Narrative
texts
Beauty and the Beast
(France) |
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THERE
WAS ONCE a very rich merchant who had three daughters; being a man of sense,
he spared no cost for their education. His daughters grew to be very
beautiful, especially the youngest, who was called Beauty, a special name
that made her sisters very jealous of her.
The two eldest had a great deal of pride because they were rich. They gave
themselves ridiculous airs, and would not visit other merchants' daughters,
nor keep company with any but persons of quality. They went out every day to
parties, balls, plays, concerts, and so forth, and they laughed at their
youngest sister, because she spent the greatest part of her time in reading
good books.
Suddenly, all at once the merchant lost his whole fortune, accepting a small
country house at a great distance from town, and told his children with tears
in his eyes that they must go there and work for their living. The two eldest
answered that they would never have to leave the town, for they had several
prominent merchants who they were sure would be glad to have them, though
they had no fortune. But the good ladies were mistaken, for their lovers
slighted and forsook them in their poverty. As they were not liked on account
of their pride, everybody said; they do not deserve to be pitied, we are very
glad to see their pride humbled, let them go and give themselves quality airs
in milking the cows and minding their dairy. But, added they, we are
extremely concerned for Beauty, she is such a charming, sweet-tempered
creature who speaks so kindly to poor people and has such a friendly,
gracious nature.
When they came to their country house, the merchant applied himself to
farming and Beauty rose at four in the morning. Before the others stirred,
she made haste to clean the house and prepare breakfast for the family. In
the beginning she found it very difficult, for she had not been used to work
as a servant, but in less than two months she grew stronger and healthier
than ever. After she had done her work, she read, played on the harpsichord,
or else sung while she spun yarn.
On the contrary, her two sisters did not know how to spend their time. They
got up at ten and did nothing but saunter about the whole day, lamenting the
loss of their fine clothes and acquaintance. "Do but see our youngest
sister," they snickered, one to the other, "how well she's suited
to a life of menial labor."
The family had lived about a year in the country house when the merchant
received a letter with an account that a ship he thought had been lost at
sea, that held on board dozens of bolts of cloth and silks he had purchased,
had in fact safely arrived. The family rejoiced in the turn of their fortune.
When the two eldest daughters saw their father ready to set out, one begged
of him to buy her a new necklace of gems, and the other a thick golden chain,
but Beauty asked only for a rose.
The good man set off on his journey. But when he came there, oh such problems
there were over who properly owned the ship and the merchandise on board, and
after a great deal of trouble and pains to no purpose, he came back as poor
as before, especially after he bought the fine new necklace and gold chain he
promised to his two older daughters. Thinking he might come upon a rosebush
to satisfy the wish of his youngest daughter, he led his horse deep into the
woods. As the sun set and the wind began to howl, the poor man realized he
was hopelessly lost. What's more, with the rain and the snow he knew he might
well starve to death with cold or hunger, or be devoured by the wolves, whom
he heard howling all round him. Then in an instant, looking through a long
walk of trees, he saw a light at some distance. Going on a little farther, he
noticed it came from a place lit with candles from top to bottom. The
merchant hastened to the place, but was greatly surprised at not meeting
anyone in the outer courts. His horse followed him, and seeing a large stable
open, went in, and finding both hay and oats, the poor beast, who was almost
famished, fell to eating very heartily. The merchant tied him up to the
manger and walked towards the house, where he saw no one. Entering into a
large hall, he found a good fire and a table plentifully set out. As he was
wet quite through with the rain and snow, he drew near the fire to dry
himself. "I hope," said he, "the master of the house, or his
servants will excuse the liberty I take; I suppose it will not be long before
some of them appear."
He waited a considerable time, until it struck eleven, and still nobody came.
At last he was so hungry that he could stand it no longer, but took a leg of
chicken and ate it in two mouthfuls, trembling all the while. After this he
drank a few glasses of wine. Growing more courageous, he went out of the hall
and crossed through several grand apartments with magnificent furniture,
until he came into a chamber. In the chamber was an exceedingly good bed, and
as he was very tired and it was past midnight, he concluded it was best to
shut the door and go to sleep.
It was ten the next morning before the merchant waked. As he was going to
rise he was astonished to see a good suit of clothes laid out on the bed that
would fit him perfectly. Certainly, said he, this palace belongs to some kind
fairy, who has seen and pitied my distress. He then returned to the great
hall where he had supped the night before, and found some chocolate ready
made on a little table. "Thank you, good Madam Fairy," said he
aloud, "for being so careful as to provide me a breakfast. I am
extremely obliged to you for all your favors."
