“What will it be today, and why doesn’t the mail man come on?” thought Cless. Finally the postman turned into 135th Street and made his way to the entrance of the building in which the little boy lived. Cless ran down to meet him. The postman handed him a card. On one side was Cless’ address, on the other a picture of a little colored boy riding a big crocodile. Cless was both disappointed and frightened.
“Oo-ee! what an ugly thing this is,” he shouted as he turned and walked into the elevator.
“Let me see?” asked the elevator boy.
Cless handed him the card.
“Sure is ugly! And that’s the thing that eats little colored boys. See all them rough bumps on his back? Well, they are the toes of little colored babies sticking up under his skin. That’s Mister Crocodile,” concluded the elevator boy. “He used to have a smooth back before he began to eat little colored babies, but now it’s rough.”
Little Cless was very much frightened, and as soon as the elevator reached his floor he dashed out and went running to his apartment crying: “Granny! Granny! oh Granny, look what daddy sent me today—a big ugly crocodile! And I hear he eats little colored babies. Granny, is it true? Is it true, Granny?”
“Why certainly not, Cless. Who in the world told Granny’s little man such a story?”
“Elevator boy, Granny—elevator boy,” answered little Cless between sobs. And a little later he stopped crying and told his grandmother the story just as the elevator boy had told him.
“It’s no such a thing, it’s no such a thing,” said Granny. “Why don’t you know frogs were the real cause of crocodiles having rough backs?”
“How’s that, Granny? Please tell me—tell me quick, Granny please,” begged little Cless.
“All right, I’ll tell you,” promised Granny, “for I certainly don’t want my little man scared to pieces with such ugly stories.” Now little Cless felt relieved. He hopped into Granny’s lap, huddled up close to her side and listened to her story of how the crocodile got his rough back.
“A long, long time ago,” she said, “in Africa, down on the River Nile there lived a fierce old crocodile. And this was the first crocodile in the world. Before him there was no others. Now this crocodile lived in a cluster of very thick brush, and, although there were many other animals in the swamp larger than he, he was king of them all. Every day some poor creature was seized and crushed to death between this cruel monster’s jaws. He was especially fond of frogs and used to crush dozens of them to death every day. Now the frogs could hop faster than the crocodile could run and he never caught them in a fair race. But he always got the best of them by hiding in the mud until some poor frog came paddling along and then he would nab him and crush him to death between his big saw-teeth. Of course this was easy, for at that time Mister Crocodile had a smooth, black back, and it was so much like the mud that the frogs could never tell where he was.
Illustration by Laura Wheeler Waring for “How Mr. Crocodile Got His Rough Back.” The Brownies’ Book, November 1920.
“But one day a happy thought struck Mister Bull Frog who was king of all the frogs in that swamp. He thought it would be a good idea to pile some lumps of mud on the crocodile’s back, and then the frogs could always tell where he was. This plan was gladly accepted by all the frogs in the swamp. So the next time the crocodile crawled into the mud to take his winter nap, Mister Bull Frog and all the other frogs went to the place where the monster lay and daubed a thousand little piles of mud on his back. And when they had finished they could see him from almost any part of the swamp. Now they knew they were safe. How happy they were! They all joined hands, formed a big circle around the sleeping crocodile, and while Mister Bull Frog beat time on his knee the others shouted this jingle so hard that their little throats puffed out like a rubber ball:
“ ‘Ho, Mister Crocodile, king of the Nile,
We got you fixed for a long, long while.
Deedle dum, dum, deedle dum day,
Makes no difference what you say!’
“They shouted this jingle over and over again. And the last time they sang it Mister Bull Frog got so happy he stopped beating time, jumped up in the air, cut a step or two, then joined in the chorus with his big heavy voice:
“ ‘Honkey-tonkey tunk, tunk, tink tunk tunk!
Honkey-tonkey, tunk, tunk, tink tunk tunk!’
“And when all the singing and dancing were over the little frogs went home.
“But Mister Bull Frog chose to stay and watch the crocodile. All winter long the crocodile lay in the mud. Nevertheless the Bull Frog kept close watch over him. Each day the lumps of mud that the frog had stuck on his back were growing harder and harder.
