Angela Carter's Book Of Fairy Tales

by Angela Carter

  The girl took the towel and the comb and fled. The dogs would have rent her, but she threw them the rolls, and they let her go by; the doors would have begun to bang, but she poured oil on their hinges, and they let her pass through; the birch tree would have poked her eyes out, but she tied the ribbon round it, and it let her pass on. And the Cat sat down to the loom, and worked away; muddled everything about, if it didn’t do much weaving. Up came the Baba Yaga to the window, and asked:

  ‘Are you weaving, niece? Are you weaving, my dear?’

  ‘I’m weaving, dear Aunt, I’m weaving,’ gruffly replied the Cat.

  The Baba Yaga rushed into the hut, saw that the girl was gone, and took to beating the Cat, and abusing it for not having scratched the girl’s eyes out. ‘Long as I’ve served you,’ said the Cat, ‘you’ve never given me so much as a bone; but she gave me bacon.’ Then the Baba Yaga pounced upon the dogs, on the doors, on the birch tree, and on the servant-maid, and set to work to abuse them all, and to knock them about. Then the dogs said to her, ‘Long as we’ve served you, you’ve never so much as pitched us a burnt crust; but she gave us rolls to eat.’ And the doors said, ‘Long as we’ve served you, you’ve never poured even a drop of water on our hinges; but she poured oil on us.’ The birch tree said, ‘Long as I’ve served you, you’ve never tied a single thread round me; but she fastened a ribbon around me.’ And the servant-maid said, ‘Long as I’ve served you, you’ve never given me so much as a rag; but she gave me a handkerchief.’

  The Baba Yaga, bony of limb, quickly jumped into the mortar, sent it flying along with the pestle, sweeping away the while all traces of its flight with a broom, and set off in pursuit of the girl. Then the girl put her ear to the ground, and when she heard that the Baba Yaga was chasing her, and was now close at hand, she flung down the towel. And it became a wide, such a wide river! Up came the Baba Yaga to the river, and gnashed her teeth with spite; then she went home for her oxen, and drove them to the river. The oxen drank up every drop of the river, and then the Baba Yaga began the pursuit anew. But the girl put her ear to the ground again, and when she heard that the Baba Yaga was near, she flung down the comb, and instantly a forest sprang up, such an awfully thick one! The Baba Yaga began gnawing away at it, but however hard she worked, she couldn’t gnaw her way though it, so she had to go back again.

  But by this time the girl’s father had returned home, and he asked:

  ‘Where’s my daughter?’

  ‘She’s gone to her aunt’s,’ replied her stepmother.

  Soon afterwards the girl herself came running home.

  ‘Where have you been?’ asked her father.

  ‘Ah, Father!’ she said, ‘Mother sent me to Aunt’s to ask for a needle and thread to make me a shift. But Aunt’s a Baba Yaga, and she wanted to eat me!’

  ‘And how did you get away, daughter?’

  ‘Why, like this,’ said the girl, and explained the whole matter. As soon as her father had heard all about it, he became wroth with his wife, and shot her. But he and his daughter lived on and flourished, and everything went well with them.

  MRS NUMBER THREE

  (CHINESE)

  uring the T’ang Period there stood, to the west of the city of K’ai Fêng Fu, an inn called the ‘Footbridge Tavern’, kept by a woman about thirty years of age. No one knew who she was or whence she came, and she was known locally as ‘Mrs Number Three’. She was childless, had no relations, and was supposed to be a widow. It was a comfortable, roomy inn; the hostess was in easy circumstances, and had a herd of very fine asses.

  Besides this, she had a generous nature. If a traveller were short of money, she would reduce her prices, or board him for nothing; so her inn was never empty.

  Sometime between AD 806 and 820, a man called Chao Chi Ho, on his way to Lo Yang (which was then the capital city of China), stopped at the ‘Foot-Bridge Tavern’ for the night. There was six or seven guests there already, each of whom had a bed in a large sleeping apartment. Chao, the last arrival, had a bed allotted to him in a corner, against the wall of the hostess’s bedroom. Mrs Number Three treated him well, as she did all her guests. At bedtime she offered wine to each, and took a glass with them. Chao alone had none, as he did not generally drink wine. Quite late, when all the guests had gone to bed, the hostess retired to her room, shut the door and blew out the light.