The good man drank his chocolate and then went to look for his horse, but
passing through an arbor of roses he remembered Beauty's request to him, and
gathered a branch on which were several. Immediately he heard a great crash
like thunder, and looking around he saw a huge monster - two tusks in his
mouth and fiery red eyes surrounded by bristles and horns coming out of its
head and speading over its back.
"Mortal," roared the beast, "who told you you might pluck my
rose?"
"Please, sir," said the merchant in fear and terror for his life,
"I promised my daughter to bring her home a rose and forgot about it
till the last moment, and then I saw your beautiful garden and thought you
would not miss a single rose, or else I would have asked your
permission."
"Thieving is thieving," said the beast, "whether it be a rose
or a diamond; your life is forfeit."
The merchant fell on his knees and begged for his life for the sake of his
three daughters who had none but him to support them. "My lord,"
said he, "I beseech you to forgive me, indeed I had no intention to
offend in gathering a rose for one of my daughters, who desired me to bring
her one."
"You say you have daughters," replied the monster. "I will
forgive you, on one condition - that one of them come willingly and suffer
for you. Swear that if any of your daughers refuses to die in your stead, you
will return within three months and place yourself at my disposal."
So the merchant swore. Taking his rose, he mounted his horse and rode home.
As soon as he got into his house, his daughters came rushing round him,
clapping their hands and showing their joy in every way. He gave the necklace
to his eldest daughter, the gold chain to his second daughter, and then he
gave the rose to his youngest, and as he gave it he sighed.
"Oh, thank you, father," they all cried.
But the youngest said, "Why did you sigh so deeply when you gave me my
rose?"
"Later I will tell you," said the merchant.
So for several days they lived happily together, though the merchant wandered
about gloomy and sad, and nothing his daughters could do would cheer him up
till at last, pressed by his youngest daughter, he related his fatal
adventure.
Immediately the two eldest set up lamentable outcries, blaming poor Beauty,
and said all manner of ill-natured things to her.
Beauty spoke: "Since the monster will accept one of his daughters,"
said she, "I will deliver myself up to all his fury, and I am very happy
in thinking that my death will save my father's life, and be a proof of my
tender love for him."
"Beauty, I am charmed with your kind and generous offer," said the
merchant, "but I cannot let you do it. I am old and have not long to
live, so can will lose only a few years, at the most."
"Indeed father," said Beauty, "you shall not go to the palace
without me; you cannot stop me from following you." Beauty insisted on
setting out for the palace, and made the necessary preparations for herself,
and her sisters were secretly delighted at the prospect of getting rid of her
once and for all.
So next day the merchant took Beauty behind him on his horse, as was the
custom in those days, and rode off to the dwelling of the beast. When he got
there and they alighted from his horse the doors of the house opened, and
what do you think they saw there? Nothing. So they went up the
steps and went through the hall into the dining room. There they saw a table
spread with all manner of beautiful glasses and plates and dishes and napery,
with plenty to eat upon it. So they waited and they waited, thinking that the
owner of the house would appear, till at last the merchant said, "Let's
sit down and see what happens then." When they sat down, invisible hands
passed them things to eat and to drink, and they ate and drank to their
heart's content. And when they arose from the table it arose too and
disappeared through the door as if it were being carried by invisible
servants.
Suddenly the Beast filled the doorway. "Is this your youngest
daughter?" he boomed.
And when he had said that it was, the Beast said, "Is she willing to
stay here with me?"
Then he looked at Beauty who said, in a trembling voice, "Yes,
sir."
"Well, no harm shall befall you." With that he led the merchant
down to his horse and said to him, "Honest man, go your ways tomorrow
morning, but never think of coming here again." Then the Beast returned
to Beauty and said to her, "This house with all that is therein is
yours; if you desire anything, clap your hands and say the word and it shall
be brought to you." And with that he made a sort of bow and went away.
So Beauty lived on in the home of the Beast and was waited on by invisible
servants and had whatever she liked to eat and to drink, but she soon got
tired of the solitude. Next day, when the Beast came to her, though he looked
so frightening, she had been so well treated that she had lost a great deal of
her terror of him. So they spoke together about the garden and the house and
her father's business and all manner of things, so that Beauty lost
altogether her fear of the beast.
"Beauty," said the Beast, "if my presence is troublesome, I
will end our conversation and leavy you. For tell me, do not you think me
very ugly?"
"It is true," said Beauty, "for I cannot tell a lie, but I
believe you are very good natured."
"Yes, yes," said the Beast, "my heart is good, but still I am
a monster."
"Among mankind," says Beauty, "there are many that deserve
that name more than you, and I prefer you, just as you are, to those, who,
under a human form, hide a treacherous, corrupt, and ungrateful heart."
