Storytelling: Daughter of the Air (Week 14)

The Little Mermaid Statue in Denmark

She was just over two-hundred years into her service as a Daughter of the Air.  She was so close to earning her eternal soul that she could almost taste it, though her senses didn’t work the way they had before and she had little reason now to actually taste things.  Being ethereal was indescribable; it felt like being light as a feather yet having the weight of the world on your shoulders at the same time. 

She had watched over her prince during his lifetime.  He lived his life convinced that his bride was the maiden who saved him from that shipwreck all those years ago.  She had come to terms with that long, long ago.  In fact, she had come to appreciate his wife.  She took care of the prince and loved him dearly.  Both of them had mourned her when she had faded into the sea foam and appeared to die.  As she watched over the prince over the years, she came to realized that he had really cared for her during her short time on earth, despite the fact that things did not work out how she had hoped.  She still loved him, even though the prince had died long ago, but now she had come to realize that things had worked out for the best.  If she had married the prince like she originally wished, she never would have done all the good that she had achieved during her time as a Daughter of the Air. 

Her father and sisters were still alive and thankfully happy.  There were many, many children in the family now.  It made her smile to think of her father as a grandfather.  Though the normal lifespan of a mermaid was three hundred years, her family had packed as much love and memories into their time as possible.  Whenever it was possible, she tried to do as many good deeds around them as she could.  It was nice to just be around them, even if they were not aware of her presence.  Unfortunately, her grandmother had passed, fading into the sea foam.  Each year, though, her family celebrated her life. 

It was amazing to think that this incredible journey started so long ago on her fifteenth birthday, on her first journey to the surface.  She never could have imagined that her birthday would spark the search for love and ultimately the search for her soul.

Arthur's Note:

I partially chose to write about this story because I loved the Disney version so much as a child.  Now as an adult, I fought the original story so interesting.  I had heard that the ending of the original was really sad and depressing.  When I read it, though, I found it more hopeful than anything.  When writing my story, I wanted to really capture that.  So, I wrote it in the future, after she died and became a Daughter of the Air and had her reflect on her time on earth.  

Hans Christian Anderson - The Little Mermaid 

Fairy Tales and Stories by Hans Christian Andersen, translated by H. P. Paull (1872).

Storytelling: A Poor Mortal (Week 13)

A 19th-century interpretation of Charon's crossing by Alexander Litovchenko.

Charon rowed.  And rowed.  And rowed.  That’s almost all that he did.  His arms had stopped throbbing hundreds of years ago.  Now, the years passed liked days to him.  The screams and wails of the lost souls had also partially deafened him.  Long ago, he had even been able to hear the distant click-clacking of the centaurs’ hooves from so far off circle of hell.  He couldn’t hear much other than the last lamentations of the sorrowful souls he carried across the river.  His beard and head had started greying long, long ago.  Now, his beard only had specks of its natural hue; instead, grey had taken over.  Both in age and appearance, he was an old man.  

Soon, he would have to find someone else to take over his responsibility as the ferryman.  Reflecting was not something he did often, but it was something that he felt was appropriate now that he would be relinquishing his position soon.  He had been alive for far too long to care to remember everything that had happened to him.  Even if he did desire to remember the occurrences that had taken place throughout the course of his post as ferryman, there were so, so many souls that he had taken, it was impossible to remember them all.  In fact, most of them blurred together.  Few souls had interested him during his millennia on the job.  He did vividly recall one soul in particular, though.  His name was Dante, and he was a soul Chiron had yet to take.  He was one of the handful of mortals who had venture down into the Underworld for some reason or another.  

From what he recalled, he was on a quest of some sort and was with a soul that he had previously taken across the river, a soul named Virgil.  In life, Virgil had an importance about him and a way of stirring things up.  In death, the same was true.  He claimed to be a guide to the mortal who had found his way to the ferry.  Charon tried to warn the mortal Dante that his ferry was not for the living, but neither he nor Virgil would heed his warning.  Instead the guide pushed Charon, urging him to let the mortal pass.  He stated something about the mortal’s passage being fated or willed or something along those lines.  Charon remembered deciding not to argue.  He remembered thinking that if it was that mortal’s fate to see the trials of hell, fate was cruel indeed.

Author's Note:

I decided to write my story about Charon's interaction with Dante and Virgil because it really stuck out to me while I was reading the unit.  I placed the story at some point after Charon's encounter with the two of them.  I thought that doing this would give an interesting perspective.  I also got the impression the Charon had seen a lot during his time, so I really wanted to play up his age and maybe his wisdom as well.

From the Gates of Hell and Charon section of the Dante's Inferno unit

Dante's Divine Comedy, translated by Tony Kline (2002).

Storytelling: A Bedtime Fable (Week 12)

The Wolf and the Lamb by Wenceslaus Hollar

“Mom, will you tell me a story?”  Lucy looked down at her daughter from the doorway.

“Of course, Luna.  What would you like to hear?”

“I dunno!  Just a story!”

“Okay, okay.  Calm down and get into bed.”

