Italian Folktales (121 page)

Giufà and the beret man each carried home a sack bulging with money, and Giufà ended up with five farthings more than the man.

 

IV. Giufà and, the Wineskin

 

Realizing that nothing could be made of her boy, Giufà's mother hired him out as a tavern-keeper's helper. The tavern-keeper said to him, “Giufà, go down to the sea and wash this wineskin for me, but wash it well, if you don't want a beating.” Giufà went to the sea with the wineskin, which he washed and washed, all morning long. Then he said to himself, “How am I to know if it has been washed enough? Who can I ask?” There wasn't a soul on shore, but out at sea was a boat that had
just left port. Giufà pulled out his handkerchief and began frantically waving it and shouting, “You out there, come back here! Come here!”

“They're signaling to us from shore,” said the captain. “Let's go back in; there's no telling what message they have for us. Maybe we left something behind . . . ” They rowed to shore in a rowboat, and there was Giufà. “What on earth is it?” asked the captain.

“Tell me, Your Honor, is this wineskin washed enough?”

The captain was fit to be tied; he grabbed up a stick and gave Giufà the walloping of a lifetime.

“But what was I to say?” wailed Giufà.

“Say, ‘Lord, speed them up!' so we will make up the time you have caused us to lose.”

Giufà slung the wineskin over a back still smarting from the blows and went off through the fields, repeating in a voice loud and clear, “Lord, speed them up, Lord, speed them up, Lord, speed them up.”

He met a hunter taking aim at two rabbits, and Giufà went on saying, “Lord, speed them up, Lord, speed them up . . . ” Off hopped the rabbits.

“You little dickens! All I needed was for you to come along!” exclaimed the hunter, and hit Giufà on the head with the butt of his gun.

“But what was I to say?” wailed Giufà.

“Say, ‘Lord, let them be killed!'”

With the wineskin over his shoulder, Giufà went off, repeating, “Lord, let them be killed . . . ” and whom should he meet but two men in a heated quarrel and all ready to fight. “Lord,” said Giufà, “let them be killed!” At that, the two men separated and pounced on Giufà, crying, “You cad! You want to add fuel to the fire, do you?” Reconciled at once, they lit into Giufà and beat him black and blue.

“But what must I say?” sobbed Giufà, when he was able to speak.

“What must you say? You must say, ‘Lord, separate them!'”

“All right. Lord, separate them, Lord, separate them . . . ” began Giufà, continuing on his way.

A bride and groom happened to be coming out of church at the conclusion of their wedding. When they heard “Lord, separate them” the bridegroom blew up; he removed his belt and gave Giufà a thrashing, crying, “You ill-omened buzzard! How dare you think of separating my wife and me!”

Unable to take any more blows, Giufà dropped unconscious to the ground. When they went to pick him up and he opened his eyes, they asked, “What were you thinking of to say such a thing to newlyweds?”

“But what was I supposed to say?”

“You should have said, ‘Lord, make them laugh! Lord, make them laugh!'”

Giufà picked up the wineskin again and went on his way, repeating that line. But he passed a house where a dead man lay in his coffin, surrounded by candles and weeping relatives. When they heard Giufà go by saying, “Lord, make them laugh,” one man came out with a cudgel and gave Giufàt the rest of the blows he had coming to him.

Giufà then realized he'd better keep his mouth shut and run straight to the tavern. But the tavern-keeper who had sent Giufà out first thing in the morning to wash the wineskin had his share of blows to give him for not returning before night. Then he fired Giufà.

 

V. Eat Your Fill, My Fine Clothes!

 

Giufà, fool that he was, never got invited anywhere or asked to honor anyone with his company. Once he went to a farm to see if they would give him something, but noticing how slovenly he was, they sicked the dogs on him. His mother then bought him a fine topcoat, a pair of pants, and a velvet vest. Now dressed as a country gentleman, Giufà returned to the same farm. They made a big to-do over him, invited him to sit down to the table with them, and quite turned his head with all their compliments. When they served him, Giufà carried food to his mouth with one hand; with the other he stuffed food into all his pockets as well as his hat, saying, “Eat your fill, my fine clothes, for they invited you, not me!”

 

VI. Giufà, Pull the Door After You!

 

Giufà had to go out in the fields with his mother. She left the house first and said, “Giufà, pull the door after you!”

Giufà began pulling, and pulled until he'd ripped the door off the hinges. Then he loaded it onto his back and trailed along behind his mother. After going a little way he said, “Mamma, it's heavy! It's weighing me down, Mamma!”

His mother wheeled around. “What's weighing you down?” Then she saw him with the door on his back.

With such a burden they moved slowly, and night came on while they were still far from home. Fearing bandits, mother and son climbed a tree, with Giufà still carrying the door on his back.

At the stroke of midnight, here came bandits to divide up money beneath the tree. Giufà and his mother held their breath.

In a few minutes, Giufà whispered, “Mamma, I have to make water.”

“What!”

“I have to.”

“Wait.”

“I can't wait another minute.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can't, Mamma.”

“Go on and do it, then.”

And Giufà did it. When the bandits heard water coming down, they said, “How about that, it's started to rain!”

A few minutes later, Giufà whispered, “Mamma, I have to do something else now.”

“Wait.”

“I can't wait another minute.”

“Yes you can.”

“Mamma, I can't.”

