They made a wolf of tar and placed it near the well. On the following night the hare came as usual after her supply of water. On seeing the tar wolf she demanded who was there. Receiving no answer she repeated the demand, threatening to kick the wolf if he did not reply. She, receiving no reply kicked the wolf, and by this means adhered to the tar and was caught. When the fox and wolf got hold of her, they consulted what it was best to do with her. One proposed cutting her head off. The hare protested that this would be useless, as it had often been tried without hurting her. Other methods were proposed for dispatching her, all of which she said would be useless. At last it was proposed to let her loose to perish in a thicket. Upon this the hare affected great uneasiness and pleaded hard for her life. Her enemies, however, refused to listen and she was accordingly let loose. As soon, however, as she was out of reach of her enemies she gave a whoop, and bounding away she exclaimed: “This is where I live.”
SOURCE: James Mooney, Myths of the Cherokee, 273–74
James Mooney collected Cherokee tales from both print sources and living informants. Most of the material in his volume was collected from Cherokee living in the Carolina mountains, for as Mooney points out, “mountaineers guard well the past, and in the secluded forests of Nantahala and Oconaluftee, far away from the main-traveled road of modern progress, the Cherokee priest still treasures the legends and repeats the mystic rituals handed down from his ancestors.” The second of the two tales above was published in The Cherokee Advocate on December 18, 1845, offering evidence that the mythic Hare of Native American lore and Brer Rabbit in African American lore kept company with each other.
BUH WOLF, BUH RABBIT, AND DE TAR BABY
At las Buh Rabbit tell Buh Wolf: “Don’t lick me no mo. Kill me one time. Mek fire an bun me up. Knock me brains out gin de tree.” Buh Wolf mek answer: “Ef I bun you up, ef I knock you brains out, you guine dead too quick. Me guine trow you in de brier patch, so de brier kin scratch you life out.” Buh Rabbit say, “Do, Buh Wolf, bun me; broke me neck, but don’t trow me in de brier patch. Lemme dead one time. Don’t terrify me no mo.” Buh Wolf yent bin know1 wuh Buh Rabbit up teh. Eh tink eh bin guine tare Buh Rabbit hide off. So, wuh eh do? Eh loose Buh Rabbit from de sparkleberry bush, and eh tek um by de hine leg, and eh swing um roun, an eh trow um way in de tick brier patch fuh tare eh hide an cratch ey yeye out. De minnit Buh Rabbit drap in de brier patch, eh cock up eh tail, eh jump, an eh holler back to Buh Wolf: “Good bye, Budder! Dis de place me mammy fotch me up—dis de place me mammy fotch me up.” An eh gone befo Buh wolf kind ketch um. Buh Rabbit too scheemy.
SOURCE: Charles G. Jones, Negro Myths from the Georgia Coast: Told in the Vernacular, 7–10.
After reading Joel Chandler Harris’s Uncle Remus stories from “the negroes of Middle Georgia,” Charles Jones decided to record stories from coastal regions, “where the lingo of the rice-field and the sea-island negroes is sui generis.” He dedicates the book in the following way, completely oblivious to the irony that the “family servants” might not have shared in the comfort and happiness that they evidently gave to the family living on the plantation:
IN MEMORY
OF
MONTE VIDEO PLANTATION
AND OF THE
FAMILY SERVANTS
WHOSE FIDELITY AND AFFECTION CONTRIBUTED SO
MATERIALLY TO ITS COMFORT AND
HAPPINESS
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1 yent bin know: did not know
PART V
KINDNESS AND TREACHERY: SLIPPING THE TRAP
Among the many tales about treacherous creatures, the one about a naïve frog and duplicitous scorpion has become something of a cultural meme, adapted and refashioned to suit different social and political circumstances. Often attributed to Aesop and confused with his fable about a frog and a mouse, its origins remain mysterious. The tale has been linked with the Indian collection of animal fables known as the Panchatantra, which contains in one of its variant forms a story about a tortoise betrayed by a scorpion. It has, more recently, appeared in cinematic culture, first in Orson Welles’s 1954 Mr. Arkadin, then in Neil Jordan’s 1992 The Crying Game. Its main features are outlined below:
A scorpion meets a frog on a riverbank, and the scorpion asks the frog to let him ride across on its back. The frog worries that the scorpion will sting him, but the scorpion reassures the frog by telling him that he too will die if he stings the frog. Satisfied with that answer, the frog carries him across the river, but in midstream the scorpion stings him. Before he dies, the frog has just enough time to ask “Why?” and the scorpion replies: “It is my nature.”