Luna ran across the room, almost tripping on the too-long pant legs of her pajama bottoms, and jumped unto the bed.  Her dark hair flew around her face as she bounced to a stop.  Lucy shook her head and smiled.

“Come on, silly.  Under the cover.”

Luna crawled beneath the blankets and wriggled around until she was comfortable.  Lucy sat on the edge of the bed and patted Luna’s leg.

“So, a story.  Hmm.  How about a fable?”

“What’s a fable?”

“It’s a kind of story with lots of animals in it.”

“Ohhhh.  Okay!  Tell me a fable!”

“How about the one with the wolf and the lamb?”

“Yeah!  Wolf and lamb!”

“Okay, well it goes something like this…

There once was a wolf and a lamb drinking from opposite ends of a stream.  The lamb was more than happy to share the water with everyone, but the wolf was greedy and mean.  The water flowed from the wolf then down to where the lamb was.  When the wolf saw the lamb there, he grew very angry.  He snuck up on the lamb and yelled, “Why are you drinking from my stream?  You’re ruining it!”

The lamb jumped away and answered the wolf, “But the water reaches you first, then flows to me.  Even if I were ruining it, you would never taste it!”

The wolf ignored the young lamb’s logic.  Instead, he blamed the lamb for something its father had done long ago.  The wolf was okay with using any excuse he could to be mean to the little lamb, even though he was blameless.

And I believe the fable ends with the lines,

‘To those this fable I address

Who are determined to oppress,

And trump up any false pretence,

But they will injure innocence.’”

Once Lucy was finished with the story, she looked at Luna snuggled up in her bed.  Luna’s eyes weren’t as wide as they had been before, and Lucy could tell that she was fighting a yawn.

“What did you think, kiddo?”

“The wolf was bad.”

“That’s right.  The wolf was bad.  Do you know what the moral of the story was?”

“Yeah, Mommy.  It’s bad people are bad.”  Lucy smiled a bit and tried not to chuckle at the short and sweet answer her daughter gave.

“That’s right, Sweetie.  Bad people, or wolves, are bad.”

Finally, Luna yawned.  Lucy stood up and pulled to covers up to her daughter's neck and tucked her in.  

"Alright, now.  Go to bed."

"Can you tell me another fable tomorrow?"

"Sure thing, Sweetie."

"Good, because I like the animals, even if they are bad sometimes."  This made Lucy laugh a little.

"Alright, Sweetie.  Now, seriously, go to bed.  Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mommy,"

Author's Note:

I chose to write this like a bed time story because the fables were so short, that it would work as being a part of the story itself.  I felt like a bed time story would be a good way to create a frame for the fable.  The fable included in my story is the actual fable from the Untextbook.  There were several of the fables that seemed to have a similar moral or theme that this one did, so I went with the story of the Lamb and the Wolf to include in my story.

The Wolf and the Lamb from the UnTextbook

The Comedies of Terence and the Fables of Phaedrus

translated by Henry Thomas Riley,

to which is added

a Metrical Translation of Phaedrus

by Christopher Smart.

1887.

Storytelling: Of All Things (Week 11)

Illustration by Howard Pyle

Arthur watched as his foster brother prepared for the tournament.  His foster father was fussing with his armor.  Arthur shook his head and continued to saddle up the horses.  This was the second tournament this year, and the year was only three months in.  It was tiring work, but he enjoyed it.  He never actually participated himself, but he helped Kay practice some times.  He wasn’t particularly good yet, but he was slowly getting better at it. 

“Arthur!”  His head snapped up from his work and looked toward the voice that had called him.

“Do you need help with something Kay?”  His foster brother walked towards him quickly.  With all the armor in place, he was a bit clumsy as well.  When he finally stopped in front of him, he struggled to stand up straight under the weight of the armor. 

“I need a sword.”

“A sword?”

“A sword.”

“Okay, but why?  Didn’t you just have one?”

“Well, yes.  But it broke.  Don’t we have a back-up?”

“That was the back-up.  You lost the other on the way here.”

“What?  What kind of squire only has one back-up sword?”

“That’s all your father told me to bring.  Can we go buy one quickly?  Surely one of the vendors have something sufficient.”

“No, none of the vendors here will do.  They charge outrageous prices for shoddy craftsmanship.  From what I saw this morning, the vendor next to the inn we are staying at has a decent select.  Can you run down there before the tournament starts?”

Arthur looked at Kay incredulously.  The inn was nearly a thirty minute trek from the tournament.  They didn’t have that kind of time.  The tournament was meant to start soon.  Kay looked at him impatiently.

“Well?”  Arthur shook his head at his foster brother.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

With that Arthur took off in the direction of the inn.  Ten minutes into the trip, he came across the church.  It wasn’t much of a church really.  It was a small building with a caved in roof.  There was a small cemetery situated next to it.  Most of the grave stones were crumbling.  Only a few stones were still fully standing.  In fact, one of them was an actual stone rather than a grave marker.  Of all the things that could have possibly caught his attention, it was this little, dilapidated church. 

