Arnica the Duck Princess

by ERVIN LAZAR

  Poor Johnny looked at her distrustfully.

  “Well, for a frail old woman you’re mighty nimble all of sudden! Where are you a-limping off to?”

  The witch had jumped up. Well, of course she had. As you might have suspected, this wasn’t any ordinary apple tree. Every one of the poor people who had agreed to work for the Witch of a Hundred Faces had chuckled to themselves thinking what a small task they had to do to get a pile of treasure. After all, the three apples were so easy to pick, a small child could easily have done it. The first was easy to pick. Yes, of course, the first was. What none of them knew was that, on the second day, when they had to pick the second apple, the apple tree would grow so tall that, trying your hardest, you would need to climb from morning till noon to reach it, and from noon to evening to carry it down. Not to mention the third day. For on the third day, the tree would grow so tall, that, even if you were to grow wings on your back, you wouldn’t be able to bring down the third apple before nightfall. Then the Witch of a Hundred Faces would step forward and say, “There’ll be no treasure for you, and what’s more, you can say goodbye to your freedom. You didn’t complete the task, so you’re mine now from top to toe!” I’m afraid so. And what could that poor person do? After all, they’d agreed to do the work.

  “But Poor Johnny didn’t agree to do it.”

  “No, he didn’t. You heard what he said.”

  “He didn’t belong to the witch, from top to toe.”

  “Not a hair of him belonged to the witch.”

  “He did the right thing to refuse the treasure, didn’t he?”

  “It certainly looks that way.”

  “And what if you’d wandered into the forest and ended up at the witch’s house, would you have wanted the treasure?”

  “Well, you know, it wouldn’t have been so easy for me. I would have started thinking about all the things I could buy with that huge amount of money.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a talking doll for you, a big house near the woods and the lake, lots of clothes for you and your mother. We’d be able to replaster your grandfather’s house and mend his fence too.”

  “But Poor Johnny didn’t have to think about it at all, didn’t you see? He just said no.”

  “It was easy for Poor Johnny. Of all the people in the world, he is the most footloose and fancy-free. He’s got no one he needs to buy a talking doll for and he doesn’t have a house that needs the fence redoing.”

  “But if you agreed to work for the witch, you’d be hers from top to toe.”

  “There’s the rub, sadly.”

  “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “At the last minute, you’d notice something you didn’t like about it and you wouldn’t agree to work for her, OK?”

  “OK. Fine by me. No way I’m working for her!”

  “You see? I’d rather not have a talking doll, not ever. Poor Johnny just left the witch without a backward glance, didn’t he?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  In which Poor Johnny suffers pains both in his legs and in his heart

  That’s right, Poor Johnny had left the witch without a backward glance, and faster than you could say “Jack Robinson”. As for the thought that he’d most probably just met a witch, he brushed that aside as best he could and just ran for all he was worth. He hurried along, determined to put as much distance between himself and that house as possible.

  The Witch of a Hundred Faces wasn’t going to let her victim get away just like that, however. She first had to work herself up into a rage, then—hey presto!—she was racing through the forest in the shape of a storm, pulling up trees and stripping the grass from the ground. She buffeted and tore at Poor Johnny too.

  “Blow this weather!” grumbled Poor Johnny, and kept on running. He’d weathered worse weather than this.

  Before long, the witch had blown herself out.

  “Now,” she thought to herself, “I’ll need to use my brain a bit if I’m to stop this layabout before he gets off my land.” In no time she had contrived a plan. Giving herself a shake, she turned into an enormous shaggy-legged wolf. She gnashed her teeth and let out such a wonderfully successful howl that the whole forest trembled.

  “Uh-oh, there are wolves coming!” thought Poor Johnny. “Come on, run for it!” He put on a spurt, but the wild howling seemed to be getting closer and closer, and from time to time he could even hear panting behind him. This was no joking matter, and he ran on just as fast as his legs could carry him. This was exactly what the old witch had been waiting for; quick as a flash, she changed herself into a tree stump right under Poor Johnny’s feet. Whoops! Poor Johnny fell over so hard that the earth boomed under him. And, unfortunately, something also went “crack”.