“At last spring came. The sleepy creature awoke and immediately began to shake his back and flop his tail. But the more he did this the madder he became. Finally he was just whirling ’round and ’round in the mud, biting himself on the tail and groaning, ‘Honk! honk! honk!’ But the lumps of mud had done their work. They were there to stay. And finding it of no use to wiggle he crawled out on the bank of the river and began to look for something to eat. Nothing could be found on the shore, however, so he slipped back into the muddy water to see if he could catch some frogs. In this he failed, for no longer could he hide himself. No matter how much his skin looked like the mud, the little frogs could always tell where he lay by his rough back.
“So ever since that day little frogs have lived in perfect safety along the banks of the River Nile or any other place so far as crocodiles are concerned. And as for Mister Crocodile himself, he has gone on and on even down to this day with his rough scaly back. And this is how he got it, Cless,” ended Granny, “and not by eating little colored babies.”
Little Cless had followed every word of Granny’s with eager interest. Now he smiled a smile of relief, thanked her for the story, jumped from her lap and skipped out to join the happy group of little children who were still peeping into the street from their windows. Here Cless showed his crocodile to as many children as were close enough to see it. And to those who were nearest he told the story over and over again of how the crocodile got his rough back.
The pourquoi tale told here has a cathartic effect, purging the fears and anxieties of Cless about carnivorous crocodiles. Granny not only creates a new “origins tale” but also stages it in a way that reveals how sharp wits can defeat brute physical strength.
Illustration by Laura Wheeler Waring for “How Br’er Possum Learned to Play Dead.” The Brownies’ Book, January 1921.
HOW BR’ER POSSUM LEARNED TO PLAY DEAD
Julian Elihu Bagley
Little Cless had just returned to his apartment from an excursion to the famous Bronx Park in New York City. At last his wish to see the many wonderful animals in the zoo had come to pass. But somehow they didn’t interest him quite as much as he expected. Perhaps this was due to the fact that there were countless other holiday attractions, or perhaps it was because Granny couldn’t go along to tell him the wonderful stories that she knew about them. But this was no grown-ups’ outing—this trip. It was a holiday excursion conducted by Cless’ teacher—and for kiddies only! So poor Granny had to stay at home. However, as soon as Cless began his dinner he commenced to tell Granny all about the strange animals he had seen at the park. And what do you think he imagined the funniest creature in the whole zoo?—Br’er Possum!
“Oh, Granny! You just ought to see him,” shouted Cless. “He’s the cutest little thing in the whole zoo. And every time you go near his cage he just stretches out and plays dead. Granny, what makes him do that—was he born that way?”
“Why, of course not, Cless. Haven’t you ever heard how Mister Tortoise taught Br’er Possum that trick? Well,” added Granny quickly—she knew Cless hadn’t heard this tale—“guess I’ll have to tell you—but after dinner, honey.”
“Now understand, Cless,” explained Granny as she began, “this was many years ago, long before you were born—or even Granny. Br’er Possum wa
s living away down in old Virginia in the hollow of a cypress tree in Chuckatuck swamp. And on the side of this same swamp, away down in a dark, crooked hole, there lived Mister Tortoise. Now Br’er Possum was a particular friend of Mister Tortoise, and used to visit him every night to get some of the delicious carrots and beets and turnips that he kept in his hole. This made life very easy for Br’er Possum, so instead of working he just cuddled up in his hollow every day and slept till night. But one day a strange storm blew up. Big, rolling clouds hid the sun and after a while there was a heavy downpour of a mixture of sleet and snow. For three days and three nights this sleet and snow poured down so hard that neither Br’er Possum nor Mister Tortoise could go out.
“Now, Mister Tortoise was all prepared for this weather. He had already stored up his carrots and beets and turnips for his winter food, so the storm only stopped him from going fishing. Br’er Possum was not so lucky. He didn’t have one bite in his hollow, so it wasn’t long before he began to squeal desperately for something to eat. Naturally, just as soon as the storm lulled he crawled out of his hollow and went dragging over to Mister Tortoise’s den to get something. He was hungry and weak and was therefore compelled to travel very slowly, and when he got there Mister Tortoise had just crawled out of his hole and toddled on down to the river a-fishin’. Br’er Possum wondered what to do. Should he go on down to the river and help his friend fish? He thought a while and then decided to go down to the river. But he had not gone long on his way before he met Br’er Fox.