  The other guests were soon snoring peacefully, but Chao felt restless.

  About midnight he heard the hostess moving things about in her room, and peeped through a crack in the wall. She lit a candle, and took out of a box an ox, a drover and a plough, little wooden models about six or seven inches high. She placed them near the hearth, on the beaten-clay floor of the room, took some water in her mouth, and sprayed it over the figures. Immediately they came to life. The drover goaded the ox, which drew the plough, back and forth, furrowing the floor over a space about equal to that of an ordinary mat. When the ploughing was done, she handed the drover a packet of buckwheat grains. He sowed them, and they at once began to sprout. In a few minutes they flowered, and then bore ripe grain. The drover gathered the grain, threshed it, and handed it to Mrs Number Three, who made him grind it in a little mill. Then she put the drover, his ox and his plough – which had again become little wooden figures – back into their box and used the buckwheat to make cakes.

  At cockcrow the guests arose and prepared to leave, but the hostess said, ‘You must not go without breakfast,’ and set the buckwheat cakes before them.

  Chao was very uneasy, so he thanked her and walked out of the inn. Looking over his shoulder, he saw each guest, the moment he tasted the cakes, drop down on all fours and begin to bray. Each had turned into a fine strong donkey; and the hostess forthwith drove them into her stable, and took possession of their belongings.

  Chao did not tell a soul about his adventure; but a month later, when his business in Lo Yang was finished, he returned, and stopped one evening at the ‘Foot-Bridge Tavern’. He had with him some fresh buckwheat cakes, of the same size and shape as those made at the time of his former visit by Mrs Number Three.

  The inn happened to be empty, and she made him very comfortable. Before he went to bed, she asked him if he wished to order anything.

  ‘Not tonight,’ he replied, ‘but I should like something to eat first thing in the morning, before I go.’

  ‘You shall have a good meal,’ said the hostess.

  During the night, the usual magic growth of buckwheat took place, and the next morning she placed before Chao a dish of buckwheat cakes. While she was away for a few minutes, Chao took one of the magic cakes off the dish, replaced it by one of his own, and waited for her to return. When she came back, she said, ‘You are not eating anything.’

  ‘I was waiting for you,’ he replied. ‘I have some cakes. If you will not try one of mine, I shall not eat those you have given me.’

  ‘Give me one,’ said Mrs Number Three.

  Chao handed her the magic cake he had taken from the dish, and the moment she put her teeth into it she went down on all fours and began to bray. She had become a fine, strong she-ass.

  Chao harnessed her, and rode home on her back, taking with him the box of wooden figures; but as he did not know the spell, he was unable to make them move, or to turn other people into asses.

  Mrs Number Three was the strongest and most enduring donkey imaginable. She could travel 100 li a day on any road.

  Four years later, Chao was riding her past a temple dedicated to Mount Hua, when an old man suddenly began clapping his hands and laughing, crying out, ‘Now, Mrs Number Three of the Foot-Bridge, what’s happened to you, eh?’ Then, seizing the bridle, he said to Chao, ‘She has tried to do you a wrong, I grant, but she has performed sufficient penance for her sins. Let me now set her free!’ Then he took the halter off her head, and immediately she shed the ass’s skin and stood upright in human form. She saluted the old man and vanished. No one has ever heard of her since.

  PART SIX
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  UNHAPPY FAMILIES

  THE GIRL WHO BANISHED SEVEN YOUTHS

  (MOROCCAN)

  here was a woman who had seven sons. Whenever she felt her labor pains begin, she said, ‘This time I shall bear a daughter.’ But it always was a boy.

  Say that she carried again and her month came round. Her husband’s sister came to help as her time drew near. Her seven sons went out to hunt, but before they left they told their aunt: ‘If our mother gives birth to a girl, hang the spindle over the door. When we see it, we shall spin around and come home. If she gives birth to another boy, hang up the sickle. When we see it, we shall cut loose and go.’ The woman hated her nephews, so although the child was indeed a girl, she hung the sickle over the door. When they saw it, the seven went off into the desert.

