by Unknown
As soon as the brother’s wife saw them, as soon as she saw who had come – No-Arms herself and all her family, all whole and hale, and people of standing – she collapsed at their feet in terror and at once, without being asked, told all she had done to doom No-Arms and her little child.
‘Maybe they’ll pardon me,’ she thought. ‘It was a long time ago.’
No-Arms listened to her, and, in answer, told of her own fate, of all she had suffered.
No-Arms’s brother bowed to his sister, and said: ‘Thank you, sister, for your story – but evil must not be left to bear seed. Forgive me, dearest sister.’
And that night, without his guests knowing, he led from the stables a young mare who wasn’t yet broken in. He twisted the reins, and with them he tied his wife to the mare’s tail and himself to his wife. He called out – and the horse was off, dragging husband and wife through open steppe, beating them to death against the ground.5
In the morning, No-Arms and her husband and son waited for their hosts, but only a mare ran up, alone, without any people, out of the open steppe.
The guests waited and waited – and then rode off, back to their home and to long and happy lives. Unhappiness may indeed live in the world, yet only by chance; happiness must live constantly.
Wool over the Eyes
Once there was a soldier who had served his twenty-five years of service. He was a loyal and honourable soldier, but he liked to play tricks on his comrades. He could say anything in the world and make it seem like the truth; until they came to their senses, his comrades would all believe him.
Now a soldier may have to serve many years, but he has time off, and he, too, wants to have fun. He doesn’t have a family, he doesn’t have to think about board and lodging, so what does he do after sentry duty? What do you think? He tells stories! And what does he care where his stories take him?
Soldier Ivan had received his discharge. It was time for him to go back home, but his home was somewhere far, far away, and he was long unaccustomed to his kinfolk.
‘Well,’ he sighed. ‘I’ve served all my life as a soldier. I’ve served for twenty-five years, but I haven’t once seen the tsar! When I get back to my village, my kin are going to ask what the tsar’s like. What will I tell them?’
Off Ivan went to see the tsar.
Now the tsar of that land was Tsar Agey – and Tsar Agey loved being told stories. Until he’d listened to a few, he never felt merry. Tsar Agey also liked to tell stories and ask riddles himself. He liked it when people listened to him, and he liked it still more when people believed his stories and couldn’t unriddle his riddles.
Along came Ivan, into the presence of Tsar Agey.
‘What do you want, fellow countryman?’ asked Agey.
‘I want to look at your royal face! Twenty-five years I’ve served as your soldier, not once have I seen your face.’
Tsar Agey told the soldier to sit down opposite him on a carved wooden chair: ‘Sit and look, soldier! Sit on this chair, sit till the devil drags you away by the hair!’ And the tsar laughed.
Ivan sat on the carved chair. He felt a little scared in the tsar’s royal presence, and he wasn’t quite sure if the tsar was in his right mind. ‘Why does Tsar Agey sound so delighted about this devil of his?’ he kept wondering.
‘Well, soldier, I’ll ask you a riddle!’ said Tsar Agey. ‘How great is the world – what do you reckon?’
Ivan looked serious. ‘Not so very great, your Majesty! The sun goes all the way round it in under twenty-five hours.’
‘True enough,’ said the tsar. ‘And how much height stands between the earth and the sky? A great height or a little height?’
‘The same thing, your Highness – only a very little height. If there’s a knock up there, you hear it down here.’
Tsar Agey could see the soldier was speaking truth and this upset him. The soldier was smart. He might even be smarter than the tsar himself.
‘Soldier, tell me one more thing. How deep are the depths of the sea?’
‘How deep are the depths of the sea? No one knows that. My grandad served at sea, and he went and drowned deep into the water. It’s forty years since he drowned – and he’s still not found his way back.’
Tsar Agey realized he was never going to outriddle the old soldier. He ordered the soldier to be given some money, so he could set up a home for himself. Then he sat him down at the table to drink some tea.
‘Present me a story, soldier. Then I’ll let you go home.’
Now a soldier never has any money at all, and he’s always glad to be given some. And Ivan had sat long enough in the tsar’s royal presence, and anyway it wasn’t really tea that he wanted.
‘Let me go out for some fun, your Highness. Twenty-five years I’ve served in your service. Now let me go and live as I please. I’ll present you the story later.’
