The Juniper Tree and Other Tales (9 page)

L
ONG, LONG AGO
, perhaps as much as two thousand years before this day, there was a rich man who had a good and beautiful wife, and they loved each other dearly, but they had no children. They wanted children very much, and the woman prayed for a child day and night, but still no children came. There was a yard outside their house where a juniper tree grew, and one day in winter the woman stood under the tree peeling herself an apple. As she was peeling the apple she cut her finger, and the blood fell on the snow.

“Oh,” said the woman, sighing as she looked at the blood and feeling very sad at heart, “oh, if only I had a child as red as blood and as white as snow.”

As she spoke her spirits lifted, and she felt as if some good would come of her wish. Then she went indoors, and a month passed by, and the snow melted. After two months, everything was green and growing. After three months, the flowers came out of the ground, and after four months all the trees in the woods were putting out leaves, with their green branches twining together. The little birds sang so loud that the whole
forest echoed to the sound, and blossom fell from the trees. When the fifth month was over the woman stood under the juniper tree again. It smelled so sweet that her heart leapt for joy, and she fell on her knees, hardly able to contain her gladness. After the sixth month had passed the fruit of the tree was growing large and thick, and the woman became very quiet. In the seventh month she picked the juniper berries and ate them greedily. Then she felt sad and sick, and when the eighth month had passed she called for her husband and wept, saying, “If I should die, bury me under the juniper tree.”

After that she felt comforted, and she was happy until the ninth month was over. Then she had a child as white as snow and as red as blood, and when she saw it, she was so glad that she died of joy.

Her husband buried her under the juniper tree, and he began to weep bitterly. He wept for a while, and after that his tears didn’t flow as freely, and when he had wept a little more they dried up entirely, and he married another wife.

He and his second wife had a daughter, while the first wife’s child had been a little boy, a son as red as blood and as white as snow. When the second wife looked at her daughter she loved her dearly, but when she saw the little boy the sight cut her to the heart, and she felt as if he were always in her way. She kept wondering how
she could make sure that the little girl inherited all her husband’s property. The Evil One put it into her heart to ill-treat the boy, and she was always pushing him about, punching him and pinching him, so that the poor child went in fear of her. She gave him not a moment’s peace when he came home from school.

One day the woman had gone into the storeroom, and her little daughter followed her. “Mother, give me an apple,” she said.

“Yes, my dear,” said the woman, and she gave her a beautiful apple out of the chest where they were stored. This chest had a large, heavy lid, with a great sharp iron lock on it.

“Mother,” said the little girl, “can my brother have an apple too?”

The woman didn’t like that idea, but she said, “Yes, when he comes home from school.”

And when she looked out of the window and saw the boy on his way, it was as if the Evil One came into her. She put out her hand and took the apple away from her daughter again, saying, “Wait until your brother has one as well.” Then she laid the apple back in the chest, and closed the lid.

Soon the little boy came through the door, and the Evil One put it into her mind to speak kindly to him, saying, “Would you like an apple, my dear?” But she looked at him with hatred in her eyes.

“Oh, Mother, how fierce you look!” said the little boy. “But yes, do give me an apple!”

Then she thought she ought to speak kindly to him. “Come along with me,” she said, opening the lid of the chest. “There now, choose an apple!” And when the little boy bent down the Evil One told her what to do next. Crash! She slammed the lid down so hard that the lock cut off the child’s head, and it flew through the air and fell among the red apples.

Then the woman was terrified, and wondered how she could avoid being blamed. She went into her own room, took a white scarf from the top drawer of her dressing table, propped the boy’s head back on his neck and tied it in place with the scarf, so that no one could see anything wrong. Then she sat the boy on a chair outside the door and put the apple in his hand.

Soon the little girl, whose name was Marlene, went into the kitchen where her mother was standing by the fire with a pan of hot water in front of her, stirring away. “Mother,” said Marlene, “my brother’s sitting there outside the door. He looks so pale, and he has an apple in his hand. I asked him to give me the apple, but he wouldn’t answer. It made me feel very strange.”

“Go back to him,” said her mother, “and if he still won’t answer then tap him on the cheek.”

So little Marlene went back and said, “Give me the apple, please, brother!” But still he said nothing, so she
tapped him on the cheek, and his head fell off. The little girl was terrified, and began to cry and scream. She ran to her mother and said, “Oh, Mother, I’ve knocked my brother’s head off!” And she wept and wept and wouldn’t be comforted.

“Oh, Marlene,” said her mother, “whatever have you done? But just keep quiet about it, so that no one knows what’s happened. It can’t be helped now. We’d better cook him in a stew.”

Then the mother took the little boy, chopped him up, put the pieces in the pan and cooked them in a stew. Poor little Marlene stood there weeping bitterly. All her tears fell in the pan, and there was no need to add any salt.

Soon the children’s father came home, sat down at the table and said, “Where’s my son?”

“Oh,” said the mother, “he’s gone into the country to visit his mother’s great-uncle. He wanted to stay there for a while.”

