The Velveteen Rabbit

This story comes to us from a book by Margery Williams, which bears the alternate title “How Toys Become Real.” It is interesting to think about how many stories there are out there that concern toys becoming real. It seems that as long as children have played with toys, they have fantasized about their being really alive. From Colloddi’s Pinocchio to Milne’s Winnie the Pooh all the way through to Bill Watterson’s comic strip Calvin and Hobbes and the phenomenally successful Toy Story films of Pixar. Only a few months ago, I shared a story of live toys (and a certain penguin of which I know of) with you all. What sets this story apart from so many of these others is that, in this story, the titular rabbit is destined to become real not merely a living toy.

Velveteen, before you ask, is a kind of fabric usually made from cotton which is designed to look and feel somewhat like velvet. It was this material that a toymaker once used to make a lovely little rabbit which was bought by a nice lady and subsequently given to her son as a Christmas gift. The boy was very happy and absolutely loved his new Velveteen Rabbit…for about two hours. By then, he had unwrapped other gifts. Clockwork trains, electric soldiers, and the very latest in video games: 8-Bit graphics and everything!

Okay, that last one’s not right, but I think you get the idea. The rabbit was just velveteen stuffed with sawdust, he didn’t make a noise or move on his own or light up or anything. So, after the Christmas festivities were over, the rabbit was tossed carelessly into the toy chest with all the other toys the boy hardly ever played with but would throw a tantrum if you even suggested giving them away.

Of course, the other toys looked down on the rabbit for being so old-fashioned. They had moving parts and wind-up keys and could move and walk and talk. Some of the fancier toys even pretended to be real.

“And look at you,” said one particularly nasty toy boat. “Have you ever even seen a real rabbit?”

“Real rabbit?” asked our velveteen friend. “What is that?”

“Sort of like you,” said a kind voice from outside the chest. “Only very, very different.” The Velveteen Rabbit looked out of the chest and saw that he was being addressed by a rocking horse, who was perhaps the oldest toy in the room and was very kind and clever. “Don’t let those fancy toys get to you,” he said with a friendly smile. “I’ve seen hundreds of toys come and go in this place. They’re top of the heap one day and the maid is picking up their gears and springs the next.”

“What is real?” asked the Rabbit.

“Not like those toys, I can tell you that. It’s difficult to explain, but when you are real you can move and think on your own. You can live and breathe and eat just like live animals do. There are no toy chests if you’re real, no little boys poking and pawing at you. It means you’re alive and that’s the best thing to be.”

The Velveteen Rabbit wasn’t sure he understood the Rocking Horse’s words, but they did excite him. He thought he’d like to try being real. “How can I be real?” he asked.

“For toys, it’s not easy. It takes love. The love of a child. And I mean a great love. You must be real in his eyes, and then you’ll be real in everyone’s eyes.”

“You’re crazy!” chimed in a toy car. “That’s just an old toys’ tale. Toys don’t become real. We’re built, we’re played with, we wear out, we’re thrown away. That’s the best any of us can hope for!”

Now the Velveteen Rabbit was very confused and he didn’t know who to believe.

The next night, the boy was throwing a fit because he had lost his china dog. This was a little toy dog that he always took to bed with him and he couldn’t sleep without it. The woman called “Nanny” didn’t know what had become of the dog but knew she had to get the boy to sleep soon. So she looked through the toy chest and there she found the Velveteen Rabbit. “Here,” she said. “Remember your bunny? I’m sure he’d like to spend the night with you.”

The boy was hesitant at first, but he gave in eventually and from then on, it was not the china dog, but the Velveteen Rabbit the boy called for when bedtime came. Of course, the fancy, wind-up, clockwork, electric, etcetera toys were shocked and appalled at the Rabbit becoming the boy’s favorite toy, but the Rocking Horse was very proud of his little friend. “You may turn real yet,” he said one night.

But in the meantime, the Rabbit was having so much fun playing with the boy that he hadn’t noticed he was changing. His pretty brown coat was getting duller and shabbier. The pink paint from his nose was almost rubbed off. A few of his seams were getting loose and stuffing began to peek out. He was beginning to wear out, just as the toy car had said he would. One day, the boy had been playing with the Rabbit out in the garden and left him there, so when bedtime came, Nanny had to go get him, clean him off (as best she could) and hand him to the boy.

“I don’t see why you make such a fuss over this toy,” she said as she handed the Rabbit over.

“He’s not a toy!” insisted the boy. “He’s real!”

Real? Thought the Rabbit to himself. Am I real? The boy said so, and the Rocking Horse did say that a child’s love could make me real. If he says I’m real…I must be! I’m real!

That summer, when he and the boy were playing as they always did, the Rabbit found himself left temporarily alone on the lawn. As he sat there, patiently waiting for the boy to return, two very strange creatures hopped over to him. The Velveteen Rabbit didn’t know what they were, but they were, in fact, rabbits. Real rabbits. They stared at the Velveteen Rabbit, who stared back at them, trying to figure out where the wind-up key was.

“Hello,” said the rabbits.

“Hello,” said the Rabbit.

“Would you like to run and play with us?”

“I can’t until my boy comes back.”

“Can’t you move on your own?”

“No. Why can you?”

“Certainly. Because we are real rabbits, whereas you are just a toy rabbit.”

The Velveteen Rabbit was taken aback. “But…but the boy said…he said I was real.”

“Well, look,” said the rabbits patiently, “this is very easy to settle. Can you jump?”

“Not unless the boy tosses me in the air.”

“Can you run?”

“Not unless the boy is holding me.”

“Can you wiggle your nose?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never tried.” He tried. “No, I can’t.”

“Then, I’m sorry, but you’re not a real rabbit like us.” And with that, the rabbits hopped away as the boy came back to play with his now crestfallen toy.

The boy went on loving the Velveteen Rabbit for quite some time. He loved him so hard that he was now quite worn out. He was more gray than brown, he had been repaired by Nanny seven or eight times, and his stuffing was so bent out of shape that he hardly even looked like a rabbit anymore, except to the eyes of the boy, and that’s all that mattered to the Rabbit. No matter what anybody else said, the boy said he was real so real he must be…but that’s when the boy got sick. Very sick.

The Velveteen Rabbit heard snatches of grown-up conversation. Words like “fever” and “scarlet” and “deathly ill.” It was decided that the boy would be taken to the sea-side for some fresh air. But on the day he left, something terrible happened: He left the Velveteen Rabbit behind. And once the boy was well out of the house, in came Nanny and a few maids, all wearing white handkerchiefs over their mouths.

“Okay, you heard the doctor. Everything must be destroyed so the virus can’t spread.” The Velveteen Rabbit, unable to move, watched as they gathered up the boy’s clothes, his bedsheets, his blankets…and his toys! “That rabbit especially,” said Nanny. “He played with that thing morning, noon and night. It must be infected.”

And so the Rabbit, along with many of the boy’s other possessions, were taken outside, far from the house and thrown onto a big pile. Some kind of smelly liquid was poured over it all and then the matches were struck and the fire set.

