The Gothamites

by Eno Raud

  The only question still giving everyone a blistering headache was how to greet their visitor half on horse and half on foot. A few Gothamites reckoned that some men should be riding horses and others walking on foot. Others thought in turn that each man should have a horse, but instead of sitting in the saddle, he should have one leg in the stirrup and the other walking on the ground. Finally, they agreed upon the wisest proposal of all: each man acquired a hobbyhorse and rode on it to welcome the ruler. That way, the rider kept both feet on the ground and no one could claim he wasn’t sitting on a horse.

  After the king was led to his accommodations in the council chamber, the Gothamites began wracking their brains over a new worry: what gift were they to give their honored guest as a sign of respect and a memento of the occasion?

  “We can’t afford to give away money or any other valuable treasure,” the men debated. “On top of that, he’s got more than enough riches already. The king should be given something he’s never received anywhere else before.”

  However, the Gothamites just couldn’t seem to figure out what thing this should be. The clock struck noon and the men went home to fill their bellies without any smart ideas to show for it.

  The wife of the new chief saw straightaway that her husband was troubled by something. After hearing the problem, she gave her spouse a piece of bright advice:

  “Give the king some bird’s milk!”

  “Where am I to get a marvel like that?” the chief asked. “In what land are there birds that can be milked like a cow or a goat?”

  His wife just laughed and spoke:

  Who’s that who walks the stalks,

  who prowls from yard to yard,

  who settles upon each blossom?

  That’s the bumblebee,

  that’s the buzzing birdie

  who walks along the stalks,

  who prowls from yard to yard,

  who settles upon each blossom.

  “Bird milk is just honey.”

  The chief was awfully glad his wife had come up with such a clever idea. When the Gothamites gathered again that afternoon, he stood before them and said:

  “If we bring the king a jar of honey and call it bird’s milk, then we’ll certainly be giving him a one-of-a-kind gift.”

  The Gothamites thanked their chief for his counsel and praised his great wisdom. And so, they took a generous three pints of honey and poured it into a large pot. Two men lifted the pot onto their shoulders with a yoke so the present would seem grander, and set off to meet the king. The chief walked at the head of the procession, followed by the pot-carriers, and finally the rest of the Gothamites in twos.

  Upon approaching the king, the chief declared with pomp and circumstance:

  “Here is our revered bird’s milk! Please show no anger and take no disrespect from us bringing a potful from our scant stores for the king’s enjoyment and delight.”

  The king was overwhelmed by laughter, and to hide it, he removed his hat and used it to cover his mouth. Yet the chief thought the great ruler had exposed his head as a sign of honor and respect, so he said:

  “Please be so kind as to place your hat back upon your head, for you are just as much a ruler in our country as I am in Gotham.”

  At that moment, the pot-carriers had intended to set down their burden, but the pot slipped off the yoke and smashed on the floor, causing all the honey to spill out in a wide puddle.

  “Fire and faraday!” the chief shouted angrily. “Are your fingers made of dough so you can’t keep ahold of anything?! Oh, you scamps and vagabonds! Is this how you sully the Gothamites’ great name and waste the community’s goods before the king?!”

  However, the king reassured the Gothamites, saying:

  “Not to worry. Your thinking of me in a well-meaning way is just as good as having received the gift itself.”

  The Gothamites still got down on their hands and knees and lapped up the honey so the sweet stuff wouldn’t be wasted for naught.

  The king spent several merry days in Gotham, and before long, it was as clear to him as could be that there was nothing left of the Gothamites’ former wisdom. Yet in order to feel out their foolishness even further, the king told the Gothamites a riddle and asked them to solve it.

  “On my way here, I traveled through a forest,” he began. “And there in those woods, I saw a dead wolf alongside the road with not a shred of life left in it. Externally, there was no mortal wound or injury to be seen on the creature. Now, ye who are famed wise men, tell me how that wolf might have died!”

  The Gothamites immediately started picking apart and resolving the riddle they’d been told.

  Some thought that perhaps the wolf had padded barefoot through deep snow in the frigid cold, and its paws had frozen. When the cold blood rose through its veins from its paws to its heart, the pup breathed its last.

  Others reckoned that villagers wielding guns and clubs had been chasing down the poor wolf. Since the wolf probably didn’t have a horse to ride, it was forced to flee the humans on foot. In the end, running like the wind, it ran out of breath, fainted on the spot, and met its end.

  Yet the chief explained the wolf’s death with these wise words:

  “Everyone knows that wolves lack decent living standards or a proper home. A wolf-mother hasn’t even a kettle in her den, and therefore she often had to eat raw meat, which is very bad for the stomach. But instead of drinking water, she lapped at the cold snow, which did even worse damage to the misfortunate beast’s innards. And since the wolf didn’t have peppered vodka or any other remedies around, she must have inevitably turned up her toes as a result of a strong stomachache.”

  The chief’s explanation seemed satisfactory to all the other Gothamites, so they delivered it to the king.

  Now, the king was truly well aware of the state of the Gothamites’ foolishness. He doled out a fortune to all and journeyed back home.

