Latin American Folktales (10 page)
PART TWO
14. Death and the Doctor
This was out in the country, and there was a man who kept thinking if only he could find the right work it would make him rich. Then one day Death stood in front of him and said, “I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to make you a doctor. You’ll cure the sick just by laying your hands on them, and if you see me standing at the foot of the bed, you’ll know there won’t be any trouble. But if I’m standing at the head of the bed, don’t bother. The cure won’t work.”
The man went to the city and began to practice his art. Time passed. He cured thousands, and word spread through the town that there was a physician working miracles. The news reached the king, whose daughter was gravely ill, and the king sent for the doctor.
When the man arrived, the king said, “My daughter is about to give up the ghost. Save her, you’ll have half my kingdom and my daughter’s hand in marriage. But if she dies, you’ll be hanged at the gallows.” The man started to cure the princess and saw that Death had stationed himself at the head of the bed. He thought, “Disaster! Instead of working a cure I’m going to be hanged.” But an idea came to him. He turned the bed so that the princess’s feet were where her head had been. And Death, seeing that he had been tricked, left the room. But not without planning revenge.
When the cure was finished, the king lived up to his promise and told the man to come back the next day for the wedding. But when the doctor walked out of the palace, Death caught him by the arm and said, “You’re coming with me.” He took him up to the sky and showed him acres and acres of little oil lamps. He said, “You see these lamps? These are the lives of all the people on earth, and this one that’s sputtering and about to go out is yours.”
The man said, “All right, but just give me fifteen minutes and I’ll tell you a story you’ll like.” Death agreed, and while the man was telling the story, he looked around him, found where the oil was kept, and poured enough of it into his own little lamp to keep it burning. Today that man is still alive. I know him.
Dominican
Republic
/
Feyito
Molina
15. What the Owls Said
It was in the old days. There was a hunter who told his wife to pack him a dinner bag so he could go out and bring back some game, and when it was ready he went.
The whole day he saw nothing. It started to get dark. He took cover in a woods where there were tall trees, rested his rifle against a tree trunk, and lay down next to it. Before long two owls flew into the tree and sat on a branch. The two began to talk, and this is what they said:
“You know, they’re like that. We’re the ones who can help, and what thanks do we get? They see us and chase us off.”
“I know. They throw a hot coal to shoo you away.”
“They throw stones. They try to hit you.”
“They even pick up a rifle and try to kill you, when all you’re doing is offering a little help. They don’t seem to like it when somebody wants to do a favor.”
“I know. They’ve got three doctors on the case already, and the patient isn’t any better. They stick a needle in him, they give pills, and everything. But it doesn’t work. Now, a good sorcerer would examine the patient and know there must be an animal under the bed and get rid of it and that would ease the sickness. All he’d have to do is throw a handful of kernels and one of them would roll to where the animal was.”
“And after that he’d take an egg and roll it in paper.”
“And then he’d put a little rum in a hollow reed and bury it in the earth and the sickness would go away. Any good sorcerer would do that.”
Lying under the tree, the hunter could hear these instructions clearly. The next morning he went to the nearest ranch and asked what was happening. “Why are all these people standing around?”
“Ah!” they said. “The señor is gravely ill. Three doctors are in there right now, and still the patient is no better. The only thing that hasn’t been tried is one of those witch doctors the Indians use. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Me? Oh, no,” protested the man. “But let me ask one thing. Would it have to be someone who
looks
like a healer?”
And already they knew they had their man. The patient’s little boy ran into the house to ask his father if it would be all right to let the man come in, and he came back to say the permission had been given.
The man said, “Well, how am I going to go in there and stand next to those doctors who know so much? They know everything, and here I am in short pants. If I could be fixed up like a regular doctor, I might be able to visit the patient.”
The boy went back inside. When he returned, he was carrying a pair of long pants and a clean shirt, because the señor, being rich, had everything.
“This is good,” said the man. “But what about a hat? Doctors have nice hats. And shoes and everything.”
The boy went back to his father and said, “He needs shoes and a hat. He says he can’t come in and talk to you until he’s dressed right.”
Then the boy came back with the shoes and the hat, and the man said, “Doctors charge by the minute, and I don’t even have a watch. You have to hold it in your hand to see how many minutes are passing. So what am I going to see if I’m not holding anything?” The boy went off to explain this to his father, and when he came back he put a watch in the man’s hands.
