Latin American Folktales (17 page)

36. The Pongo’s Dream

A little man came looking for work in the great house of a hacienda owner. The man was a menial, a pongo. He was miserably made and poor in spirit, and his clothes were worn out.

The master could not help laughing when the little man greeted him in the long gallery. In the presence of all the men and women who served him, he demanded, “Are you human or something else?”

The pongo bowed his head and made no answer. Terrified, he remained standing, his eyes frozen.

“I have my doubts,” continued the patrón, “but at least we’ll see if he scrubs pots or if he can hold a broom.” He gave the order to the foreman, “Here, take this filth!”

Dropping to his knees, the pongo kissed the master’s hands. Then, crouching, he followed the foreman to the kitchen.

Small as he was, his abilities were equal to those of an ordinary man. Whatever he was asked to do, he did well. Yet there remained a touch of fear in his face. Noticing this, some of the peons would laugh. Others were sympathetic. “Orphan of orphans, child of the wind,” said the cook when she saw him. “Those freezing-cold eyes must have come from the moon.”

The little man spoke to no one. He worked without making a sound and ate in silence. He obeyed every order. “Yes, dear papa,” or “Yes, dear mama,” was all he would say.

At nightfall when the peons assembled in the gallery of the great house to recite the Ave Maria, without fail the patrón would torment the pongo in front of all the others. He would pick him up and shake him like a hide. He would give him a push on the head and make him fall to his knees, and as he knelt he would slap him lightly across the face.

“I believe you’re a dog. Bark!” he would say.

The little man was unable to bark. So the order would be changed. “Then get down on all fours!” And he would obey, scurrying back and forth.

“Run sideways!” the master would say. Then the pongo would run sideways, imitating the little dogs of the high plains. And the patrón would laugh. His whole body would shake with laughter.

“Turn around!” he would cry, when the little man had reached the far end of the gallery. And the pongo would turn around and run back, veering just a little to one side. When he had finished he would be tired out.

Without kicking him too hard, the patrón would strike the little man with his boot, sending him sprawling on the brick pavement of the gallery. Turning to the servants who were lined up waiting, the patrón would say, “Let us recite the Paternoster.” And a moment later the pongo would rise to his feet. But he would not be able to recite because he would not be in his proper place.

In the growing darkness the peons would step down from the gallery and into the patio and begin making their way toward the little cluster of living quarters. Then the patrón would call to the pongo, “Out of here, you paunchy runt!”

And so it went, every day. The patrón would make his new pongo grovel before the entire household. He would command him to laugh, or make him pretend to cry.

But one evening at the vesper hour, when the gallery was overflowing with all the members of the household, and when the patrón had just begun to notice the pongo, the little man suddenly spoke up loud and clear, his face retaining just a trace of fear.

“Sire,” he said, “may I have your permission? My dear father, I wish to speak.”

The patrón could not believe his ears. “What? Was it you who spoke, or someone else?”

“Your permission, dear father, to speak. With you. I wish to speak with you,” repeated the pongo.

“Speak—if you can,” said the master.

“My father, my lord, my soul,” began the little man, “last night I dreamed we were dead, you and I. We were together in death.”

“With me? You? Let’s hear the rest of it, Indian.”

“We were dead, my lord. And it seemed we were naked, the two of us, together. Naked before our great father, St. Francis.”

“And then what? Speak!” commanded the patrón, torn between anger and curiosity.

“There we were, dead and naked, standing side by side, and our great father, St. Francis, was searching us with those eyes of his that can see farther than anyone knows. He searched us both, you and me, and I believe he was weighing our souls, judging us for what we had been and what we were. And you, being rich and great, you looked straight into those eyes, my father.”

“And you?”

“I know not what I am, sire. I have no way of judging my own worth.”

“True. Go on.”

“Then, after that, our father opened his mouth and spoke: ‘Let the most beautiful of all the angels appear. And let this incomparable one be accompanied by another little angel, who likewise shall be the most beautiful of all. Let the little angel bring a gold goblet filled with the sweetest, clearest honey.’ ”

“And then?” asked the patrón.

All the servants were listening to the pongo with rapt, yet fearful attention.

“Master, scarcely had our great father, St. Francis, given the order when a brilliant angel appeared, way up high like the sun. He came nearer and nearer until he stood in front of our father. Behind the great angel came the little one, so beautiful. All soft and bright like a flower. In his hands he carried the gold goblet.”

“And then?” asked the patrón.

