Latin American Folktales (31 page)

97. Black Chickens

This was a husband whose wife had her eye on another man. The husband kept watching, but the more he watched the less there was to see. One day he began thinking what to do and announced he was going off to work in his fields. The minute he was out of sight, the wife called, “Come, honey. At last he’s gone.” Little by little the lover eased himself toward the house. The woman kept making signals, waving him on. She stepped out the door, motioning with her hand. “It’s all right, he’s not here! Finally!”

Meanwhile the husband, instead of going to the fields, headed for church, because he knew his wife went there often to pray, asking the statues to make miracles. He went inside and stood behind the Christ with his arms outstretched behind the arms of the cross.

After a while the wife came into the church and bowed down and said,

Father, listen!
Make me a miracle.
Make my husband blind.
Take away my husband’s
eyesight,
So my lover can be with me
in the house.

Then she bent over and prayed again,

Father, listen!
Make me a miracle.
I’ll give you a candle
worth two reales,
Tomorrow a candle
worth one real,
Day after tomorrow,
half a real,
Day after that,
a quarter real.

When her prayer was finished, she cried out, “Father! Talk to me now! What would be good to give my husband, to make him blind?”

Then she heard a miracle. It was the voice of her husband coming from behind the crucifix. The voice said, “What would be good is black chickens.”

The woman went home from church happy. Now she knew what to feed her husband to make him lose his eyesight.

Already the sun was high. The man thought, “I’ll go home and have a few words with my wife about not bringing my lunch to the field,” though he hadn’t been to the field at all. When he got to the house, he threw the door open and said, “Where were you? What happened to my lunch?”

“I couldn’t get finished with the sweeping. Then I killed a chicken and it took me forever to pluck it.”

“Come on,” he said. “I’m hungry.”

She put the chicken in a pot and cooked it up nice with a chili sauce. “Here it is,” she said. “Eat!” While her husband was eating, she set aside a pan of special stew. “What’s that for?” he wanted to know. “It’s for me,” she answered. But she wasn’t telling the truth. The stew was for her lover.

When evening came, the husband said, “Listen, do you think I’m not seeing very well?” The wife answered, “Oh, God!” But immediately her mood became happier.

In the morning the husband went off again, and again he came back before noon, complaining. “Why didn’t you bring me anything to eat?”

“I was too busy plucking this chicken. Besides, there’s nothing to bring you. We don’t have anything in the house but these chickens.”

The next day she killed another chicken and cooked it up. In the evening her husband said, “Listen! More and more I keep seeing less!” Then the woman was convinced that the black chickens were the good ones.

The day after that she killed another chicken, and in the evening her husband said, “Now I see nothing at all!”

Then the lover showed up behind the house, not far away. The wife motioned him with her hand, whispering, “Come on! He can’t see a thing!”

The husband shouted, “Where are you? Are you here?”

“Yes. Hush! I’m right here.”

“Heaven help me!” said the husband. “What a terrible thing it is to be blind! I’ll never be able to work again. How can I go deer hunting?” While he rambled on, the wife slipped outside. Her lover was there. They embraced. “Come in,” she whispered. “What can he do to us now? He’s completely blind.” Little by little the lover edged his way into the house.

The wife sat down to grind corn with her lover in front of her, caressing her. From his chair in the far corner the husband looked away and kept talking, “What a thing it is not to see anyone! What will become of me? I’ll end up dying an early death.” Then he said to his little son, “Come here, son. Come get advice from your father. Let me tell you how you must work, what you must do to support yourself.”

And all the while the wife and the lover were tickling each other in front of the husband. He went on, “If it is God’s will, so be it. I’ve become blind. My life’s work reaches to here and no farther. My son, bring me my Remington, so I can give you lessons on how to handle a weapon.”

The boy brought the rifle. “Let’s see now, son. Come closer, so I can teach you to shoot.” Then the two of them took hold of the Remington, pointing it away. “This is what you do when you have to kill a deer. Aim under the foreleg, straight for the heart.” The wife was laughing.