The man said, “Now I’m just like the doctors. We work by the minute, you know.” He followed the boy into the sickroom and asked for an ear of corn and a cloth to spread out on the floor. A nice twelve-row ear was brought. He twisted it back and forth to shell the kernels from the cob, all the while speaking under his breath the way sorcerers do, and when he had a handful he threw it across the cloth. One of the kernels bounced to the edge of the bed where the patient lay. He lifted the blanket that hung down from the bed, and there was a toad. He pulled it out and killed it.
Then he asked for an egg and a sheet of paper to wrap the egg in. After that, he put a few drops of rum into a reed, plugged it with a piece of cotton, and buried it outside in the yard, just as his friends the owls had said. Then the patient was cured.
The sorcerer did it all. The doctors did nothing. Who knows? That’s what the story says. There, it’s finished.
Mexico
(Mazatec)
16. Aunt Misery
Well, sir, there was an old woman up in her years whose only companion was a beautiful pear tree. It grew at the door to her cabin. But when the pears were ripe, the neighborhood boys came and taunted her and stole the fruit. They were driving her to the end of her wits.
One day a traveler stopped at the cabin and asked if he could spend the night. Aunt Misery, for that’s what the boys and the whole neighborhood called her, said to the man, “Come in.” The man went in and lay down to sleep. In the morning when he was ready to leave, he turned to the old woman and said, “Ask for whatever you want and your wish will be answered.”
She said, “I wish for only one thing.”
“Go ahead, ask for it.”
“I wish whoever climbed in my tree would have to stay up there until I gave him permission to come back down.”
“Your wish is granted.”
So the next time the pears were ripe, the boys came to steal as usual, but when they climbed to the top of the tree they got stuck. They pleaded with Aunt Misery to let them go. She wouldn’t. Then at last she freed them, but on one condition, that they never come bothering her again.
The days went by, and one evening another traveler stopped at the cabin. He seemed to be out of breath. When Aunt Misery saw him, she asked what he wanted. He said, “I’m Death, and I’ve come to get you.”
She answered, “All right! But before you take me, let me have some pears to bring along. Would you pick me a few?”
Death climbed up the tree to get the pears, but he couldn’t get back down. Aunt Misery wouldn’t let him go.
Years passed, and there were no deaths. Doctors, druggists, priests, undertakers, they all started to complain. They were losing business. Besides, there were old people who were tired of life and ready to leave for the other world.
When Aunt Misery learned of this, she made a trade with Death. In exchange for her freedom she’d let him come down. And that’s why, to this day, people are dying, and Aunt Misery is still alive.
Puerto
Rico
17. Palm-tree Story
A pregnant woman went to fetch water. She filled her jar, but when she tried to put it on her head she strained herself and couldn’t lift it. All at once she was giving birth, just as three men passed by, out seeking their fortune; and now, suddenly, she had a little boy. The child said, “Mama, I’ll lift the jar for you. There! Now give me your blessing to follow those men.” And off he went.
Running after the three travelers, he called out, “Good friends, wait up!” One of them said to the others, “Now look at this! There’s a little boy following us.” They caught him and tied him to an anthill.
He freed himself and ran on. “Friends! Wait for me!” They caught him again and tied a stone to him; they dropped him into a deep pool.
Again he got free and kept on their trail. “Wait up!”
The three of them said to each other, “Let’s fix him for good.” But when they tried to catch him, he scurried up a tree. He called down to them, “In the distance I see a little house. There’s smoke rising. People are living there.” And this time it was the men who followed the boy. They walked on with the boy in the lead until they reached the house. An old woman came out. She said, “What wind tossed you here?”
“The wind that blows,” answered the boy.
The old woman had some flesh sizzling in a pan. She gave it to them for their supper. Then, saying, “Night draws on,” she put each of the men to bed with one of her three daughters. Since the boy refused to stay indoors, she sent him out to spend the night with the nanny goats.
As soon as she thought everybody was asleep, she got up and sharpened her knife, with her tongue fluttering,
Rrrr, rrrah, rrrrahh,
Little knife, do your work, rrrrahh!
But when she went after the boy, she heard him announcing in a loud voice, “These goats won’t let me sleep!” She went back indoors.
