the Wagoner’s tongue and safely avoid his teeth.

“I warned you, Wagoner, and now this shall cost you your life!”

Desperate, the Wagoner grabbed his hunting gun and handed it to his wife, who had watched the entire proceedings with horror. Taking aim she fired the gun but only managed in taking off her husband’s head allowing Sparrow to fly away into the night.

.

That’s it? What of the rest of it?

What do you mean?

What happened to Dog?

I think that we’ve had enough story for the evening.

No! Tell me!

Very well, but I warn you, it isn’t pretty.

.

While Sparrow was tormenting the Wagoner, Fox managed to bring Dog back home but not without a great deal of painful moaning on Dog’s part. When Dog’s Master came out to investigate Fox ran off and hid as he knew humans thought little of him.

“What happened here?” growled Master.

“I was run down by a Wagoner in the road.”

“You’re a drunk and a liar and it serves you right for running away like that. If you’re still alive come morning we’ll see whether your wounds are worth tending to.”

Fox could not believe the Master’s cruelty and in his anger came running from his hiding place yelping wildly in his friend’s defense. When the Master saw the Fox coming for his throat he reached for his gun and fired. Without taking aim his shot went wild and struck Dog dead, silencing his pain and yelps instantly. Blind with rage Fox brought down Dog’s Master and tore away at him as he would a chicken in a coop. Afraid that he would be hunted for his crimes Fox ran back to the Deer for counsel. With his muzzle and fur red and glistening with blood Fox explained all that had happened and Buck Deer listened with great seriousness.

“We must hide you, for we cannot risk anything happening to our Doe’s new godfather.”

Buck led Fox deep into the woods and stopped at a small train in the undergrowth.

“Follow this trail all the way to the other side of these woods.  There you will find a stream where you can clean yourself and a cave in which to hide. Come back in three days and we shall see how things stand.  But hurry, we can’t be certain the humans won’t send hunting dogs looking for you.”

Grateful, Fox followed the trail cut in the undergrowth as fast as he could. Buck stood and only jumped a little when he heard the fatal snap of a huntsman’s trap catch and kill Fox. When he returned to his family he found that Sparrow had arrived to tell his version of the story. Once again Buck listened with great seriousness as Sparrow hopped around on the ground in great excitement. At one point Sparrow hopped just behind one of Buck’s hooves and with a quick snap of his leg he sent Sparrow sailing into a nearby tree. Buck nudged gently at Sparrow to make sure he was dead, then turned to his wife.

“We must do better in choosing godparents for our children in the future,” Buck said.

.

Now, off to bed with you.

.

“The Fairy Tale About the Faithful Sparrow” (1812) by Jacob Grimm is story #258 in The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm translated by Jack Zipes. It always amuses me how many of these stories start so innocently – a birth and baptism in this case – and then quickly become violent revenge stories. The “child’s” voice asking for the rest of the story is, obviously, me wanting answers to some pressing questions. I tried to fill in the missing details in keeping with general tone of the tale. I imagine that Sam Peckinpah would have like this one in particular.

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 45 other followers