Beauty ate a hearty supper and had almost conquered her dread of the monster,
but she nearly fainted away when he said to her, "Beauty, will you be my
wife?"
It was some time before she dared answer, for she was afraid of making him
angry if she refused. At last, however, she said trembling, "No,
Beast." Immediately the poor monster sighed, and then hissed so
frightfully that the whole palace echoed. But Beauty soon recovered her fright,
for Beast said in a mournful voice, "then farewell, Beauty," and
left the room.
Beauty spent the next three months very contentedly in the palace. Seeing the
Beast often had so accustomed her to his deformity, that, far from dreading
the time of his visit, she would often look on her watch to see when it would
be nine, for the Beast never missed coming at that hour. There was only one
thing that gave Beauty any concern, which was that every night, before she
went to bed, the monster always asked her, if she would be his wife. One day
she said to him, "Beast, you make me very uneasy, I wish I could consent
to marry you, but I am too sincere to make you believe that will ever happen;
I shall always esteem you as a friend, and please try to be satisfied with
this."
"I suppose I must," said the Beast, "for, alas! I know too
well my own misfortune. Though I ought to think myself happy that you will
stay here; promise never to leave me."
Beauty blushed at these words. "I could," answered she,
"indeed, promise never to leave you, but I have so great a desire to see
my father that I'm afraid I shall fret to death if you refuse me that
satisfaction."
"Perhaps this will help," said the Beast. He handed her a handled
looking-glass and in the round mirror was the image of Beauty's father,
pining himself sick for the loss of her.
"Oh!" she cried, and all the color rushed from her face.
"I would rather die myself," said the monster, "than give you
the least uneasiness. I will send you to your father. You may remain with him
for one week, but if you do not return before the end of the week, poor Beast
will die with grief."
"I give you my promise," said Beauty, "to return in a
week."
"You shall be there tomorrow morning," said the Beast. "Take
this magic looking-glass with you, and this ring. You need only to lay your
ring on the mirror before you go to bed, when you have a mind to come back.
Farewell Beauty."
When Beauty waked the next morning, she found herself at her father's house.
She quickly dressed and came to the kitchen, where her father gave a loud
shriek and thought he would die with joy to see his dear daughter again. He
held her fast locked in his arms over a quarter of an hour. As soon as the
first transports were over, the father shared with Beauty the good news -
both her sisters were married.
Beauty sent for her sisters who hastened thither with their husbands. They
were both of them very unhappy. The eldest had married a gentleman, extremely
handsome indeed, but so fond of his own person, that he was full of nothing
but his own dear self, and neglected his wife. The second had married a man
of wit, but he only made use of it to plague and torment everybody, and his
wife most of all. Beauty's sisters sickened with envy, when they saw her
dressed like a princess, and more beautiful than ever, nor could all her
obliging affectionate behavior stifle their jealousy, which was ready to
burst when she told them how happy she was. They went down into the garden to
vent it in tears; and said one to the other, in what way is this little
creature better than us, that she should be so much happier?
"Sister," said the oldest, "a thought strikes my mind. She
told us of the promise to stay only for one week. Let us try to keep her
beyond the week. Perhaps the monster will be so enraged for breaking her word
that he will devour her."
"Right, sister," answered the other. They went back to the house
and behaved so affectionately to their sister that poor Beauty wept for joy.
When the week was expired, they cried and tore their hair, and seemed so
sorry to part with her that she promised to stay a week longer.
In the meantime, Beauty could not help feeling uneasy that she was likely
causing pain for poor Beast, whom she sincerely loved, and really longed to
see again. The tenth night she spent at her father's, she dreamed of the
Beast in the palace garden, suffering, maybe even dying, for loneliness for
her. Beauty was startled from her sleep, sat up straight in bed, and burst
into tears. "Am I not very wicked," said she, "to act so unkindly
to Beast, who has tried so hard to please me in everything? Is it his fault
if he is so ugly? He is kind and good, and that is more than enough.
Why did I refuse to marry him? I would be happier with the monster than my
sisters are with their husbands; it is neither wit, nor a fine face, in a
husband, that makes a woman happy, but virtue, sweetness of temper, and
thoughtfulness, and Beast has all these valuable qualifications. Having said
this, Beauty rose, put her ring on the mirror, and then laid down again;
scarce was she in bed before she fell asleep, and when she waked the next
morning, she was overjoyed to find herself in the Beast's palace.