This is it, thought the Velveteen Rabbit. The toy car was right all along. I was made, played with, I wore out and now I must be destroyed. I shall never be the real rabbit I was when the boy held me close. And as he thought about his horrible fate, a most remarkable thing happened: A single tear, a real tear, rolled down the Rabbit’s cheek and onto the earth below. Suddenly, he couldn’t feel the heat from the flames. And all he could see was a bright, white light, that seemed to be surrounding him. A moment later, he felt that he was not on the bonfire after all, but in a warm, safe place, like when his boy used to cuddle him at night. He didn’t feel quite so shabby anymore, either…

When the next springtime came, the boy went out to play. His scarlet fever was quite gone and he carried with him a fine, new toy rabbit he had been given when he was sick. As he was playing, he saw two real rabbits, one of which looked like any old ordinary brown rabbit. The other, however, looked…familiar.

“That looks just like my old velveteen rabbit,” the boy said. “The one I lost when I got sick.”

The Rabbit smiled in his heart as he looked at the new toy rabbit being held by the boy who had helped bring him to life. But that was the last he ever saw of the boy. He went off with the other real rabbits like himself, and lived very happily ever after.

THE END

NEXT WEEK: "Prince Darling"

The Selfish Giant

Last week, I looked at the stats for this blog and discovered that I do have quite a few more readers than I expected in quite a few more countries than I would've imagined. But I don't know how many of you are really reading the blog, or if you just browse here by accident and close the window almost immediately. So if you are a loyal reader, let me know. Post some comments on the blog, send me an email or a Tweet, find me on Facebook. I'm mainly doing this for myself, but it would be nice to know that there are a few people out there who dig what I'm doing here. So, c'mon, internet. Let's hear from you every once in a while!


There are three kinds of people in the world: The ones who know Oscar Wilde for his most famous play, The Importance of Being Earnest; the ones who know him best for his novel The Picture of Dorian Gray; and, sadly, the ones who don’t know him at all or, at best, know only the (shall we say) controversial elements of his all-too-tragic life story. Putting aside for the moment the fact that he was considered criminally perverse by many people during his lifetime (it was Victorian England; it was almost impossible not to be criminally perverse in those prudish days), Oscar Wilde was one of the greatest writers ever to bless the English language with his custom. His marvelous, imminently quotable plays and stories have been tickling audiences for generations and will continue to do so for many years more.

Though best known for the works listed above, Wilde proved himself a master at writng fairy tales with his book “The Happy Prince and Other Stories.” I have, therefore, taken on the task of adapting what might be his best known short story, which I for one find enchanting in its simple beauty. Thanks for everything, Oscar.

The bell rang and the chidren were released from school. Of course, all children look forward to getting out of school, but the children of this community looked forward to the final bell more than most. Because once school was out, they all went to play in the garden. It was a huge, beautiful garden, full of the most remarkable flowers and trees you ever saw. The children would run through the grass, chase each other around the flowerbeds, wade in the pond and climb the trees for hours on end, until they finally had to go home at the behest of their parents.

So it went for many months, until the owner of the garden returned. He was a giant! And he had been away for the winter but had returned home now that the weather was getting warmer. And when he saw that his garden was crawling with children he was furious. He roared at them to get out and scolded them for being there in the first place. Terrified of the giant, the children all ran away.

The giant felt he was perfectly in the right demanding that the children leave. After all, he said to himself as he prepared bricks and mortar for a wall, it is my garden. It’s my property. I have the right to protect what’s mine, don’t I? Of course I do. So he built a wall around his garden which, while small by his standards, was more than sufficient to keep the children from coming back. He also hung a sign on the front gate which read “Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted.”

There, he thought. Now I can enjoy my garden in peace.

The weeks passed and the wall was having its effect. No children came to play in the giant’s garden anymore. The giant himself was free to look out his front window at the garden whenever he wanted, without having his view obstructed by a laughing child in a tree. Indeed, he was quite content, except for one thing: It still seemed to be winter in the garden. By all accounts, it should have been spring by this time, but spring refused to come to the giant’s garden. Looking beyond the wall, the giant saw that spring had sprung outside his property.

So why is it still winter in here?

The giant pondered this for many days until that fateful afternoon when he looked out his window and saw that his garden had changed. It had transformed overnight. It was spring! The trees were green and full of beautiful blossoms and there was no snow or ice anywhere. And playing under or in each and every tree were the children! He saw a large hole in the wall thorugh which the children had crept in order to play in the garden without being seen by the giant. That’s why it had remained winter for so long. The garden was lonely for the children. And, after all, what good is a garden if there’s no one to enjoy it.

Just as the giant was beginning to think he had behaved rashly, he looked out and saw one tree that was still shrouded in winter. A chill north wind shook its branches and its bare trunk was covered in snow. Then he saw a very small boy at the base of the tree, who was too small to climb up into it like the others were doing. It was the only tree without a child playing in it, and the only tree which had not yet bloomed.

The giant made up his mind and walked straight outside to his garden. The other children saw him and immediatley ran away through the hole in the wall. But the little boy who couldn’t get up into the tree was crying too hard to even notice the giant. The children watched through the hole in the wall, certain that something terrible was about to befall the poor boy…but instead, to their utter amazement, the giant gently lifted the boy up into the branches of the tree. The little boy was so grateful that he flung his arms around the giant’s neck and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.

At last the giant saw how selfish he had been to try to keep this garden all to himself. How much grander it was when he shared it wih the children. He took down the trespassers sign and knocked down the stone wall he had built. Then he turned to the children and said, “This is your garden now!”

And so, for the rest of his days, the giant let it be known that all children were welcome to play in his garden. And even when he passed away, he left the garden as a gift to all the children of the world, to come and play among its beautiful trees and flowers and to use their incredible gift for bringing springtime to the bleakest winter.

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• Wilde (1997) This biopic of the author’s life (starring the incomparable [except perhaps to Wilde himself] Stephen Fry) uses this fairy tale as a storytelling device, and it is heard throughout the movie, which also stars a very young Jude Law.

NEXT WEEK: 

"The Velveteen Rabbit"

Leroy Goes To Disneyland

After last week’s somewhat macabre offering, I thought this week we all needed something a little lighter. To that end, I present this adventure of my good friend and frequent collaborator, Leroy the Penguin. About this time last year, he went on his first trip to my favorite place on the planet, Disneyland. And, true to form, he got into trouble. 


(I should mention here, just for legal reasons, that I claim no ownership of any of the copyrighted images, names, places and so on contained herein. Disney owns Disneyland, and I hope they don't sue me or Leroy over this silly little story)


Enjoy!

Oh my gosh, you guys! Disneyland is so great! There’s so much awesome stuff there! I could go every single day for ever and ever and also ever!

Of course, the first time I went things didn’t exactly go the way I had hoped.

The adventure started out promising enough. I went through the front gate and saw the big Mickey Mouse floral arrangement. I went through the archway and saw the cool posters for the rides. And then I was in another world! Specifically, Main Street, USA, circa 1900. There were horse-drawn carriages and a barbershop quartet and lots of old-tyme stuff everywhere I looked. And Donald Duck was there! I went to see Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln and was moved to tears.

