The Good Little Devil and Other Tales

by Pierre Gripari

  Contents

  Title Page

  The Witch of Rue Mouffetard

  The Pair of Shoes

  The Giant Who Wore Red Socks

  Scoobidoo, the Doll Who Could See Everything

  The Story of Lustucru

  The Fairy in the Tap

  The Witch in the Broom Cupboard

  The Good Little Devil

  The Love Story of a Potato

  Uncle Pierre’s House

  Prince Blub and the Mermaid

  The Cunning Little Pig

  The Fool and His Wise Wife

  Afterword

  Translator’s Acknowledgements

  Pierre Gripari, the Author

  Puig Rosado, the Illustrator

  Also Available from Pushkin Press

  Copyright

  The Witch of Rue Mouffetard

  There was once an old witch living in the Gobelins neighbourhood in Paris; she was a dreadfully old and ugly witch, but she really did want to be the most beautiful girl in the world!

  One sunny day, while reading the Witches’ Times, she came across the following advertisement:

  MADAME

  You who are OLD and UGLY

  You shall become YOUNG and PRETTY!

  To achieve this:

  EAT A LITTLE GIRL

  In tomato sauce!

  Underneath, in small letters, it said:

  BUT TAKE CARE!

  YOUR LITTLE GIRL’S FIRST NAME

  ABSOLUTELY MUST BEGIN

  WITH THE LETTER N!

  Now, a little girl whose name was Nadia happened to be living in the very same neighbourhood as the witch. She was the eldest daughter of Papa Sayeed (perhaps you know him?), who kept the cafe-grocer’s on rue Broca.

  “I shall have to eat Nadia,” the witch decided.

  One fine day, Nadia had gone out to get some bread from the bakery when an old lady stopped and spoke to her:

  “Good morning, young Nadia!”

  “Good morning, madame!”

  “Would you like to do me a good turn?”

  “What is it?”

  “Would you go and fetch a tin of tomato sauce from your daddy’s shop for me? It would save me going, and I’m so tired today!”

  Nadia agreed right away; she was a good-hearted girl. As soon as she had gone, the witch—for it was she—began to laugh and rub her hands together:

  “Oh, I am so cunning!” she said. “Young Nadia is going to bring me the very sauce that I shall eat her with!”

  As soon as she had come back home with the bread, Nadia took a tin of tomato sauce from the shelves, and she was just getting ready to go out again when her father stopped her:

  “And where are you off to, with that?”

  “I am taking this tin of tomato sauce to an old lady who asked me for it.”

  “You stay here,” said Papa Sayeed. “If your old lady wants something, she has only to come here herself.”

  Nadia, being also a very obedient girl, did not argue. But the next day, while out shopping, she was stopped by the old lady once again:

  “Well, Nadia? What about my tomato sauce?”

  “Sorry,” said Nadia, blushing from head to foot, “but my daddy didn’t want me to bring it. He said you should come to the shop yourself.”

  “Very well,” said the old lady, “I’ll come, then.”

  Indeed, she walked into the shop that very same day:

  “Good morning, Monsieur Sayeed.”

  “Good morning, madame. What can I get you?”

  “I would like Nadia.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, forgive me! I meant to say: a tin of tomato sauce, please.”

  “Of course! A small one or a large one?”

  “A large one, it’s for Nadia…”

  “What?”

  “No, no! I meant to say: it’s to have with some spaghetti…”

  “I see! Talking of which, we also have spaghetti…”

  “Oh, there’s no need, I’ll have Nadia…”

  “What?”

  “Do forgive me! I meant to say: the spaghetti, I already have some at home…”

  “If you’re sure… Here is your tomato sauce.”

  The old lady took the tin and paid for it, but then, instead of leaving, she began to look doubtful:

  “Hm! Perhaps it is a little heavy… Do you think you might perhaps…”

  “Might what?”

  “Let Nadia carry it home for me?”

  But Papa Sayeed had his suspicions.

  “No, madame, we don’t deliver. Besides, Nadia has other things to be getting on with. If this tin is too heavy for you, well, too bad: you’ll just have to leave it behind!”

  “Never mind,” said the witch, “I’ll take it. Goodbye, Monsieur Sayeed!”

  “Goodbye, madame!”

  And the witch went away, with her tin of tomato sauce. As soon as she was home, she said to herself:

  “Here’s an idea: tomorrow morning, I shall disguise myself as a butcher, then go to rue Mouffetard and sell some meat in the market. When Nadia comes out to do the shopping for her parents, I’ll nab her.”

  The following day, the witch appeared on rue Mouffetard disguised as a market butcher, when Nadia happened to go by.

  “Hello, little girl. Would you like some meat?”

  “Oh no, madame, I’ve just bought a chicken.”

  “Shoot!” thought the witch.

  Next day, back in the market, she had disguised herself as a poultry butcher.

  “Hello, dear. Will you buy one of my chickens?”

  “Oh no, madame. Today I’m looking for some red meat.”

  “Blast!” thought the witch.

  On the third day, in a fresh disguise, she was selling both red meat and poultry.