“So, my son, if it’s a bird, you have to shoot the wing. If it’s a deer, you shoot under the foreleg.” And then, “If it’s a goat, you do it this way.” Bang! He blew the lover backwards with a single shot. Then he took the strap off the rifle and whipped his wife until she fell to the floor. “What trouble!” she said. “And don’t get the idea it’ll happen again!”

“Why not?” he said. “Go ahead and try it!”

The next day two neighbor women stopped by the house. They said to the wife, “Aren’t you coming with us?” “Where to?” “To the altar.” “No thanks! Not for me!” said the wife.

“Why not?” said the husband. “Go ahead, try it!” Then the wife helped him pick up the dead man, and they dragged him outside like a dog. The police came and questioned the husband, “What’s this?” “I caught him with my wife.” “But you shot him three times?” “No, never, I shot him once.” Then the captain picked up the dead man, and they carried him off.

A few days passed. The two neighbors came by again, and the wife was out in the yard gazing at the hills. The neighbors said, “What makes you so superior?” “What do you mean?” “We don’t see you at church or at the dances anymore.” “No thanks, that’s not for me.”

“Why not?” said the husband. “Go ahead, try it!”

“How can I go to church when the statues don’t tell me the truth? Why promise them candles?”

“You mean you don’t like their miracles? Why not?”

“How stupid do you think I am? How crazy? My lover was to blame; it was all his fault. I shouldn’t have done it. Perhaps I won’t do it again.”

Mexico
(Tepecano)

98. Doublehead

There was a married man whose wife disappeared every night. He wasn’t aware of it, because in the morning when he got up, there she was, fixing his lunch bag.

A neighbor advised him, “Your wife goes out after dark. She spends the night with somebody else. See for yourself. She puts a stick of wood under the covers so you think she’s next to you.”

The man took a look. It was true. When morning came he stopped at the neighbor’s house. “You were right. Her head went out, her arms went out, her legs went out. Only her body stayed behind.”

The next night he watched again, and again she came apart. The neighbor said, “Let her know what you’ve seen. Keep a bowl of ashes next to the bed, and put salt in it. Rub it on the place where she comes apart. Then wait for her to return.”

That night when the head came back, it tried to clamp on. Not good! It tried again. Not good! It fell off, came back, and tried again. Not good!

The arms came. Not good! The legs. Not good! Then the head said, “Get up.”

“What do you want?”

“Get up. I want to know why you did such a miserable thing. And to keep you from doing it again, I’m going to clamp onto you!”

She fastened herself to her husband. From then on he had two heads. When he went to work, his wife’s head went with him. When he ate, she ate too; and when she answered a call of nature, it was through her husband’s body.

When it was time to sleep, she detached herself from her husband and lay beside him, chatting amiably.

But at his slightest move, she was on the alert. He could not get away from her.

One day they were walking in the woods and came to a sapodilla tree. One of the fruits had fallen to the ground. The man picked it up and split it open. He gave half to his wife’s head and ate the other half himself. “This is delicious,” he said.

“Climb up and see if you can find another one.”

“All right,” said the husband. “You stay here.” He took off his coat and laid it on the ground, so the head would have a nice place to sit while he climbed the tree. He found another fruit and threw it down on the coat. He broke off another, but it turned out to be green. “I got a green one,” he said. He threw it away, and it hit a deer that was passing by. The deer began to run.

The wife’s head heard the deer and thought it was her husband trying to escape. She rushed off in pursuit, and when she caught up with the deer she fastened herself to its rump. The deer ran on, trying to shake off the head. What with all the brambles the deer passed through, the head finally died and fell off.

The husband climbed out of the tree. He cried, “My wife is gone! She must have thought I was running away. I’ll never find her now. What can I do?”

He went to confession.

Then in later years when he was asked for the story, this is what he told: “The priest said I had to keep looking for my wife’s head. I looked in the woods; I looked everywhere. When I found it I went back to the priest, and he said, ‘Bury it!’ And after that I had to sweep the grave. He told me to go every day and report what I saw. Once, while I was watching, a little calabash tree grew out of the ground. I told the priest. He said, ‘Keep watching. See what happens.’

