A Book of Tricksters Page 6

  Two more teeth broke. The baby kept munching. Now Cucullin became really worried. The baby even had stronger teeth than he did. Maybe he’d better not try to thrash the father.

  “Thank you kindly for the food,” he said, standing up. “It’s getting late. I should be getting home before dark. I’ll come to call on Fin another time. But,” and he paused to look at the baby, “that’s a wonderfully strong young one. It’s amazing. Where does he get such strength?”

  “Why, it’s in the big teeth at the back of his mouth,” Oonagh told him.

  “My goodness! I’d certainly like to feel those teeth before I go. May I?”

  “Certainly. But remember to put your finger way to the back of the mouth.” She turned to the cradle and told the baby, “Open your mouth wide. The big giant wants to touch your teeth.” The baby did as he was told.

  Cucullin knelt down and leaned over the crib. The baby’s open mouth looked very big, and so did the teeth in it. Maybe he shouldn’t touch them. But he didn’t want Oonagh to think that he was afraid of a baby, even if it was the biggest one he’d ever seen.

  The tip of his finger just touched the big tooth at the back of the baby’s mouth, when—CRUNCH—Fin bit down with all of his strength. Cucullin yelled and sat looking at his hand in amazement. The finger that held all his strength was gone. The baby had bitten it off. It was lying on the floor.

  The baby stood up, threw down the blankets and tore off the bonnet with the lace around the edges. Cucullin was terrified when he saw that the baby was his enemy, Fin M’Coul, the giant he’d come to beat up.

  Cucullin knew that without his finger, he couldn’t fight Fin. But he knew he could still run fast, and he did—out the door, down Knockmany Hill and across the Giant’s Causeway. Fin was close behind him.

  Fin didn’t get home until dawn the next day. He and Oonagh sat by the door watching the sun rise. “It’s as beautiful as the sunset,” he remarked.

  Oonagh didn’t say anything when the neighbours came to say how proud they were to see Fin chasing Cucullin out of the neighbourhood. She was happy that her man was safe and that nobody knew how frightened he had been.

  She was glad that she wouldn’t have to go down to the bottom of Knockmany Hill every time she needed water, and that she wouldn’t have to battle the west wind every time she tried to open the door.

  How the HODJA Used His Wisdom

  TURKEY :: In Turkey, many stories are told about the Hodja, whose name means “man of wisdom and learning.” Although he could be very wise, sometimes he was very foolish. Sometimes he wisely pretended to be foolish.

  Once, when the Hodja had been asked to be a cadi, a judge for a small court, an angry restaurant owner came into the court dragging a poor beggar. “This man owes me five piastres,” he announced angrily.

  The Hodja asked the beggar to tell his side of the story. It seems that the poor man, with only a small piece of bread to eat, had begged the restaurant owner for a bowl of soup. When he was refused, he snuck into the kitchen and held the bread over a steaming pot. “At least, my bread might pick up some of the delicious aroma of the soup,” he said. “But the owner burst into the kitchen and demanded that I pay for holding the bread over the soup. I told him that I hadn’t taken anything and that I had no money.”

  The Hodja thought for a moment; then he told one of the attendants to bring five piastres to him. The restaurant owner smiled happily, thinking that he was going to get paid.

  “Come closer,” the Hodja instructed the owner. “Now listen,” he said, cupping the five piastres in his hands and jingling them together. “Doesn’t that sound beautiful, the coins jingling together?”

  When the merchant agreed, the Hodja announced to the court, “The restaurant owner charged this beggar five piastres for the smell of soup. I am paying him with the sound of money, five piastres’ worth.”

  But the Hodja was not always as wise. Once he heard a noise in the middle of the night. He looked out the window and thought he saw a shadowy figure moving around underneath the walnut tree in the backyard. It’s a robber, he thought, and rushed to grab his bow and arrow. He leaned out the window and shot three arrows into the shadowy figure. It stopped moving. “I’ve killed the robber,” the Hodja said to himself as he returned to bed and went to sleep.