  The child was given the name Wudei’a Who Sent Away Subei’a, or The Girl Who Banished Seven. She grew and began to play with the other girls. One day she quarreled with her friends, and they said to her, ‘If there was any good in you would your seven brothers have left for the desert on the day you were born?’

  Wudei’a ran home to her mother. ‘Is it true that I have seven brothers?’ she asked. ‘Seven brothers you have,’ her mother said, ‘but on the day you were born, they went out hunting and – O sadness and affliction – we have heard nothing of them since.’ ‘Then I shall go out and find them,’ said the girl. ‘How can you do so, when we have not seen them these fifteen years?’ asked her mother. ‘I’ll search the world from its beginning to its end until I find them,’ said Wudei’a.

  So her mother gave her a camel to ride and sent with her a manservant and a maid. A while after they had set out, the manservant said, ‘Get off the camel and let the maid ride.’ ‘Ya Ummi, O my mother,’ called Wudei’a. And her mother replied, ‘Why do you call?’ ‘The servant wants me to get off the camel,’ said Wudei’a. Her mother told the servant to let Wudei’a ride, and they traveled on a little further. Again the servant tried to make Wudei’a dismount. and again she called ‘Ya Ummi!’ for her mother to help. The third time, however, her mother did not reply to her call, for they were too far away to be heard. So now the servant forced her off the camel and let the maid ride. Wudei’a walked on the ground with the blood pouring from her bare feet, for she was not used to walking so far.

  Three days they traveled in this way, the maidservant riding high on the camel’s back while Wudei’a walked below, weeping and tying cloths around her feet. On the third day they met a merchant’s caravan. The servant said, ‘O lords of this caravan, have you seen seven men hunting in the wilderness?’ ‘You will reach them before noon; their castle is on the road,’ they answered.

  Now the manservant heated pitch in the sun, and with it he rubbed the girl Wudei’a until all her skin was dark. Leading the camel to the castle gate, he called out, ‘Good news, masters! I have brought your sister to you.’ The seven brothers ran to greet their father’s servant, but they said, ‘We have no sister; our mother gave birth to a son!’ The servant made the camel kneel and pointed to the maid. ‘Your mother gave birth to a girl, and here she has come.’ The brothers had never seen their sister; how could they know? They believed their father’s servant when he told them that the maid was their sister and that Wudei’a was their sister’s slave girl.

  Next day the brothers said, ‘Today we shall sit with our sister; we shall not go to hunt.’ The oldest brother said to the black slave girl, ‘Come and look through my hair for lice.’ So Wudei’a laid her brother’s head on her knee and wept as she combed his hair. A tear fell on to her arm. Her brother rubbed the spot, and the white flesh beneath the pitch appeared. ‘Tell me your story,’ said her eldest brother. Sobbing and talking Wudei’a told her tale. Her brother took his sword in his hand, went into the castle and cut off the heads of the servant and the maid. He heated water and brought out soap and Wudei’a washed herself until her skin was white again. Her brothers said, ‘Now she looks like our true sister.’ And they kissed her and stayed with her that day and the next. But on the third day they said, ‘Sister, lock the castle gate, for we are going hunting and will not come back till seven days have passed. Lock the cat in with you and take care of her. Do not eat anything without giving a share to her.’

  Seven days Wudei’a waited in the castle with the cat. On the eighth her brothers returned with game. They asked, ‘Were you afraid?’ ‘What should I fear?’ said Wudei’a. ‘My room has seven doors, six of wood and the seventh made of iron.’ After a time the brothers went away to hunt again. ‘No one dares to approach our castle,’ they told her. ‘Be careful only of the cat; whatever you eat, give her half of it. And should anything happen, she knows our hunting grounds – she and the dove on the windowsill.’

  Cleaning the rooms while she waited for her brothers to return, Wudei’a found a broad bean on the ground and picked it up. ‘What are you eating?’ asked the cat. ‘Nothing. I found a broad bean among the sweepings,’ said Wudei’a. ‘Why didn’t you give me half?’ asked the cat. ‘I forgot,’ said Wudei’a. ‘Watch and see how I’ll repay you,’ said the cat. ‘All for half a bean?’ asked Wudei’a. But the cat ran to the kitchen, pissed on the fire, and put it out.