She put on one of her richest suits to please him, and waited for evening
with the utmost impatience, at last the wished-for hour came, the clock
struck nine, yet no Beast appeared. Beauty then feared she had been the cause
of his death; she ran crying and wringing her hands all about the palace,
like one in despair; after having sought for him everywhere, she remembered
her dream and flew to the garden, where she had dreamed she saw him. There
she found poor Beast stretched out, quite senseless, and, as she imagined,
dead. She threw herself upon him and finding his heart beating still, she
fetched some water from the canal and poured it on his head. Beast opened his
eyes, and said to Beauty, "You forgot your promise, and I was so
afflicted for having lost you that I resolved to starve myself, but since I
have the happiness of seeing you once more, I die satisfied."
"No, dear Beast," said Beauty, "you must not die. Live to be
my husband; from this moment I give you my hand, and swear to be none but
yours. Alas! I thought I had only a friendship for you, but the grief I now
feel convinces me that I cannot live without you."
No sooner had she said this than the hide of the beast split in two and out
came a most handsome young prince. The prince told her that he had been
enchanted by a magician and could not recover his natural form until a maiden
would, of her own free will, declare that she loved him.
Thereupon the prince sent for the merchant and his daughters, and he was
married to Beauty, and they all lived happily ever after.
JakaTarub and NawangWulan
JakaTarub was a handsome and diligent young man. He
lived in a village near a lake. One day, when JakaTarub passed the lake, he
heard some giggles and laughs of some girls who were bathing in the lake. He
was curious, so he peeped through the bushes. There were seven beautiful girls
in the lake. They’re fairies from the heavenly kingdom of kahyangan. JakaTarub saw
a scarf near the bushes. It belonged to one of the fairies. JakaTarub then took
it and hid it.
Crack!!! Accidentally, JakaTarub stepped on a twig. “There’s someone!” said one of the fairies. “Let’s get back. Hurry!” she said. They pulled over and wear their scarf. “Where is my scarf?” one of the fairies couldn’t find her scarf. She was the youngest fairy called NawangWulan. They tried to search for it, but it was no where to be found. “We’re sorry, Wulan. We have to go back to kahyangan,” said the eldest fairy. “You’ll have to find it by yourself. We’ll wait for you in kahyangan,” she said in empathy. The other fairies then flew to the sky leaving NawangWulan behind. NawangWulan saw them leaving in tears. She was so sad. “Excuse me …,” said JakaTarub, startling NawangWulan. “Are you okay?” he asked. NawangWulan moved backward, “Who are you?” she asked. “My name is JakaTarub. I was passing by and I heard you crying, so I came to see what happen,” JakaTarub lied. NawangWulan then told him about her problem. “I can’t fly without my scarf,” she said. JakaTarub then asked NawangWulan to come home with him. At first, NawangWulan refused the offer. But since she didn’t have anywhere else to go, NawangWulan then decided to follow JakaTarub. NawangWulan stayed with JakaTarub in the village. A month passed, and they decided to get married. NawangWulan was willing to marry a human because she fell in love with JakaTarub. After a year, they had a beautiful daughter. They named her Kumalasari. They lived happily. JakaTarub was also happy to live with NawangWulan and Kumalasari. Especially because he always got a lot of harvest since he married NawangWulan. He couldn’t even keep all of his harvest in the barn because it was always full. “It’s so weird. NawangWulan cooked everyday, but why is my barn always full,” JakaTarub mumbled to himself. He was so curious. One day, JakaTarub stayed at home. “I want to stay home today. I’d like to play with Kumalasari,” he said to his wife. “Well, I’ll go to the river to wash the clothes. Please keep an eye on Kumalasari,” asked NawangWulan. “I’m cooking rice now. Please do not open the pan cover before it’s done,” she said just before she left. “Could this be the secret?” JakaTarub thought. After NawangWulan left, he curiously opened the pan cover. He found only one single paddy. “How come?” he wondered. Before lunch, NawangWulan came home. She headed to the kitchen to see the rice she had cooked. She found that the rice turned into only a few grains. “Did you open the pan cover?” she asked her husband. “I… I’m sorry. I was curious,” JakaTarub said as he realized his fault. Ever since, NawangWulan had lost her power. She couldn’t cook rice with only a single paddy. Their paddy supply was slowly lessened. Their barn was almost empty. One day, NawangWulan went to the barn to get some paddy. When she took one of them, she found a scarf. “What’s this? This is my scarf,” said NawangWulan startled. That night, NawangWulan asked her husband about the scarf. JakaTarub’s eyes widened, “You found it?” he asked. JakaTarub looked down and asked for her forgiveness. “Because I’ve found my scarf, it’s time for me to go back to where I belong,” NawangWulan said. JakaTarub tried to stop her, but NawangWulan had made up her mind. “Please take good care of Kumalasari,” she said. “If she wanted to see me, take seven grains of candlenut and put it into a basket. Shake it as you play the bamboo flute. I’ll come to see her,” she explained. JakaTarub promised to take good care of their daughter. He once again asked for forgiveness for all of his mistakes. “I’ve forgiven you, so you don’t have to feel guilty. I must go now. Take care,” said NawangWulan as she flew to the bright full moon. ***
CURSE SWORD (KERIS)
The king of Kediri Kingdom in East Java, Kertajaya
thought himself as a deity, and he was opposed by the Brahmana (priests) caste.