“ ‘Hello there, Br’er Possum,’ says Br’er Fox. ‘How you do this morning, and where you going so early?’
“Br’er Possum replied that he was feeling pretty hungry and was going to the river to fish with Mister Tortoise, his friend.
“ ‘Why,’ says Br’er Fox, ‘I’ve just come from the river a-fishin’ with Mister Tortoise myself, and he’s caught just one little minnow fish.’
“Then Br’er Fox went on to tell Br’er Possum how Mister Tortoise had been fishing since sunrise and how he had threatened to keep on fishing till sundown if he didn’t catch a big fish. Furthermore, he told Br’er Possum that Mister Tortoise had promised him some carrots and beets and turnips if he’d stay and help him fish. ‘But,’ said he, ‘it was too cold down there for me I just couldn’t stand it.’
“Nevertheless, he had promised to go back to the river that afternoon and carry Mister Tortoise home on his back. But, of course, he didn’t mean to go back to the river at all. What he really meant to do was to find Mister Tortoise’s hole and rob it of the carrots and beets and turnips. So after throwing one or two hints at Br’er Possum, Br’er Fox came right out and said: ‘Seems like you ought to know where Mister Tortoise lives, Br’er Possum—he’s your friend.’
“ ‘I do,’ says Br’er Possum.
“ ‘And you claim you pretty hungry?’ asked Br’er Fox.
“ ‘Yes, hungry as I can be.’
“ ‘Well, would you listen to a scheme to get something to eat?’
“ ‘Maybe I would,’ says Br’er Possum. ‘What is it?’
“ ‘Would you go and help me rob Mister Tortoise’s hole while he’s at the river?’
“ ‘Oh no! no! no!’ exclaimed Br’er Possum as he wolloped his big, rough tail on the ground. ‘I could never do that. He’s my best friend.’
“ ‘But how’s he going to know it?’ argued Br’er Fox. ‘How’s he going to know it when he’s at the river a-fishin’?’
“Well, Br’er Fox kept on asking this question and saying, ‘And yet you claim you so hungry!’ till Br’er Possum got the notion of going. So he said, ‘Wait here, Br’er Fox, till I go home and get a basket and we’ll go and rob Mister Tortoise.’
“Of course, Br’er Fox agreed to wait, so Br’er Possum started off to get the basket. But on his way home he began to think of the many kind things that Mister Tortoise had done for him. Now this worried Br’er Possum so much that before he got to his hollow he had completely changed his mind. So instead of going right back to Br’er Fox with the basket he took a short cut through the swamp to see if Mister Tortoise was still fishing at the river. And sure enough what did he see but a great big tortoise with his head chucked through the ice and his feet away up in the air, just a-going ‘flippey-te floppey-te!’ He was struggling to catch a fish. Br’er Possum sneaked up behind Mister Tortoise, grabbed him by the hind legs and snatched him out of the ice.
“ ‘Spe—u!’ whistled Mister Tortoise as the cold water gushed from his mouth. ‘My gracious alive, Br’er Possum, you liked to scared me to death—I thought you were Br’er Fox. Where in the world did you pop up from any way?’
“ ‘Just from Chuckatuck Hill,’ says Br’er Possum, ‘and I met Br’er Fox up there.’
“ ‘Sure enough!—what did he say?’ asked Mister Tortoise.
“ ‘Said he’d been down here a-fishin’ with you all morning. Said you’d just caught one little minnow and—!’
“Right here is where Mister Tortoise cut Br’er Possum right short and asked: ‘Did he say I promised him something to eat?’
“ ‘Yes,’ said Br’er Possum, ‘and you better watch him too ’cause he’s just been trying to get me to go with him to your hole and steal all you got.’
“ ‘A low-down scamp!’ says Mister Tortoise. ‘How can we get him, Br’er Possum?’
“ ‘Just you get on my back,’ says Br’er Possum, ‘and let me take you to your hole. Then I’ll go back and get Br’er Fox and bring him there to pretend like I’m going to steal your carrots and beets and turnips, and when he comes down in your hole you just grab him and choke him to death.’
