by David Conger
The goats glanced around at one another. “No noise,” they repeated, shaking their heads. “We won’t make a sound.”
At midnight, Thin Goat opened the gate. “Follow me,” he whispered. Very quietly, the goats left the pen, one by one. Once they were far from the house, Thin Goat began to run. The other goats did, too. They ran into the thick black night as fast as they could.
The goats journeyed onward until they reached a field of long grass. Nearby was a pond. “Here we have grass to eat and water to drink,” said Thin Goat. “Let’s make this our home.”
The goats planned to live there for a long time, so they set up camp and made it as comfortable as they could. But one day they spotted a leopard stealthily pacing circles around them, which made them very nervous.
“Don’t be scared,” said Thin Goat, once again thinking on his feet and knowing exactly what to do. “Just listen to me and agree very loudly with what I say.”
When Thin Goat was sure the leopard was within hearing distance, he puffed himself up and put on a loud and fierce voice. “There is only one leopard,” he announced to the other goats. “There are many more of us.” He made sure to speak slowly, carefully pronouncing his words. “We can catch him! It’s been a while since we’ve eaten a scrumptious meal of leopard.”
The goats looked at each other uncertainly for a few seconds. Then, finally understanding that Thin Goat was just trying to scare the leopard away, they all answered, “Yes, we can catch him!” Led by Thin Goat, they started to chant in unison, “We will catch him! We will catch him! Ha ha ha!” And their voices echoed into the forest, louder and louder.
The leopard, of course, was quite shaken, even though he had never heard of goats hunting down a leopard. He decided he’d be safer in the forest, and quickly tore off, away from the noisy goats.
Once in the forest, the leopard met a tapir. “Why are you running so fast?” asked the tapir.
The leopard stopped in his tracks, his chest heaving. “There are wild goats in that field,” he said, breathless. “They want to catch me.”
“That’s silly! What kind of goats can catch a leopard?” The tapir laughed, amused by the thought of leopard-eating goats. “I want to see these goats.”
“No!” said the leopard, shaking his head vigorously. “It’s dangerous. They’re very brave goats, and there are many of them.”
Again, the tapir laughed. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “Goats are neither brave nor fierce!”
The leopard was still scared, but since the tapir was laughing, he was beginning to think that maybe he was making a big deal out of nothing. “All right,” he said, finally. “I’ll take you there, but only if you tie your tail to mine in case you run off and leave me behind.” He was afraid to face the goats alone, so he made very sure he tied a strong knot.
The two animals, with their tails tied tightly together, set off to meet the goats.
Along the way, the leopard was still feeling afraid and unsure. “Cheer up! We are going to have great fun,” said the tapir, trying to calm him down.
Meanwhile, worried that the leopard would return, Thin Goat climbed on top of a hill to watch out for him. Sure enough, Thin Goat spotted the leopard when he was still very far away. He couldn’t be certain, but it looked as if the leopard was now returning with a tapir.
Thin Goat quickly sent the other goats into the forest to eat wild berries, being sure to ask one of them to bring some berries for him to eat, too. As the two figures drew closer, Thin Goat called out to the herd, “Run west now!” and all the goats immediately took off stampeding in one direction, their mouths and beards stained and dripping red from having eaten juicy berries.
Thin Goat, his mouth smeared with red, now climbed atop a rock on top of the hill. “Leopard!” he shouted as loudly as he could. “We’ve just eaten your grandfather. And now we’re going to eat you and your friend the tapir!”
Thinking that the goats’ mouths were dripping with blood, the tapir was now trembling in terror. “You’ve tricked me!” he said to the leopard. “I should never have agreed to come with you!” The tapir turned to run away, hoping to escape from these strange, frightening goats.
At that moment, the leopard was too shocked to speak. He, too, wanted to get away as fast as possible. So he turned to run away—but in the other direction!
The leopard felt a pulling, then tugging, then a stretching. Had the goats caught him? Would he be their dinner after all?
“Aaaaahhhhh!” screamed the tapir, as he felt searing hot pain shoot through him.