“The tree grew larger. Here and there a little blood oozed out. I described it to the priest. He said, ‘Keep watching.’ Then a calabash fruit began to form, and as soon as it was ripe I could hear a commotion inside. I kept watching. When the fruit burst, I saw that it was filled with little children. I told the priest, and he said I should go into town to get pieces of cloth.

“As more fruits ripened, little children started falling from all parts of the tree. I dressed them with the cloth to cover their nakedness, just as the priest had told me. And when the last of them had fallen from the tree, I gathered them up in my arms and brought them home.”

El
Salvador
(Pipil)

99. Littlebit

Learn to tell it and tell it to teach it.

There was a needy old couple, miserable in every way. The husband was a water carrier, and the wife took in laundry. But as hard as they worked, the money they earned barely kept them from starving to death.

One night when they were talking, “How poor we are!” “So all-alone!” the old wife said. “If at least we had a child, even if it was just a little bit of a thing, it could help us over the rough spots. There’d be someone to talk to in the evenings and take care of us in case we got sick.”

“How true,” said the old water carrier. “But what’s the use of wishing?”

At that a voice came booming down from the roof, “You shall have the child you wish!”

The two old people looked at each other, stupefied. “Goodness, it’s getting late.” “We’d better be off to bed.”

Next day as usual they got up at dawn. The old man left to haul water for his customers, and his wife started scrubbing the clothes. No sooner had she begun her work than she felt something wriggling in the sleeve of her blouse. She thought, “It must be a lizard or whatever,” and she shook her right arm and the something fell into the washtub. She couldn’t see what it was, but she heard a squeaky little voice, “Mama, pick me out of the water before I drown.”

The poor old soul strained her eyes and saw a baby boy so tiny he was nearly invisible, bobbing up and down in the soapy water. She caught him at once.

Then she and her old husband brought him up, showering him with all kinds of love and attention. They called him Littlebit, and the name fit, because he was no bigger than your little finger.

He grew, but not in size, only in strength. And when he shouted, his voice was louder than any man’s.

No one suspected the old people were raising a child. He was so pretty, they kept him well hidden for fear someone would steal him. He was all their comfort and entertainment, their consolation in life.

Seven years went by, and the old parents became so feeble they couldn’t work anymore, and their meager savings came to an end. When there was nothing left but thirty cents, the old laundress said to Littlebit, “My son, take ten cents. Go to the butcher and bring back some meat.”

Littlebit arrived at the butcher shop and rapped on the counter. The butcher looked around and saw no one. “Who’s rapping?”

“It is I, Littlebit,” said a big voice that startled the butcher. “Give me ten cents’ of meat scraps.”

The butcher heaped the scraps on the counter and with effort managed to see a tiny man holding a coin scarcely six inches off the floor.

“And how will you carry ten cents’ of meat scraps? What you’re ordering is bigger than you are.”

“Sir, be serious. If you sold me a whole steer I’d be able to carry it.”

“Very well,” said the butcher. “Give me the ten, and you can have that steer hanging up in the window.”

Littlebit took the butcher at his word, threw the steer over his shoulder, and ran off. The butcher just stood there with his mouth open. At the sight of a steer traveling down the street upside down, people crossed themselves. No one could see Littlebit. He was under the carcass.

Delighted with their son’s purchase, the old parents sent him off to buy five cents’ of bread.

Littlebit walked into the bakery and rapped on the counter. “Who’s rapping?”

“It is I, Littlebit.” The voice was like thunder. “Give me five cents’ of bread.”

The baker leaned over the counter and could hardly believe what he saw. “And how will you carry five cents’ of bread?”

“How? The same as any other customer. You could sell me that breadbasket on the counter there, and you’d see me carrying it off.”

“Then give me the five cents.”

“Here, take it. And please put the basket on my shoulder.”

The baker lowered the basket slowly, worrying that he might crush his tiny customer. But the moment Littlebit felt the load touch his shoulder he was out the door. The baker watched in amazement as the basket went gliding down the street.