“Now both of them agreed to this trick and as soon as Br’er Possum had gulped down the little fish to give him enough strength to run, he took Mister Tortoise on his back and started to his hole by a round about way through the swamp. In about ten minutes they were home. Mister Tortoise slid off Br’er Possum’s back and scrambled on down in his hole to wait for Br’er Fox. Now Br’er Possum started back in the same round about way to meet Br’er Fox. When he got back Br’er Fox was very angry and asked why he had stayed so long. Br’er Possum told him that he couldn’t find the basket.
“ ‘Well,’ says Br’er Fox to Br’er Possum, ‘how come you panting so hard like you been running a long ways?’
“ ‘Oh, that’s because I’m hungry,’ says Br’er Possum, ‘I didn’t run a step.’
“ ‘Hush up your mouth, Br’er Possum,’ says Br’er Fox, ‘didn’t I hear you way through the swamp running bookiter! bookiter! bookiter! Who you fooling? And how come your breath smells so much like fresh fish?’
“Of course, all this was enough to make Br’er Fox suspicious, but he was so hungry and Br’er Possum played so innocent that he still thought he would take a chance in Mister Tortoise’s hole. So the two hungry creatures started out. But as soon as they came to Mister Tortoise’s hole and saw all the fresh tracks around it, Br’er Fox balked and declared that he would never take the chance. Well, they stood in front of the hole and fussed and argued, and argued and fussed till Br’er Possum was sure Mister Tortoise heard all they said. Then he hollered right out loud: ‘Oh pshaw! Get out the way, Br’er Fox, you too scared to do anything! Get out the way! I’ll go down; you stay up here and fill the basket as I bring the food up.’
“To be sure, Br’er Fox didn’t object to this, so Br’er Possum crawled into the hole and slid on down to the bottom. Soon as he got down there he met Mister Tortoise and told him that they would have to think up a better trick to catch Br’er Fox.
“ ‘Heard every word you spoke,’ said Mister Tortoise. ‘Just you leave it to me, and when I tell you to squeal,—squeal loud. And when I tell you to lie down and play dead, don’t squeal at all!—Do you understand?’ Br’er Possum said he did. Now Mister Tortoise grabbed him by the back and pretended that there was a mighty scuffling going on. My, there was such a-squealing and a-squealing and a-grunting and a-groaning that poor Br’er Fox way
at the top of the hole was just shaking with fright. Finally there was a sudden hush. Then Mister Tortoise gave Br’er Possum a butcher knife and told him to go over in the corner and lie down just like he was dead. Br’er Possum obeyed. And about that time Br’er Fox thought everything was over, so he poked his head in the hole and hollered: ‘Hello there, Mister Tortoise.’
“ ‘Who’s that darkening this hole?’ says Mister Tortoise.
“ ‘It’s me—Br’er Fox—come for the carrots and beets and turnips you promised me this morning at the river.’
“ ‘Oh sure! sure!—come on down,’ says Mister Tortoise. ‘You’re the very one I’m looking for. I’ve just killed a great big possum. Come on down and help me skin him and I’ll give you a piece.’
“Br’er Fox went down and sure enough there was Br’er Possum all stretched out just like he was dead. Now Br’er Fox was just as tickled as he could be. He began to strut about and say, ‘Oh, what a fine supper I’ll have tonight!’ But his fun did not last long, for as soon as he turned his back, Mister Tortoise jumped on him, grabbed him by his throat so he couldn’t squeal, and then hollered for Br’er Possum to come with his butcher knife. Br’er Possum came. And while Mister Tortoise held Br’er Fox by his long mouth, Br’er Possum cut Br’er Fox’s head clean off. That same night they skinned him and baked him and ate him for their supper. And after supper they talked much of this trick of playing dead. Br’er Possum liked it so well that he took it up, played it once or twice on Br’er Rabbit, and since that day he has played it on everybody but Mister Tortoise.”
Granny’s tale was finished. She tickled little Cless under his chin and asked him if he thought he could tell the story of how Br’er Possum learned to play dead. He assured her that he could. So now she pressed his little round face close to hers and literally smothered him with soft kisses. Then she slipped him from her lap and told him that he might join the romping holiday kiddies out in the street below.
The Annotated African American Folktales Page 44