While she lay in bed, waiting for the goats to stop bleating, the boy took logs from the woodpile and made three life-size dolls. Hearing nothing, finally, the old woman got up again, with her tongue fluttering,
Rrrr, rrrah, rrrrahh,
Little knife, do your work, rrrrahh!
But when she went for the boy, he had moved to the henhouse. “These chickens!” he was saying, “They won’t let me sleep!” The old woman went back to bed. Just before dawn, at last, she was snoring. The boy brought the three dolls into the house and dressed them in the daughters’ clothes. He whispered to the men, “Get up!” He put the men’s jackets on the three sleeping daughters; and the three men and the boy slipped out of the house.
They were long gone when the old woman woke up again. She sharpened her knife and finished off the three sleepers in men’s jackets, then realized she had butchered her own daughters. She put her strongbox under one arm, mounted a lean pig that she kept for riding, and gave a cry:
Piggy, get on!
Run with the dawn!
She had almost caught up with the boy when he saw her coming and ran up a palm tree. She opened her strongbox, pulled out a hatchet, and hurled it at the tree: “Slim down!” And the trunk of the tree became thinner.
The boy had filled his pockets with hens’ eggs. He threw an egg: “Fatten up!” And the tree trunk became thick.
She threw the hatchet again: “Slim down!” He threw another egg: “Fatten up!”
“Slim down!”
“Fatten up!”
“Slim down!”
“Grandmother, throw it here!” She threw the hatchet again. He caught it and returned it, slicing off one of her arms. She flung it back with her good arm. He caught it and flung it again, and this time it did her in.
He climbed down the tree, and with the hatchet he took out her heart and sliced it into three little tidbits. He tucked the tidbits into the strongbox and ran back to the house. The three men had gotten there ahead of him and were tearing up the place, looking for the old woman’s jewels.
The boy removed the tidbits from the strongbox and smeared the blood on the three daughters. They immediately came back to life. Then he presented the young women to his three companions, who had treated him so cruelly, and left them happily married with all the jewels in the old woman’s strongbox. “Farewell,” he said. And he was gone. They didn’t see him again until they went to heaven. He was an angel.
Colombia
18. Pedro de Urdemalas
I. THE LETTER CARRIER FROM THE OTHER WORLD
One morning Pedro de Urdemalas woke up without a cent in his pocket and started wondering, “How can I find some money?” He got on his burro and rode into town, facing backwards, crying, “Letter carrier from the Other World! Who has letters for Heaven? Bring them here!”
People looked out their doors, but no one brought any business until finally a woman came to the curb and said, “You’re from Up Above?”
“Yes, madam, I’m the letter carrier for St. Peter. I’m on my way back right now.”
“If only I’d known! I could have written a letter to my husband, who died last month!”
“Madam, I’m on a schedule and can’t wait for you to write. But if you have anything to send your husband—money, clothes, food—I’ll take it along. He’s poor as a church mouse up there and getting thin.”
“Oh, you’re too kind! Wait a minute while I make up a box.” And in no time she ran back to the curb with a bundle of men’s clothing, a roast chicken, and two hundred pesos in fresh bills. “Give him this,” she said, “and don’t forget to tell him he’s in my prayers every day.”
Pedro bid her farewell and rode on down the street, still facing backwards, crying, “Letter carrier now leaving for the Other World! Last call for letters to Heaven!” As soon as he was out of sight, he turned himself around and rode out of town as fast as the burro would take him.
When he thought he’d gone far enough, he took off his old clothes and spruced himself up with one of the dead man’s outfits and sat down to a peaceful meal of roast chicken. And with the two hundred pesos he kept on eating and drinking for several days.
Chile
II. THE KING’S PIGS
Pedro left home to try his luck. He came to a king’s house, knocked on the door, and asked for work. The king said, “I have a job for you. Watch my pigs; keep them out of trouble. Mind you, keep an eye on them. Don’t let them near the swamp.”
“No problem,” said Pedro. “Sounds easy.”
The king went back inside, and while Pedro was tending the pigs, some passersby stopped and asked, “Are these pigs for sale?”
“Sure,” said Pedro, “I’ll sell them to you. Except for the tails. I’ll keep those.” When they’d paid him for the pigs, he stuck the tails in the swamp, one here, one there, and went and told the king, “Sir, the pigs are sinking in the swamp! I tried to pull one out and all I got was this, a tail!” He opened his hand and showed him the pig’s tail.
