Author Archives: Kian Mirnezam

Mary and Mr. Fox

Once upon a time there was a young lady called Mary, who had two brothers. One summer they all three went to a neighborhood in the country which they had not before visited. Among the other residents of the neighborhood who came to see them was  Mr. Fox, a bachelor, with whom they, particularly the young lady, were pleased to see. He often dined with them, and frequently invited Lady Mary to come and see his house. One day that her brothers were absent elsewhere, and she had nothing better to do, she determined to go see him, and accordingly set out unattended. When she arrived at the house and knocked at the door, no one answered.

At length she opened it and went in; over the portal of the door was written–

“Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.”

She advanced; over the staircase was the same inscription. She went up; over the entrance of a gallery, the same again. Still she went on, and over the door of a chamber found written–

“Be bold, be bold, but not too bold,

Lest that your heart’s blood should run cold!”

She opened it; it was full of skeletons and tubs of blood. She ran in horror, and, coming downstairs, saw from a window Mr. Fox advancing towards the house with a drawn sword in one hand, while with the other be dragged along a young lady by her hair. Lady Mary had just time to slip down and hide herself under the stairs before Mr. Fox and his victim arrived at the foot of them. As he pulled the young lady upstairs, she caught hold of one of the banisters with her hand Mr. Fox cut it off with his sword. The handt fell into Lady Mary’s lap, who then contrived to escape unobserved, and got safe home to her brothers’ house.

A few days afterwards Mr. Fox came to dine with them as usual. After dinner the guests began to amuse each other with extraordinary anecdotes, and Lady Mary said she would relate to them a remarkable dream she had lately had. I dreamt, said she, that as you, Mr. Fox, had often invited me to your house, I would go there one morning. When I came to the house I knocked at the door, but no one answered. When I opened the door, over the hail I saw written, “Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.” But, said she, turning to Mr. Fox, and smiling, “It is not so, nor it was not so.” Then she pursued the rest of the story, concluding at every turn with, “It is not so, nor it was not so,” till she came to the room full of skeletons, when Mr. Fox took up the burden of the tale, and said “It is not so, nor it was not so, And God forbid it should be so!”–

which he continued to repeat at every subsequent turn of the dreadful story, till she came to the circumstance of his cutting off the young lady’s hand, when, upon his saying, as usual–

“It is not so, nor it was not so, And God forbid it should be”,

And  so Lady Mary retorts by saying “But it is so, and it was so, and here the hand I have to show!” at the same moment producing the severed hand whereupon the guests drew their swords, and instantly leapt at Mr. Fox and without hesitation took him down instantly. This is more of a straight-forward tale of horror and suspense that I find interesting as a kind of spooky nursery rhyme told to children in the Lake District of England.

 

Mother, Daughter and the Pies

Once upon a time there were a woman who baked five pies. And when they come out of the oven, they was that overbaked the crust were too hard to eat. So she says to her daughter:

“Put them pies on the shelf, and leave ’em there a little, and they’ll get come again and get soft”.

But the daughter, said to herself: “Well, if they’ll come again, I’ll eat ’em now.” And she set to work and ate them all.

Come supper-time, the woman she said: “Get one of them pies. They’ve come again now.”

The daughter she went and she looked, and there warn’t nothing’ but the dishes of the pie she had ate. So back she come and says she: “No, they haven’t come again.”

“Not none of ’em?” says the woman.

“Not none of ’em,” says daughter.

“Well, come again, or not come again,” says the woman, “I’ll ha’ one for supper.”

“But you can’t, if they ain’t come,” says the gal.

“But I can,” says she. “Go back, and bring the best of what we got.”

“Best or worst,” says the gal, “I’ve ate ’em all, and you can’t ha’ one till that’s come agin.”

Well, the woman she were wholly bate, and she took her spinning’ to the door to spin, and as she span she sang: “My daughter ate five pies to-day. My daughter ate five pies to-day.”

The mayor of the village was coming down the street and he hard her sing, but what she sang he couldn’t hear, so he stopped and said:

“What were you singing ma’am?”