When he threated the Brahmanas, they ran to Tumapel and asked the ruler, Ken
Arok, for his protection. Ken Arok thought that Kediri army would attack his
territory, and ordered his troops to fortify.
Kediri army came to Tumapel as Arok was expecting. The Battle of Ganter, in 1222, was the end of Kediri Kingdom, and then Ken Arok formed his own empire, Singosari. Ken Arok proclaimed himself as the son of Shiva. Historians has been argued on Ken Arok's new dynasty because his origin wasn't clear . Who is he? Why he could forma kingdom? Does he have a dark past? After Kertajaya lost, the Kediri Kingdom was ruled by TunggulAmetung. He had a very beautiful wife, Ken Dedes. A statue in Leiden Museum, Netherlands, shows Ken Dedes as Prajnaparamitha, Goddess of Wise. One day Ken Arokaccidentaly saw Ken Dedes, then a wind hiked her gown. Suddenly Ken Arok got a vision, that he had to have Ken Dedes as his wife, at any risk. Ken Arok decided to kill TunggulAmetung. He ordered a "keris" (a sacred short sword) to a priest, MpuGandring. It took a long time to make a "keris" because only englighted priest could make it, and they had to do some rituals for that. Ken Arok was impatient to wait the keris to be done. His lust to Ken Dedes is getting bigger and bigger. He came up to MpuGandring to ask if the keris was completed. When MpuGandrig said no, Ken Arokkill him with that incompletedkeris. Before he died, MpuGandring cursed the keris. Later, Ken Arok lent the keris to KeboIjo, a petty criminal KeboIjo was so proud. that he showed the keris to everyone. At night, Ken Arok stole the keris again, and he succesfully kill TunggulAmetung. KeboIjo was framed as the killer, but before he could talk, Ken Arok killed him with the keris. In the 5th year of his reign, a man called Anusapati wanted the throne of Singosari from Ken Arok. Ken Arok had abandoned MpuGandring'skeris but Anusapati killed him with that. Ken Arok had a concubine named Ken Umang, and their son, Tohjaya decided the revenge. At the 21th year of Anusapati's rule, Tohjaya invited Anusapati for gambling, and when Anusapati was having fun, Tohjaya killed Anusapati, again with MpuGandring'skeris. After Anusapati's death, his son Ranggawuni wanted the throne. Tohjaya sent LembuAmpal to attack Ranggawuni and his companion, MahesaCempaka. LembuAmpal realized that Ranggawuni was the right person to be the king, and they fought against Tohjaya. Tohjaya was killed with MpuGandring'skeris. Ranggawuni and MahesaCempaka realized that MpuGandring'skeris would only make chaos and death, so they threw the keris to the Java Sea. Legend said that the keris turned to be a dragon.
LORO JONGRANG
Once upon a time, there was a kingdom named Prambanan. The people lived peacefully. However, their happy lives was disturbed by Pengging Kingdom. The king, Bandung Bandawasa, wanted to occupy Prambanan. He was a mean King. The war between Prambanan and Pengging could not be avoided. Prambanan lost the war and led by the new king, Bandung Bandawasa. Pengging could win the war because Bandung Bandawasa had supernatural power. His soldiers were not only human being but also genies. Those creatures always obeyed Bandung Bandawasa. They always did whatever Bandung Bandawasa asked them to do. The king of Prambanan had a beautiful daughter. Her name was LoroJonggrang. Bandung Bandawasa fell in love and wanted to marry her. “If you want to marry me, you have to build a thousand of temples in just one night,” said LoroJonggrang. She hated Bandung Bandawasa because he made the people of Prambanan suffered. “What ? Impossible! You just gave me an excuse for not marrying me!” said Bandung Bandawasa. But he didn’t give up. He asked the genies to help him. Then all those genies worked hard to build the 1000 temples. Meanwhile, LoroJonggrang heard from the lady-in-waiting that the building of 1000 temples was almost finished. She was so scared; she didn’t want to marry Bandung Bandawasa. And then she had a great idea. She asked all the ladies-in-waiting to help her. “Please prepare a lot of straw and mortar. Come on! Hurry up!” said LoroJonggrang. All those ladies-in-waiting were confused. They didn’t know why LoroJonggrang asked them prepare a lot of straw and mortatrs in the middle of the night. “Listen, all those genies are building the temples, right? We have to stop them by burning the straw and make a noise by pounding the mortars. The genies will think that the sun is going to rise and they will run away. Genies are afraid of sunlight.” It worked! All those genies thought that sun rose. They didn’t know the light was from the fire that burning the straw. And the noises from pounding the mortars like start of a new day. Bandung Bandawasa was angry. He knew LoroJonggrang just tricked him. “You can’t fool me, LoroJonggrang. I already have 999 temples. I just need one more temple. Now, I will make you the one- thousandth temple.” With his supernatural power, Bandung Bandawasa made LoroJonggrang a temple. Until now, the temple is still standing in Prambanan area, Central Java. And the temple is named LoroJonggrang temple.