Ivan left the tsar’s and went to a tavern. For a day and a night the soldier had fun. He drank away all the money the tsar had given him. He had nothing left but an old half kopek. He drank that away too, but he still hadn’t drunk all he wanted. He wanted more.
‘More vodka, landlord, and a bite to eat!’
The landlord was afraid of being cheated. ‘Are you paying in gold or in silver?’ he asked.
‘Gold. Silver’s too heavy for a soldier to carry about with him.’
The landlord brought the soldier some food and some vodka, then sat down opposite him.
‘Where are you going now, soldier?’ he asked. ‘And what about your kin – are they still living or have they all passed away?’
‘I’ve come from the tsar’s royal presence,’ said Ivan. ‘Where else would a soldier be coming from? And a soldier doesn’t need kinfolk. The whole world is his kin. Drink up, landlord – it’s on me!’
The landlord drank with the retired soldier.
‘I’ll charge you a bit less,’ said the landlord. ‘Yes, I’ll give you a discount.’
‘Drink up, landlord! And a soldier doesn’t need discounts – I’ll settle in full! And have a bite to eat!’
The landlord lived well. He was accustomed to good food and good drink – but what he loved more than anything was good talk.
‘Tell me a true story, soldier,’ he said, ‘a story about something that really happened to you.’
‘Which story shall I tell you, landlord?’
‘Any story you like. What lands you’ve wandered. What places you’ve made your home.’
‘Well then, let me tell you. Before I served my service I was a bear, and I lived in the forest. And I’m a bear now, too, and I’m on my way back to the forest.’
At first the landlord felt frightened. It was his own tavern, and it was full of goods and wares. He might incur a loss from the bear – how would a bear be able to pay for what he had eaten and drunk?
‘My!’ said the landlord. ‘Is that the truth?’
‘It certainly is!’ said the retired soldier. ‘Can’t you see? I’m a bear, and yes, you’re a bear too!’
This well and truly shocked the landlord: who would he be able to trade with now that he was a bear?
The landlord looked at the former soldier and pinched himself. Yes, the soldier was a bear – and now he himself was a bear too.
‘What are we going to do, soldier? We don’t have to run away into the forest, do we?’
‘Not now. We might be killed by hunters. There’ll be time enough to escape to the forest.’
‘But what are we to do now?’ said the landlord. ‘Oh, how unhappy we are! We’re bears!’
The former soldier stayed calm. ‘What are we to do now?’ he said. ‘Let’s drink and feast! Be a true host – bid the world be your guest! Bears can’t be landlords – and we can’t let your goods go to waste!’
The former Ivan was speaking the truth – there was no doubt about it. The landlord gave orders for people to be called from every village and every town, from every hut for miles around.
The guests arr
ived – people they had called, and far-flung strangers who had heard the call from others. They ate till not a scrap or a crumb remained; they drank till every barrel was drained. Then they took away all the bowls and spoons: what good are bowls and spoons to a bear?
Now the landlord had no goods and wares left at all. He and the former soldier climbed up onto the sleeping bench for the night.
‘What am I to do?’ he asked.
‘We can slip away into the forest tonight,’ said the soldier. ‘Bears aren’t supposed to live in towns and settlements. It’s not lawful – we’ll be fined.’
Ivan woke during the night and ordered the landlord, ‘Come on, bear! Jump! It’s time we were off to the forest. You run first and I’ll follow. We don’t want you to get left behind.’
The landlord collected himself, jumped off the sleeping bench, and fell belly first onto the floor. He lay there for a while until he came to. Then he saw what had happened – nothing was left in his tavern, the guests had eaten their way for free through all his wares, there was no sign of that former soldier, and he himself was not a bear but a landlord again, though a good deal worse off than he had been before.
The landlord wanted to take the former Ivan to court. But where would he find him now that Ivan had walked free? And anyway, everyone always welcomes a soldier. Who was going to give him away into punishment?
The landlord made a complaint to Tsar Agey. The tsar summoned the landlord and asked, ‘What wrong has the old soldier done you?’
‘What do you mean, your Highness?’ said the landlord. ‘He turned me into a bear. I was a fool and believed him, and your soldier gave away all my goods and wares. He gave all my food and drink away to guests, and he ate all he could himself.’