I will admit that it wasn’t easy making my way down Main Street. There were a lot of people there and I am sort of on the small side. But I’ve gotten used to moving through crowds without getting stepped on…much…so all things considered, everything was going swell.

The next thing I saw was what they call “The Hub” where they have this big statue of Walt Disney holding hands with Mickey Mouse. I was looking at the statue thinking about how all this wonderful stuff around me was all born in the imagination of this man, when a voice behind me said, “Hey, what are you doing here?”

I turned around and there was a Disney cast member looking at me. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you, little guy?”

“Er…what?” was all I could think to say. Apparently, he didn’t hear me because the next thing I knew he had picked me up and was taking me somewhere! I tried to shout but he was holding me funny so I couldn’t even talk. He carried me through Sleeping Beauty’s Castle into Fantasyland. My first glimpse of King Arthur’s Carousel and Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride was in the arms of what was essentially a kidnapper! Before long, we had gone through Fantasyland and were going into a sort of access door in “It’s a Small World.”

“Here you go! Home sweet home,” said the cast member as he plunked me down among a lot of other penguins. “I don’t know how you got to Main Street, but this is where you belong.” Satisfied in a job well done, the cast member left before I even thought to read his nametag so I could complain.

It was clear to me now what had happened: this guy thought I was one of the animatronic penguins in the ride and had brought me back. I was surrounded by penguins and children singing a very cheery song which I liked, but got the sense I would like less if I had to listen to it all the livelong day.

“Excuse me!” I called out. “Not a robot! Real penguin right here! Hello!”

“Here,” said a little girl in a passing boat. “Jump in!” I did and rode the rest of the way with Susie and her parents. As we got out of the boat and I was saying thank you to Susie, another cast member came and picked me up.

“Did you get this inside the ride?” she asked Susie and her parents very sternly. She thought they had stolen me!

“He doesn’t belong in there,” said Susie.

“Hmmm. You’re right,” said the cast member, looking me over. “This is a bird. He belongs in Adventureland.” This time the reason I couldn’t protest was because I was kind of exhausted from the ordeal. So I was brought to Adventureland and sat on a perch in the Enchanted Tiki Room. I wanted to just walk out right away…but the show was about to start and I didn’t want to ruin it. So I sat in with the bird glee club for a few choruses of “The Tiki Tiki Tiki Room” and when the show ended, I took my bows and snuck out with the audience.

It looked like I was free…until another cast member came and saw me, picked me up (my throat was sore from all the singing, so I still couldn’t explain) and carried me to Critter Country where I was deposited among some birds and frogs and turtles on Splash Mountain.

As you can probably guess, I was getting pretty tired of all this by now and was determined to put a stop to it once and for all. So, just like when I was in “It’s a Small World,” I jumped into a passing boat (or, rather, log) and resolved to ride my way out…had I know what kind of ride Splash Mountain is, I might have thought of a different plan.

But, in the end, I emerged, however soggy, and marched up to the first cast member I could find and tugged on her pants leg. “Now listen here, Missy!” I said, uncharacteristically rude, but I was fed up. “I have been dragged all over this park today by you people. First I was in ‘It’s a Small World,’ then I was in the Tiki Room and then I was on Splash Mountain and I don’t belong on any of those rides!”

“No, of course you don’t,” she said. “You’re that penguin from Toy Story 2, aren’t you? Maybe you belong on the Buzz Lightyear ride?”

“No, no,” said another cast member, joining her. “He’s a Muppet penguin. He should be in Muppet-Vision 3-D.”

“Is he one of the ‘Mary Poppins’ penguins? The parade should be starting soon.”

“Maybe we’re doing a promotion for Club Penguin.”

“Maybe he got here all the way from SeaWorld.”

“Maybe—”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!” It’s likely I would’ve had a genuine, bona fide, coniption fit right at that moment, but luckily someone overheard and came over. He was a sort of rolly-polly someone with yellow fur and a red shirt. As it happens, we knew each other through a mutual friend, so he recognized me at once. I explained the situation to him and he picked me up in his paws and took me to see the only person who could help me get everything straight: The Big Cheese himself! So, I had a talk with the Big Cheese and everything was sorted out. I was given a special badge to wear indicating that I was a guest of the park and not part of any attraction.

But apart from that, my first trip to Disneyland was a complete success. I liked the park so much I never wanted to leave...but, of course, that's another story.

THE END

Next Week:

"The Selfish Giant"

Bluebeard

This is another one that I went back and forth on for some time. Despite my misgivings, I’m going ahead with it for what might seem to others like a stupid reason: It’s the only story from Charles Perrault’s original book which I have not adapted in any form. Those who are unfamiliar with this title might wonder why I held off for so long. Before those people read the story, let me make this abundantly clear: THIS ONE IS NOT FOR LITTLE KIDS!!! It is scary and bloody and served as the partial inspiration for Bram Stoker’s Dracula! Read on only if you can take it. Otherwise, I apologize, and next week will give you something about a bunny or a piggie or maybe Leroy. For now, you have been warned.

The lesson of today’s story is to be very careful when entering into a marriage. You are being told this at the outset so that you can benefit from the lesson even if you don’t read the story. Consider yourself warned that this is a scary tale full of terrible secrets and tragic deaths. If you feel strong enough to continue, we shall begin:

In a faraway land, there lived a nobleman who was very wealthy and had many homes in town and the country. His grandest home was his country estate, a mansion that rivaled even the grandeur of the king’s palace. This was the house in which he felt, above all others, that he was truly “at home.” He hunted in the adjacent forest, fished in the river and frequented the nearby village where he never failed to buy a round of drinks for all the men present.

Yes, he was generous, but he was not well-liked. The reason for people’s mistrust of him was his beard. It was long and bright blue, a most unnatural color. It was grotesque to look at so nobody really got too close to the man, and everyone just called him “Bluebeard.”

But Bluebeard longed for the company of a young woman, to brighten his home and liven his heart. He let it be known throughout the land that he was seeking a bride, but no mother or father would consent to let their daughters marry a man with such a frighteningly blue beard. Bluebeard decided to hold a dance at his mansion and invite everyone in the village to come and celebrate. It was a most successful party, and everyone enjoyed themselves immensely. But none moreso than a young woman named Kala, who had always heard that Bluebeard was a terrifying figure, but now saw that he was really quite kind, despite his odd appearance. Bluebeard talked it over with the girl’s parents, and in no time the match was made.

The wedding itself was a brief affair held the following afternoon. Very few of the invited villagers attended, out of fear of Bluebeard. Kala’s family was, of course, in attendance. Her mother and father and her three brothers, who were woodcutters by trade. They were very protective of their baby sister and this marriage to this strange, odd-looking man did not sit right with them. But, they kept their mouths shut since Kala seemed so happy.

After the wedding, Bluebeard showed his new bride all around her new home. Every room of the mansion was full of gold, jewels, silver and riches Kala had never dreamed of. She rejoiced to think that her life would be full of such decadance and wealth. She was so excited, she ran to open the next door without her new husband inviting her to.