  The Dreadful Beast

  SINCE THE GOTHAMITES HAD RECEIVED an unexpected amount of money from the king, they rode straight to the pub on their hobby horses. There, each and every one ate and drank as much as he could possibly endure. When no more could fit into anyone’s stomach, the Gothamites all went outside to sit on the grass, let the food settle a bit, and chat in the open air. Naturally, they didn’t forget to take some stronger spirits along to oil up their tongues. The hours passed merrily in this manner until evening arrived.

  However, the men’s legs had gotten mixed up as they sat drinking and chatting away. When they finally felt like going back into the pub, no one was able to find his own legs again. All they could remember was that each one had had his own two legs along when they came there. Now, everyone was terrified that someone else might take his legs by mistake and leave a stranger’s ones in their place. And so, they stared suspiciously at one another, having no idea what to do to get out of their tight spot.

  A man happened to pass by the pub on horseback just then. The Gothamites called him over and promised to pay a pretty penny if the stranger could somehow figure out how to solve their troubles.

  The rider dismounted and said:

  “I’m certainly able to do that.”

  He cut a switch from a willow, stepped into the middle of the Gothamites, and started whipping their legs. And what do you know – whomever was getting a good walloping found his legs in a flash and leapt right to his feet.

  Finally, only one last Gothamite was left lying on the grass. The poor man thought the stranger didn’t want to help him and bleated pitifully:

  “Dear sir, please give me my right legs back, too! I’ll pay you for your troubles just like the others did.”

  The stranger gave the distressed man a nice stinging lash as well, and with that, everyone had their legs back under them. The Gothamites gave the helpful man all the money left in their pockets and started
marching happily home.

  Yet on the way, a dreadful thing happened that made many of the men’s blood curdle: the Gothamites suddenly found themselves facing a dreadful beast, the likes of which none of them had ever seen before. The beast had two long, straight horns poking up from its head and was glaring threateningly at the Gothamites with black, turnip-sized eyes. It thumped its feet angrily against the ground, making everything around them quake, and then bounded away at a breakneck speed.

  The poor Gothamites nearly threw themselves flat against the ground in terror at the sight. Trembling, they rushed back to their council chamber and immediately got down to discussing what should be done about the frightful forest creature.

  First of all, they decided that every family would build a fence around their house and other buildings – one high enough to stop an ill-willed enemy. They likewise resolved to station guards along the village street every night in order to give people timely warning, should the dreadful beast approach.

  Furthermore, the Gothamites had another, much more potent plan in store: they picked the strongest men they had and sent them off to battle the beast.

  Tales about that great campaign were told in Gotham for generations and generations to come. A whole dozen soldiers left the village in the morning: all brawny, burly, robust folk. Yet that night, no more than just twelve men returned – all the others met their ends in fierce battle. Even those lone men who made it home escaped death thanks to their cunning wits alone. For as soon as the daring men of Gotham heard a rustling in the leaves in the woods, they surmised that the dreadful beast was near, and threw themselves face-down on the ground. Since none of them dared to lift his head, they lay there like that until evening came. Then, finally, the most courageous of them boldly peeked this way and that and saw that the danger had passed. He proclaimed this joyous news to his fellows, and all the men returned from their crusade together.

  Nevertheless, some say that the dreadful beast’s eyes were a fair deal smaller than turnips. It’s also rumored that the beast didn’t have horns at all, but rather two long ears. More commonly, the beast is apparently known as a cottontail, or simply: a rabbit.

  How a Gothamite Took Eggs to the Market

  ONE GOTHAMITE WOMAN had a chicken so productive that it laid a new egg in its nest every day. When the woman had collected a fair amount of them, she put them in a basket and set off for the market.

  Walking along alone, the woman had all kinds of things on her mind. Still, her thoughts turned again and again to the basket of eggs balanced on her head. She wondered:

  “I’ll get good money for the eggs at the market. But what’ll I do with it? I’ll buy two more chickens! And when those chickens start popping out eggs, too, I’ll buy three more.

  “Then the chickens will be laying even more eggs for me, which I’ll exchange for even more money. I’ll use that to buy a few geese. Geese lay nice big eggs, and what’s more, they give you good feathers, which I’ll sell in turn.

  “That way, I’ll earn so much money that I’ll be able to buy a sheep that will provide wool. I’ll take the wool to the market, of course, and will make a handsome profit.

  “Then, I can even start thinking about buying a pig. Before long, the pig will make a whole lot of piglets, and I’ll never be short on meat, sausages, or lard again. Some of it I’ll eat myself; some I’ll sell, and will make enough money to get a cow.

  “Well, once there’s a cow in the barn, there’ll always be butter and milk on the table. I’ll have enough for my own needs, and enough for taking to the market, too. But cows also make ample manure. So that the manure doesn’t go to waste, I’ll buy a field and start growing grain. Then, I won’t have to waste money on bread anymore. At the same time, I’ll earn a pretty penny at the market with what is left over.