  “My leg!” sighed Poor Johnny. Sure enough, he’d broken it. When he tried to get up, he found he couldn’t. He had a shooting, burning pain in his leg and he heard more cracking. The Witch of a Hundred Faces had changed herself back into an old woman and was quickly smoothing down her hair.

  “Right,” she thought, “I’ll go over to him and tell him that I’m going to heal him. I help him back into my house, and his lordship will never get out again, or my name isn’t the Witch of a Hundred Faces!”

  She made haste, because she could see that Poor Johnny was lying right on the boundary of her land. He was lying so that his broken leg was inside the boundary, while his body, his head and his arms were outside. Beyond the boundary, the witch was powerless. So she hurried along, hoping to tempt Poor Johnny back onto her land. If that didn’t work, she could always drag him back over. Yet, when she looked up from smoothing down her hair and straightening her clothes, she saw that there was a girl crouching next to Poor Johnny.

  “Odds bodkins!” the witch muttered angrily to herself. “Now what do I do?”

  “Oh, your poor thing! You’ve broken your leg!” said the girl.

  Poor Johnny was so surprised that, forgetting all about his leg, he sat up. And what luck that he did, for in sitting up he had shifted himself off the witch’s land.

  “W-w-well now, who are you?” he stammered. He had never seen such a beautiful girl in all his days. It wasn’t so much that she was beautiful… more that he’d never in his life seen such a kind, gentle girl. Or rather so beautiful and so kind… Ooh! There was such a sharp pain in Poor Johnny’s leg! And not only there; there was a sharp pain in his heart too.

  The girl helped him up carefully and set off with him in the direction of her home.

  “Just lean on me, don’t worry,” she said.

  “Uh-uh,” said Poor Johnny, shaking his head, “a great lump like me, I’ll be too heavy for you.”

  “No, you won’t,” said the girl. “Come along. Does your leg really hurt?”

  “That’s pretty bad too,” said Poor Johnny, “but whatever it is that’s sticking into my back hurts much worse.”

  “That’s funny,” said the girl. “There’s something sticking into mine too.”

  There was, of course. It was the witch’s look as she watched them go. That’s what they were feeling, like an iron fork in their backs.

  “Just stop there, you two! Odds bodkins! I’ll give you what for!” the witch was muttering in a helpless rage.

  “The girl who’s helping Poor Johnny, that’s Arnica, isn’t it?”

  “Who else? She was out picking mushrooms in the forest, when she saw someone go ‘whoops’ and fall over. She realised he couldn’t get up, so she ran over to help.”

  “And have they already fallen in love?”

  “I think so. Both their hearts are really tingling. You heard that Poor Johnny was getting sharp pains in his.”

  “And people do fall in love quickly, don’t they?”

  “Well, some do, some don’t. But it’s not important how fast they fall in love. What matters is whether what they feel is true love.”

  “Is there such a thing as love that isn’t true?”

  “No, there’
s no such thing. Just sometimes two people think they love each other when they don’t.”

  “But Arnica and Poor Johnny aren’t one of those ‘don’ts’, are they?”

  “We’ll find out.”

  “How?”

  “From what they do.”

  “What are they doing right now?”

  Arnica took Poor Johnny back to the thirty-six-towered castle. She put a splint on his leg–she was really a very capable princess, you know–washed him and fed him and was happier than she’d ever been. The palace staff started whispering to each other, “Well now! What’s happened to our Arnica? She’s been pottering about so cheerfully ever since that man with the broken leg arrived.”

  Even Arnica was surprised at herself. “Well now! What’s happened to me? How cheerfully I’ve been pottering about ever since that man with the broken leg arrived.” King Tirunt, however, only smiled. He knew, after all, why Arnica was pottering about so cheerfully. She had, of course, fallen in love with Poor Johnny.

