Posted by Drayman on January 8, 2000 at 002:12:24:
In Reply to: The woman who had no story, a tale of tales posted by Gobnait on January 7, 2000 at 20:12:58:
> 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!