Tsar Agey laughed at the landlord. ‘Be off with you!’ he said. ‘Get yourself some more goods! There’s no law against wit, and no profit in being stupid.’
After this, the tsar wanted to hear a tale himself: let the old soldier present a tale to him! Let him present what never had been and never would be as if it were really happening. ‘He can’t be smarter than I am,’ he said to himself. ‘I’m the tsar. The old soldier won’t pull the wool over my eyes. I’ll just have a good laugh at him.’
Tsar Agey ordered former soldier Ivan to be found, wherever he might be, wherever he was up to no good.
Ivan heard the tsar’s call, and he appeared at once. ‘Here I am, your Highness. What do you want?’
The tsar had the samovar put on the table and ordered Ivan to drink some tea. Ivan poured some tea into a silver mug, then poured a little out into the saucer. He almost sat down again on the carved chair, but he sat on a stool instead.
‘You’re a smart fellow, Ivan,’ said the tsar. ‘I hear you turned a landlord into a bear. Can you present a story like that to me? Can you pull the wool over my eyes too?’
‘I could, your Highness. I’m accustomed to that kind of thing. But I’d be afraid.’
‘Don’t be afraid, soldier. I love a good yarn.’
‘I know you do,’ said Ivan. ‘But this time it’ll be me spinning the yarn, not you. But what time is it, your Highness?’
‘The time – what’s the time got to do with it? By now it must be after midday.’
‘It’ll start any minute!’ said the former soldier. And then he called out all of a sudden, ‘Water! Water, your Majesty! High water’s sweeping down on your palace! Quick! We must swim for it! I’ll tell you a story later, somewhere dry.’
The tsar couldn’t see any flood, and there was no water anywhere. But he could see that the former soldier was drowning. He was choking, his mouth snatching at the air above him.
‘What’s up, soldier?’ shouted the tsar. ‘Come to your senses!’
Suddenly there’s nothing for the tsar to breathe either. His chest’s full of water. Now his stomach’s full of water too. And now it’s swirling into his guts.
‘Save me, soldier!’
Soldier Ivan grabs hold of the tsar.
‘Hey, Agey, swim this way!’
Tsar Agey swims for all he’s worth. Ahead of him is a fish. The fish turns round towards him.
‘Don’t be afraid, Agey,’ says the fish. ‘It’s me, Agey – your soldier for many a day!’
The tsar looks at himself: now he’s become a fish too. ‘We won’t drown now!’ he says joyfully.
‘We certainly won’t!’ answers Ivan-fish. ‘We’ll live!’
They swim on further. Out of the palace they swim, into free water. All of a sudden Ivan-fish is no longer there. Ivan-fish has vanished. There’s only the soldier’s voice, calling from somewhere off to the right: ‘Hey, Agey! Turn tail! Catch your fins in that net and you’ll be gutted and scaled!’
The tsar hears, but there’s no time to think. He swims straight into a fisherman’s net. Ivan-fish is there too.
‘What are we going to do now, soldier?’ asks the tsar.
‘We’re going to die, your Highness.’
But the tsar wishes to live. He struggles and struggles. He wants to leap free, but it’s a strong net.
The fishermen drag the net in. Agey sees one of them grab Ivan-fish. The fisherman scrapes Ivan’s scales off with a knife and throws him into the pot. ‘No!’ thinks the tsar. ‘No one’s going to scrape the scales off Tsar Agey!’
The fisherman grabs the tsar-fish and beheads it. He tosses that head away, then throws the carcass into the pot. Just then the tsar hears the voice of the former soldier: ‘But your Highness, old fellow – where’s your head?’
The tsar wants to retort, ‘Well, where’s your skin? They’ve scraped all your scales off! Why didn’t you save me, you devil?’ – but he can’t. The tsar can’t speak at all – he remembers he’s lost his head.
The tsar clasped his head in his hands. Then he came back to his senses. He looked around: he was in his palace the same as always; he was sitting in an armchair and Ivan the retired soldier was sitting opposite him on a stool, drinking tea from a saucer.
‘Ivan, was it you who was a fish just now?’
‘Yes, your Highness, who else could it have been?’