ÄTangkubanPerahu
The King, who loved his son above everything,
was so furious that his son had hurt himself that he rejected his wife. Fifteen
years later, being of age, Sangkuriang asked his father permission to take a
trip to West Java. After arriving
in the plain of Bandung, he met a beautiful lady, fell in love and ask her to
marry him and she accepted. But one day when she caressed her lover’s head she
saw the wound. The loving woman, turned out to be the disowned queen,
discovered that she was in love with her son and marriage was impossible.
The marriage had to be prevented.
Not willing to admit that she was his mother she thought of a way out. The day
before the wedding was due to take place, she said to her husband to be,
tomorrow is our wedding day, and if you are true to your love to me and love me
as much you say do then I want to celebrate the wedding on board a ship, a
proa. Tomorrow morning at day break, I want to sail with you on a great lake in
a nice boat and there must be a banquet feast. Sangkuriang was embarrassed but
he was not willing to refuse. He begged the help of the lake’s helpful spirits.
By causing a landslide, the lake spirit dammed the river Citarum that flowed
through the plain of Bandung. The force of the water felled big tree and a boat
was constructed while other lake spirits prepared the wedding banquet.
Early in the morning the Queen saw
that the impossible had been realised so she prayed to Brama, the mighty God,
to help her to prevent the disgrace of a marriage between a mother and her son.
Brama destroyed the dam in turbulence and Sangkuriang was drowned. The queen in
her agony threw herself on the capsized boat, breaking through the hull of the
ship and was also drowned.
Now, the vast plain of Bandung is
flanked on its north side by the volcano TangkubanPerahu, the capsized boat.
The Queen’s jump on the hull of the ship is the KawahRatu, the crater of the
Queen. The hot fumaroles and tremors in the crater represent the tears of the
sad mother still sobbing. East of Mt TangkubanPerahuraises the Bukit Tunggul, Trunk
Mountain, the trunk of the tree from which the boat was made and to the west we
find Mt Burangrang, the “crown of leaves”. At many places along the shore of
the lake Neolithic obsidian tools of primitive inhabitants are found and
described by von Koeningswald (1935). These Neolithic people noticed that the
hold was cut deeper and deeper by erosion caused by the lowering water. Finally
only a marshy plain remained.
Centuries later the inhabitants of Bandung plain still know about the legend of
the existence of a former lake. Not knowing anything about geology, but living
in the taboos of spirit ghosts and Gods, geological facts were put together in
a tale that was understandable.
How the Lizard Lost His Tail
Once
there was an old Tortoise ho lived in the country. One day he had to go to town
to buy some salt. He walked very slowly along the road, but he finally got to
town. He bought a bag of salt at the market. Then e wanted to go back home
again. Old tortoise had four feet, but he did not have any hands, so he could
not carry the salt. He tied a piece of string around the bag of salt. Then he
started home, pulling it behind him.
Old
Tortoise walked very slowly and pretty soon he passed by Lizard’s house. Lizard
was sitting in front of his house and he saw Old Tortoise passing by. He saw
the salt, and he thought to himself.
“Ah!
Now I can get some nice salt.” Very quietly he came up behind Old Tortoise, cut
the string, took the bag of salt, and went into the house. At first Old
Tortoise did not know that his salt was gone, and he walked on. Pretty son he
turned around.
“Oh, oh!
Where’s my salt!” he cried. It’s gone. I’ve lost it. Where can it be?
He
turned around slowly and walked back to look for his salt. He looked the right
and he looked to the left, but he did not see it anywhere. Pretty soon he came
to Lizard’s house, and there he saw his bag of salt. He went up to Lizard.