He stopped for a second before moving closer.  It wasn’t until he stood right in front of the church that he really took notice of the stone.  Though there was not much sunlight, a few small beams caught on something and cast a glint his way.  He walked towards it until he was standing right next to it.  With his right hand, he reached out towards it.  Once his hand was wrapped around whatever was sticking out of the stone, he realized what it was.  It was dirty, but it was unmistakably the hilt of a sword.  Of all things, he had found a sword stuck inside of a stone. 

Author's Note:

I chose to write about this particular story of King Arthur because it is one of the ones that I am the least familiar with and I wanted to explore it some.  I took a class on Arthurian legends, so this was a unit I was really eager to read and work on.  I didn't change much, but I did go farther in depth with the story.  I also left off with Arthur finding the stone because I felt like everyone knows the rest of the story, and I felt like it would make an interesting cliffhanger.

The Drawing of the Sword

King Arthur: Tales of the Round Table by Andrew Lang, illustrated by H. J. Ford (1902).

Storytelling: The Storyteller (Week 10)

Symbol of the Anishinaabe (Ojibwe) People

“Come, children.  Gather around.”

           Though his eyes were closed, he could hear the pitter-patter of little feet scurrying around the room.  When he opened his eyes, most of the children had flocked to him.  Only a two stragglers were left slowly toddling their way toward him.  He waited patiently as all the young ones got situated.  The other children fidgeted habitually, unable to stay still for more than a few seconds.  Finally, the children quieted down and made an attempt to sit still.  He was ready to tell his story.

           “How many of you know the story of our people’s greatest citizen?”

           A few children darted their eyes around their peers, hoping to see if anyone knew the answer to his question.  One of the older children, a girl of about twelve, raised her hand.  When he looked at the girl, she answered him.

           “Um, was he a warrior?”  The storyteller looked at the child and smiled.

           “No, my dear, he was not.”

           “Oh! Oh! Oh!  It must have been a medicine man!”  This response came from an excited boy of seven.  He was rocking back and forth and bouncing a bit with excitement.

           “No, child.  This citizen was no medicine man.”  The boy’s face fell slightly when he heard this.

           “Was the citizen a great chief or a leader?”  The storyteller shook his head.

           “The citizen was neither chief nor leader.  No, this great citizen was something much more than chief or medicine man or warrior.  This citizen, this man, was clever.”

           A few of the children made noises of indignation.  One even protested that there was nothing better or nobler than a warrior.  The storyteller just shook his head at the child.

           “This citizen is the reason why we are able to survive throughout the winter.  Even though he is long dead, it is because of him that we are able to get through every winter.  His name was Shingebis, and he was a fisherman.”

           “But how can a fisherman save us when a warrior cannot?  How is the fisherman a better citizen?”

           “Because, child, this fisherman in particular defeated the North Wind when no other person, warrior or otherwise, was able to.  It used to be that this time of the year, when the winds turn icy and the ground turns hard, we would flee this area for one that was more accommodating.  We would have to leave all that we had built and take only what we could carry.  Shingebis changed this.  He and a few fellow fisherman stayed back while everyone else left for the winter.  These fisherman stayed as long as they could and caught as much fish as they possibly could before the North Wind drove them off.  Only Shingebis stayed behind.  His companions warned him not to stay, but he refused to give in to the North Wind.

           “Several times, the North Wind tried to drive him out and to freeze him.  It even tore away at his dwelling.  But Shingebis realized something very important.  Heat made the North Wind shrink.  Shingebis waited until the North Wind tried to sneak into his dwelling again and weakened him with the fire.  The two grappled for a long time.  The North Wind almost won.  The fight ended up outside of Shingebis’ dwelling, where the cold ran free and there was no fire.  Shingebis had to think quickly, before the North Wind regained its strength.  He suddenly had an idea.  When the North Wind came toward him again, he did not move away.  Instead, he lunged forward and wrapped himself around the North Wind.  The two struggled like this for many minutes.  Eventually, though, Shingebis saw the fruits of his labor.  The North Wind was shrinking from exertion and Shingebis’ body heat.”

“Wait, are you saying that Shingebis hugged him death?”  This made the old man laugh lightly.

“No, young one.  Not to death.  We still experience the North Wind today.  But now the North Wind retreats for us and we can now stand him more than we could before.  That is why we no longer have to move around with the seasons.  It is why we can have permanent dwellings and villages.”

A few of the children oohed and awed.  Others looked at him, as if they wanted more.  The storyteller just shook his head.  

“I will have another story for you tomorrow.”

Author's Note:
I wrote my story about the section from American Indian Fairy Tales unit called Shin-ge-bis Fools the North Wind. The entire unit uses the story of Iagoo, the storyteller, as a frame work for the smaller tales. I found that particularly interesting, so I chose to use that for my own story as well and explore it a little more. I also really enjoyed the story about the North Wind, so I wanted to incorporate that a bit as well. I stuck pretty close to the original story, but I summarized it more. I wanted to do a retelling of that too, but the word count would have been outrageous for the assignment.