“O my stars!” said the king. And he ran to take a look. He rolled up his sleeves and starting tugging at the tails, first one, then another. “Nothing but tails!” he cried. “The pigs are gone!”
Pedro started to back away. “I’ll forgive you this time,” called the king.
“Oh, thanks. I appreciate it.”
The king came over to him, gave him his wages, and said, “Enough for today.”
The next morning Pedro was back. But there was no more work at the king’s house.
Guatemala
/ José
Cleophas
Arriaza
III. THE SACK
Pedro de Urdemalas put on a friar’s robe and went out in the countryside begging for alms. At the end of the day he stumbled into a thieves’ cave, and in the back of the cave there were bags of silver and gold, and jewels worth a king’s ransom. A rocky nook had been set up as a kitchen. A lamb was slit open, hanging upside down ready for use, and there were two quarters of another, freshly butchered carcass.
Pedro was hungry from tramping through godforsaken fields and woods. He cut off a leg of lamb and started to grill it. Before it was done, the thieves came back. They grabbed Pedro and tied his hands and feet. “We’ll throw him into the river,” they said. “But first let’s eat.”
There were ten of them. When they’d finished the leg of lamb that Pedro had cooked, they put another on the fire. Meanwhile they stuffed Pedro into a sack and set him outside near the entrance to the cave.
Since Pedro was fortune’s friend, who should come along at that moment but a cowherd with more cows and beautiful yearling calves than you could count, crying,
Hey, Bossy! Hey!
Whoa, Bossy!
Here, Daisy!
Hey, Bossy! Whoa! Whoa!
Pedro began chanting in a loud voice from inside the sack, “My Savior, protect me from drowning. For your sake, dear Lord, I resisted the temptation to take their money. Don’t let them drown me, dear Lord.”
The cowherd, who was a kind soul, overheard the prayer and opened the sack. Out popped the head of a friar, wrapped in a cowl.
“Father, what happened?”
“My dear little brother, such trouble! I was begging alms for my monastery when I ran into some gentlemen who tried to force me into taking whole bags of money. Our order forbids it! I can only accept small sums. We have a strict vow of poverty. I had to refuse, and it made them so mad they tied me up. As soon as they finish their dinner they’re going to throw me in the river.”
“Father, I can help you. Why don’t we change places? When the gentlemen come back, I’ll tell them I’ve thought it over and can take the money after all. Since it’s getting dark, they won’t know I’m not you. Let me put on your robe. You take my cows over to the next valley.”
The two traded clothes, and Pedro took the cows and the yearling calves, leaving the cowherd in the sack with his hands tied. A moment later the thieves came tumbling out of the cave, their bellies full of roast lamb, tipsy from drinking the costly wines they’d stored inside. One of them threw the sack over his shoulder and trudged to the river, paying no attention to the cowherd’s protests, “I’ll take whatever money you’ve got, even if it’s four bags. Even more!” They got to the riverbank, and two of the thieves swung the sack between them, letting it fly out over the water.
Pedro, who had climbed a tree to watch, stayed put until the gurgling sounds and the bubbles stopped rising from where the sack had hit. Then he climbed down and took charge of his herd. The next morning he drove the cows past the entrance to the cave, crying out with a full throat,
Hey, Bossy! Hey!
Whoa, Bossy!
Here, Daisy!
Hey, Bossy! Whoa! Whoa!
The thieves, who had just gotten up, recognized Pedro’s voice and came out for a look.
“Father, what’s the meaning of this?” said the thieves’ captain. “Where’s your robe? And who got you out of the river?”
“Providence, my brother, providence that takes care of the poor. A helping hand untied me. And the little people who live under the river, such good Christians! seeing that I was a poor friar in need, gave me these beautiful animals and led me safely to shore. All they asked in return was my friar’s robe to keep as a relic. May God reward them!”
“Men!” cried the captain. “Where are those robes we took from the Dominicans the other day? Put them on, and let the padre tie us up and put us in sacks and drop us in the river. With the cattle we get from the little people we’ll have enough to live easy for the rest of our days. I know the padre won’t refuse us this favor.”
“It would be a pleasure,” said Pedro, “even if it makes me late getting back to the monastery. My reverend superiors will be anxious.”
“Let’s hurry,” said the captain. And before another hour had passed they were all trussed up in their sacks at the bottom of the river. Pedro was now the owner of the cows and the calves and all the thieves’ gold, silver, and jewels.