If the tale about the frog and the scorpion takes a fatal turn, resulting in the death of both creatures, there are many stories in which an act of kindness is repaid with a good deed rather than treachery. In “Gratitude,” for example, a hunter learns the value of a random act of kindness—even as he is besieged with examples of how humans fail to appreciate the things in their service.
“The Boy and the Crocodile,” which appears in Alex Haley’s Roots, has it both ways, putting on display the capacity for compassion and for cruelty. “No good deed goes unpunished” could be the moral of that tale.
The African American story “Mr. Snake and the Farmer” sends a deeply skeptical message about the transformative power of kindness. It is akin to Aesop’s fable about “The Farmer and the Viper,” and in many ways the Greek fable appears refashioned by J. D. Suggs, who told the story to the folklorist Richard Dorson in Michigan in 1952. Oscar Brown Jr.’s lyrics for “The Snake” reconfigure the story so that it turns on sexual politics.
GRATITUDE
A hunter went out into the bush. He met an antelope. He killed the antelope. Boaji (the civet) passed by. Boaji said, “Give me some of that meat. I am hungry. I beg you for it. I’ll do you a favor some other time.” The hunter gave Boaji some of the antelope’s meat. Boaji ran off.
The next day the hunter went out into the bush again. He came to a place where the bush was overgrown and it was hard to see where one was going. There, in the middle of the bush, he met a crocodile. The hunter said, “How did you get here? Don’t you belong in the water?” The crocodile said, “Last night I went out hunting and now I am far from the river. I cannot find my way back. I beg you, show me the way to the river. If you do, I’ll give you five loads of fish.” The hunter said, “I’ll be glad to help you.” The hunter tied a thong around the crocodile’s foot and led him to the Niger. At the water’s edge, the crocodile said, “Now undo the thong, and I’ll go into the water and fetch you your five loads of fish.” The hunter freed the crocodile. The crocodile went into the water, and the hunter waited on the bank.
The crocodile came out of the water with a great big fish and put it high on the bank. It slipped back into the water, and he returned with a second load of fish and put it lower on the bank. The hunter climbed down and carried it up higher. The crocodile returned with a third load, which he left at the water’s edge. The hunter carried the third load up the riverbank. The crocodile brought a fourth load and put it in the shallow water. The hunter came down, picked the fish up out of the shallow water and carried it high up on the bank. The crocodile returned with a fifth load of fish, which it put on the edge of the deep water. The hunter came down from the bank, waded through the shallow water and came to the edge of the deep water. As he was about to pick up the fish, the crocodile snapped at his foot, caught it fast and dragged the hunter under water.
The crocodile brought the hunter to his brother crocodiles who were lying on a sandbank in midstream. The crocodile called all his friends and said, “We have caught a hunter. We are going to eat him. Come, all of you.” The crocodiles came from everywhere and swarmed around the hunter. The hunter said, “Is that fair? This crocodile lost his way in the bush. I brought him back to the river. And now he wants to eat me.” The crocodiles said, “We will ask four other people what they think about it.”
Down the river floated an Asubi.1 It was old and torn. The hunter cried “Asubi, help me!” The Asubi said, “What is the matter?” The hunter said, “This crocodile here was lost in the bush, and I brought him back to the river. I saved his life and now he wants to take mine. Is that fair?” The Asubi said, “You are a man. I know humans. When a mat is young and useful, they keep it clean, do not step on it with their feet, roll it up when they have used it and put it carefully to one side. But when a mat is old they forget what it was once like. They throw it away. They toss it into the river. The crocodile will be wise to treat you as people have treated me.” The Asubi drifted on. The crocodile said, “Did you hear what the Asubi said?”