American Indian Fairy Tales by W.T. Larned, with illustrations by John Rae (1921).

Storytelling: The Seven Sisters of Pleiades

Pleiades Constellation 

We are the Seven Sisters.  We have been together for as long as anyone can remember and it is our intent to stay that way.  There have been many who have tried to separate us throughout the years, but none have succeeded.  Though we live in the Sky Land, we are quiet fond of the earth and all that inhabit it.  Because of this, we visit whenever the season is right.  We visit whenever the wind is calm and the lakes are still. 

One day, long ago, a frail young man happened upon us.  Because he was weak, we thought nothing of him.  He had apparently heard our singing and dancing and decided to watch from the safety of the reeds that lined the beach.  As soon as we realized we had someone watching us, we returned immediately to the sky.  Together, the seven of us discussed it and decided that it was just a fluke.  We misjudged and underestimated the young man to our own detriment.  To be safe, we decided to stay away from earth for a while, but it was only for a short period.  We were too eager to return to our lake side paradise.  We became reckless.

We watched as best as we could from our place in the sky, but we saw nothing.  We crept down from the sky and landed on the beach of the lake as quietly as possible.  Each of the seven of us searched the area around the beach.  Again we saw nothing.  With the precautions out of the way, we relaxed and enjoyed our earthly freedom.  We were there for almost an hour before anything happened.  We were dancing when one of us noticed something.  The reeds were moving, but there was no wind.  One of our sisters followed the movements.  We had all turned out attention there as well, but one of us was a few steps closer than the rest.  She parted the reeds to see what was causing the movements, but the young man was hiding there.  He had drawn us in.

As soon as our sister parted the reeds, he jumped out and caught her.  The rest of us almost panicked, but our sister was very clever.  She knew that the man wanted to keep one of us for himself, so she played on that.  She promised him that she would marry him, if only he would come with us to the Sky Land instead of staying on earth.  In his eagerness, he consented to going to the Sky Land.  Once we returned with the man in tow, we all decided then that we would never go the earth again.  That way no one could ever try to separate us.

Author’s Note:

I chose to write about the story of the Origin of the Pleiades.  I kept most of the story the same, however I added details to flesh out the rest of the story.  The original story kind of had a “happily ever after” type of ending, but that’s not exactly how I felt about it.  I wanted to keep the story the same, but play up that the man did wrong by trying to steal one of the sisters. 

Origin of the Pleiades from the British North America unit

Myths and Legends of British North America by Katharine Berry Judson (1917).

Storytelling: Fire of Life (Week 7)

Red Fox taken in Parco al Bosco, near Verona

  The fox had long known the secret of the elixir of life.  The secret was contained within its inner fire, though no one but the fox knew about it.  One day, however, a man saw the fox blowing his fire.  It was obvious that man was covetous of the fox’s fire.  It made the fox wonder if given the chance the man would figure out the fire’s secret.  Finally, the fox decided that the man could handle having the fire.  He was unsure of how to give the fire to man, though.  The fox did not have words like the man did.  He would have to find a different way to share the fire.

  Eventually, the fox realized that he would have to get the man to swallow the fire like he did.  It took several tries, but eventually the man learned the ways of the fox and possessed the fire.  The fire gave the man many amazing abilities.  It allowed him to be invisible, gave the ability to see ghosts and devils, and allowed him access to the spirit-world.  The man did many good deeds with these powers.  The fox was proud of the man and was happy with his decision to share the fire.  Soon, however, the man started accepting gifts for his good deeds.  He was overcome by greed and stopped doing things out of the kindness of his heart.  Instead, he would request gold or treasure before helping people or performing miracles. 

  The fox gave the man thirty long years with his gift.  During those years, the man had grown complacent and lazy, often falling asleep with a goblet of wine in his hand.  It was then that the fox decided it was time to reclaim the gift he had given the man.  He knew he had to be clever about it though.  The man had grown accustomed to having those gifts and would not give them up willingly.  Instead, the fox came up with a plan.  He would wait until the man drank himself to sleep one night.  During his slumber, the fox would come up behind him and pat his back repeatedly until the man coughed, causing the fire to come shooting up out of his mouth.  Then, the fox would leap over the man and catch the fire into his mouth, where it should have remained. 

  That is exactly what the fox did.  Once he reclaimed the fire, the man was sorrowful and lamented his misuse of the fire.  This did not sway the fox, however.  He had learned his lesson.  Mankind was not yet ready for the secret of life. 

Author's Note:

I chose to write about the story of the fox-fire from the Chinese Fairy Tales unit.  I previously knew a little bit about fixes in Chinese/Japanese culture, so this really interested me.  While reading the original, I wondered why the fox didn't immediately take back his fire, and that is how this story came about.  I didn't change too much, but I added reasoning and details to make the story fit together better.  In the original, the fox doesn't decide to give the man the fire, instead the man is clever enough to steal it, but the fox lets him have it for thirty years.

The Chinese Fairy Book, ed. by R. Wilhelm and translated by Frederick H. Martens (1921).