But Pedro’s riches didn’t stay with him. He went on a binge with his buddies and sweethearts. For as the proverb says, he who has figs has friends, and the money slipped through his fingers in less than a year.
Chile
IV. PEDRO GOES TO HEAVEN
Pedro was so poor he kept saying to himself, “Even the Devil won’t come to see me.” He said it over and over until who should appear but the Devil.
“So there you are,” said Pedro. “I’ll trade you my soul if you give me the money to set myself up as a blacksmith.” The Devil did not have to be asked twice.
“But on one condition,” said Pedro. “When you come for me, if I’m in the middle of a job, you’ll have to wait.”
“Why not?” said the Devil, and they drew up a contract and signed it.
One day not long after that, St. Peter lost his keys and went to God to ask what he should do. “You’ll have to go to Pedro de Urdemalas,” said God. “Ask him to make you a new set.” So St. Peter gave Pedro the measurements, and Pedro made the new keys.
When Pedro was finished, God appeared and asked what the charge would be. “No charge,” said Pedro.
“Well then,” said God, “I’ll grant you three wishes. Name them.”
“Here’s my first,” said Pedro. “I wish the fig tree in my patio would bear fruit in all seasons.” At that moment St. Peter, without being asked, chimed in, “And you’ll be my guest in Heaven!”
Pedro continued, “My second wish is that if someone tries to pick my figs I can say ‘Stick tight!’ and he’ll be stuck to the fig tree. Now here’s my third: wherever I sit, no one will be able to make me get up.”
“Your three wishes granted!” said God.
The day came when Pedro was ready to die, and one of the Devil’s henchmen came after him. Pedro at the time was working on a set of tools. He said, “While you’re waiting for me to finish, climb up in the tree and help yourself to some figs.” The little devil climbed up, and Pedro called, “Stick tight!” When he started to complain, Pedro took his hammer and tongs and beat the daylights out of him. “Now, unstick!” And the little fellow ran back to the Devil, who’d made the contract, and reported, “He won’t come!” So the Devil said, “I’ll get him myself.”
The Devil came to Pedro and said, “Why wouldn’t you come?”
“Because the little fellow wouldn’t wait for me to finish my job. You’ve forgotten our contract? Be patient while I work on these tools. And have some figs!”
The Devil picked a few from the lowest branch.
“Those aren’t the good ones. Climb up!”
The Devil climbed into the tree, and Pedro called, “Stick tight!” Then he picked up his hammer and tongs and started to give him a thrashing. “Stop!” cried the Devil. “You’re killing me. I’ll do anything, I’ll tear up the contract.”
“Then, unstick!”
They tore up the contract and the Devil went off empty-handed, with Pedro calling after him, “When they bury me, tell them to put my hammer in the coffin, and the tongs, too!”
Not long after that, Pedro died for sure. He went up to the gates of Heaven and knocked with the hammer. St. Peter answered, “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Pedro de Urdemalas.”
“Oh no you don’t. Not here.”
“You promised.”
“But you didn’t ask. Remember? Anyway, we can’t let you in. You’ll have to go down below.”
Pedro went down below. But when the Devil’s henchmen saw him coming, he made the sign of the cross with his hammer and tongs and they all fled. So he went back to the gates of Heaven and called out, “Old namesake, let me in! They don’t want me down there. All they do is run away.”
St. Peter consulted the Virgin.
The Virgin turned to Pedro and said, “Follow me. I’ll take you myself.” Pedro trailed after her, but when they got to the gates of Hell he made the sign of the cross behind her back and all the devils ran off again. The Virgin said, “You’ll have to wait here until they come back for you.”
“Oh, no,” said Pedro. “I can’t be by myself. You know that’s against the rules.” So they went back up, and the Virgin put a bench just outside the heavenly gates and told him to sit down. As she passed through the entrance, Pedro reached out to her, and she slammed the gate on his hand.
“Ouch! Open up!”
She opened the gate just an inch and Pedro stuck his head through. “Open wider, so I can get my head out!” She opened a little wider, and he sped through the gates and sat down on St. Peter’s chair. St. Peter complained to God. God settled the matter once and for all: “Have you forgotten his third wish? Since Pedro was granted the wish to sit wherever he wants, he stays with us in the heavenly Kingdom.”
Argentina
/
Noemí
A.
Pérez