  The next morning he came into the kitchen prepared to tell his wife how brave he’d been, protecting her from the nighttime robber.

  “Well, if it isn’t my Hodja,” she said angrily and held up his robe. It had three large arrow rips in it. “Don’t you remember that I washed it yesterday and hung it on a branch of the walnut tree to dry?”

  A few days later, when the Hodja was in his backyard, the rich merchant who lived next door was in his backyard, too. He was an arrogant man who never missed an opportunity to make other people feel foolish. And he never went to the mosque to say his prayers.

  When he came near the wall that separated his yard from the Hodja’s, the rich merchant heard the Hodja praying loudly.

  “Heaven grant my prayer,” the Hodja said loudly. “I ask only for 100 piastres. That will be all I need to buy food for myself and my wife, get straw for my donkey and purchase a new robe. But it must be 100 piastres; 99 are not enough. I cannot accept less than 100 piastres.”

  The next few mornings, the merchant heard the Hodja loudly intoning the same prayer.

  “Aha,” the rich merchant thought to himself. “I will have fun with this foolish Hodja who says he will not accept anything less than 100 piastres from heaven.”

  And so the next morning when the Hodja went outside to say his prayers, he found a bag near the wall. He picked it up and shook it.

  “My goodness,” he exclaimed, sounding very surprised. “It’s money. My prayer has been answered.”

  He sat down on the ground, opened the bag and began to count. There were only 99 piastres. “I must have made a mistake in my counting,” he said loudly, sounding exasperated. He counted again, this time very loudly.

  “There is no mistake,” he sighed. “There are only 99 piastres. Perhaps heaven, in granting my prayer, has decided to teach me patience. Perhaps, when I have learned patience, I will be granted the last piastre. Then I can buy food, straw and a new robe.”

  In the meantime, he took the bag of money into his house and locked it in the cupboard.

  On the other side of the wall, the merchant began to worry. As soon as the Hodja had finished counting the money, the merchant had planned to pay a visit. He would explain that he’d played a trick, and then he would call the Hodja a real fool for believing that heaven would send money into the backyard. After that he would demand his money back.

  But before he made his visit, the merchant put on his finest, most expensive robe. He wanted to impress the Hodja with his wealth and make him feel ashamed of his old and shabby garments.

  When the Hodja opened his door and saw his grand visitor, he bowed low.

  “Effendi,” he said in a very meek voice, “I am honored by your visit. Won’t you enter my humble home?”

  “No,” came the haughty reply. “I’ll state my business quickly. I’ve played a trick on you. It was I who placed the bag of 99 piastres in your backyard. I wanted to see if you would keep your word to heaven—that you would only accept 100 piastres and no less. How foolish you were to believe that the money came from heaven. And, you didn’t keep your word. You took the money into your house.”

  The Hodja stood up straight. He didn’t look humble anymore. He scowled angrily and then almost growled at the merchant, “Who are you, who never goes to the mosque, to question the power of prayer? I say my prayers five times a day at the mosque and other times at home. Heaven has sent the money in answer to my prayers. I did not spend the money. I am keeping it locked in my cupboard until heaven sends me the last piastre.”

  The merchant demanded the bag of money. The Hodja said nothing. Then the merchant demanded the cupboard key. Again the Hodja said nothing. Finally, the mer
chant said, “I now see that the only way that I can get my money back is to go before the cadi. If he says you can keep the money, I will agree. But if he says it’s mine, you must return it.”

  Of course, he thought that no judge would ever believe a story about the Hodja getting a bag of piastres from heaven. The merchant was certain that the money would soon be back in his own house.

  “Let’s go right now to see the cadi,” the merchant snapped impatiently. “I am going to get my horse.”

  “But Effendi,” the Hodja said respectfully, “you would not want to be seen riding on your fine horse with me beside you on my thin, old donkey. Her hair is beginning to fall out, and she’s so lame and slow that we couldn’t make it to the court before it closes.”

  “Very well,” the rich merchant replied. He went to his stable and came back riding his finest mare and handed the reins of his second-best horse to the Hodja. He ordered, “Get your saddle and let us get going.”