‘And who was thinking when I lost my head?’
‘Me again. There wasn’t anyone else.’
‘Leave my tsardom at once!’ the tsar yelled at Ivan. ‘Let there be neither sight nor sound of you ever again. May you be forgotten by all my people and never remembered!’
The former soldier left the tsar’s presence – and all he’d had to drink was half a saucer of tea. As for the tsar, he straight away made a proclamation throughout all his tsardom: let no one dare take into their home Ivan the retired soldier!
Off Ivan wandered. But wherever he went, people closed their doors to him. All they would say was, ‘The tsar has forbidden us to take you in.’
At first, Ivan had no luck at all. He went as far as his own kinfolk – and they didn’t want to know him either. They just said, ‘The tsar has forbidden us to take you in.’ Ivan walked on further. What would he find there?
He came to a hut and asked to stay the night: ‘Let me in, good man!’
‘I would, but it’s forbidden,’ the man answered. ‘Still, I might let you stay if you tell me a tale. You really can tell tales, can you?’
Ivan thought for a moment.
‘Yes, I suppose I can.’
The peasant let him in for the night.
Ivan began to tell a tale. At first his host listened with only half an ear, thinking, ‘He’ll just tell a pack of lies and then ask for a bowl of kasha.’ Halfway through the tale he smiled. Then he began to listen more deeply. Towards the end of the tale he quite forgot who he was. He was no longer a peasant, but a bandit. Or he was Tsar of the Ocean. Or not just one of the poor but a very wise wanderer – or perhaps a fool. But really nothing was happening at all. There was only an old soldier – sitting close by, twitching his lips and muttering away. Coming back to his senses, Ivan’s host asked for another tale. The soldier began again. Soon it was g
rowing light outside and they still hadn’t lain down to sleep. Soldier Ivan was telling his hundredth tale and his host was sitting opposite him, crying tears of joy.
‘That’ll do,’ said Ivan. ‘All I’ve done is make up a tale. Why waste tears?’
‘Because of the tale you’ve told,’ the host replied with a sigh. ‘It’s a joy to the heart and food for thought.’
‘But Tsar Agey just got angry with me,’ said Ivan. ‘He said I must leave his tsardom and go where my eyes look.’
‘That’s the way of the world,’ said the host. ‘The people’s meat is the tsar’s poison.’
Ivan got up and began to say goodbye to his host.
‘Take anything you like from in here,’ said the host. ‘Nothing of mine matters to me any longer – and there must be something you’ll need for the road.’
‘I’ve got everything I want already. There isn’t anything I need. But thank you!’
‘Whatever you own, it’s not to be seen!’
The old soldier grinned. ‘So there’s nothing I can call my own, yet you’ll give me anything of yours that I like? Don’t you think I must have something to give in return?’
‘You win!’ answered the host. ‘Well, goodbye! Come again – you’ll always be welcome!’
After that, Ivan wandered from village to village, from the home of one stranger to the home of another stranger. Wherever he went, he had only to promise to tell a story and people would take him in for the night: a story, it appears, is stronger than a tsar. There was just one thing: if he began telling stories before they had eaten, the people listening to him never felt hungry and supper time never came. So the former soldier always asked for a bowl of cabbage soup first.
It was better like that. After all, you can’t live on stories alone, without any food.
Appendix
Baba Yaga: The Wild Witch of the East
Who is this wild witch, and why is she riding in a mortar?
Though only a few of the tales say it in so many words, most Russians would agree that Baba Yaga is a witch. The Russian word for witch is ved’ma. The word root ved-means ‘to know,’ and related words in Modern Russian mean ‘news’ (as in the title of Pravda’s one-time competitor, the Soviet newspaper Izvestiya), as well as information or consultation, and the particle ved’ means ‘indeed’ (as if commanding one’s listener ‘know this!’). The word witch has a similar linguistic history: the root of the word is wit. This verb still shows up in ‘to wit’, ‘unwitting’, the old-fashioned ‘God wot’, and of course in keeping one’s wits about one. Feminists and Wiccans have worked to reclaim the word witch in its sense of ‘wise woman’ or ‘woman who knows’, but in both Russian and English the words as commonly used suggest age and ugliness first, power second.