“Excuse
me, Lizard,” said Old Tortoise, “but I think you’ve made mistake. I’m sorry,
but this bag of salt is mine. I bought it at the market this morning.”
“Oh
no!’ said Lizard. “This isn’t your salt. I found it on the road. It was just
lying there. You weren’t carrying it, so I picked it up. This isn’t yours; it’s
mine.” And Lizard took the bag of salt into his house.
After
a week or two, Old Tortoise was walking slowly along road again, and he came to
Lizard’s house. He saw Lizard, but Lizard did not see him. Lizard was sleeping,
and his tail as lying on the road. Old Tortoise came up very quietly, picked up
the tail and pulled off came Lizard’s tail.
“Ouch!”
cried Lizard. “What are you doing? That’s my tail. You’ve pulled it off. Give
it back to me.”
“Oh
no.” said Old Tortoise, “this isn’t your tail. I found it on the road. It was
just lying there. You weren’t carrying it, so I picked it up. This isn’t yours;
it’s mine.” And Old Tortoise walked away.
“HURRY, HURRY!”
Although
Ethel Wilson was born in South Africa, and published most of her stories in
England, she is a truly Canadian writer.
She came to Canada at the age of eight and was educated in Vancouver and
England. She has traveled widely and her
stories have won international fame.
Sea Island is in the mouth of the
Fraser River near Vancouver.
When the mountains beyond the city are covered with snow
to their base, the late afternoon light falling obliquely from the west upon
the long slopes discloses new contours.
For a few moments of time the austerity vanishes, and the mountains
appear innocently folded in furry white.
Their daily look has gone. For
these few moments the slanting rays curiously discover each separate tree
behind each separate tree in the infinite white forests. Then the light fades, and the familiar
mountains resume their daily look again.
The light has gone, but those who have seen it will remember.
As Miriam stood at the far point of Sea Island, with the
wind blowing in from the west, she looked back towards the city. There was a high ground fog at the base of
the mountains, and so the white flanks and peeks seemed to lie unsupported in
the clear spring sky. She wished that
Harry were here with her to see this sight of beauty which passed even as she
looked upon it. But Harry was away, and
she had come for a walk upon the dyke alone with her dogs.
It was the very day in spring that the soldier blackbirds
had returned from Mexico to the marshes of the delta. Just a few had come, but in the stubble
fields behind the high dyke, and in the salt marshes seawards from the dyke,
and on the shallow sea, and over the sea there were thousands of other
birds. No people anywhere. Just birds.
The salt wind blew softly from the sea, and the two terrier dogs ran
this way and that, with and against the wind.
A multitude of little sandpipers ran along the wet sands as if they were
on wheels. They whispered and whimpered
together as they ran, stabbing with their long bills into the wet sand and
running on. There was a continuous small
noise of birds in the air. The terriers bore down upon the little sandpipers. The terriers ran clumsily, sinking in the
marshy, blackish sand, encumbered as they ran.
And the little sandpipers rose and flew low together as they fled in a
cloud, animated by one enfolding spirit of motion. They settled on their sandbank, running and
jabbing the wet sand with their bills.
The terriers like little earnest monsters bore down upon them again in
futile chase, and again the whispering cloud of birds arose. Miriam laughed at the silly hopeful dogs.
Farther out to sea were the duck and the brant and the
seagulls. These strutted on the
marsh-like sands, or lay upon the shallow water or flew idly above the water.
Sometimes a great solitary crane arose from nowhere and flapped across the wet
shore. The melancholy crane settled itself
in a motionless hump, and again took its place in obscurity among stakes and
rushes.
Behind the dyke where Miriam stood looking out to sea was
a steep bank sloping to a shallow salt water ditch, and beyond that again,
inland, lay the stubble fields of Sea Island, crossed by rough hedges. From the fields arose the first song of
meadowlark, just one lark, how curious after winter to hear its authentic song
again. Thousands of ducks disclosed
themselves from the stubble fields, rising and flying without haste or fear to
the sea.
Miriam called to the dogs and walked on along the narrow
clay path at the top of the dyke. She
delighted in the birds and the breeze and the featureless ocean. The dogs raced after her.
Clumps of bare twisted bushes were scattered along the
edge of the path, sometimes obscuring the curving line of the dyke ahead. In a bush a few early soldier blackbirds
talked to each other. Miriam stood still
to listen. “Oh-kee-ree,” called a
blackbird. “Oh-kee-ree,” answered his
mate. “Oh-kee-ree,” he said. “Oh-kee-ree,” she answered. Then the male bird flew. His red epaulettes shone finely. What a strange note, thought Miriam, there’s
something sweet and something very ugly.
