Once
upon a time an old man, a widower, lived alone in a hut with his daughter
Natasha. Very merry the two of them were together, and they used to smile at
each other over a table piled with bread and jam, and play peek-a-boo, first
this side of the samovar, and then that. Everything went well, until the old man
took it into his head to marry again.
So the little girl gained a stepmother. After that
everything changed. No more bread and jam on the table, no more playing
peek-a-boo around the samovar as the girl sat with her father at tea. It was
even worse than that, because she was never allowed to sit at tea at all
anymore. The stepmother said that little girls shouldn't have tea, much less eat
bread with jam. She would throw the girl a crust of bread and tell her to get
out of the hut and go find someplace to eat it. Then the stepmother would sit
with her husband and tell him that everything that went wrong was the girl's
fault. And the old man believed his new wife.
So poor Natasha would go by herself into the shed
in the yard, wet the dry crust with her tears, and eat it all by herself.
Then she would hear the stepmother yelling at her
to come in and wash up the tea things, and tidy the house, and brush the floor,
and clean everybody's muddy boots.
One day the stepmother decided she could not bear
the sight of Natasha one minute longer. But how could she get rid of her for
good? Then she remembered her sister, the terrible witch Baba Yaga, the
bony-legged one, who lived in the forest. And a wicked plan began to form in her
head.
The very next morning, the old man went off to pay
a visit to some friends of his in the next village. As soon as the old man was
out of sight the wicked stepmother called for Natasha.
"You are to go today to my sister, your dear
little aunt, who lives in the forest," said she, "and ask her for a
needle and thread to mend a shirt."
"But here is a needle and thread," said
Natasha, trembling, for she knew that her aunt was Baba Yaga, the witch, and
that any child who came near her was never seen again.
"Hold your tongue," snapped the
stepmother, and she gnashed her teeth, which made a noise like clattering tongs.
"Didn't I tell you that you are to go to your dear little aunt in the
forest to ask for a needle and thread to mend a shirt?"
"Well, then," said Natasha, trembling,
"how shall I find her?" She had heard that Baba Yaga chased her
victims through the air in a giant mortar and pestle, and that she had iron
teeth with which she ate children.
The stepmother took hold of the little girl's nose
and pinched it.
"That is your nose," she said. "Can
you feel it?"
"Yes," whispered the poor girl.
"You must go along the road into the forest
till you come to a fallen tree," said the stepmother. "Then you must
turn to your left. Walk between the two giant boulders, then follow your nose
and you will find your auntie. Now off with you, lazy one!" She shoved a
kerchief in the girl's hand, into which she had packed a few morsels of stale
bread and cheese and some scraps of meat.
Natasha looked back. There stood the stepmother at
the door with her arms crossed, glaring at her. So she could do nothing but to
go straight on.
She walked along the road through the forest till
she came to the fallen tree. Then she turned to the left. Soon she came to two
boulders so big it took her two minutes to pass between them. As she emerged
from the narrow passage she found a young girl gathering blackberries. Her left
arm was scratched and bleeding from the thorny bush. Natasha noticed how the
girl would push the arm into the bush, pick a berry then walk back and put it in
her basket on the floor. All the while the girl worked with one hand and sucked
her other thumb.
“You know,” said Natasha “if you used two
hands you could hold the brambles back to stop them scratching you. Then you
wouldn’t get all that blood on your pretty dress.”
“I know” mumbled the girl. “I wish I
didn’t suck my thumb but I just can’t stop. Everyone tells me to stop but I
just can’t. So I do everything one handed.”
“How inconvenient that must be” agreed
Natasha. But let’s get one thing straight. That is your thumb, isn’t it?
“Yes. Of course,” said the girl.
“And that mouth is your mouth, and those teeth
are your teeth? Well, I can’t tell you what to do. But you can tell them. One
day you’ll need to use both your hands, and I bet you just tell your thumb
‘stay out of my mouth.’ And that will be that. You’ll see. It will happen
one day. After all, did you ever see a grown up who still sucks their thumb?”
The little girl thought a while before agreeing
that she couldn’t think of a single person aged eight or more who sucked their
thumb.
Natasha said goodbye and moved on through the
forest. Her nose was still hurting where the stepmother had pinched it, so she
knew she had to go on straight ahead.
Finally she came to the hut of Baba Yaga, the
bony-legged one, the witch. Around the hut was a high fence. When she pushed the
gates open they squeaked miserably, as if it hurt them to move. Natasha noticed
a rusty oil can on the ground.
"How lucky," she said, noticing that
there was some oil left in the can. And she poured the remaining drops of oil
into the hinges of the gates.
Inside the gates was Baba Yaga's hut. It wasn't
like any other hut she had ever seen, for it stood on giant hen’s legs and
walked about the yard. As Natasha approached, the house turned around to face
her and it seemed that its front windows were eyes and its front door a mouth. A
servant of Baba Yaga's was standing in the yard. She was crying bitterly because
of the tasks Baba Yaga had set her to do, and was wiping her eyes on her
petticoat.