  “But Effendi,” the Hodja said in a soft, humble voice, “my saddle is so old. The leather is cracked, and it is too small for this wonderful horse. You would feel embarrassed and foolish riding next to me.”

  The merchant went back to the stable and returned with his second-best saddle. “Fasten the saddle and mount up. We’ve wasted too much time.” He was certain the cadi would order the Hodja to return the piastres, and he was very anxious to have the bag of money back in his house.

  “But Effendi, I cannot sit in that wonderful saddle on that magnificent horse and ride beside you. Look at my robe; it is so tattered.” The Hodja was wearing the robe he’d shot on the night he thought there was a robber in the backyard. “People would point and laugh at you; they would say you were riding to town with a beggar.”

  The merchant wanted to get his money back, but he didn’t want to be embarrassed along the way. He went into his house and came out with his second-finest robe over his arm. The Hodja put it on over his torn and shabby one, mounted the second-best horse and said to his neighbour, “I think we’re ready to go to court now.”

  Soon the two were standing before the cadi. The merchant made his case quickly. He had wanted to play a joke on the Hodja and had put the money in his neighbour’s backyard. But now he wanted his money back right away.

  The cadi was inclined to believe the rich merchant, but because he was fair, he asked the Hodja to tell his story.

  “The merchant says it is his,” the Hodja began. “But it is a gift to me from heaven. He wants to own everything. Why, if you ask him, he’ll tell you that the horse I rode up on, the saddle I sat on and the robe I’m wearing are his. He’ll want to take them as well.”

  Turning to the merchant, the cadi asked, “Are the horse, the saddle and the robe yours?”

  “Of course they are. Do you think that a foolish, poor old man like that could afford such wonderful things? And he thinks that he got my money from heaven. He believes that his prayers were answered.”

  The Hodja and the rich merchant sat on a bench for a long time, waiting for the cadi to make his decision. The Hodja had a contented look on his face. The merchant seemed impatient.

  Finally, the cadi spoke. “You are very rich, Effendi,” he began. “But just because you own a great deal and, from what I hear, want to own more, you can’t have things just by saying that they are yours. And you are too proud. You think you are better than other people. You like to make them feel foolish. I know that the Hodja is a wise and good man. I know that he prays every day, and I don’t remember having seen you at the mosque. The money, the clothes, the horse and the saddle are his.”

  The merchant’s face fell. Not only didn’t he get his money back, he had also lost a good horse, a saddle and a fine robe as well. And even more, he had lost his pride. The cadi had made him feel like a fool. He rode home alone, a defeated man.

  That night, the merchant was sitting on a bench outside his front door feeling very unhappy when the Hodja came out of his house carrying a bag of money. He walked up to the merchant and said, “There are 99 piastres in there. Because I did not receive the 100 piastres that I asked for in my prayers, I cannot keep them. They are yours. I’ll bring the horse, saddle and robe back tomorrow when I return from morning prayers.”

  The Hodja began to walk back toward his own door. Then he paused, turned to face the merchant and said, “You have your money back. I hope that you have learned a lesson about pride. And I hope that soon I’ll see you at morning prayers.”

  How ZHAO Paid His Taxes

  CHINA :: For centuries, people in China have told stories about cruel, greedy masters who were punished for the way they treated poor people. In real life, poor people could not laugh at these masters, but they could laugh at the characters in the stories.

  Master Li woke up feeling very happy. This was his favourite day of the year, the day the tenant farmers who worked on his land had to pay their taxes.

  They’d already given him half of their harvest. His barns were full of rice and wheat. It didn’t matter to him that the harvest had been poor because of the drought and that his tenants wouldn’t have much food for the winter. He had all that he needed—and a great deal more.

  A thin, mean smile spread across his lips as he thought of all the money he’d be collecting. Each of the tenant farmers would have to pay 10 taels, money that came from selling their rice and wheat. He was already the richest man around, and by tomorrow he’d be even richer.

  Today, he thought, is the best day of the year.