  “After that, I suppose it’ll be about time to fetch a horse from the fair and hire a farmhand who’s no stranger to hard work. I’ll never be short on money again, thanks to the chickens and the geese, the sheep and the pig, the cow and the horse, and the nice patch of farmland that will all bring in a hefty profit. So, all that’ll be left to do is buy a nice little farm and marry a young man, with whom life and merrymaking will be just wonderful – hooray, hooray, hoora-ha-ha!”

  At that moment, the woman forgot all about the basket of eggs balanced on her head, and started skipping and dancing with joy. The basket tumbled to the ground and the eggs were smashed – every last one.

  And so, the Gothamite never became a rich farmwoman.

  The Long Sausage

  AGOTHAMITE HAD A NICE BIG PIG that he wanted to fatten up in autumn and slaughter by Christmas so there would be no shortage of sausage and bacon for his holiday feast. It just so happened, however, that the pig escaped his pen one day, went into a stranger’s shed, and gobbled up heaps of the man’s oats and barley.

  The owner of the shed caught the thief and tugged him by the ear all the way to the Gothamites’ court. The judges heard the case against the pig and made their ruling right then and there: since the pig had committed a crime because of its greedy appetite, it was to be fed to everyone else as well.

  The meat and everything else the pig provided was shared with the whole community. Even its bristles were made into a communal brush, which was to be kept in the council chamber at all times so that the head councilman and other important leaders could use it to scratch their heads. Its guts were packed chock full of delicious meat to make a single enormously long sausage – one as long as all the intestines together could produce.

  When the court’s sentence had been carried out and it came time to eat the pig, the Gothamites wanted to dine on the impressively long sausage first of all. But oh, woe were they! No one could find a pot big enough to boil the sausage whole – for the Gothamites believed the pot should be just as long as the sausage itself.

  The Gothamites debated the pickle they were in from every which way, but this time, no one could figure out what to do. Neither did any blacksmiths want to undertake making such a long pot.

  One Gothamite happened to cross the village green at the same time a flock of geese was waddling around. As the man attempted to walk past them, the birds stuck out their necks and squawked: “Daap-daap! Daap-daap!” Yet, it sounded a little different to the man; more like: “Double! Double!” When the Gothamite heard this, he rushed gleefully back to the others, and declared:

  “Oh, what fools we’ve been! We had to learn from geese that sausage can be doubled over to boil!”

  The Gothamites immediately discussed what they’d just heard, and ultimately made a wise decision: if a sausage can be doubled over to boil, then it can also be wound into a cauldron three or four times over.

  Thus, the sausage was wound around so it fit nicely in the cauldron and was boiled up. In order to share the delicious meal evenly, each Gothamite was given a piece long enough to be wound around his or her head three times. The Gothamite would hold the end of the sausage between his teeth while the other long end was wound around his head. When the sausage reached his mouth for the third time, the Gothamite would bite off a portion.

  Ever since then, the Gothamites have had a saying: “May you be served a sausage that winds thrice around your head.”

  The Story of the Kind-Hearted Miller and the Downcast Hazelnut Tree

  THE GOTHAMITES’ MILLER was a kind-hearted man who never harmed a soul. Every time he needed to transport a sack of flour a far distance, he’d get on his horse and heave the sack onto his own back so it wouldn’t be too heavy for the poor animal.

  One day he was riding on his horse just like that when he heard two cuckoos dueling in song.

  One cuckoo was singing in the Gothamites’ forest, while the other was in a foreign fir tree on the other side of the border. To his dismay, the miller observed that the foreign cuckoo was much louder than the Gothamites’ bird.

  “It just wou
ldn’t be right to let a foreign bird win and not rush to the aid of my own country’s bard!” the man reckoned. Without delay, he leapt off his horse and shimmied up a tree. Then, he cupped his hands around his mouth and started cuckooing loud enough to rattle the whole woods. The daring man didn’t quit until the foreign cuckoo had been overpowered and was forced to fly away in shame.

  Meanwhile, a wolf – the old brush-stalker – had crept up and slaughtered the miller’s horse, so he had no choice but to head home on foot. Right at the edge of the village flowed a small stream, on the bank of which grew a nice hazelnut tree. When the Gothamite reached this point of his journey, he noticed that one of the tree’s branches was hanging down and almost touching the surface of the water. As the miller had a kind and tender heart, he felt very sorry for the hazelnut tree, because he believed the branch was drooping out of deep sorrow.

  When the Gothamite entered the village, he rushed to tell everyone what he had seen and done on his journey.

  The Gothamites all thanked and praised the miller for defending their honor and reputation so valiantly by aiding the cuckoo in its struggle. They decided to buy him a new horse at the community’s expense, and give him a little extra money to boot.

  Then, they trekked to the stream to survey the hazelnut’s sad fate. As Gothamites always do, they debated the matter this way and that, until the community elder finally spoke:

  “The problem is unspeakably clear: anyone can see with the naked eye that the tree is rooted in dry soil. Therefore, it has extended a branch toward the stream because it’s thirsty and would like a drink. In my opinion, the hanging branch is the tree’s nose that it’s trying to stick in the water.”