Storytelling: Devoted

Empress Jinju Goes to War

My husband was a great warrior and adventurer in his time.  In fact, he is still revered throughout all of Japan.  He was not, however, a good husband.  I have had centuries upon centuries to think about my life.  The only real regret that I have is that I was so devoted to that jerk.  I was so devoted to him that I died to save him.  What a waste.  In the moment, I didn’t think about all the crap he had put me through.  All I thought was, “oh no, I can’t let my husband die!”  It was really stupid of me. 

The fool had been cheating on me with a siren.  Not only that, but the siren was only using him and he never suspected a thing!  The creature put him through many trials.  First off, there was this boar.  Then there was this evil deer thing.  I mean, really, having an evil deer as one of your great trials?  Come on, that’s pathetic.  There was even this great fire that almost killed him.  Not only that, but his own horses almost trampled him to death as well.  If it wasn’t for my dumb butt saving him and all his men, he would have been dead meat.  To make matters worse, I received extreme burns while saving him from the fire.  Did I get even a small thanks?  No!  Instead, he told me that I was hideous and he told me to stay hidden away until my burns healed and my scorched hair grew back.  Screw him. 

Somehow, he got the Goddess of Love and Mercy to help him on his journeys too.  I’ll never understand that one.  The man didn’t know the first thing about love.  Soon, he realized the siren had fooled him.  As soon as he figured it out, he just had to go and confront her.  The creature wrapped him up and almost drowned him.  She refused to give him up.  It was only through my devotion to him that he was saved.  I helped him and then got attacked by some dragon.  That definitely was not my day. 

After my husband woke up, he defeated the dragon.  Thankfully, things eventually settled down.  I thought, finally, that maybe things could get back on track and we could repair our relationship.  Nope.  He just had to go on one last adventure, then he swore that we would live in peace.  I should have known better.  I mean, history doesn’t lie.  So he went on his “final” adventure.  Turns out he was going to fight the siren’s dad.  Not only was it the dragon he thought he defeated, but he was the God of the Sea!  What a stupid idea it was to take on that type of creature!  The dragon almost killed him.  He would have died for sure if I hadn’t jumped in the water and sacrificed myself instead.  I was such an idiot.

Author’s note:  The story I focused on was the tale of Yamato.  While reading it, I was really irritated with how terrible Yamato was to his wife and how often she had to save him.  Despite that, he got all the glory and she was still crazy devoted to him.  I wanted to write my story about her realizing how terrible he actually was.  I made sure to include all the main points and adventures that Yamato goes through, because I think it was an important part of the story.  .

Romance of Old Japan, Part I: Mythology and Legend by E. W. Champney and F. Champney (1917).

Storytelling: Dead Men Tell No Tales (Week 5)

Veta hanging in a tree by Harshad Dhavale.

I had barely been here more than a day or two before my body was disturbed.  As a spirit, I couldn’t physically feel it anymore, I could sense it.  I looked down from the heavens and watched as a man dressed in fine, ornate clothing struggled to climb back down the tree he was perched in.  Beneath the branches of the tree laid my body.  It was as crumpled as a pile of old laundry!  He must have just cut me down!  It was nearly shameful.

To add insult to injury, he threw me over his shoulder like it was nothing! Even worse than the man was the little goblin that decided to inhabit my body!  Didn’t he know that that belonged to someone?  Couldn’t they have just buried me like any respectable person would have?  Instead, they went on something of a journey.  The goblin talked incessantly.  How ridiculous.  It was rather strange watching the body that you identified as your own talking of its own accord.  Not only that, but he spoke only riddles!  At the end of each story, he would ask the man if he knew the correct answer.  The man seemed confident that he did know the answer several times.  He must have been wrong though, because each time he answered, the goblin would laugh and disappear back to the tree.  The finely dressed man would only shake his head and return to the tree.  He did this time and time again.

Watching the exchange became something of a game for me.  Each time I would guess how far the determined man would get before the goblin used his magic to return my body to its original position in the tree.  Each time the man would answer one of the goblins questions, poof!  I would be right back where I started, with the goblin still using me.  It was dreadful, but I had no choice but to become desensitized to it.  After all, there wasn’t much I could do about it from my place in the heavens. 

I couldn’t decide whether the man for determined or stupid.  Either way, he returned to the tree to cut me down and started back on his way.  I expected this to continue in an endless loop for the rest of eternity, but the goblin surprised me.  He told the man of some sort of monk.  This monk supposedly had planned on using the good, determined man as some sort of sacrifice and planned to become a ruler of some kind.  Not only that, but the goblin had used his magic and his riddles to delay the man (who actually was a king!) from returning to the monk and being killed.  Who knew that goblins had some good in them?  Then the goblin gave the king instructions on how to vanquish the wicked monk.  It was all very convoluted, especially for my tastes.