  “Hello Nadia, hello my dear! What would you like? You see, today I have something for everyone: beef, mutton, chicken, rabbit…”

  “Yes, but we’re having fish today!”

  “Drat!”

  Back at home, the witch thought and thought. Then she had a new idea:

  “Well, if this is how things are, I will use some stronger magic. Tomorrow morning I shall turn myself into EVERY SINGLE ONE of the food-sellers on rue Mouffetard AT THE SAME TIME!”

  And indeed, the following day, the witch had turned into every single one of the food-sellers on rue Mouffetard (there were exactly 267 of them), in disguise.

  Nadia came along as usual and, quite unsuspecting, went up to a vegetable stall—to buy some green beans, this time—and was about to pay when the shopkeeper caught her by the wrist, snatched her away and ker-CHING! shut her up in the till.

  Luckily, Nadia had a little brother whose name was Bashir. Noticing that his big sister had not come home, Bashir said to himself:

  “That witch must have taken her. I have to go and save her.”

  He picked up his guitar and headed off to rue Mouffetard. Seeing him approach, the 267 food-sellers (remember: every single one of them was actually the witch) began to call out:

  “Where are you off to like that, Bashir?”

  Bashir closed his eyes tight and answered:

  “I am a poor blind musician; all I want is to sing a little song and earn myself a few pennies.”

  “What song?” the food-sellers asked.

  “I want to sing a song called: Nadia, Where Are You?”

  “No, not that one! Sing another!”

  “But I don’t know another song!”

  “Then sing it really softly!”

  “All right! I’ll sing it really softly.”

  And Bashir began to sing as loudly as he could:

  Nadia, wher
e are you?

  Nadia, where are you?

  Reply so I can spy you!

  Nadia, where are you?

  Nadia, where are you?

  You’ve vanished from view!

  “Softer! Softer!” cried the 267 food-sellers. “You’re hurting our ears!”

  But Bashir went on singing:

  Nadia, where are you?

  Nadia, where are you?

  When suddenly a little voice replied:

  Bashir, Bashir, set me free

  Or the witch will kill me!

  At these words, Bashir opened his eyes and all of the 267 food-sellers leapt upon him, screeching:

  “He’s faking! He’s faking! He can see!”

  But Bashir, who was a brave boy, swung his small guitar and knocked over the nearest stallholder with a single blow. She fell flat on the ground, and the other 266 fell over all at once too, stunned just like their colleague.

  Now Bashir went into all the shops on the street, one after the other, singing:

  Nadia, where are you?

  Nadia, where are you?

  Once more, the little voice replied:

  Bashir, Bashir, set me free

  Or the witch will kill me!

  This time there was no doubt: the voice was coming from the grocer’s shop. Bashir raced inside, leaping over the vegetable display, just as, coming round from her faint, the witch-grocer opened her eyes. And, just as she came to, the other 266 food-sellers also opened their eyes. Luckily, Bashir saw her in time and, with a well-aimed blow from his guitar, he knocked them all out again for a few minutes longer.

  Then, he tried to open the till, while Nadia continued to sing:

  Bashir, Bashir, set me free

  Or the witch will kill me!

  But the drawer was too tightly closed; it wouldn’t move an inch. Nadia was singing and Bashir was struggling, and all the while the 267 witch-food-sellers were waking up again. But this time, they took good care not to start opening their eyes! Instead, they kept their eyes closed and began to crawl towards the grocer’s where Bashir was working away, so as to surround him.

  Just then, when exhausted Bashir couldn’t think which way to turn next, he saw a tall sailor go past, a well-built young man, walking down the street.

  “Hello, sailor. Would you mind helping me out?”

  “What can I do?”

  “Could you carry this shop’s till all the way to our house? My sister is stuck inside it.”

  “And what will my reward be?”

  “You shall have the money and I’ll have my sister.”

  “It’s a deal!”

  Bashir lifted the till and was just about to pass it over to the sailor when the witch-grocer, who had crept up quietly as a mouse, caught him by the foot and began to squeal:

  “Ah, you thief, I have you now!”

  Bashir lost his balance and dropped the till. Being very heavy indeed, when the till fell straight onto the witch-grocer’s head, the single blow cracked open the heads of all 267 witch-food-sellers and knocked their brains out. This time the witch was dead, well and truly dead.

  And that’s not all: with the force of the impact, the till drawer flew open—ker-CHING! And Nadia stepped out.

  She hugged and thanked her little brother, and the pair of them went home to their parents, while the sailor gathered up all the witch’s blood-spattered money.

  The Pair of Shoes

  There once was a pair of shoes that got married. The right shoe, which was the man, was called Nicolas, and the left shoe, which was the lady, was called Tina.

  They lived in a beautiful cardboard box where they lay wrapped in tissue paper. They were perfectly happy there, and they hoped things would go on like this for ever.

  But then, one fine morning, a sales assistant took them out of their box so that a lady could try them on. The lady put them on, took a few steps, then, seeing that the shoes looked good on her, she said:

  “I’ll take them.”

  “Would you like the shoebox?” asked the sales assistant.