“ ‘Great angel, take the gold goblet and cover this gentleman with honey. Let your hands be like feathers as they pass over his body.’ That was the order the great father gave. So the heavenly angel dipped his hands into the honey and made your whole body bright, from your head to your toenails. And then you rose up tall, just you. And even against the bright sky the light from your body shone out, as if you were made of clear gold.”

“Yes, that would have to be,” said the patrón. Then he asked, “And you?”

“While you were shining in the sky, our great father, St. Francis, gave another order: ‘Let the angel of least worth, the commonest angel of all, come forth. Let him bring a gasoline can filled with human excrement.’ ”

“And then?”

“Then a worthless angel with scaly feet, not even strong enough to hold up his wings, came before our great father. He arrived all tired out, with his wings drooping, holding a big can. ‘Here, old fellow,’ said our great father to this poor angel, ‘smear the little man’s body with that excrement you have there. All of it. Any way you like. Cover him the best you can. Quickly!’ Then with his gnarled hands the old angel took the excrement out of the can and slopped it all over me. It was just as if mud were being thrown against the wall of a plain old building. And there I was, up there in the bright sky, ashamed and stinking.”

“That too would have to be,” said the patrón. “Go on. Or is that all?”

“No, my dear father, my lord. For now, though things were different, we found ourselves once again standing before our great father, St. Francis, and now he was taking a long look at the two of us, you and me. His eyes were as big as the sky and he looked right into us, how far I don’t know—as far as to where night becomes day, where forgetting becomes remembering. And then he said, ‘The angels have done their work well. Now lick each other. Slowly. And keep on licking.’ Just then the old angel became young. His wings regained their usual black color and their great strength. Then our father charged him to watch over us, so that his will would be done.”

Peru
(Quechua)

37. The Fox and the Monkey

Both the fox and the monkey were thieves. One night they went out together and came to the little hut of a pongo. A pot of quinoa mush was on the fire. Scooping up the mush with his hands, the monkey ate until he was full. Then the fox put his head in the pot and said, “I’ll finish this up.” But before he knew it his head was stuck. He whispered to the monkey, “Get me a stone to break the pot!”

The monkey felt around in the dark and put his hand on the head of the sleeping pongo. The monkey called to the fox in a loud whisper, “Over here! There’s a round stone you can hit the pot on.”

“All right!” whispered the fox, and he knocked the pot against the pongo’s head. The pongo woke up and grabbed the monkey, while the fox escaped. Next day when the pongo reported for work at the great mansion he brought the monkey and gave it to his patrón. “We’ll throw boiling water on him,” said the patrón, “and then we’ll skin him.”

The fox came around to see what had happened to the monkey. As soon as he saw the fox, the monkey cried out, “Oh, you can’t imagine what trouble I’ve gotten myself into! They’re forcing me to marry a woman!”

The fox, out of curiosity, came closer and asked, “How is that possible, brother?”

“The master of the house has a daughter, and he tells me I have to marry her.”

“In that case,” said the fox, “let me untie you. I’ll take your place.”

“Oh, thanks!” said the monkey, and the fox freed him. Then the monkey tied up the fox and ran away.

That afternoon the master and his pongo came back with a pot of scalding water. The fox cried, “Stop, stop! I’ll marry your daughter!” But they paid no attention and doused him with the hot water. That night the fox bit the rope in two and escaped from the house of the patrón. Then he began to hunt for the monkey.

He found him on a mountainside. Seeing the fox coming, and with no way to escape, the monkey pretended to be holding up a ledge as if it were about to fall. “Hah!” said the fox, “I’ve got you now!”

In a quiet little voice the monkey said, “Brother, if you make me move, this stone will fall and crush us both. Worse, it’ll kill all the people below and wreck their houses. You’re stronger than I am. Hold it up for me while I go get help.”

“Of course,” said the fox. He raised his hands and held the ledge as the monkey went off pretending to look for help. After a while the fox grew tired and thought, “Well, in any case, I can escape myself.” So he let go and jumped aside. He looked around trembling, but the ledge had not moved. “He’s done it again,” said the fox. “This time I’ll find him and kill him.”

That night he saw the monkey sitting near the riverbank with a piece of stolen cheese. “Brother,” said the monkey, “are you wondering why I never came back? Those people! Not a one of them would help!” He offered the fox a taste of the cheese. The fox tried it and asked, “Where did you steal this?”

“Promise you won’t lay a hand on me, and I’ll show you.”