"How lucky," said Natasha, "that I
have a handkerchief." She untied her kerchief, shook it clean, and
carefully put the morsels of food in her pockets. She gave the handkerchief to
Baba Yaga's servant, who wiped her eyes on it and smiled through her tears.
By the hut was a huge dog, very thin, gnawing an
old bone.
"How lucky," said the little girl,
"that I have some bread and meat." Reaching into her pocket for her
scraps of bread and meat, Natasha said to the dog, "I'm afraid it's rather
stale, but it's better than nothing, I'm sure." And the dog gobbled it up
at once and licked his lips.
Natasha reached the door to the hut. Trembling,
she tapped on the door.
"Come in," squeaked the wicked voice of
Baba Yaga.
The little girl stepped in. There sat Baba Yaga,
the bony-legged one, the witch, sitting weaving at a loom. In a corner of the
hut was a thin black cat watching a mouse-hole.
"Good day to you, auntie," said Natasha,
trying to sound not at all afraid.
"Good day to you, niece," said Baba
Yaga.
"My stepmother has sent me to you to ask for
a needle and thread to mend a shirt."
"Has she now?" smiled Baba Yaga,
flashing her iron teeth, for she knew how much her sister hated her
stepdaughter. "You sit down here at the loom, and go on with my weaving,
while I go and fetch you the needle and thread."
The little girl sat down at the loom and began to
weave.
Baba Yaga whispered to her servant, "Listen
to me! Make the bath very hot and scrub my niece. Scrub her clean. I'll make a
dainty meal of her, I will."
The servant came in for the jug to gather the
bathwater. Natasha said, "I beg you, please be not too quick in making the
fire, and please carry the water for the bath in a sieve with holes, so that the
water will run through." The servant said nothing. But indeed, she took a
very long time about getting the bath ready.
Baba Yaga came to the window and said in her
sweetest voice, "Are you weaving, little niece? Are you weaving, my
pretty?"
"I am weaving, auntie," said Natasha.
When Baba Yaga went away from the window, the
little girl spoke to the thin black cat who was watching the mousehole.
"What are you doing?"
"Watching for a mouse," said the thin
black cat. "I haven't had any dinner in three days."
"How lucky," said Natasha, "that I
have some cheese left!" And she gave her cheese to the thin black cat, who
gobbled it up. Said the cat, "Little girl, do you want to get out of
here?"
"Oh, Catkin dear," said Natasha,
"how I want to get out of here! For I fear that Baba Yaga will try to eat
me with her iron teeth."
"That is exactly what she intends to
do," said the cat. "But I know how to help you."
Just then Baba Yaga came to the window.
"Are you weaving, little niece?" she
asked. "Are you weaving, my pretty?"
"I am weaving, auntie," said Natasha,
working away, while the loom went clickety clack, clickety clack.
Baba Yaga went out again.
Whispered the thin black cat to Natasha: "On
the stool there is a towel I brought for your bath. You must take it, and run
away while Baba Yaga is still in the bath-house. Baba Yaga will chase after you.
When she does, you must throw the towel behind you, and it will turn into a big,
wide, enchanted river. It will take her a little time to get over that, and you
should be able to complete your escape"
"But she'll hear the loom stop," said
Natasha, "and she'll know I have gone."
"Don't worry, I'll take care of that,"
said the thin black cat.
The cat took Natasha's place at the loom.
Clickety clack, clickety clack; the loom never
stopped for a moment.
Natasha looked to see that Baba Yaga was still in
the bath-house, and then she jumped out of the hut.
The big dog leapt up to tear her to pieces. Just
as he was going to spring on her he saw who she was.
"Why, this is the little girl who gave me the
bread and meat," said the dog. "A good journey to you, little
girl," and he lay down with his head between his paws. She petted his head
and scratched his ears.
When she came to the gates they opened quietly,
quietly, without making any noise at all, because of the oil she had poured into
their hinges before.
Then -- how she did run!
Meanwhile the thin black cat sat at the loom.
Clickety clack, clickety clack, sang the loom; but you never saw such a tangle
of yarn as the tangle made by that thin black cat.
Presently Baba Yaga came to the window.
"Are you weaving, little niece?" she
asked in a high-pitched voice. "Are you weaving, my pretty?"
"I am weaving, auntie," said the thin
black cat, tangling and tangling the yarn, while the loom went clickety clack,
clickety clack.
"That's not the voice of my little
dinner," said Baba Yaga, and she jumped into the hut, gnashing her iron
teeth. There at the loom was no little girl, but only the thin black cat,
tangling and tangling the threads!
"Grrr!" said Baba Yaga, and she jumped
at the cat. "Why didn't you scratch the little girl's eyes out?"
The cat curled up its tail and arched its back.