The parents greeted it joyfully, and immediately they sat down to a full meal. Then the old woman said, “Let’s slice enough of this steer for a couple more days. Tomorrow I’ll make jerky out of the rest. It’ll keep us in beef forever!” They chatted on contentedly. That night the old woman said, “Who’d mind a sip of tea?”

The little man said, “Mama, give me ten cents. I’ll get you five cents’ of sugar and five cents’ of tea herb.”

“Take it, my child.”

Littlebit arrived at the corner grocery. “Who’s rapping?”

“Littlebit! I’d like five cents’ of sugar and five of the tea herb.” The grocer leaned over the counter. “But child! How could you carry it?”

“It’s not your problem, sir. If you like, give me a case of sugar and a barrel of herb and watch me carry the whole thing without any help.”

“Well then, pass me the ten cents and take the case and the barrel.”

“Here’s the ten. Could you tie the case to the barrel?”

The storekeeper rolled his eyes but filled the order just the same, then stood speechless as the case and the barrel sped through the door and down the street.

You can imagine how happy the old people were when they saw this precious cargo coming in. No more dying of hunger. What else could they wish for? They all took a deep draught of tea and went to bed.

The next day the old woman jerked the steer meat. When she was finished, she said to no one in particular, “If only we had a few onions, and with all this jerky, we could make a
valdiviano.
”

“Mama, isn’t there five cents left? Let me have it. I’ll get the onions.” She gave him the five and he was out the door. As he headed for the street he noticed one of those miniature penknives people wear as trinkets. He picked it up and dropped it in his moneybag.

He hadn’t gone but a few more steps when he came to a farmer with a load of onions in two heavy saddlebags, one on each side of his horse.

“Hear me, friend! Sell me five cents’ of those onions.” The farmer looked around but couldn’t see the customer. He was hidden in the tall grass at the edge of the pavement.

“Five cents’ worth of those onions!” he repeated. And as soon as the words had left his mouth a cow came by, eating the grass, and Littlebit found himself inside the cow’s stomach. But he kept on hollering from inside the cow, “Five cents for some onions! Listen here, my mother’s waiting!”

The farmer scratched his head and kept looking around. Who would know that a voice like that could come from a cow?

Now, it wasn’t until he had been completely swallowed that Littlebit realized what had happened to him. But he wasn’t afraid. He took his penknife out of his moneybag and carved his way to freedom, hardly clean but safe and sound. The cow, meanwhile, fell over dead. Littlebit took hold of it by the tail and dragged it home. “Now this will make more jerky.” His parents bathed him and gave him a change of clothes, and he ran back to the farmer, shouting, “How about it, friend? Can I get five cents’ of onions or what?”

“But, child, that would be half a dozen! Just one of these onions alone would crush you.”

“You’re dreaming, friend. Take five cents for both your saddlebags and watch me.”

An easy five cents, thought the farmer, and he took the money, then dropped his jaw as he watched his saddlebags and all his onions disappearing down the street.

It wasn’t long before Littlebit’s fame had spread through the whole country and the king was asking to see him. Since the capital was not close by, Littlebit needed a horse. So he caught a mouse and trained it. He made the bridle and the stirrups from a hairpin; he cut his saddle from an old kidskin glove, the reins and the rest of the harness from a shoestring. For his sword he hung the little penknife from his belt with the blade open. Then he jumped on his mount and was off to the city.

When he arrived, he was suddenly the toast of the town. The king, the queen, the princes, the princesses, and all the grandees and dames of the court ran after him. He was certified as the chief wonder of the realm, and the king found a spot for him next to the throne. But Littlebit explained that he couldn’t stay. His parents were old and in misery. He would have to return to them, for without his support they would die.

Such a good son! The king loved to hear it. “Bring your old parents to us,” he cried. “We’ll give them everything they need.” And in short order they were all together in the palace.

When the king’s enemies declared war, Littlebit pushed the artillery to the field of battle, and with his roaring voice he shouted all the orders from the general to the front lines. For his services he was decorated with medals and ribbons and given the rank of field commander. He lived out the rest of his days loved and honored throughout the kingdom.

Chile
/
Manuel
Oporto