A dress, old, torn, and worn came floating down the stream. Someone had thrown it away. The hunter cried, “Dress, help me!” The old dress said, “You are a man. I know humans. So long as a dress is young and beautiful, they wear it everywhere, accept its beauty for their own and say, ‘Aren’t we lovely?’ But it is the dress which is lovely. And the people know that they lie for they fold the dress carefully, smooth out the wrinkles and wrap it up. But as soon as the dress is old they forget what it once was. They throw it in the river. The crocodile will be wise to treat you as people have treated me.” The old dress drifted downstream.
The crocodile said, “Did you hear what that old dress said?”
An old mare came down to the river to drink. The mare was old and thin. Her masters had turned her out because she was no longer of any use to them. The hunter cried, “O mare, help me!” The old mare said, “What is the matter?” The hunter said, “I brought this crocodile here, who had lost his way, back to the river. Now he wants to eat me. I saved his life and now he wants to rob me of mine. Is that fair?” The old mare said, “You are a man. I know humans. When a mare is young they build a stall for her. They send out boys to cut her the best grass. They give her the best grain and when she is in foal they give her double of everything. But when a mare is old and cannot foal, when she is weak and ill, they drive her out into the bush and say, ‘Take care of yourself as best you can.’ Just look at me. The crocodile will be wise to treat you as people have treated me.” The mare trotted off.
The crocodile said to the hunter, “You heard what the old mare said?”
Boaji came down to the bank of the Niger to drink. It was the Boaji whom the hunter had helped the day before. The hunter cried: “Boaji, help me!” Boaji said, “What is the matter?” The hunter said, “I brought this crocodile here, who had lost his way in the bush, back to the river. And now he wants to eat me. I saved his life and now he wants to rob me of mine. Is that fair?” Boaji said, “That is difficult to decide. First I must know everything. I do not want to hear only your side of the story but the crocodile’s side too—that is, if the crocodile is willing to accept my decision.” The crocodile said, “I will tell you.” Boaji said, “How did the hunter bring you here?” The crocodile said, “He tied a thong around my foot and dragged me after him.” Boaji said, “Did it hurt?” The crocodile said, “Yes, it hurt.” The hunter said, “That is not possible.” Boaji said, “I cannot decide that until I have seen it. Come ashore here and show me what you did.” The crocodile and the hunter went to the shore. Boaji said to the hunter, “Now tie the thong around his foot, just as you did before, so that I can judge whether it hurt him or not.” The hunter bound the thong around the crocodile’s foot. Boaji said, “Was it like that?” The crocodile said, “Yes, it was like that. And after a while it began to hurt.” Boaji said, “I cannot judge that yet. The hunter had better lead you back into the bush. I will come with you.” The hunter picked up the thong and led the crocodile into the bush. Finally they came to the place where he and the crocodile had met. The hunter said, “It was here.” Boaji said, “Was it here?” The crocodile said, “Yes, it was here. From here on the hunter dragged me behind him to the river.” Boaji said, “And you were not satisfied?” The crocodile said, “No, I was not satisfied.” Boaji said, “Good. You punished the hunter for his bad treatment of you by grabbing his foot and dragging him to the sandbank. So now the matter is in order. In order to avoid further quarrels of this kind the hunter must unbind the thong and leave you here in the bush. That is my decision.”
Boaji and the hunter went off. The crocodile stayed in the bush. The crocodile could not find the way back to the river. The crocodile hungered and thirsted. The hunter thanked Boaji.
There comes a time for every man when he is treated as he has treated others.
SOURCE: Leo Frobenius and Douglas C. Fox, African Genesis, 163–70.
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1 Asubi: colored, oval mat
AN EXAMPLE OF INGRATITUDE
This is a Hausa tale to explain how butulu (ungrateful) came to mean a man who is not thankful.