  He’d just finished breakfast when he heard the sound of hooves echoing off the stones in his courtyard. When he came to his door, he saw Zhao, the poorest of his tenant farmers, leading a mare so thin that all her ribs showed.

  “Get that horse out of my courtyard before it makes a mess,” Master Li shouted angrily at Zhao.

  “But,” the young man replied, “you don’t understand. I’ve brought this horse to you to pay my taxes. My crop was so small that I don’t have 10 taels.”

  “That pathetic animal,” the landowner said, “isn’t even worth one tael. But I will take it. But you must also give me the other nine taels you owe me.”

  “But you don’t understand, Master Li,” Zhao said. “This is no ordinary mare. If you feed it hay, it will cough up silver.”

  “Do you think I’m a fool?”

  “No, but you still don’t understand. Let me explain. Two nights ago, I had a dream. A wise old man told me to go into the hills and look for a large pine tree beside a brook. He said that when I got there, I’d find a horse that would spit silver if I fed it straw. As soon as the sun was up yesterday, I took a handful of straw and went into the hills. I found the horse just where he said it would be, fed it some straw, waited for a few minutes and then tickled the back of its tongue. It coughed up a tiny silver ingot. If I’d had more straw, the ingot might have been larger.”

  “You’ve got to prove it,” Li told Zhao. So the young man reached for a small bunch of hay in his pack and stepped around to the other side of the skinny mare. As he did so, he reached his hand into his pocket. When he pulled his hand out, it was clenched into a fist.

  “Now I’ll feed the horse,” he said, holding the straw out to it. The mare made short work of the food.

  “Now we must wait,” Zhao told the landlord.

  After several minutes, the landowner became impatient. “Tickle its tongue; let’s see the silver.”

  “But we must wait until she has digested the straw,” Zhao replied. Finally, Zhao reached his clenched fist into the horse’s mouth and began tickling its tongue. The horse coughed, and Zhao pulled his fist out and opened his hand. There in his palm was a tiny silver ingot.

  Although the landowner was amazed, he tried to hide his surprise. With this horse and all the hay he had in his barns, he could become the richest man in China. “I will take your horse in exchange for the taxes; and, to show you how generous I am, I will also give you five taels.”

  Zhao didn’t answer right a
way; he frowned as though he were thinking very hard. Finally, he said, “No, I think that I will keep the horse. Even though I have only this tiny ingot, with it I can buy more straw. The horse will spit out more ingots. I will be able to buy plenty of food for my family, pay my taxes, and some day I might be as rich as you are, Master Li, maybe even richer.”

  The landowner became very upset. He wanted the horse desperately, and he was horrified to think that someone else might become richer than he was. He offered 10 taels for the horse, but Zhao refused. Then 20, and again Zhao refused. Then 30, and 40, all the way up to 100 taels. Finally, the landowner said, “And you will never again have to pay taxes or give me half of your harvest again.”

  Zhao didn’t say anything for several minutes. His brow was furrowed in thought. Finally, he said, “If you will give me the 100 taels and write down that I’ll never have to pay taxes or give you part of my crop, you may have the horse.”

  Quickly, before Zhao could change his mind, Master Li ordered his servants to bring him paper, ink and a brush. He wrote as Zhao had requested and gave the paper to the young man. Zhao handed him the reins to the mare and turned to leave. As he walked out of the courtyard, he called over his shoulder, “Don’t feed the horse too much at a time, and remember to be patient. You have to wait until she has digested the hay.”

  “I won’t forget,” the landowner called out. And he smiled his mean smile as he thought about how he had fooled the young man. Certainly this horse was worth more than 100 taels and all the taxes Zhao would have paid for years to come.

  As soon as Zhao had left, Master Li ordered his servants to bring hay to the horse, bales of it. He started to feed it to the animal, which devoured it quickly. It was probably the best meal the mare had ever had. Then the landlord waited impatiently. Probably too quickly, he thrust his hand into the animal’s mouth and scratched the back of its tongue. The horse coughed a couple of times, but nothing else happened.