The woman she were ashamed to let him hare what her daughter had been doing’, so she sang: “My darter ha’ spun five, five skeins to-day. My darter ha’ spun five, five skeins to-day.” The lesson taught by this story is essentially not to set up others you care about at the expense of a joke and the importance of putting more significant things like familial bonds over proving a point regarding someone’s wrongdoings.

 

The Wife of Wild Edric

The legendary hunter Wild Edric was returning from hunting in the forest he lost his way, and wandered about till nightfall, alone. At last he saw the lights of a very large house in the distance and when he had reached it, he beheld within a large company of noble ladies dancing. They were exceedingly beautiful, taller and larger than women of the human race, and dressed in linen garments. They circled round with smooth and easy motion, singing a soft song of which the hunter could not understand the words. Among them was one maiden who surpassed all the others in beauty; it was love at first sight Forgetting the fears of enchantment, which at the first moment had seized him, he hurried round the house, seeking an entrance, and having found it, he rushed in, and snatched the maiden who was the object of his passion from her place in the moving circle. The dancers attacked him with teeth and nails, but he escaped at length from their hands, and succeeded in carrying off his captive. For three whole days not his strongest persuasions could prevail on her to utter a single word, but on the fourth day she suddenly broke the silence. “Good luck to you, my dear!” said she, “and you will be lucky too, and enjoy health and peace and plenty, as long as you do not reproach me on account of my sisters, or the place from which you snatched me away, or anything connected with it. For on the day when you do so you will lose both your bride and your good fortune; and when I am taken away from you, you will pine away quickly to an early death.”

He pledged himself by all that was most sacred to be faithful in his love for her, and they were solemnly wed in the presence of all the nobles in the land,. At that time William the Norman was newly made king of England, desired both to see the lady, and to test the truth of the tale; and bade the newly-married pair to London, where he was holding his Court. But the marvellous beauty of the lady was the best of all proofs of her superhuman origin. And the king let them return in peace, wondering greatly.

Many years passed happily by, till one evening Edric returned late from hunting, and could not find his wife. He searched far and wide for her with no luck. At last she appeared.  The rest of his upbraiding was addressed to the air, for the moment her sisters were mentioned she vanished. Edric’s grief was overwhelming. He sought the place where he had found her at first, but no tears, no laments of his could call her back. He cried out day and night against his own folly, and pined away and died of sorrow, as his wife had long before foretold. This tale manages to be an insightful look into avarice and how it plays a key role in our desire for wanting things in the now instead of waiting for the long run and how that can affect our lives negatively.

The Cavaliers

A saying that one cannot make black white or white black.  Once upon a time there was a little old woman who lived all alone with her little black son. The little old woman had not always lived alone with the little black boy. She had once been the mother of three beautiful daughters, the very loveliest maidens in all the whole country. They were so handsome that they attracted the attention of the wicked fairy who lived in an enchanted castle nearby, and this fairy had been very jealous of them. By the aid of magic she tied them up in sacks which could be opened only by burning the sacks over a fire built from magic wood. The little old woman and her black son searched long for magic wood, but they were never able to find any.

The old woman had grown weak in her search to find the magic wood. If it had not been for the black boy she would have given up entirely. The little black boy was always optimistic and always sure that someday they would succeed in finding the magic wood.

One day the little old woman took her big water jar upon her head and carried it down to the stream to fill. It was so very heavy when she had filled it with water that she could not lift it to her head even with the help of the little black boy. Three fine looking cavaliers happened to be passing on horseback. She sent the little black boy to ask them if they would help her. They said they couldn’t possibly stop. The little old woman was very angry. She did not know that they were on their way to the magic castle and didn’t have a choice to stop. The same wicked fairy was leading them on.

If the little old woman had known all about the cavaliers she would not have been angry. She would have wanted to help them instead. They very good and very wise, so they managed to get along very well. As soon as they reached the enchanted castle the fairy showed them to their beds. She had marked each bed with a candle. No one before had ever been wise enough to blow out these candles, but they blew out the candles and that took away the fairy’s power over them. They were able to escape from the palace. When the wicked fairy came to put them in her magic sacks she found the beds empty.

The three cavaliers took their horses and rode back by the same road by which they had come. They stopped at a little shop on a corner which was kept by a good fairy and bought some ashes, pins and salt.