“I promise,” said the fox. The monkey led him to the water and pointed out the reflection of a half-moon. “There it is, brother. I took only a little piece for myself and left the rest for you.” The fox, hardly waiting for the monkey to finish speaking, jumped into the river and drowned.

Bolivia
(Aymara)
/
Moisés
Alvarez

38. The Miser’s Jar

There was once an old miser who had a beautiful jar. It was so beautiful that anyone who saw it wanted to buy it. Yet no one could meet the old man’s price.

One day when he came home from his work in the cornfield, his daughter, who was grinding cornmeal, said, “Father, three people came to see the jar this morning, a gentleman, another man, and a priest.”

“And what did you tell them?” asked the old man.

“I told them to come back this afternoon.”

“You are a wise girl, and you have made good use of your wisdom,” said the father. “When these three return, as they surely will, you must say to each one that you have decided to sell the jar for five hundred pesos without my knowledge. Tell the gentleman to come for it at eight o’clock tonight, the other man to come at half past eight, and the priest to come at nine.”

The girl did as she was told, and at eight o’clock the gentleman arrived. But just as the girl had finished counting the money he had brought, there was a noise at the door of the hut, and throwing the money into one corner, she cried, “Go up into the loft! If my father finds you here, he will kill you.”

While the gentleman was hurrying up to the loft, the other man came in. But before he could leave with the jar there was again a noise at the door. “Go up to the loft,” cried the girl, “or my father will kill you!”

The man climbed quickly into the loft, and the priest came in. He was in a great hurry and had the jar already in his hands when the voice of the old man was heard outside. The priest trembled with fear as the girl cried, “Put the jar down and go up to the loft!”

When the girl’s father came in, he asked, “Where is the gentleman’s money?”

“There in the corner.”

“And the other man’s money?”

“There in the corner.”

“And the priest’s money?”

“There in the corner.”

After a pause the old man asked, “And the gentleman, where is he?”

“Up in the loft.”

“And the other man?”

“Up in the loft.”

“And the priest?”

“Up in the loft.”

“You are a wise girl,” said the old man. Then he took his large carrying sack off his shoulder, put it in the middle of the floor, and set fire to it. The three men in the loft were soon dead from breathing the smoke, for the sack was full of dried chilies.

“Well,” said the old man, “we still have the jar and three times five hundred pesos as well.”

“But we have three dead men in the loft,” replied his daughter.

“The fool will get rid of them for us tomorrow,” said the old man. “In the morning I will go find him and tell him you have sent me to ask him to come have breakfast with us.”

The girl knew that the fool was in love with her and would do whatever she asked. So the next morning, when the three of them had finished their breakfast, she told the fool that she and her father were troubled because a priest who had eaten with them the night before had choked to death, and, fearful that it would be found out, they had put him in the loft, not daring to take him out for burial.

“Don’t worry about a dead priest,” said the fool. “Promise to marry me, and I’ll get rid of him without any trouble.” The girl gave her promise, but no sooner had the fool set out with the dead priest on his back than she sewed a cassock and put it on the gentleman.

When the fool returned and began talking of marriage, the girl laughed and said, “Don’t try to deceive me. I know very well that while I was at the stream getting water, you sneaked into the house and put the priest back in the loft.”

Seeing the gentleman in the cassock, the fool said, “I buried you once and I’ll bury you again.” Then he set out with the gentleman on his back, and the girl sewed another cassock and put it on the last of the three dead men. And when the fool came back and said, “He’ll lie where I put him this time, because I piled heavy stones on the grave,” the girl frowned and said, “Why don’t you tell me the truth? I know very well that while I was out getting firewood, you came in and put the priest back in the loft.”

“Well, I’ll bet he doesn’t come back after I bury him the third time,” said the fool when he saw the cassock. As soon as he had set out with the last of the dead men on his back, the girl called to her father, who was hiding nearby. He came in, filled the beautiful jar full of money, and strapped it on his back. The girl strapped the grindstone on her back, and after setting fire to the hut they began walking toward the east.

They had not gone far when the old man caught his foot on a root and, stumbling, fell into a deep pool that lay next to the road. The girl plunged in, trying to save him, but with the weight of the grindstone she sank, too, and that was the end of them both.

The fool, coming back and not finding the hut, followed the tracks of the old man and his daughter all the way to the edge of the pool. As he sat down and began to weep, he was changed into the where-where bird. And to this day the bird may be seen near pools and in wet places, crying, “Where, where? Where, where?”

Guatemala
(Kekchi
Maya)