“Stop!” he cried as her hand went for the knob. “You must never go into that room. Everything else that I own is yours and you may wander this mansion freely. But that door must never be opened. Do you understand?”

Kala said she did, and put the door from her mind.

For the next several weeks, life was good for all concerned. Bluebeard was happy with his beautiful, charming new wife. Kala was happy to be living in so grand a home with so kind a man and to possess such wealth. And her family was happy when Bluebeard and Kala came to visit them and gave them gold and silver. Her parents were then able to repair and even improve their humble home and her hard-working brothers bought new, very sharp axes with which to ply their trade. They began to think they were wrong to mistrust Bluebeard just because of his appearance and were vey grateful to him for his generosity.

Then, one day, about two months after their marriage, Bluebeard told Kala that he was going on a long trip, taking stock of his holdings throughout the land, and that she was in charge of the mansion in his absence. Before he left, he handed her a ring of keys, saying, “These keys open every door in this mansion,” (This pleased Kala because, even after all this time, there were still quite a few rooms she had never been inside), “and you can use them as you see fit. But this key,” he added, holding up a very small, solid gold key, “opens the door I once told you never to open. I remind you that I forbid you from every entering that room. Can I trust you to hold this key and not use it until I return?” Kala said he could and took the keys before saying goodbye to her husband.

Kala spent the next few days exploring the house. She opened doors she had never opened before and saw treasures even greater than the ones she had come to know. Before long, she had opened and explored every single room in the mansion…except one. The more time she spent in wandering through her new home, the more the thought of that forbidden door ate away at her imagination. She tried to imagine what could be so precious and valuable that Bluebeard would protect is so fiercely. Why could she go into every other room, but not that one? He trusted her with his gold, jewels, silver, silks. What prize lay behind that door with which she could not be trusted?

Curiosity is no sin, but it should be exercised with great caution, and the greater the curiosity, the greater should be the caution. Poor Kala was curious but none too cautious, and she decided to open the door. I’ll just peek my head in for a minute, she told herself, turning the key in the lock she had twice promised never to open. After all, he’ll never know what I’ve done. With this thought firmly in her mind, she turned the knob and opened the door.

The room within was very dark and cold. It had no windows and only one door, the door through which Kala had just entered. Dimly, she could see the outline of a candleabra in front of her, so she stepped inside and felt her way toward it. The door was very heavy and, as soon as Kala had let go of it, it swung shut, plunging the room into complete blackness. But greater than the darkness was the smell. It was the most horrific, putrid smell Kala had ever experienced. Between being disoriented in the dark and taken aback by the stench, it is not surprising that a moment later she tripped and fell over something lying on the floor, causing her to drop her keys. She was now close enough to the candle holder to light it with a match from her pocket and she held it up to see what she had tripped over…and what she saw almost made her heart stop with terror.

It was a woman. Once she had been young and dressed in a silk gown, similar to Kala’s, but now she lay dead on the cold stone floor. Kala threw the candlelight all over the room. Corpses piled on top of each other. Hung up on the walls. Some with great, festering wounds, some still with nooses around their necks. Some faces frozen in horrified screams, some with eyes closed who had no doubt died peacefully in their sleep. Some were decayed beyond all recognition, some were merely skeletons, but a few were fresh enough that you might have thought they were only sleeping. But each and every one definitely and unmistakably murdered.

The next moment saw Kala scrabbling wildly for the keys. As soon as she had them in her hands she ran for the door, forced it open and locked it tight behind her. Then she ran to her room, took off her gown, which was covered in the filth of death, and ordered the servants to burn it at once. She bathed and spent a good hour scrubbing every inch of her skin. All the while her mind was racing, trying to make sense of what she had seen.

“Ma’am?” came the voice of a maid at her door. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine!” she yelled with uncharacteristic force. “Everything is fine.”

“Please, ma’am, you are not well.”

“I tell you I’m fine, now leave me!”

But the maid refused to listen. She entered her mistress’s room. “Have you seen it?” she asked.

“Seen what?” asked Kala, although she knew only too well to what the maid was referring.

“The Secret Room, of course.”

“You know about that room?”

“I have served the master for many years. You are not the first bride to give in to curiosity. It’s happened before. The master says he has to leave for a few days and gives his wife the same keys he gave you. Sooner or later she decides it can do no harm to peek into that room. And when she does, she finds the remains of the master’s wives. The women he trusted with his secret and who broke their promise. And soon, they join the others in that secret room.”

It was a horrible story, but Kala knew that every word of it was absolutely true. She was not even surprised when the maid went on to say that Bluebeard had been doing this for almost a hundred years. “Years ago he made a wicked pact,” she explained. “He doesn’t age, he doesn’t change. Only he has to wear that blue beard. That’s the mark of his curse, ma’am. That’s why everyone who looks at it feels so uneasy.”

“What do I do?” asked Kala.

“I don’t know, ma’am. But you’ll have to do it fast. You see, this whole thing is a test. Master isn’t really in another county like he claims. He’ll be back tonight, to make sure you haven’t unlocked that door!”

Sure enough, a moment later, Kala heard the heavy footfalls which she knew belonged to her husband. She was terrified, but she tried to keep a clear head. “Get out,” she said to the maid. “You and all the servants. Take the night off. Go into the village. Don’t let him see you leave. And,” she added as the maid turned to go, “go to my brothers. The house at the end of town, just past the blacksmith. Tell them to come for me at once!” The maid curtsied and left the room quickly. Kala took a moment to steal herself for what was to come and went to greet her husband.

“Darling, you’re home so soon!” she said, trying to act surprised.

“Well, I found I couldn’t stay away from you,” replied Bluebeard. “Everything went well in my absence, I take it?”

“Very well.”

“I’m glad to hear it. And do you still have those keys I gave you?”

Kala was startled for a moment, but shook it off and said, “Yes. I have them right here.” She handed the ring to Bluebeard who inspected them carefully. Kala could not imagine why he was examining the keys until she suddenly remembered that she had dropped them in the forbidden room. Her fears were realized a second later, when her husband asked her, “What is this all over the golden key?”

“I don’t know,” Kala lied. Of course she knew exactly what it was: Blood. She had dropped the keys in a pool of blood and had been so distressed that it had not occurred to her to wipe it off.

“I know,” said Bluebeard, all pretense dropped. “And what’s more, I know how it got there. You broke your promise. You betrayed me. And since you were so keen to get inside that room, I will oblige you and see to it that you never leave it again!”

With a roar of fury, Bluebeard drew his dagger and lunged at Kala, who ran faster than she had ever run before. Bluebeard tore after her, more animal than man, now, fueled by rage and blood lust, knocking over decorations, furniture, and candles as he ran after his wife. Kala led the chase all through the house. Luckily, she had come to know it well since coming to live here and found it easy to stay at least one room ahead of Bluebeard. But, in the end, she found herself in the corner of the dining room, backed against the stained glass window by her ravenous husband who stalked toward her slowly, looking even more inhuman in the light of the flames that were rising up all over the mansion.