The cavaliers returned to the house of the old woman and the black boy. The woman was still angry because they had refused to stop and help her lift her water jar to her head. When she saw them coming she threw stones at them.

The cavaliers were greatly surprised as they had forgotten all about the little woman and boy whom he had asked them to help. When they saw her coming with the stones they thought that she must be a wicked fairy.

One of the cavaliers threw his ashes at her. It became night. The little old woman came on with her stones just as usual.

Another cavalierthrew the salt at her. Immediately a sea of salt water appeared between the three and the old woman. The woman came on with her stones just as usual

The final cavalier threw pins at the old lady. Immediately a high, thorny hedge sprang out of the ground between the little old woman and the three cavaliers.

The little old woman was too angry to think clearly. If she had not been so angry she would have known at once that this must be magic wood. The little black boy, however, had his wits about him. He gathered the branches even though the thorns tore his hands. Soon he had brought together a great pile of wood like the piles which they make in the streets to burn.

The little old woman saw what he was doing and ran to get the magic sacks in which her daughters were imprisoned. They laid the sacks on top of the pile of magic wood and lighted the fire. Out of the three magic sacks there sprang three beautiful maidens who had been preserved alive in the sacks by a miracle.

The little old woman and her three beautiful daughters turned to thank the little black boy for what he had done. The little black boy was no longer black. He had been turned white.

The three cavaliers married the three beautiful maidens and the little boy who was now white, grew up to be the greatest cavalier of them all.

Obviously, while this story is meant to have a positive message regarding purification of the soul, it is definitely an outdated tale in the way that it continues to reinforce rather gross and incompetent racial stereotypes. However, it is also a fascinating insight into the inner workings of Brazilian racial attitudes in the country’s older historical culture.

 

The Monkey’s Fruit

Once upon a time there was a beautiful garden in which grew all sorts of fruits. Many animals lived in the garden and they were allowed to eat any of the fruits whenever they wished. But they were asked to obey one rule. They must bow to the fruit tree, call it by its name, and say, “Please give me a taste of your fruit.” They had to be very careful to remember the tree’s correct name and not to forget to say “please.” It was also very important that they should remember not to be greedy. They must always leave plenty of fruit for the other beasts who might pass that way, and plenty to adorn the tree itself and to furnish seed so that other trees might grow. In one corner of the garden grew the greatest tree of all. It was tall and beautiful and the rosy-cheeked fruit upon its wide spreading branches looked wonderfully tempting. No beast had ever tasted of that fruit, for no beast could ever remember its name.

In a tiny house near the edge of the garden lived a little old woman who knew the names of all the fruit trees which grew in the garden. The beasts often went to her and asked the name of the wonderful fruit tree, but the tree was so far distant from the tiny house of the little old woman that no beast could ever remember the long, hard name by the time he reached the fruit tree.

At last the monkey thought of a trick. Perhaps you do not know it, but the monkey can play the guitar. He always played when the beasts gathered together in the garden to dance. The monkey went to the tiny house of the little old woman, carrying his guitar under his arm. When she told him the long hard name of the wonderful fruit tree he made up a little tune to it, all his own, and sang it over and over again all the way from the tiny house of the little old woman to the corner of the garden where the wonderful fruit tree grew. When any of the other beasts met him and asked him what new song he was singing to his guitar, he said never a word.

At last he reached the corner of the garden where the wonderful fruit tree grew. He had never seen it look so beautiful. The monkey could hardly wait to make his bow, say the long hard name over twice and ask for the fruit with a “please.” What a beautiful color and what a delicious odor that fruit had! The monkey had never in all his life been so near to anything which smelled so good. He took a big bite. That beautiful sweet smelling fruit was bitter and sour, and it had a nasty taste. He threw it away from him as far as he could.

The monkey never forgot the tree’s long hard name and the little tune he had sung. Nor did he forget how the fruit tasted. He never took a bite of it again; but, after that, his favorite trick was to treat the other beasts to the wonderful fruit just to see them make faces when they tasted it. And despite the lighthearted situation, the moral of the story is not to judge things simply based on their “cover” or aesthetic, but rather on actual quality of the situation at hand.