  Poor Johnny moaned and groaned and complained indignantly–because of his leg, you might be thinking. You’d be wrong then. What did he care about his broken leg! It was his heart he was moaning and groaning and complaining about. It was jumping and wriggling like a gleeful young goat. It jumped and wriggled when Arnica was near, just because she was near, and it jumped and wriggled when she went away, waiting for her to come back. What Poor Johnny’s heart wanted was to have Arnica sitting on the edge of Johnny’s bed all the time.

  “This is all I need!” Poor Johnny chided his heart, as it skipped about. “I’m the most footloose and fancy-free person in the world, may I remind you? Here today, gone tomorrow. I whistle my own tune, see? And I don’t give a fig about anyone.”

  Well, he could talk to his heart till he was blue in the face–it just went on wobbling around in his chest. Whether he liked it or not, Poor Johnny had to face the fact that he’d fallen in love with Arnica. Without her the world seemed faded, the forest seemed unfriendly, wandering had lost its charm, and he felt as if there were a roof of ice-cold glass curving overhead rather than the wide, blue sky.

  “No more freedom for you, Johnny!” moaned Poor Johnny.

  “So, he’s no longer free because he’s fallen in love with Arnica?”

  “That’s what Poor Johnny thinks.”

  “And why isn’t he free any longer?”

  “Because he can’t saunter about anywhere he fancies any more. He has to look after Arnica. He’s responsible for her.”

  “Why? If he felt like sauntering about, Arnica wouldn’t stop him.”

  “I don’t think she would. But think about it; what if Arnica was to fall ill, just when Poor Johnny was considering going for a saunter? Then he’d need to stay at home and nurse her, make her better, and give her tender loving care.”

  “But if Arnica was to fall ill, then Poor Johnny wouldn’t feel like going for a saunter. All he’d want to do is stay at home and nurse her back to health with tender loving care, wouldn’t he?”

  “You’ve got something there.”

  “You see! Then Poor Johnny is still the most footloose and fancy-free person in the world.”

  “Let’s give him a bit of time. Maybe in a little while he’ll realise that for himself.”

  When Poor Johnny’s leg was better, he danced a happy little jig in the middle of the room. He thanked Arnica for making him well again, then he blushed and said:

  “Arnica, there’s something I want to tell you.”

  Arnica blushed too, and stared down at her shoes.

  “I love you,” said Poor Johnny.

  “I love you too,” said Arnica.

  They hugged and kissed and, hand in hand, ran to find King Tirunt.

  Before they could say a word the king said, smiling, “I know what you two want. You want to get married. I give you my blessing, my children. But there’s something I want you to do. I believe that you love each other, but I’ll believe it even more if your love can stand the test of time. Johnny, you go off wandering, and in half a year, if you still love Arnica and want to marry her, come back. Arnica, you wait for him, and if, when he comes back in six months, you still want to be his wife, we’ll have a wedding feast so huge that our merrymaking will be heard for miles around. What do you say?”

  They weren’t very happy about it of course, but they agreed to the plan.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  In which a wicked spell is cast, and Poor Johnny’s love, sad to say, wavers a teeny-weeny bit

  Poor Johnny got started with his wandering, and Arnica got started with her waiting. But Poor Johnny didn’t enjoy his wandering. He didn’t whistle, either cheerfully or sorrowfully; the only thing he could think of was, “Arnica, Arnica, Arnica.”

  Arnica’s days went by slowly too. She kept looking at the calendar, but those pesky days were in no hurry. They dawdled so, you’d have thought they were afraid to let the sun set. Little by little, however, the time did pass.

  As the six months neared their end, Arnica couldn’t stand it any more, and she said to King Tirunt, “Come on, Father, let’s go and meet Johnny!”

  “But the six months isn’t up yet.”

  “He might have miscounted. He might be coming early,” said Arnica hopefully.