“Say your prayers, ungrateful wretch!” growled Bluebeard.

Kala shut her eyes tight…until she heard a loud crash from above her. She looked up and saw the stained glass window was in shards and climbing into the room were her three brothers, armed with their new axes. Without a word or even a thought they advanced on Bluebeard and, within moments, had hacked him to pieces with the same axes they had bought with Bluebeard’s gold only a few weeks ago. Then they took hold of their sister and ran from the burning mansion with all their might, not stopping until they were well out of harm’s way. Only then did Kala dare to look back at the mansion she had once called home as it smoldered into nothing but ash.

Bluebeard was dead. All of his possessions, his wealth and treasures, were destroyed. And even if they hadn’t been, Kala, though by all right their legal owner, would not have wanted them. Nothing that reminded her of the terrible man she had been only too eager to marry would be allowed within her sight from then on. And perhaps she grew stronger for this experience and overcame the nightmares that plagued her well after Bluebeard’s death. And perhaps she one day married another, a man with whom she shared a genuine bond of love and friendship. Perhaps she even managed to live happily ever after. History does not relate what happened to Kala after Bluebeard’s death, so we are forced to draw our own conclusions.

Whatever the rest of Kala’s life had in store, you can be sure that she learned to be more cautious than curious, to put her trust in the right people, and to be very careful when entering into a marriage. In which case, I think it’s safe to assume that she did live happily ever after…but, that’s just what I think. How about you?

THE END

  

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• Grimm’s Fairy Tale Classics (1987)(TV) This anime series’ title is a slight misnomer as it featured some stories (this one included) which are not attributed to the Brothers Grimm (although there are a few Grimm stories which are similar, such as “The Robber Bridegroom”). But still, a pretty good show, typical of the kind of 80’s fare we used to call “Japanimation.”
• The Tales of Beedle the Bard by J. K. Rowling. One story, entitled “The Warlock’s Hairy Heart” reminds me of Bluebeard, and, in the “Wizarding World,” carries the same infamous reputation according to Albus Dumbledore, who, apropos to this story, once told Mr. Potter, “Curiosity is no sin, Harry.”

For More Great Stories, Click HERE

The Missing Unicorn

The phrase “The Missing Unicorn” came into my head one night and I immediately wrote it down. The next morning I read the words and started thinking about a story that would go with them. I also thought, having mercilessly cut unicorns from my version of “The Brave Little Tailor,” that it would be nice to write a story about them. What started out as a simple children’s story turned into an educational experience for me as I learned a lot more about this majestic beast than I ever expected to.

For those interested in such things, when I sat down to write this story, I opened a blank Word file and, without even thinking, typed the sentence “Luke loved animals.” I don’t know why the name Luke occurred to me, but I’m just glad it did.

Luke loved animals. His favorite lessons in school were always about animals. He loved them all from aardvarks to zebras and everything in between. He loved big, scary dinosaurs and cute little bunnies. He loved lions and tigers, deer and antelope, foxes and hounds, snakes and spiders and…well, he liked all the animals, let’s just leave it at that.

But one day, Luke noticed something that got him sort of worried. Whenever he looked through his books of animals or went to the zoo or learned about animals in school, there was one kind of animal no one ever mentioned. One animal that he’d never seen so much as a photograph of: A unicorn!

Luke was worried. Why wasn’t the unicorn in any of these books? Why did his teacher never mention unicorns? Why, when he asked the zookeeper which way to the unicorns, did she just look at him all mean and walk away, muttering under her breath about “smart aleck kids?”

When he asked his dad about it, his dad said that it was because there weren’t any unicorns. That they were just made up. But that didn’t make any sense to Luke. With all the amazing animals in the world, why would someone make one up? It just seemed silly. Besides, if you were gonna make up an animal, why make up something as simple as “a horse with a horn?” Nope. It didn’t add up.

Now, in Luke’s whole, entire life (and that’s a whole six years) he had never asked his dad a question he couldn’t answer, because Luke had one of those smart-type dads. So if his dad didn’t know, he reasoned that probably nobody knew about unicorns. So, he decided it was up to him to solve this mystery.

Luke’s Grammy and Pop-Pop lived on a farm and Luke would visit them sometimes. He was particularly looking forward to it this time, because he had some investigating to do. As soon as he arrived, he began interrogating all the animals to find out what they knew about unicorns. None of them told him anything, which didn’t really surprise Luke, since they were animals. It was about this point that he began to feel he hadn’t throught this plan through very well.

“Why were you talking to those pigs earlier?” asked Luke’s Pop-Pop that evening.

“I wanted to find out if they knew anything about unicorns.”

“Unicorns, eh?” Luke told Pop-Pop all about his investigation. Pop-Pop was one of those neat old people who likes to play games and go on adventures, so he said, “I’ve got an idea how we can bust this case wide open!” So he took Luke into his home office and they went onto the internet and searched for “unicorn.”

According to the information Pop-Pop found on the web, unicorns were first written about in Greece before being mentioned throughout Europe and Asia. They appear in Arthurian legend and the Bible. Though the creature changes in appearance depending on the culture, his basic shape is always the same: A horse, or horse-like beast with at least one long, pointy horn on his forehead. Even the British Royal Family uses a unicorn on its family crest. But, fascinating though all this was, it didn’t tell Luke why he couldn’t find any unicorns!

By bedtime, Luke had learned a lot about the mythology of unicorns, but nothing to help him find a real one. He was very dissapointed as Grammy tucked him in. He was beginning to think unicorns really were made up as he closed his eyes and fell asleep…

“Luke? Oh Luke? Are you awake?”

Luke opened his eyes and there, standing next to his bed, was a unicorn! With fur so white it seemed to glow and a long, shiny tail, and eyes that sparkled and a golden horn in the center of his forehead.

“I hear you’ve been looking for me,” said the unicorn.

“I thought you were pretend!” said Luke in an awestruck whisper.

“Oh, no, not at all. The truth, Luke, is that we unicorns prefer to be left alone. So when the Ancient Greeks discovered us and started telling the world about us, we tried to leave and find another secret place to live. But everywhere we went, people had heard of unicorns and were hunting us. We ran through Europe, India, China, all across the world just trying to find someplace where we could be by ourselves.”

“But why do you want to be alone?”

“It’s just our way, Luke. Everyone is different and likes different things. Some animals, like humans, like to mix with lots of different animals. Some, like we unicorns, prefer a quiet, peaceful life of solitary reflection among our own people. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Anyway, after all these centuries, we finally found a place where we can live safely and peacefully, without being disturbed by humans or an other animal.”

“Where?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. It’s been a secret all these years, and I can’t tell anyone for fear of it getting out.” Luke begged and pleaded with the unicorn to tell and even made the biggest promise in the world, saying he’d never tell anyone, man, woman, child or animal ever as long as he lived. “Very well, then,” said the unicorn and he leaned in and whispered into Luke’s ear.

“Ohhh!” said Luke. Now it all made sense to him.

“But you must never try to find us, Luke. You must respect our wishes and leave us alone. You promise?”

“Cross my heart. Thank you for coming to see me, Mr. Unicorn. I feel better now that I know you guys are okay.”