The leopard turned back to see what had happened, and was horrified. Because his tail had been tied to the tapir’s and they had run in opposite directions, he had accidentally torn off the tapir’s tail! Now the tapir would have only a stump where his tail had once been.
Baka the Cow and Kalabaw
the Water Buffalo
Philippines
Kalabaw the water buffalo raised his nose up to the sky, his rounded horns pointing down toward the cracked soil beneath him. He tipped his head back as far as he could and waited for a breeze. None came. Then he swung his neck around and tried to scratch an itch on his side.
“Aaaak!” he said, turning in circles as he struggled to get at the itch.
He felt like a silly puppy chasing his own tail, and the intense heat from the early morning sun only made him grumpier. Kalabaw never liked the month of May, because it was the hottest, driest time of the year. No matter where he went or what he did, he couldn’t seem to get cool.
He was rubbing the itchy spot against a tree when he heard a familiar voice calling. “Kalabaw!” it said. “Kala—BAAAW!”
With a frown Kalabaw peered through a clearing in the bushes and saw his best friend, Baka the cow, trotting over to him. Baka looked as if he had been running. His almost-black hide was frothy with sweat, and his sand-colored legs were darker than usual.
“Oh, it’s you!” said Kalabaw, instantly forgetting his itch. He was always happy to see Baka.
“I want to go for a swim,” Baka said. “It’s so hot! Do you want to come?”
“Yes, of course,” Kalabaw said. “Let’s go find some thick cool mud to wallow in!”
Laughing and in great excitement, they galloped down a winding path toward the shady river. After jumping over a fallen tree and squeezing between two giant boulders, they arrived at the water’s edge. Baka slipped out of his dark, prickly skin as he prepared to jump in. Kalabaw stumbled, still running, as he peeled off his coat. The short hairs of his coat were chocolate-brown around his head and rump, and blond around his belly.
They spent the next few hours splashing around, diving for rocks, and swimming from bank to bank to see who was faster. When they finally grew tired, they found a shallow spot right under a talisay tree (sea almond tree) whose branches reached out over the entire width of the river. There they settled, sitting down on their haunches with only their heads poking out above the cool, thick mud.
Kalabaw, the larger of the two, soon began to feel a rumble in his stomach. “I’m so hungry, I could eat a tamaraw (dwarf buffalo)!” he said.
“Well, I think I will!” Baka said, jumping to his feet quite suddenly. He pushed his way through the mud and clambered onto the riverbank. “Last one back to the field is a tamaraw’s tail!” he cried, grabbing one of the hides the two friends had hung on a branch for safekeeping.
Kalabaw raised himself out of the sticky mud in one powerful movement and chased after him. With his mouth, he grabbed the other hide and stepped into it as quickly as he could.
In their rush to get dressed, Baka mistakenly put on Kalabaw’s skin, and Kalabaw put on Baka’s. Neither of them noticed that their skins didn’t quite fit until they got back to the field.
“Ha, ha, ha!” Baka laughed. “Look at yourself! You’re wearing my coat!”
Kalabaw looked down at his forelegs and was surprised to find that they were now sand-colored. They were supposed to be brown, like cho
colate. Puzzled, he quickly checked his back legs, noticing that the skin around his neck felt as if it might tear. They were sand-colored, too! Realizing what had happened, he glanced up at Baka, who was laughing so hard, he was rolling around in the tall grass.
A giggle started to rise up inside Kalabaw as he pointed wordlessly at his friend. “Hee, hee, hee, hee, hee!” was all he could say for a long time. “You look like you lost a hundred kilos in a single morning!”
Baka stopped laughing just long enough to look down at his belly. “Oh no!” he said, looking slightly alarmed. “I can’t even see my belly because there’s too much skin in the way.”
Baka shook his head from side to side, fascinated by the loose skin under his chin, which flapped around with even the slightest movement. As he did so, Kalabaw playfully took a nip at the baggy skin around his neck, which made Baka burst out into a new fit of giggles. “Look!” Baka said, gasping for breath. “I’m an old, old cow!”