  So they set off on the road leading from the castle, and went a good long way, looking ahead all the time in case there should be a tiny dot in the distance, a dot which would get bigger and bigger until, all of a sudden, there would be Poor Johnny standing in front of them. They took great care, naturally, not to step onto land belonging to the Witch of a Hundred Faces, knowing that that could bring them great trouble.

  Poor Johnny didn’t come, however, and, sure enough, one or two tears rolled down Arnica’s cheeks.

  “He must have forgotten,” she said.

  “Now then, the six months aren’t even up yet,” remonstrated King Tirunt. “No need for tears!”

  Then, after all the other days had come and gone, the long-awaited day arrived too. Arnica was so happy she was walking on air. She put on her most beautiful dress and went out with King Tirunt to meet Poor Johnny. But on this particular occasion, they weren’t as careful as they usually were; in all the excitement and anticipation they failed to notice that they had stepped over the boundary of the witch’s land.

  “He should be coming by now,” said Arnica.

  Just at that moment, right next to them, a bush rustled and out popped the Witch of a Hundred Faces.

  “Waiting for Poor Johnny, are you?” she screeched. “Well, you’ll have a long wait then! Poor Johnny is mine. Odds bodkins, turn into ducks this minute, both of you!”

  There was a sizzling, a rumbling, a cracking, and—lo and behold!—two ducks appeared waddling about by the witch’s feet. Arnica and King Tirunt. That’s right, they had been turned into ducks.

  Well, what could they do now? They toddled quickly back home, wobbling along in the way ducks do, and the sound of the witch’s cackling followed them, triumphant and shrill. Arnica and King Tirunt got home, but when they arrived, all they could do was quack in astonishment. Where their castle with its thirty-six towers and three hundred windows had been, there was a tumbledown duck house, and there was no trace of the courtiers or the palace staff. Unless… Of course! That group of ducks over there on the round lake paddling to and fro, quacking and splashing; the palace staff and courtiers had been turned into ducks too, every one.

  “Now then, what do we look like,” said King Tirunt. “Now I’m the duck king, and you’re the duck princess.”

  “Never fear,” Arnica told him. “Poor Johnny will set us free in no time.”

  With that, she flopped into the lake and paddled sadly once round it, while the other ducks bowed their heads before her. For Arnica, even in the shape of a duck, was clearly a princess.

  “Will Poor Johnny be able to set them free?”

  “I hope so.”

  “But if he hasn’t got any magic powers, how
can he?”

  “With his love. If he loves Arnica a great deal, he’ll be able to set them free.”

  “Is love like magic then?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “But only in stories, right?”

  “No. Not only in stories. In real life too.”

  Meanwhile, Poor Johnny was striding on eagerly.

  “Whoopee!” he sang merrily. “The six months is up and you’re my own, little Arnica!”

  He hurried on as fast as his legs would carry him and entered the great wood, which belonged to the Witch of a Hundred Faces.

  “I’ll be there any minute now,” he thought. He had worked up quite a thirst.

  “There’s bound to be a spring or a house hereabouts where I can ask for a glass of water.”

  No sooner had this crossed his mind, than he spotted a lovely little house beyond a bend in the road. It shimmered and shone in the sunshine; in the garden there were palm trees and eucalyptus trees, and in the centre of the garden, crystal clear water fell tinkling from a fountain.

  “Now,” thought Poor Johnny, “here’s the place to ask for a glass of water.”

  He stood by the gate and called out, “Hello? Anyone home?”

  The door of the house opened and out stepped a girl so adorably beautiful that Johnny’s mouth fell open in astonishment. The beautiful girl smiled as kindly as she could manage.

  “How can I help you, handsome traveller?” she asked.

  “I… I’m really thirsty,” stammered Poor Johnny, not able to take his eyes off the astonishingly beautiful girl.

  “Come further in and sit by me,” said the girl.

  Poor Johnny sat himself in a basketwork chair, and the girl set down glasses of delicious ice-cooled fruit cordial, cuts of roast beef and snowy-white bread.