Finally though, the goblin left me then.  The king continued to carry me until we reached the monk’s lair.  I thought that the king would destroy the monk quickly, but that was not the case.  Instead, he allowed the monk to desecrate my body!  It was quite disrespectful, not to mention extremely perturbing!  Before I could truly process what had happened, the king had outsmarted the wicked monk and was being praised by all, including the stupid goblin!  Whatever, at least someone got something good out of the whole ordeal.  I supposed it didn’t matter too much.  After all, I was already dead.  I just wish the stupid goblin would have told the answers to a few of those riddles…

Bibliographic Information:

Twenty-Two Goblins, translated by Arthur W. Ryder, with illustrations by Perham W. Nahl (1917).

Author's Note: For my story, I used the tale of the Twenty-Two Goblins.  In the original, the reader sees more from the point of view of the king.  It also includes a lot more about the goblin and the monk.  Vishnu is also mentioned, though not as often as the others.  Each riddle is it's own section of the reading.  In my retelling, I chose to gloss over a lot of that and focus on the frame story or the main story.   I did this because I wanted to preserve the essence of the story.  I tweaked the story by creating a new character, the spirit of the man whose body the king has to bring to the monk.  When I first started writing, it seemed a little too heavy, so I tried to write it in a way that wasn't so dark.  In the end, I tried to use a little bit of humor and exaggeration to accomplish that.

Storytelling: Brotherly Love (Week 4)

The Apis bull, photographed by Michael Holford

Ben watched the cattle grazing on the hill.  Most of the herd were cows, but there were a few horses and an ox.  The ox was his favorite.  It lounged lazily under the shade of the ancient sycamore tree.  Ben loved to watch the animals roam throughout the pasture.  There was nothing more peaceful.  Occasionally he wished that he owned the land himself, but he was honestly content working the land for his brother.  He even helped him with his work from time to time.  In fact, Ben was waiting for his brother to meet him at that moment.

He was standing against one of the fence posts when his brother walked up to him.  Andrew carried a post hole digger in one hand and a plastic bag in the other.

“Hey, bro.  Ready to rebuild some fence?”  He walked over and set the digger down on the ground.  “I brought some sandwiches.  Sally made ‘em.”

Andrew untied the plastic bag and dug around until he found one of the sandwiches. 

“Hey, will you run back to the house for me?  I forgot the water bottles.”

“Yeah, sure.”  Ben pulled off his gloves and dusted off his pants.  The house wasn’t too far, just over the hill a ways.  He walked in the door of his brother’s house not ten minutes later.  His sister-in-law sat at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cherries and reading a magazine.  When she heard him enter the room, she smiled.

“Did you get the sandwich I made you?  Egg salad is your favorite, right?”

“Oh, yeah, it is.  Thanks!”  He turned his attention to the refrigerator and opened it.  He grabbed a couple of bottles from one of the shelves and closed the door.

“Will you stay with me for a little while?”  Ben looked toward her from his place by the door.  She had a pouty look on her face and her shoulders slumped a bit.

“Are you okay?  I’ve gotta head back and fix the fence soon.”

Sally stood and walked slowly toward him, looking more feline than feminine.  She walked toward him until he was stuck between herself and the wall.  When she reached him, she reached out with her hand and touched his face. 

“Sal, what are you doing…?”

She kept leaning closer and closer until Ben finally had to grab her and hold her away from him.  It was then that Andrew walked in the house with the intention of finding out why his brother had not returned.  When he walked in, what he saw stopped him cold.  Sally was the first to react. 

“Andrew!  Make him let me go!  He’s hurting me!” 

Ben hands let go almost instantaneously.  Before he could tell his brother what really happened, he came at him swinging.  Ben tried to back away and tried to explain the truth, but his brother could not be reasoned with.  He was forced to run.  Andrew chased him all the way to the creek.  Ben was only able to escape by crossing the water and praying that his brother still had his fear of water.  Once on the other side of the water, his brother yelled curses at him.  Ben sat down on the bank of the creek and prayed.  That night, he walked to the neighbor’s house and slept there. 

Not long after Ben had crossed the creek, Andrew had returned home.  He wanted to believe that everything that had happened was not true, but he wasn’t sure what to believe.  He slept on the couch that night and dreamt.  His dreams were filled with memories of his brother.  He had several of them, but the last one was the most important.  In the dream, Andrew sat on the couch and watched the exchange between his brother and his wife.  He woke up sweating.  Though he had been confused when he had fallen asleep, nothing seemed clearer than his brother’s love and loyalty. 

It took him a few days to find his brother.  When he found him at the neighbor’s house, he begged for his forgiveness.  Ben looked at his older brother with the biggest smile and just nodded.  

Author's Note:

I chose to write about the tale of the two brother's because it really stuck out to me when I was reading about it.  I tweaked the story a little bit so that it was a modern retelling.  I did this because it is something that I could easily see played out today.  In fact, I'm sure that there a tons of pop cultures references to this kind of thing.  

Bibliographical Info:

The Two Brothers from Egyptian Myth and Legend by Donald Mackenzie (1907).

