Posted by Gobnait on January 7, 2000 at 20:12:58:
In Reply to: Stories for your enjoyment. posted by Gobnait on January 7, 2000 at 19:49:52:
The woman who had no story, a tale of tales (this is closely based on a traditional Irish folktale, but the adventures in the middle are rather different from the original.) There was a woman called Damhnait who lived in my own village of
Daghain long ago, before I was born. She was our basketmaker, and she
gathered reeds from the banks of the Erinin to make her living. But one day,
she found that there was not a single reed left on the banks of the Erinin
that she had not already cut, made baskets of, sold, and then spent the
money.
Damhnait didn't know what to do. She had never made a living any
other way, but she knew of a glen east of Daghain with remarkably fine reeds.
Nobody dared cut them because everyone thought it was a fairy glen.
Damhnait thought perhaps no harm would come to her, and so she
decided to go and began to cut the reeds. But a terrible fog gathered about
her in the glen, and soon it was so thick that she could hardly see her
linger in front of her. She was terribly scared.
She looked around and saw a light. Where there is light, there must
be people, she thought, and she headed for it. And came to a big long house
with light coming from the open door.
An old woman with curly grey hair sat by the fire in that house. The
old woman with curly grey hair bade Damhnait of Daghain welcome and asked her
to also sit by the fire. They talked for a while and soon the old woman asked
Damnhait to tell a story.
But Damnhait replied, stammering, "That is something I never did in
all my life, tell a story of any kind. I can't tell any tales of any kind."
"Well," said the old woman with a shrug, "take that bucket and fill
it at the well to do something for your keep."
"I'll do anything," said Damhnait, "except tell a story."
And she went down to the well, but no sooner had she lowered the
bucket into the well than a huge blast of wind came up and swept her into the
sky. She was blown east. And she was blown west. And when she fell to the
ground, she could see neither bucket nor well nor anything at all.
But she looked around and finally saw a big long house there, far
bigger than the first house, with many lights coming from the windows and the
open door. Damhnait went inside. And what was it but a gathering for a
wedding!
There were people all about, the young couple at one end of the room,
and sitting on a chair by the fire was a girl with curly black hair. The girl
with curly black hair bade Damhnait of Daghain welcome and asked her to also
sit by the fire.
Then the father of the bride stood up and said they must begin the
celebrations and fetch a fiddler to start the dancing.
But the girl with the curly black hair said, "Oh, you don't need to
go for a fiddler tonight, for you have the very best fiddler in Thera among
you tonight, Damhnait of Daghain."
But Damhnait said, stammering again, "Oh, that is something I never
did in my life, play a fiddle, and there is no music or singing or fiddling
of any kind in my head."
"Oh," said the girl, "Don't make me a liar, you are the very woman
who can fiddle!"
Before Damhnait knew it, she had a fiddle and a bow in her hands, and
she played away and they danced away, and they all said they had never heard
a fiddler play better than Damhnait of Daghain.
The father of the bride stood up again and said they must go for the
priest to put the blessings of the gods on the couple.
But the girl with the curly black hair said, "Oh, you don't need to
go for any priest tonight. You have the best priest in Thera among you here
tonight, Damhnait of Daghain."
But Damhnait said, stammering even more, "Oh, I have nothing of a
priest's power or holiness, and I do not know anything about a priest's work
in any way."
"Come, come," said the girl, "you will do that just as well as you
did the rest!"
Before Damhnait knew it, she was standing before the couple and she
gave them their vows to exchange and gave a little sermon, too. And everyone
there said they had never heard any better ceremony than Damhnait of Daghain
gave.
Now the father of the bride said they must go for a scribe and have
the new couple's marriage recorded for all time.
But the girl with the curly black hair said, "Oh, you don't need to
go for any scribe tonight. You have the best scribe in Thera among you here
tonight, Damhnait of Daghain"
But Damhnait protested, with a faint look of resignation on her face,
"Oh, that is something I never did in my life, writing of any kind or
recording a marriage. I have never held a pen in my life."
"Come, come," said the girl, "you will do that just as well as you
did the rest!"
Before Damhnait knew it, she was holding a long quill, dipping it in
the ink, and filling in a new line in the village's giant book of records.
And everyone there said they had never seen a better script or a steadier
hand.
The wedding party joyfully went out into the streets to call out
their good fortune to the world. The last person out the door was Damhnait of
Daghain, and just as she left the house a huge blast of wind came up and
swept her into the sky.
She was blown east, and she was blown west. And when she fell to the
ground, she could see neither house nor wedding party nor anything at all.
But she was back at the well, and she drew the full bucket back up
and brought it up to the house. And the old woman with curly grey hair was
still sitting by the fire, and she had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
"Now, Damhnait, can you tell me a story?"
"I can," said Damhnait with a rueful laugh, "Have I got a story to
tell."
And Damhnait began to tell the story of what she had been through
since she left the house.
"Well, Damhnait, wherever you are from now on, and whenever anybody
asks you to tell a story, tell them that story, and you will have a story to
tell."
The old woman with the curly grey hair laid her finger on Damhnait,
and Damhnait fell fast asleep. When Damhnait awoke the next morning, she was back in the glen, with a tattoo of a quill pen where the old woman had laid
her finger. And Damhnait went back down to Daghain and never cut a reed again
in her entire life.
Instead she went wandering and the people of my village say she was
one of the first bards, taking the Long Road, and spreading music and tales
throughout Thera. And whenever she visited Daghain, this tale was always the
first one she would tell, and everyone would laugh, for such a tale could not
possibly really happen. But I still wished it had happened to me!