"In all the years that I have served you, you have given me only water and
made me hunt for my dinner. The girl gave me real cheese."
Baba Yaga was enraged. She grabbed the cat and
shook her. Turning to the servant girl and gripping her by her collar, she
croaked, "Why did you take so long to prepare the bath?"
"Ah!" trembled the servant, "in all
the years that I've served you, you have never so much as given me even a rag,
but the girl gave me a pretty kerchief."
Baba Yaga cursed her and dashed out into the yard.
Seeing the gates wide open, she shrieked, "Gates! Why didn't you squeak
when she opened you?"
"Ah!" said the gates, "in all the
years that we've served you, you never so much as sprinkled a drop of oil on us,
and we could hardly stand the sound of our own creaking. But the girl oiled us
and we can now swing back and forth without a sound."
Baba Yaga slammed the gates closed. Spinning
around, she pointed her long finger at the dog. "You!" she hollered,
"why didn't you tear her to pieces when she ran out of the house?"
"Ah!" said the dog, "in all the
years that I've served you, you never threw me anything but an old bone and
crusts, but the girl gave me real meat and bread."
Baba Yaga rushed about the yard, cursing and
hitting them all, while screaming at the top of her voice.
Then she jumped into her giant mortar. Beating the
mortar with a giant pestle to make it go faster, she flew into the air and
quickly closed in on the fleeing Natasha.
For there, on the ground far ahead, she soon spied
the girl running through the trees, stumbling, and fearfully looking over her
shoulder.
"You'll never escape me!" Baba Yaga
laughed a terrible laugh and steered her flying mortar straight downward toward
the girl.
Natasha was running faster than she had ever run
before. Soon she could hear Baba Yaga's mortar bumping on the ground behind her.
Desperately, she remembered the thin black cat's words and threw the towel
behind her on the ground. The towel grew bigger and bigger, and wetter and
wetter, and soon a deep, broad river stood between the little girl and Baba
Yaga.
Natasha turned and ran on. Oh, how she ran! When
Baba Yaga reached the edge of the river, she screamed louder than ever and threw
her pestle on the ground, as she knew she couldn't fly over an enchanted river.
In a rage, she flew back to her hut on hen's legs. There she gathered all her
cows and drove them to the river.
"Drink, drink!" she screamed at them,
and the cows drank up all the river to the last drop. Then Baba Yaga hopped into
her giant mortar and flew over the dry bed of the river to pursue her prey.
Natasha had run on quite a distance ahead, She
could see the two giant boulders ahead and felt that between them she would be
safe, and free of the terrible Baba Yaga. But her heart froze in terror when she
saw the dark figure in the sky speeding toward her again.
Faster and faster Natasha ran towards the safety
of the boulders. She could see the Blackberry Girl, still there, still sucking
her thumb. Just as Natasha dived for safety between
the rocks, she heard Baba Yaga, above, let out a terrible cry.
“Boulders listen as you must
Crush Natasha into dust!”
Before her very eyes Natasha saw the rocks begin
to slide together. "This is the end for me!" she despaired.
“Keep running,” a voice cried from behind her.
She looked back to see the Blackberry Girl standing at the entrance to the
passage between the rocks. Her left hand was on one rock. Her right hand was in
her mouth. “Don’t worry. Keep going,” she cried again. “This is my thumb
and it’s going to do as I say. Get out of my mouth now and hold that other
rock!”
And as she spoke, slowly at first, then more and
more surely her hand left her mouth, left her face, and pressed up against the
other rock. Natasha ran on. The boulders had stopped moving. At the end of the
passage she looked back over her shoulder and saw the Blackberry Girl, her arms
stretched wide, smiling wonderfully and holding the rocks apart. “Thank you.
Thank you so much. You saved my life,” cried Natasha, and the other girl’s
smile grew even wider and even more beautiful.
And Baba Yaga the witch, the bony-legged one,
gnashing her teeth and screaming with rage and disappointment, finally turned
round and drove away back to her little hut on hen's legs.
The tired, tired, girl finally arrived back home.
She was afraid to go inside and see her mean stepmother, so instead she waited
outside in the shed.
When she saw her father pass by she ran out to
him.
"Where have you been?" cried her father.
"And why is your face so red?"
The stepmother turned yellow when she saw the
girl, and her eyes glowed, and her teeth ground together until they broke.
But Natasha was not afraid, and she went to her
father and climbed on his knee and told him everything just as it had happened.
When the old man learned that the stepmother had sent his daughter to be eaten
by Baba Yaga, the witch, he was so angry that he drove her out of the hut and
never let her return.
From then on, he took good care of his daughter
himself and never again let a stranger come between them. Over a table piled
high with bread and jam, father and daughter would again play peek-a-boo back
and forth from behind the samovar, and the two of them lived happily ever after.
And deep in the forest, beyond the boulders, The
Blackberry Girl held the brambles back with one hand and picked berries with the
other.
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