“Thank you, Luke. For caring so much about us. Now you had better get back to sleep, and I had better get home. Good night, my friend.” And Luke closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.

Luke kept his promise, and never mentioned unicorns again as long as he lived. And even though he now knew exactly where to find them, he never tried to go there and see for himself. He was the only human being in a hundred years to see a real-live unicorn, and that was enough for him. And even when he grew to be very, very old, he remembered his promise to the unicorns. Which is why they are safe to this day in their secret hiding place in—ah! Sorry. No telling!

THE END

Next Week: "The Water-Lily"

The Big Ole' Tree

Firstly, my apologies. What with one thing and another, I haven't had a chance to illustrate this week's story.

Anyway, this story marks the first time that I have written a story specifically in response to a request. My mother decided one day that I simply had to write a story about the big ole’ fir tree in the backyard. So...I did. And I'm running it today to celebrate Mother's Day. I might as well, she remains my most loyal reader.

For those unfamiliar with the titular tree, you should know that it is entirely true that a wide variety of animals do indeed make their home in it, as it is also a fact that the geese that frequent the yard are jerks. The rest I made up.

It was that time of day again. A frightened hush fell over the various creatures who were out foraging on the lawn. Two squirrels, a rabbit and a whole flock of birds all pricked up their ears (metaphorically, in some cases) for the sound of the encroachers.

“Here they come!” cried the rabbit.

Yes, the geese had come to the backyard. Big, tough, and none too bright, they were the bullies of the area. Waddling and squawking all over the place with no regard for any of their fellow animals. Even the ducks had all but vanished from the neighborhood when the geese moved in, having decided almost unanimously to feed elsewhere and simply avoid dealing with the geese.

And this was a real shame, because the owners of the yard were very fond of ducks. One of the humans had even gotten into the habit of putting out seed and crack corn for his various feathered friends. This is why his home was known as the “Duck House.” That is, until the geese started coming and bullying all the ducks so they could get the corn for themselves. Now the ducks had fled, the animals who remained lived in panic, and the geese held indomitable dominion over all.

Therefore, we shouldn’t be surprised to learn that the animals fled for home when the geese appeared. It might, however, surprise you to learn that they did not all flee for different places. For, you see, one of the most striking features of this particular yard was the enormous fir tree which stood right in the middle of the lawn. Some people might consider it overgrown, ugly or otherwise in desperate need of a tree surgeon. The people who lived in the Duck House, however, thought it was beautiful the way it was and let it be. Which is just as well for the animals I mentioned earlier, because they all lived there.

The matriarch of this unconventional extended family was a lady turtle called Beatrice, who seldom ventured beyond the safety of the trees branches. The rabbit was called Josh and he was excitable even by bunny standards. The squirrels were brother and sister, but there the similarities between them ended. Also in the tree were a family of mice, a raccoon who visited occasionally and countless birds. The point is there was a whole mess o’ critters living in this big ole’ fir tree.

“Those darn gooses!” muttered Josh. “Why’d they have to come here and ruin everything?”

“Patience, Josh,” said Beatrice in her usual slow, deliberate way…cuz, ya know…she’s a turtle.

“Yeah,” said Rose the Squirrel, “we all know why you hate the gooses!”

“Shut up!” said Josh, who would’ve been blushing if he weren’t covered in fur.

“Leave him alone, sis,” said Jack the Squirrel. “He can’t help it if he’s in lo-ove.”

“I am not!”

“Quiet!” said Beatrice, who did not want to spend the rest of the afternoon listening to this childish bickering. “Let’s just sit quietly and wait for the gooses to move on.”

(The word “geese” does not exist in the animal language; neither do words like “mice” or “sleeth,” which is the plural of “sloth,” which wouldn’t have come up in this case anyway since there are no sleeth in the vicinity of this story.)

And that was life for the residents of the big ole’ fir tree. But backtracking ever-so-slightly, what did Jack mean by Josh being in love? Well, a while back Josh made friends with a girl he met in the backyard of the Duck House. They hit it off right away and got very close. Despite his insistence that it was just platonic, however, the other animals loved to tease Josh about his “girlfriend.” However, recently, Daphne (which was Josh’s friend’s name) hadn’t been coming to the Duck House very often. Neither had any of her species, thanks to the geese.

That’s right, Daphne was a duck.

But every now and then, Daphne did return to the Duck House to hang out with her good friend, Josh. She usually came alone, and at night where they would sit and chat under the light of the moon. Considering these intimate rendezvouses (??) it’s not surprising that Josh’s friends teased him.

“I hate that this is the only way we can see each other,” said Josh to Daphne one night.

“I know,” said Daphne. “But until those gooses stop coming around and bothering everyone, what can we do?”

Something had been building up inside Josh for quite some time.

“It’s just not fair.”

“What did you say, Josh?”

“I said it’s just not fair! Why should you and your flock have to move on just because those horrible gooses decided they were in charge?”

“Josh, calm down.”

“No! I don’t think we should put up with it anymore. Daphne, come with me. I’m taking you to the Big Ole Tree.”

The animals were, of course, asleep at this point, and they were very cross when Josh woke them, though they were sort of excited that he brought Daphne for the first time.

“Why have you woken us at this late hour, Josh the Bunny Rabbit?” said Beatrice.

“Because, I don’t know about all of you, but I am sick and tired.”

“Yeah, we’re all tired!” said a starling with a yawn. “So why’d you wake us up?”

“I mean I am sick and tired of living like this. Being afraid of the gooses. Not being able to call our own home our own. We have as much right to this yard as they do. Maybe more, since we were here first. Just because they’re bigger than us they think they can do whatever they like.”

“They’re kind of right, Josh,” said Rose. “I mean what can we do about it?”

“We can fight back!” said Josh. “All of us. Tomorrow when they show up to feed, we take ‘em all on!”

“Ridiculous,” said Jack. “We can’t fight all those gooses by ourselves.”

“We won’t be by ourselves. Don’t forget, we’re not the only animals around here.”

“You don’t mean…”

“I do! I say it’s time we went to see…the pets!”

This was quite a radical suggestion. True, there were a few other animals in the area, but they were domesticated animals. Dogs and cats who belonged to the neighbors of the humans who lived in the Duck House (if you need a minute to reread that last sentence, feel free, I’ll wait). And traditionally, pets did not get along with wild animals.

“Maybe,” Josh continued, responding to one of his housemates who had expressed basically the same thing I just said in the above paragraph. “But I bet they’re none too fond of the gooses either. Now’s the time for an alliance. Daphne,” he said, turning around and facing his friend, “you should stay here with my friends. I’m going to go talk to the pets. I’ll be back!” With that, he turned and hopped away, to talk to the neighborhood pets.

Daphne was terrified, not only because she didn’t know whether Josh would come back alive, but also because she was now in the Big Ole Tree surrounded by animals she barely knew, which is always uncomfortable.

“Er…hi,” she said.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Daphne,” said Beatrice. “Josh has been keeping you sort of to himself, you know.”