  There was no fire now to cook the food. Wudei’a stood on the castle wall, looking till she saw a light far off. She set out in that direction, and when she reached the place she found a Ghoul sitting at his fire. His hair was so long that one whisker was a pallet beneath him and the other a blanket above. ‘Greetings, father Ghoul,’ said Wudei’a. And the Ghoul replied.

  By Allah, had not your greeting

  Come first before your speaking.

  By now the hills around would hear

  Your young bones crack and your flesh tear!

  ‘I need a fire,’ said Wudei’a. The Ghoul answered,

  If you want a large ember, you must give a strip of skin

  From your tallest finger to just below your chin.

  Or if the ember you want is a small one.

  From your ear down to your thumb.

  Wudei’a took the large ember and began to walk back, the blood flowing from her wound. A raven followed behind her throwing earth on each bloodstain to bury it. When she reached her gate, the bird flew up to the top of the wall. Wudei’a was startled and she scolded. ‘May God give you cause to feel fear as you have frightened me.’ ‘Is this how kindness is rewarded?’ said the raven. Down from the wall he dropped and ran along the ground, baring the blood he had covered all the way from her doorstep to the Ghoul’s camp.

  In the middle of the night the Ghoul woke up and followed the trail of blood until he came to the brothers’ castle. He charged through the gate but he found the girl’s room shut with seven doors – six made of wooden panels and the seventh a door of iron. He said,

  Wudei’a Who Sent Away Subei’a,

  What was your old father doing when you came?

  She answered,

  Lying on a gold bed frame,

  Of fine silk his counterpane

  And his mattress of the same.

  The Ghoul laughed and smashed down one of the wooden doors. Then he went away. But the next night and the next, the same thing happened until he had broken all six doors of wood. Only the seventh door was left, the door of iron.

  Now Wudei’a was afraid. She wrote a message on a piece of paper and tied the paper around the neck of her brothers’ dove with a thread. ‘O dove, whom my brothers love,’ she said, ‘carry my words to them through the air above.’ The tame bird flew off and did not alight until it sat in the lap of the oldest of the brothers. He read from his sister’s paper.

  Six doors are broken down; only the seventh remains.

  Come quickly if you want to see your sister again.

  The seven youths jumped into their saddles, and before the middle of the afternoon they had returned home. The castle gate was broken, the six wooden doors of their sister’s room were splintered. Through the seventh door of iron they shouted, ‘Sister, sister, we ar
e your brothers; unlock your door and tell us how it happened.’

  When she had repeated her tale, they said, ‘May Allah grant you wisdom, did we not tell you never to eat without giving the cat its share? How could you forget?’ Then they prepared themselves for the visit of the Ghoul. They dug a deep pit and filled it with firewood. They lit a fire and fed it until the pit was heaped with glowing coals. Then they laid a mat carefully to cover the opening of their trap and waited.

  The Ghoul arrived and said,

  Wudei’a Who Sent Away Subei’a,

  What was your old father doing when you came?

  She answered through her door,

  He was flaying mules and donkeys,

  Drinking blood and sucking entrails.

  Matted hair so wild and long

  It was his bed to lie upon.

  O pray he may fall into the fire

  To toast and burn till he expire.

  The Ghoul boiled with rage. With a roar he broke down the seventh door and burst in. Wudei’a’s brothers met him and said, ‘Come neighbor, sit with us a while.’ But when the Ghoul folded his legs to squat on the straw mat, he tumbled into the pit of embers. The brothers threw wood on top of him heaping more and more until he was all burned up, even his bones. Nothing remained of him except the nail of his little finger, which had jumped into the middle of the room. It lay on the floor until later, when Wudei’a bent down to wipe the tiles with a cloth. Then it pricked her finger and slipped under the skin of her hand. That same moment the girl fell to the ground without life or movement.

  Her brothers found her lying dead. They wept and wailed and made her a bier and tied it on to their father’s camel’s back and said,

  Carry her, O camel of our father,