Kalabaw took another small nibble and then another and another, and before long they were both rolling around in the grass, laughing.
Soon it was noon. The sun was high up in the sky, hotter than ever, and Kalabaw started to feel uncomfortable in Baka’s tight skin, which was now slick with perspiration. He was also growing more and more hungry, as if he could eat not just a tamaraw but five tamaraws. He stopped laughing, clutching his grumbling stomach as he tried to squeeze himself out of Baka’s hide.
“Aaargh! Your skin is too tight and too slippery!” he said as he wriggled around on the ground. “I. Just. Can’t. Get. Out. Of. It.”
By this time, Baka had also stopped laughing. He was sweaty and covered in dirt and pieces of grass. “Can we go eat now?” he said weakly.
Kalabaw stopped struggling. He let out a long sigh before popping up to his feet. “Fine,” he said. “I guess I can get used to your skin. Maybe it will stretch out.”
But Baka’s skin never did stretch out, and Kalabaw’s skin never shrank. They lived the rest of their lives in hides that didn’t fit. This is why, to this day, cows’ skins seem baggy and too big for them, and water buffaloes’ dark hides fit snugly.
How the Sea Became Salty
Japan
Mitsuo and Yasuo were two brothers who never got along, not even when they were little boys. They were just too different. Now that they were grownups, they rarely spoke to one another, although their farmlands lay side by side. Mitsuo owned a big piece of land with plenty of rice, large barns and a beautiful house. Yasuo had a small farm with only a little rice, one barn and a broken-down old house.
One day Yasuo ate the last of his rice. He went next door to ask his brother for something to eat, but Mitsuo snapped at him. “Why should I give you food? You’ll just turn around and give it to every lazy beggar that happens to come along.”
Mitsuo was greedy and mean, and he never helped people. Yasuo, on the other hand, was generous and kind. He always shared whatever he had, even when he hardly had enough for himself.
Yasuo did not want to fight with his brother, and left peacefully. His stomach gurgled loudly as he wondered what he was going to do. What would he eat? Yasuo considered this problem as he walked, making his way down a winding road that passed his house. Soon he met an old monk who was walking in the other direction.
“What’s the matter, my son?” the monk said. “Why do you look so worried?”
“Well, Grandfather,” said Yasuo, “today I ate the last of my rice. I am hungry and I don’t know what to do.” In Japan, it is a sign of respect to call elderly men grandfather. Yasuo, always polite, remembered to do this in spite of his hunger.
The old monk smiled. “If you go to the end of this road,” he said, “you will see a hillside, and in that hillside a small cave.”
Yasuo listened to the monk intently. He did not know what else to do.
“Go inside the cave and see what you find,” the old monk said, digging a hand into his pocket. “Take this with you.” He handed a manju, a small wheat cake, to Yasuo.
Tucking the manju into his pocket, Yasuo thanked the monk, headed down the road, and started looking for the cave’s opening.
Immediately Yasuo found a tiny hole at the very base of the hill. Could this be it? he wondered. He crouched down on his hands and knees and poked his head into the hole. To his astonishment, inside the cave were dozens of miniature people scurrying about. He realized that they were kobito, a kind of magical little men and women who live in the woods and hills.
The kobito seemed to be busy building something, but when they saw Yasuo they all ran for safety. In the blink of an eye, they had vanished!
Yasuo scratched an eyebrow, wondering what to do next. “Hello!” he said into the mouth of the cave, just above a whisper. “Please don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”
One by one, very slowly, the kobito reappeared. As they eyed him curiously, Yasuo took a closer look at what they were building. It seemed to be a house, but it was not even half finished and would need a lot more work.
“I can help you build your house,” he said, looking at one of the kobito men. “Would you like me to fetch you more wood?”
The men nodded yes, so Yasuo headed into the forest to gather sticks and twigs. Soon he returned with an armload of wood, which he put near the cave’s entrance. He watched as the kobito began to build again, moving very quickly and working very hard. Yasuo was sure their labor must have made them hungry, so he offered them his wheat cake. He watched in wonder as the little people gobbled up the manju in a matter of seconds.