The soldier blackbird’s cry began on a clear flute’s note and ended in
piercing sweetness. The middle sound
grated like a rusty lock. As Miriam
walked on between the twisted black bushes more soldier blackbirds called and
flew. Ok-kee-ree! Oh-kee-ree!
Sweet and very ugly.
Suddenly she saw a strange object. Below her on the left, at the edge of the
salt water ditch, there was an unlikely heap of something. Miriam stopped and looked. This thing was about the size of a tremendous
hunched cat, amorphous, of a rich reddish brown. It was the rich brown of a lump of rotted
wood. Although it did not move, Miriam
had instant warning that this creature was alive and had some meaning for
her. She called the dogs, who came
wagging. She leashed them and they went
forward together. The dogs tugged and
tugged. Soon they, too, looked down at
the bank at the strange object. In the
brown mass something moved. Miriam saw
that the brown object was a large wounded hawk.
The hawk was intensely aware of the woman and the dogs. As they paused,
and then they passed along the high dyke path, the hawk’s head turned slowly,
very slowly, to observe them. Its body
was motionless. Its eyes were bright
with comprehension. Miriam was glad that
she had leashed the dogs. In another
minute they would have descended on the hawk.
One brown wing lay trailed behind the big bird, but with its sharp beak
and tearing claws it would have mauled the terriers, and they would have
tormented it. Miriam looked at the hawk
and the hawk stared brightly at her. She
wished that she could save the hawk from its lingering death on the marshes,
but there was nothing she could do.
Motionless, save for the slowly turning head, the great hawk followed
them with intent gaze. Its eyes were
bright with comprehension, but no fear.
It was ready. The hawk made
Miriam feel uneasy. She walked on
faster, keeping the dogs still on the leash.
She looked back. The hawk
steadily watched her. She turned and
walked on still faster.
One of the dogs suddenly growled and then both barked
loudly. Round a thorn bush, hurrying
towards her, came a man. In all their
walks upon the dyke, Harry and she had never met another human being. Miriam was startled. She was almost afraid. The strange hawk.The strange man. The man stopped. He was startled, too. Then he hurried again toward her. Crowded on the narrow clayey path of the dyke
stood Miriam and the two dogs, uncertain.
The man came close to her and stopped.
“Don’t go on,” he said urgently, “Don’t go on. It isn’t safe. There’s a cougar. I’m going to a farmhouse. To warn them.
Perhaps I can get a gun. Turn
back. And keep your dogs on the leash,”
he said sharply.
“Oh,” said Miriam, “you must be mistaken. There’s never been a cougar on these
islands. No, of course I won’t go on
though. I’ll turn back at once. But you must be mistaken. A dog or even a coyote, but not a cougar!”
“It is a cougar,” said the man vehemently, “did you never
hear of the cougar that swam across from the North Shore last year? Well—I can’t stop to argue—there is a
cougar, I saw it. Beside the dyke. It’s driven in by hunger, starving, I
expect. Well?”
He looked at her.
He held her eyes with his eyes.
“Oh,” said Miriam, “of course I won’t go on. I should never have come! I’m so glad I met you. But it’s extraordinary!” and she turned in
haste.
The man paid her no further attention. He stepped down a bit from the path on to the
steep grassy side of the dyke, and pushed pass her and the restless dogs. He walked on very fast without another
word. Miriam hurried after him along the
narrow dyke path, the dogs impeding her as she hurried. This was like a bad dream. Hurry, hurry!
I can’t hurry.
She nearly ran along the slippery bumpy dyke path, past
the brown heap of the wounded hawk whose bright eyes watched her, and past the
straggly bushes where the soldier blackbirds flew from tree to tree and
sang. She hurried along until she turned
the curve of the dyke and saw again the mountains behind the city. The peaks now hung pink and cold in the cold
spring sky. To the farthest range of the
Golden Ears the sunset caught them.
Miriam fled on. The leashed dogs
ran, too, bounding and hindering her as she ran. She crossed the little footbridge that led to
the lane that led to her car.
She had lost sight of the man a long time ago. He had hurried on to give the alarm. She had seen him stumbling down the steep
dyke side and splashing across the salt water ditch to the stubble fields.
….Far behind them along the dyke the body of the young
woman who had just been murdered lay humped beside the salt water ditch.
The man who had killed her reached the cover of the
hedge, out of sight of that woman with the dog’s. When he reached the cover of the hedge, he
began to run across the tussocky field, stumbling, half blind, sobbing, crying
out loud.
Ethel
Wilson
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