This is how it came about. There was once a fish called butulu swimming around in the water, and one day there came a malam.1 He put a hook in the water and the fish called butulu took it. Feeling the weight, the malam pulled—and there before him was the fish, jumping about and saying to the malam, “Please, please, for the sake of God and the Prophet, let me go, so I can go home. When I get there, if you’ll put the hook down again, I’ll send my brother. When he comes, pull him up and take him away. Me, I’ve got too big a family; you couldn’t take me away and leave my children orphans.” The malam agreed to this and he let the fish go and returned it to the water.
The fish went down into the water and then returned to the surface and saw the malam standing there on the bank. Then says he “There’s a bloody stupid malam! What did you go and let me go for, when you’d already caught me? Curse you for a thriftless fellow!” Then the malam pondered in his heart and said to himself “Maybe he’s a butulu, but there’s always tomorrow.” So from the next day on, whenever he caught a fish alive, he would beat it to death.
That is the sort of thing we mean by butulu—a sort of person who is never thankful, whatever you do for him.
SOURCE: Neil Skinner, ed., Hausa Tales and Traditions, II, 448.
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1 malam: Muslim cleric
THE BOY AND THE CROCODILE
As little as he was, Kunta was already familiar with some of the stories that his own Grandma Yaisa had told to him alone when he had been visiting in her hut. But along with his first-kafo playmates, he felt that the best story-teller of all was the beloved, mysterious, and peculiar old Nyo Boto. . . . Though she acted gruff, the children knew that she loved them as if they were her own, which she claimed they all were.
Surrounded by them, she would growl, “Let me tell a story . . .”
“Please!” the children would chorus, wriggling in anticipation.
And she would begin in the way that all Mandinka story tellers began: “At this certain time, in this certain village, lived this certain person.” It was a small boy, she said, of about their rains, who walked to the riverbank one day and found a crocodile trapped in a net.
“Help me!” the crocodile cried out.
“You’ll kill me!” cried the boy.
“No! Come nearer!” said the crocodile.
So the boy went up to the crocodile—and instantly was seized by the teeth in that long mouth.
“Is this how you repay my goodness—with badness?” cried the boy.
“Of course,” said the crocodile out of the corner of his mouth. “That is the way of the world.”
The boy refused to believe that, so the crocodile agreed not to swallow him without getting an opinion from the first three witnesses to pass by. First was an old donkey.
When the boy asked his opinion, the donkey said, “Now that I’m old and can no longer work, my master has driven me out for the leopards to get me!”
“See?” said the crocodile. Next to pass by was an old horse, who had the same opinion.
“See?” said the crocodile. Then along came a plump rabbit who sa
id, “Well, I can’t give a good opinion without seeing this matter as it happened from the beginning.”
Grumbling, the crocodile opened his mouth to tell him—and the boy jumped out to safety on the riverbank.
“Do you like crocodile meat?” asked the rabbit. The boy said yes. “And do your parents?” He said yes again. “Then here is a crocodile ready for the pot.”
The boy ran off and returned with the men of the village, who helped him to kill the crocodile. But they brought with them a wuolo dog, which chased and caught and killed the rabbit, too.
“So the crocodile was right,” said Nyo Boto. “It is the way of the world that goodness is often repaid with badness. This is what I have told you as my story.”
“May you be blessed, have strength and prosper!” said the children gratefully.
SOURCE: Alex Haley, Roots, 7–8.
“An Example of Ingratitude,” from Neil Skinner, Hausa Tales and Traditions. © 1977 by the Board of Regents of the University of Wisconsin System. Reprinted by permission of The University of Wisconsin Press.
MR. SNAKE AND THE FARMER
Well, you know, a snake, in the wintertime, he goes in the ground and he don’t never wake up. When the cold weather gets bad, he never wakes up till the weather warms up.
So the farmer goes out, he’s going to break his ground up at the end of February. So he plows up Mr. Snake. “Ain’t that something? Here’s Mr. Snake.”
And Mr. Snake says, “Why I’m just so cold. I don’t know what I’ll do. I just practically froze this winter.” He was so stiff, he couldn’t move. Said, “Will you put me in your bosom, Mr. Farmer, and let me warm . . . up?”
The Annotated African American Folktales Page 29