Despite the hunger deep in his belly, Yasuo grinned broadly. Nothing made him happier than helping others.
Now the kobito were laughing and talking loudly. Yasuo stayed out of the way, watching quietly. Finally one of the kobito men broke out of the group and approached him. “For bringing us wood and a delicious meal,” he said to Yasuo, “we are going to reward you with our greatest treasure.”
Yasuo followed the kobito to a large rock, which they asked him to move. Under the rock was a hole, and in the hole was a grinding stone made of two flat stones that looked like small wheels. The stones were placed one on top of the other and held together by a wooden peg. There was a hole in the top stone, and next to the hole was a wooden handle.
“If you speak the name of something three times while turning the grinder to the right,” the kobito man explained, “whatever you name will come out of the hole. To stop things from coming out all you have to do is turn the handle to the right and say ‘please stop’ and ‘thank you.’”
Yasuo picked up the grinder. The stones felt cold and heavy in his hand.
Yasuo felt honored and happy to have received such a magical gift. Holding the grinding stone close to his chest, he thanked the kobito and said goodbye.
On his way home, he stopped to eat. He carefully held the grinder and began turning the handle to the left. “Manju, manju, manju,” he said as he turned it. True to what the kobito had promised and much to his delight, manju started popping out of the grinder. Yasuo gathered the cakes until his sack was full and then stuffed his pockets with them. When he had more than enough to eat, he turned the handle to the right to stop the cakes from coming out. “Please stop,” Yasuo said to the magic grinder. “Thank you,” he added, when no more manju appeared.
From that day on Yasuo had everything he wanted. Still, he never forgot how poor he had been, and he continued to help the old, the sick, and the hungry, just as he had before. Soon so many people were coming to Yasuo for help every day that they began to form a long line outside his front door. Sometimes the line snaked all the way out to the road.
It was not long before Mitsuo noticed all the people visiting his brother’s humble farm. He also noticed that they arrived empty-handed but left with more food than they could carry. Sometimes they left with clothes. Mitsuo just couldn’t understand it. Where was Yasuo, who was so poor, getting everything? Mitsuo knew his brother couldn’t possibly afford to buy all those t
hings.
Late one night, Mitsuo decided to sneak over to his brother’s house to find out what was going on. He peeked into a window and saw Yasuo bent over the magic grinding stone. “M anju, manju, manju,” Yasuo was saying.
So that’s it! thought Mitsuo as he watched. I’ll steal that stone and move far, far away. I’ll be so rich, I’ll never have to work again!
When Yasuo went to bed, Mitsuo slipped into his house. He filled his pockets with manju, grabbed the grinder, and ran out into the night. He ran and ran until he came to the seashore. There he stole a boat and sailed far out into the ocean.
Mitsuo woke up as the sun was rising. Hungry, he ate the manju he had brought with him. Now, manju are very sweet, so after eating them he wanted something salty to get rid of the sweet taste in his mouth. He took out the magic stone, turned the handle to the left, and said aloud, “Salt, salt, salt.”
Well, of course salt came out of the stone right away. Chunks of white salt flew out of the grinding stone in every direction. Mitsuo laughed, happy that the grinder worked so well. Moments later, the bottom of the boat was covered in a thick layer of crunchy salt.
“Okay,” Mitsuo said to the stone. “That’s enough salt. Stop!”
But the salt kept pouring out. “Stop!” he said again and again, twisting and pulling the handle to the right and to the left, his face turning red. “Stop! I order you to stop!” But nothing happened.
To throw the grinder overboard was unthinkable to the greedy Mitsuo, even though it would have been the smart thing to do.
Faster and faster the salt came, until Mitsuo was buried in salt up to his waist. Only then—having no other options—did he decide to throw the grinder into the ocean. But it was too late, as the boat was already sinking.
Mitsuo drowned, of course, and all the salt spilled into the ocean. The Japanese believe this is how the ocean became salty. To this day, the magic grinding stone continues to produce salt, and it always will.