  “No need,” replied the lady, “I’ll walk home in them.”

  She paid and left, her new shoes already on her feet.

  So it was that Nicolas and Tina walked about for a whole day without a single glimpse of each other. Only that night were they reunited inside a dark cupboard.

  “Is that you, Tina?”

  “Yes, it’s me, Nicolas.”

  “Ah, thank goodness! I thought you were lost!”

  “Me too. But where were you?”

  “Me? I was on the right foot.”

  “And I was on the left foot.”

  “Now I see it all,” said Nicolas. “Every time you were in front, I was behind, and when you were behind, why, I was in front. That’s why we couldn’t see each other.”

  “And is this how it will be every day?” asked Tina.

  “I’m afraid so!”

  “But this is terrible! To spend all day without seeing you, my dear Nicolas! I shall never get used to this!”

  “Listen,” said Nicolas, “I have an idea. Since I am always on the right and you always on the left, well, every time I step forward, I shall make a little swerve towards you, at the same time. That way, we shall be able to say hello. All right?”

  “All right!”

  This, then, is what Nicolas did, in such a way that for the whole of the following day the lady wearing the shoes could not take three steps without her right foot bumping into her left heel, and every time it did—crash! She fell flat on the ground.

  Very worried, that same day the lady went to consult a doctor.

  “Doctor, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I keep tripping myself up!”

  “You trip yourself up?”

  “Yes, doctor! Almost every time I take a step, my right foot catches my left heel and it makes me fall over!”

  “This is very serious,” said the doctor. “If it goes on, we shall have to cut off your right foot. But here is a prescription: this will get you ten thousand francs’ worth of treatment. Pay me two thousand francs for the consultation, and come and see me tomorrow.”

  That evening, inside the cupboard, Tina asked Nicolas:

  “Did you hear what the doctor said?”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “This is terrible! If they cut off the lady’s right foot, she will throw you out, and we will be separated for ever! We must do something!”

  “Yes, but what?”

  “Listen, I have an idea: since I am on the left, tomorrow, I’ll be the one who makes a little swerve to the right, every time I step forward! Okay?”

  “Okay!”

  Tina did as she said, so that on the second day, all day long it was the left foot that bumped into the right heel, and—crash! The poor lady found herself on the ground again. Even more worried, she went back to her doctor.

  “Doctor, I am going from bad to worse! Now it’s my left foot that is catching on my right heel!”

  “This is even more serious,” said the doctor. “If this goes on, we shall have to cut off both your feet! But wait, here is a prescription: this will get you a twenty-thousand-franc treatment. Give me three thousand francs for the consultation and, above all, don’t forget to come back and see me tomorrow.”

  That evening, Nicolas asked Tina:

  “Did you hear?”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “If they cut off both the lady’s feet, what will become of us?”

  “I can’t bear to think of it!”

  “I still love you, Tina!”

  “Me too, Nicolas, I love you!”

  “I want to be with you for ever!”

  “Me too, that’s what I want too!”

  And so they talked, in the darkness, not suspecting that the lady who had bought them was pacing up and down in the corridor, in her slippers, because she couldn’t get to sleep for thinking about the doctor’s diagnosis. Walking past the cupboard door, she overheard the shoes’ entire conversa
tion and, being very intelligent, she understood everything.

  “So that’s what it is,” she thought. “It isn’t me who is ill, it’s my shoes who are in love! How sweet!”

  Upon which, she tossed the thirty thousand francs’ worth of medicines that she had bought into the rubbish bin, and the following morning told her maid:

  “Do you see that pair of shoes? I shan’t wear them again, but I should like to keep them all the same. Now, polish them nicely, look after them, so that they are always shiny, and above all, never separate them from each other!”

  As soon as she was alone, the maid said to herself:

  “Madame is mad, to keep these shoes but never wear them! In a fortnight or so, when madame has forgotten all about it, I shall steal them!”

  Two weeks later, she stole them and started wearing them. But as soon as she put them on, the cleaner too began to trip herself up. One evening, while she was on the back staircase taking the rubbish out, Nicolas and Tina tried to kiss, and badaboom! Bang! Bump! The cleaning lady came to rest on her behind on the landing, with a bird’s-nest of potato peelings on her head and a strip of apple peel dangling in a spiral between her eyes, like a lock of hair.

  “These shoes are witches,” she thought. “I won’t try wearing them again. I’ll give them to my niece; she already has a limp!”

  This is what she did. The niece, who did indeed have a limp, generally spent most of her days sitting in a chair, with her feet together. When she happened to go for a walk, she walked so slowly that she could hardly get her feet caught. And the shoes were happy for, even during the day, they were mostly side by side.

  This went on for a long time. Unfortunately, since the niece limped, she wore out one shoe faster than the other.

  One evening, Tina said to Nicolas:

  “I can feel that my sole is becoming thin, oh so thin! Very soon I shall have a hole!”

  “Don’t say that!” said Nicolas. “If they throw us out, we shall be separated again!”

  “I know,” said Tina, “but what can we do? I cannot help growing old!”