“Well, it’s silly, but my flock seems to think he’s my boyfriend and they’re not too pleased about that. That’s why we have to meet in secret.”

“So…” said Jack, timidly, “he’s not your boyfriend?”

“What? No! Of course not! I’m a duck and he’s a rabbit! That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

“No, Josh and I are just good friends. But I certainly didn’t want him to do all this just to help me.”

“You have to understand,” said Beatrice, “that Josh is not like other rabbits. You know that people cave where the nice man who feeds the birds lives?”

“Yeah.”

“Josh was born in that house. One of the people had two pet rabbits and they had a litter. Of course, a people cave in no place for bunnies, so most of them died. But Josh survived and when his parents were released into this yard, he went with them. By then, of course, his parents were too used to living in a people cave to survive, and they died soon after. But Josh is a survivor. He’s a fighter. He never gives up.”

“Not only that,” added a cardinal, “but since he spent time with the people, he knows of their kindness and love for us all. And they put that food out for ducks, not gooses!”

“And us birds, too!” said a blackbird.

“And they never shoo us away when we squirrels want a bite either,” said Rose. The animals were getting more and more riled up. The more they talked about Josh’s courage and the people’s kindness and the geese’s…er…bulliness? Anyway, the more they talked the more excited they got, so that by the time Josh returned, they were ready.

It was that time of day again. The geese arrived as they had on countless mornings before. But today, something was different. Normally the yard was full of other animals who ran away when they saw the geese coming. Today, the yard was almost entirely empty…except for one little girl duck, standing between the geese and the food.

“What’s this?” said the lead goose. “I thought we scared you puny ducks away for good.”

“I thought so, too,” said Daphne, as bravely as she could. “But last night I learned something. I have power over you. I am stronger than you. Because I may not be big and tough and rude, but I have something birds like you will never have.”

Through their derisive laughter, the geese asked, “And what’s that?”

“Friends!” said Daphne and she quacked loudly. It was the signal. From within the Big Ole Tree, Beatrice shouted commands. A flock of birds, all species and sizes, burst from the tree like fireworks and began swooping down on the geese. The confused geese tried batting the little birds away with their wings, but they were outnumbered. That’s when Josh burst forth and starting pawing and scratching at the geese. As Jack and Rose climbed the back porch to get into position, Daphne quacked again, twice this time, to signal the reserve troops.

The two dogs from down the road knew the people from the Duck House as the ones who always waved to them as they drove past in their car. The cat from next door remembered the people from the Duck House leaving her milk and stroking her fur on more than one occasion. Even the raccoons and possums who ate out of the family’s trash and usually only came out at night had stayed up early in order to be part of the assault.

They pawed and scratched and bit as Jack and Rose took hold of one of the large bird feeders hanging from the porch. “You want seed?” said Jack. “Here ya go!” And they dropped the feeder on the heads of the terrified geese who had finally had enough and flew away never to be seen again.

When the people returned to their house later that day, they were shocked to see the state of the yard. Feathers everywhere, bird feeder toppled over and not a goose in sight. But, to their great delight, they saw that the ducks had returned! Once again, the Duck House was surrounded by the happy quacks of Daphne and her brethren. And not only the ducks, but the rabbits and birds and even old Beatrice were now free to do as they pleased without being afraid of gooses pushing them around.

And Josh and Daphne remained good friends for the rest of their lives. And even though she still lived with her flock, Daphne was always welcomed by the other animals who made her an honorary citizen of the Big Ole’ Tree By the Duck House.

THE END

"The Missing Unicorn"

The Faeries, The Ogres and the Three Curses

As tomorrow is Cinco de Mayo, I thought it would be appropriate to share a traditional Mexican fairy tale. This one is known to the people of Mexico as “Domingo Siete,” or “Sunday Seven.” I have tried to remain as reliable as possible to the original while imbuing it with my own style. I have named the two central characters after two renowned Mexican filmmakers. Feliz Cinco de Mayo, Amigos!


Also, don't forget my still readily available sci-fi/fantasy/comic/romance/adventure novel which can be downloaded here at a very reasonable price.

Once, and only once, upon a time, there lived two hunchbacks named Alonso and Guillermo. Despite sharing a deformity, you couldn’t find two more different people if you tried. For while Guillermo cursed the world for his misshapen body and outcast status, Alonso remained cheerful and optimistic in the face of adversity. Hunchbacked as they were, they could not live among other people without being ridiculed, tormented and abused, so they lived in the forest and earned their Daily Bread (which is a special variety of bread available only in certain parts of the world) as woodcutters…

Or, rather, Alonso earned his bread as a woodcutter. Guillermo, however, was lazy, selfish and not really all that nice a guy, so he would often make excuses as to why he couldn’t work. Alonso, being kind and good natured, would consent and do all the work for the pair of them. He wasn’t what you might call enthusiastic about this arrangement, but kind people are always kind, so he spent most of the day chopping away for the sake of his lazy associate.

By the time he was done with the day’s work, it was very late. Too late to head for home. So he set up camp in the forest for the night. But as he was drifitng off to sleep, he heard a strange sound. It sounded like singing. But no human voice could be that lovely. He decided to investigate. Treading carefully, so as not to give himself away, he followed the sound of the singing to a small, secluded glade. Alonso’s suspicion about the voices not being human was quite right. Here he saw a band of faeries dancing and frolicking and singing:

Lunes y martes y miércoles tres...

Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday three…

Alonso recognized the old song at once, but the faeries were only singing the first line over and over again. It was as if they simply didn’t know the rest of the song. Alonso was so moved by their beautiful voices, he wanted to help, so the next time they sang “Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday three…” Alonso came out of hiding and sang, “Thursday and Friday and Saturday six!”

The faeries were initially shocked that a mortal had found their hiding place, but when they realized he had told them the rest of the lyrics to their song they were delighted. I mean, you know how frustrating that can be when you have a song in your head but you don’t know all the words. At the moment, for example, I have “You Can Do Magic” by America in my head and all I know is the bit that goes “You know darn well/When you cast your spell/You can get your way/When you hypnotize/With your…”

But, I digress.

The faeries invited Alonso to join the party and they sang and danced together into the night. And the curious thing was that, even though he had worked hard all day and hadn’t yet slept, he didn’t feel tired. He felt wide awake and full of joy, thanks to the faeries’ magic.

And that wasn’t all! The faeries grew so fond of Alonso that they wanted to pay him a kindness. They all flew around him and bathed him in their magical light and when they were done, the hump was gone from Alonso’s back! He was whole and healthy and strong! He was about to say how grateful he was to his new friends when a terrible rumbling was heard getting closer and closer. “It’s the ogres!” the faeries cried. “Quick, get up in the trees or they’ll see you!” Alonso didn’t need to be told twice and he scurried up the nearest tree (much easier to do now that his deformity was gone) and hid in its branches. Once he was settled, he looked down but the faeries had all vanished, as had all evidence of their party, and three huge, ugly ogres settled down in the clearing to rest and talk about the mischief they had caused.