“Why would he do a thing like that, without even saying goodbye to me?”

“Oh, he wanted to go so much, and he asked me if he could stay there for six weeks or so. They’ll look after him well there in the country.”

“Dear me,” said the man, “I feel so heavy-hearted. It’s not right; he could have said goodbye.” Then he began eating, and asked, “Why are you crying, Marlene? Your brother will soon be back.” After a while, he said, “This
is a very good dinner, wife! I’ll have another helping.” And the more he ate the more he wanted, saying, “Let me have another plateful. I don’t want you two to eat any of this. I feel as if it were all meant for me.” And he ate and ate, throwing all the bones under the table, until he had finished the whole stew.

Poor little Marlene went to her own chest of drawers, and took her best silk scarf out of the bottom drawer. She picked up all the little bones from under the table, tied them up in the silk cloth and carried them out of doors, weeping tears of blood all the time. She laid them down on the green grass under the juniper tree in the yard, and when she had done that she suddenly felt comforted, and she stopped crying.

Then the juniper tree began to wave its branches in the air. They kept moving away from one another and then back together again, just like someone clapping his hands for joy. At the same time a mist came out of the tree, with flames like a burning fire in the middle of the mist, and a beautiful bird flew out of the fire. It sang so sweetly as it soared high into the air, and when it was out of sight the juniper tree looked the same as usual, but the cloth with the bones in it was gone. As for Marlene, she felt happy and her mind was eased, as if her brother were still alive. She went home again, sat down at the table and ate her dinner.

Meanwhile the bird flew away and settled on the roof of a goldsmith’s house, where it began to sing this song:

The goldsmith was sitting in his workshop making a golden chain. When he heard the bird on his roof singing, he thought its song was very beautiful. He quickly stood up, and as he went through the doorway he lost a slipper. But he went straight out into the street as he was, with only one slipper and his other foot in just a stocking; he was wearing his apron, and he had the golden chain in one hand and his pincers in the other. The sun was shining brightly in the street, and he stood there and looked up at the bird.

“Birdie,” he said, “how beautifully you sing! Sing me that song again!”

“No,” said the bird, “I don’t sing twice for nothing. Give me that golden chain, and then I’ll sing it again for you.”

“Here you are,” said the goldsmith, “here’s the golden chain. Now sing me the song once more!”

So the bird flew down and took the golden chain in its right claw, settled on the ground in front of the goldsmith and sang:

Then the bird flew away to a shoemaker’s house, settled on the roof and sang:

The shoemaker heard the song, ran out of doors in his shirtsleeves and looked up at his roof. He had to shield his eyes with his hand to keep the sun from dazzling him.

“Birdie,” he said, “how beautifully you sing.” Then he called back through the doorway. “Wife, come out a
moment, there’s a bird here. Just see the bird that sings so sweetly.”

He called out his daughter and his smaller children too, his journeymen and his apprentices and his maidservants, and they all came out into the street and looked at the beautiful bird. It had lovely red and green feathers, there seemed to be a ring of pure gold around its neck, and the eyes in its head shone like stars.

“Birdie,” said the shoemaker, “sing me that song again!”

“No,” said the bird, “I don’t sing twice for nothing. You must give me something in return.”

“Wife,” said the man, “go up to the attic, look on the top shelf along the wall, and you’ll find a pair of red shoes. Bring them out to me.”

So his wife went and fetched the shoes.

“Here you are, birdie,” said the man. “Now sing me that song again!”

At that the bird flew down, took the shoes in its left claw, flew back up to the roof and sang:

When the song was over the bird flew off with the golden chain in its right claw and the shoes in its left claw. It flew far, far away, to a mill, which was going clickety clack, clickety clack, clickety clack. There were twenty miller’s men there, chiselling away at a new millstone to cut it into shape. Hickety hack, they went, hickety hack, hickety hack. And still the mill went clickety clack, clickety clack, clickety clack.

Then the bird settled on a linden tree outside the mill and sang:

One of the miller’s men stopped work.

Two more men stopped work to listen to the bird.

Another four men stopped work.

More men stopped, and there were only eight left working now.

And now there were just five at work.

Only one man was still working.

At that the last man stopped work. All he had heard was the last line. “Birdie,” he said, “how beautifully you sing! Let me hear the whole song too. Sing it again for me!”

“No,” said the bird, “I don’t sing twice for nothing. Give me that millstone and I’ll sing it again.”

“Oh,” said the man, “if it were mine to give away, you could have it and welcome!”

“But we say yes,” cried all the others. “Let the bird have the millstone if it will sing again.”

So the bird came down, and all twenty millers set to work with stout wooden poles to raise the millstone. Heave ho, heave ho, heave ho, they went. The bird put its head through the hole in the millstone, lifted it up as lightly as a collar, flew back to the tree and sang:

When the song was over, the bird spread its wings. It had the golden chain in its right claw, the red shoes in its left claw and the millstone around its neck, and it flew far, far away, back to its father’s house.