Storytelling: World Aflame (Week 3)

Phaethon by Hendrick Goltzius

Gods and goddesses should never swear by the River Styx.  Never.  Especially when they don’t know exactly what they are promising.  One might be curious as to why I feel so strongly about this.  I shall tell you.  In all truthfulness, I had never given much thought toward the doings of the gods.  They were on Olympus.  They had their duties and lives, and I had mine.  I liked it that way and the gods didn’t seem to mind either.  Unfortunately, I was fated to bear witness to an extraordinary happening.

It is widely known that the gods and goddess are not often largely involved in the lives of their offspring, not in the way mortals are.  Some gods, however, do carry affection for their children and do try to show it in whatever manner they may.  Phoebus Apollo is one such god.  Clymene, the oceanid, bore him a son whose name was Phaethon.  When Phaethon’s parentage was questioned, he set out on a quest to prove his birth.  Upon his entrance to the palace of the Sun, his father knew him right away.  Though Apollo had been absent from his son’s life, he had great love for the boy.  He promised him riches and great fortunes, the likes of which only a god could give.  He promised the boy anything he desired, if it was within his power.  He swore it all by the River Styx. 

The child, foolish in his youth, asked to drive his father’s chariot.  Immediately, the father begged his son to take back his request, to ask for something else, to ask for anything else.  Unfortunately, the son would not rescind his request and the father, as a god of Olympus, was bound to his oath. 

So Apollo tutored Phaethon in the ways of the chariot.  He try to teach him the tamest paths and the surest ways to calm the fiery horses.  He even gifted to him an ointment to protect him from the flames and heat.  Despite Apollo’s instructions, Phaethon was not prepared for the task he had requested.  Even the path his father had pointed out was dangerous.  Phaethon lasted longer than anyone other than Apollo would have.  Eventually, fear struck him and he let go of the reins.  Phaethon had fallen out of the sky. 

The aftermath is what I bore witness to.  The heavens and the earth were both ablaze.  Thank Jupiter my dwelling was far enough from the smoke and flames.  Entire cities and peoples were wiped away with the fire.  The sky was bright.  Brighter, redder, angrier than ever before.  Never more brilliant and never more deadly.  The earth turned black with soot and ash.  Soon, once the horses found their way back, the sky turned black too. 

So great was Apollo’s anguish for his son that he did not return to the sky for some days.  The mortals who managed to escape the flames were subjected to an extended period of darkness, the lengths of which none had known before.  It was fate alone that allowed me to survive the dangerous ordeal.  Soon though, somehow, the sun rose again.

Author's note:

I chose to retell to story of Phaethon through the eyes of someone who witnessed the event but was somewhat removed from it.  I thought about making it from the point of view of Apollo, but I felt like he would have been too close to the story for what I wanted to do.  One of the main reasons that I chose to do it this way is because I was genuinely surprised when I was reading the original.  Apollo seemed to care so much more than some of the other gods that I have read about.  I wanted to capture that.  I hope that using a narrator who wasn't particularly fond of Apollo or Phaethon would help display how good intentions don't always work out that way.  I didn't change much.  I added the narrator, but I kept the rest of the story the same.  The only part of the story that I didn’t go into much detail with is the part about Phaethon’s origins and his time before he went to meet his father.  From the point of view that I was using, it seemed like the narrator wouldn’t have cared so much about his beginnings as he would have cared about the wreckage.

Word: 517

Bibliography:
Ovid's Metamorphoses translated by Tony Kline in 2000.  UnTextbook
Stories;
Phaethon and the Sun
Phaethon's Ride
The Death of Phaeton

Storytelling: God's New Creation (Week 2)

Lucifer Versus the Lord by Mihály Zichy, Source

Adam.  God’s little pet.  His favorite.  I’ve been around for far longer than he! Yet, somehow, he gets God’s blessing.  I, who was by God’s side for so, so long, had been cast aside instead.  The injustice of it all is really quite baffling.  The other angels agreed with me.  Or at least some of them did.  Of course, the cowards weren’t willing to stand with me when the time came to confront the Big Man, so I was the one infamously punished.  I wasn’t even one of the ones who tried to set Adam on fire! The only real thing I was guilty of is question my Creator’s judgment.

All the angels talked of Adam, God’s new creation, as if he was were the most magnificent thing to grace the heavens since God himself.  At first, I didn’t mind it.  Adam was new and shiny; of course he would draw attention.  Soon, though, the shininess faded.  The angels quieted themselves and things were calm for a short while.  Despite early indications of God’s favor, we all acted as if there wasn’t an imbalance.  Unfortunately, the favoritism soon became blindingly clear.  Some of the angels wept, for they had been replaced in God’s highest graces.  Others turned a blind eye.  Others yet were angry, rightfully so.  I was one such angel.  As the morning star, I felt it my duty to stand for the other angels, to represent them in this injustice.  A creature that He had created from the dust of the earth was more glorious than I?  Than the other angels?  Preposterous!

I took my complaint before my Father.  I begged him to see the error of his ways, to see that angels were really superior to this one man.  I asked him for a test, something that would prove how mighty I was in comparison to Adam.  My Father assented.  The test, however, was absurd.  God had recently created animals, but had yet to name them.  Our trial was to name the animals.  It was deceivingly simple.