“Well, amigos,” said the first ogre. “As we are all here, I can now call this annual meeting of the Evil Ogres Society to order.” And so the meeting began and, as with all formal society meetings like this, the first twenty minutes or so were pretty uneventful. Just the minutes from last year’s meeting, points of order, old business, procedural things like that which are the cornerstone of a well-run society, but which are murder for storytellers. Finally, just as Alonso was about to nod off from boredom, they got to the good stuff. “Now the chair will hear reports on the evil deeds performed in the previous year. The chair recognizes Brother Diego.”

The ogre, evidently called Diego, stood and addressed the others. “This has been a good year for me,” he began. “I found a small, unspoiled village full of good, hard-working, honest, pious, happy people. So, naturally, I had to do something about that.” The other ogres laughed, but Alonso listened with rapt attention. “I’ll spare you the details, but the upshot is…they are all blind! Every man, woman and child in the village is blind as a bat! Thank you.” The other ogres clapped and Diego sat. The chair then reconized the next ogre, name of Garcia.

“I too found a village of no-account do-gooders, as did Brother Diego, and I too felt the need to make them suffer for their innocence. Every single citizen of that village is now deaf and can’t even hear the thunder!” This report was also met with warm and appreciative applause. Alonso couldn’t help but admire how formal and polite these horrible monsters were...but only briefly before getting back to the business of loathing them for their evil deeds.

“As for me,” said the Chair-Ogre, “I had some fun with the village I found as well: I struck them all mute! No one can talk or laugh or cry or shout. They are silent!” Alonso was disgusted by the glee with which these monsters talked about punishing innocent people. He was all set to leap from the tree and attack them all, which would likely have gotten him killed almost instantly, when he heard something that made him stop at once.

“The thing that makes it all so funny,” said Diego, “is how easy it would be to cure them, if we wanted to!”

“Oh, yes,” agreed Garcia. “It would be the work of but a moment to release these pitiful people from these curses…but we won’t!”

“Gentlemen, please,” said the Chair-Ogre, trying to restore order. “For the sake of posterity, let us all say how we can cure our victims. In my case, all they would have to do is go to the fields and pick flowers from the cenizo plant. A tea brewed from this flower will cure muteness.”

“My village,” began Garcia, “is in the shadow of the Hill of the Bells which is covered in giant stones, but one of them is actually a bell in disguise. Strike that stone with a heavy hammer and the sound will echo throughout the village, curing everyone’s deafness.”

“If my victims wanted to cure their blindness,” said Diego, “they would have to wait until the first week of April and collect all the dew from the grass in the morning. Rub that dew into their eyes, and they’d all be able to see at once!”

“Well," said the Chair-Ogre, "I don’t think there’s any fear of our curses being undone any time soon! I mean even if these people were to somehow find out how to cure their various afflictions, it would take some kind of superman, or perhaps a man who has worked hard all his life, become strong and accustomed to hard work and who has, possibly, recently undergone some kind of physical change making it easier for him to move his body." The laughter of the ogres rang through the trees like dramatic irony. "So, if there’s no more business, I hereby adjourn the meeting. We will meet back here in one year.” The ogres disbanded and wandered off into the woods.

Alonso climbed down his tree. The faeries paid me a great kindness by removing my hump, he said to himself. I should try and help others the way they helped me. Starting with curing these poor, unfortunate villagers. So resolved, Alonso set forth on his adventure.

He didn’t know where any of the villages were, but it turns out it’s not that hard to find a village entirely peopled by the blind, deaf or mute and before long he was standing at the outskirts of the Mute Village. Though unable to speak, the people heard quite well and understood Alonso when he explained how they could be cured. The villagers wasted no time, but rushed out into the fields and picked every cenizo flower they could find. The tea was brewed and served to everyone in the town, and they could all speak once again! They were so grateful to Alonso that they gave him a burro laden with silver.

Next he went to the Village of the Deaf where he used some of his silver to buy a heavy sledgehammer with which he climbed the Hill of the Bells. He found the place the ogre had spoken of and began pounding every stone he could find. After striking one hundred and thirty-six stones and just before collapsing in utter exhaustion, he swung his hammer one last time and when it collided with the one hundred and thirty-seventh stone, the sound of a great bronze bell echoed across the village and all were cured of their deafness. Alonso was rewarded with a second burro, this one loaded with gold.

By now, it was the first week of April, and Alonso carefully gathered up each and every single drop of dew from each and every single blade of grass. Then he dipped his fingers in it, ran up to the first person he saw, and rubbed her eyes gently with the dew.

“Hey! Just what do you think you’re—” But the senorita was not angry anymore, since her blindness was cured…by a very handsome stranger. Alonso explained the situation to her, and the two of them spent the rest of the day curing each and every villager so that by sundown, there wasn’t a blind eye in the village. They even cured an old beggar who had actually been blind since birth and was, therefore, not affected by the ogre’s curse, but who was, nevertheless, grateful.

Unlike the first two villages, this one was not rich and they didn’t have any silver or gold to give him. As it happened, they did have something far more precious to offer him as a reward and when Alonso left for home, it was with a burro loaded with silver, a burro loaded with gold, and the beautiful girl he had cured first who had fallen in love with our hero which is, let's face it, always a nice thing to happen in a fairy tale.

It was, indeed, a joyous homecoming for Alonso and his new love. When he had last set foot in his home village a year ago, he was a misshapen woodcutter without two coins to rub together (which was actually a pretty common practice back then...no, no it wasn't, I'm just being silly). Now he was strong, handsome, rich and engaged. Not to mention famous for his heroic deeds. He was welcomed with open arms by everyone…except Guillermo, who was jealous of Alonso’s good fortune.

“Why should he get all this, but I have to remain a hunchback?” Guillermo thought. “I know! I’ll go into the woods and find those faeries. That should do it!”

So that night, Guillermo crept into the woods just as Alonso had done the previous year. And, sure enough, he did hear voices which he followed to that same clearing. Unfortunately, these were the voices of the ogres, who were meeting slightly earlier this year because they had a serious problem to discuss:

“It seems all of our curses have been cured,” said the Chair-Ogre. “And I thought we were the only ones who knew how to do that.”

“It wasn’t us,” said the other two. “Apparently, some woodcutter came and cured everyone. He must’ve been spying on us last year.”

It was at this moment that the faeries came out to play, not knowing the ogres were already here. Fearlessly, they began to sing:


                    Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday three…

                    Thursday and Friday and Saturday six…

Seeing his opportunity to share his friend’s good fortune, Guillermo leapt out of his hiding place and cried out:

“And Sunday seven!”

Which was a mistake because, not only was that not the next line of the song, but now the ogres thought he was the traitor who had eavesdropped on them the year before. That was the last anybody ever heard of Guillermo and even I don’t know exactly what happened to him, though there were rumors in a neighboring village of a horrible monster that lived in the forest with not one, but two ugly humps on his back.

And that’s the story of the two hunchbacks who lived in the woods and how the one who was kind, friendly and hard-working had great adventures and great reward, and how the one who was mean, cold and lazy suffered …which makes for a pretty good moral to any story, if you ask me.

THE END

Next Week: "The Big Ole' Tree"