The animals had yet to be named.  How could there be a wrong answer?  Somehow, there was though.  My answer was the wrong answer.  Ox!  Cow!  Camel!  Donkey!  What sort of names were those?  Adam shot the names off like rapid-fire.  It sounded like he just said the first bit of gibberish that came to his mind.  Wherever he pulled the names from, God seemed to be content with them.  He declared Adam victorious.  I was livid.  How could this happen?  There was no other explanation other than God’s unbalanced favor.  Immediately, I told my brethren of the offence.  Many rallied around me.

Michael was one of those who opposed me.  He was always one for the rules.  He begged me to praise Adam, like God desired.  He also warned me against my disobedience.  Neither he, nor anyone else could stop me.  I had proven myself time and time again.  I deserved a place among the stars; I deserved a throne.

Soon, God received word of my rebellion.  He anger was immeasurable, but I expected it.  I expected to feel his wrath, and I thought was prepared for it.  I wasn’t prepared to lose my wings.  I wasn’t prepared to lose heaven and earth.

I was fallen.  But I would have my revenge on Adam.  If I had to be cast from Paradise, he would too.

Author's note

For the reading I decided to do the unit over Adam and Eve. Part of the unit was from the Bible and part was from other sources.  The section I focused on mainly in the story above wasn't from the Bible but from another source.  I chose to write about the fall of Satan because it was a story that so many people know about and it's one that I have always been curious about.  I specifically chose to right it from his point of view because I thought it would provide an interesting twist.  

The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909): Volume 1

Source: UnTextbook

Storytelling: the Fat Man from Bombay (Week 1)

  When he was a young man, Edgar had lived in England.  Through very little hard work and a very lot of luck, he had amassed a small wealth during his youth.  Unfortunately, a small wealth only lasts a short time with poor planning.  Down on his luck, Edgar took what little of his wealth remained and transferred it, and himself, to Bombay.  The transition had been more than jarring at first.  Though many people spoke English, they had thick accents.  Lazy as he was, Edgar could hardly be bothered to decipher what they were saying.  Eventually, however, he learned that a small wealth could go a long way here.  He got himself an Indian home and an Indian wife and grew fat on rice, curries, and chicken.

  Now, at the age of sixty, the only thing he enjoyed more than a good meal was a good smoke.  He had taken to sitting out on his back patio early in the mornings, with no one but the birds in the trees and himself, and smoking quietly from his pipe.  Some mornings, his wife would come out and yell at him for it.  Other mornings, she would leave him in peace and do her own morning routine.  This morning though, he had not seen her since he had climbed out of bed.  He was thankful for this.  She was always yelling at him to lose weight, to stop smoking, to do something.  To him, the sun shined a little bit brighter with her absence from his morning.  Usually, he threw pebbles at the birds when they started chirping, but this morning he took pleasure in their song.  He sat outside for an hour before his wife came to find him. 

  “There you are!  Are you smoking again?”  She walked over to him and tried to take the pipe from his round hands.  Edgar glared at her for ruining his good morning and pulled back harder on the pipe.  Like tug-o-war, the two fought with the pipe.  Edgar, smiling and thinking he was going to win, gave one last large tug on the pipe.  The pipe, however, flew from his hands and out onto the grass.  The couple looked at each other with their lips pulled tight.  Edgar knew that his wife would yell if he went to retrieve the pipe, but he did so anyway.  Before he could, however, two snipes flew down from the tree and hopped around the pipe curiously. 

  "Shoo!” he yelled at them.  One bird flew off immediately.  The other, however, looked at him curiously. 

  “Shoo, I said!” he yelled again.  The remaining snipe flapped its wings anxiously, snatched the pipe in its beak, and dashed away. 

  Edgar looked at the place his pipe had been and then looked at the bird in the distance.  His wife, who was standing behind him now, cackled with joy. 

  “Even nature agrees with me!  I told you that was for the birds!”

  Edgar puffed out his chest and pushed past his wife as he entered the house. 

Illustration of the Fat Man of Bombay
Source: NonsenseLit

Author's Note:

Rhyme:

There was a fat man of Bombay

Who was smoking one sunshiny day,

When a bird, called a snipe,

Flew away with his pipe,

Which vexed the fat man of Bombay.

Reading through the nursery rhymes, I knew immediately that I wanted to choose a story that I could have fun with.  As soon as I read the nursery rhyme, I instantly pictured a grumpy, lazy man who complained a lot about a place that has been good to him.  I figured that by adding a character that he found to be a nag, it would really play up the grumpiness.  I also wanted him to come off as petulant for no real reason.  I didn't want this to be a story about a jolly old man who gets something taken from him.  Instead, I aimed at making this a story about getting what is coming to you, without it being some big event.  I think one of the best things about using a nursery rhyme as a prompt for a story is that it allows for a lot of wiggle room when it comes to actually writing a story.  Another good thing about nursery rhymes, and this one is particular, is that it could be interpreted in so many different ways.

Book: The Nursery Rhyme Book

Author:Unknown

Year:1897

Source: Project Gutenberg