“Go on and do it, then!”

And Giufà did it. When the bandits felt it falling on them, they said, “What on earth is this, manna from heaven? Or is it the birds?”

The next thing Giufà whispered (he was still holding that door on his back) was, “Mamma, it's heavy.”

“Hold on to it anyway.”

“But it's heavy, Mamma!”

“You better not let go of it.”

“Mamma, I can't hold it any longer.”—and he let it fall right on the bandits.

Without waiting to see what had hit them, the bandits fled like the wind.

Mother and son came down the tree and found a sack full of coins the bandits had been dividing up. They took the sack home, and the mother said, “Don't tell a soul about this, unless you want the law to send us both to prison.”

Then she went out and bought raisins and dried figs, climbed to the roof and, when Giufà went outdoors, she pelted him with raisins and figs. Shielding himself, Giufà called into the house, “Mamma!”

“What do you want?” she replied from the roof.

“Raisins and figs are falling!”

“It's obviously raining raisins and figs today, what else can I say?”

When Giufà had gone off, his mother took the gold from the sack and left in its place rusty nails. A week later, Giufà looked in the sack and found the nails. He began shouting at his mother. “Give me my money, or I'll tell the judge!”

“What money?” she replied, and paid no more attention to him.

Giufà went to the judge. “Your Honor, I had a sack of gold, and my mother replaced it with rusty nails.”

“Gold? Whoever heard of you having any gold?”

“Yessirree, I did—that day when it rained raisins and dried figs.”

And the judge had him sent to the crazy house.

 

(
Sicily
)

191

Each day Fra Ignazio, the lay brother, had to go out begging for the monastery. He preferred to go where there were poor people, since whatever they gave, they gave cheerfully. One person he would never approach, however, was a certain notary named Franchino, a stingy soul who bled the poor.

One day Notary Franchino, offended with Fra Ignazio for passing him up, went to the monastery to complain to the prior of Fra Ignazio's rudeness. “Do I seem to you, Father, a person of so little consequence?”

The prior urged him not to worry, and promised to speak to Fra Ignazio. Satisfied, the notary took his leave.

When Fra Ignazio returned to the monastery, the prior said, “What do you mean by slighting Notary Franchino? Tomorrow you are to go to him and accept everything he gives you.”

Fra Ignazio bowed in silence. The next morning he went to the notary, and Franchino filled his knapsacks with every good thing imaginable. Fra Ignazio heaved the sacks onto his back and set out for the monastery. At the first step he took, a drop of blood fell from the sacks, followed by another and still another. People along the way noticing the sacks dripping blood, said, “Well, well! Today is a meat day for Fra Ignazio! The Fathers will have a fine feast for a change!” Without a word Fra Ignazio continued on his way, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

When he reached the monastery, the brothers, seeing him come in with all that blood, exclaimed, “Fra Ignazio is bringing us meat today! And
freshly slaughtered!” They opened the knapsacks, but they contained no meat. “But where did all that blood come from?”

“Don't be afraid,” replied Fra Ignazio. “That blood is actually flowing from the knapsacks, since the alms Franchino gave me are not his own earnings, but the blood of the poor people he has robbed.”

From then on, Fra Ignazio went no more to the notary for alms.

 

(
Campidano
)

192

Once there was a shopkeeper with a general store. As he went to open up early one morning, what should he find lying on the doorstep but a dead man. Afraid of being arrested, he took off, leaving his wife and three sons. When he got to a certain town, he looked around for work, but found none. At last he heard about a gentleman who was looking for a servant. For want of anything better, he said, “Let's inquire into that.” The gentleman, whose name was Solomon, was a prophet, and all the citizens went to him for advice. The shopkeeper became Solomon's devoted servant and enjoyed his master's highest esteem. He remained with Solomon for twenty years, after which he had the urge to return to his own family, from whom he had heard nothing since his departure. “Master,” he said to Solomon, “I have decided to go back and see my people. Let us settle our accounts, and I will leave.” In the twenty years he had been a servant, he had never taken a cent of the pay that was due him. The master figured out his wages; he owed him three hundred crowns, which he gave him.

The servant took his leave and was already down the steps, when the master called to him. “Everybody comes to me for advice,” said Solomon, “and there you are going off and asking me nothing.”

“How much do you charge for a word of advice?” asked the servant.

“One hundred crowns.”

The servant thought it over, went back up the steps, and gave him the hundred crowns. “Give me a word of advice.”

“
Do not abandon the old road for the new
,” said Solomon.

“What! Is that all? And to think I paid one hundred crowns to hear that!” exclaimed the servant.

“That's so you will remember it,” answered Solomon.

The servant was on his way back downstairs, when he had second thoughts and returned to say: “As long as I'm still here, give me another word of advice.”

“That will be another hundred crowns,” replied Solomon. The servant handed him another hundred crowns, and the master pronounced his advice: “
Don't meddle in other people's business
.”

The servant thought to himself, To be going home now with only a hundred crowns, I might just as well go empty-handed, but with a final word of advice from Solomon. So he paid out his last hundred crowns for this advice: “
Postpone anger until tomorrow
.”

He turned to go, and again the master called him, gave him a cake, and said, “Don't cut this until you're at the table with all your family.”

The servant was walking along the road, when he met a band of travelers, who said, “Would you like to come with us? We are going that way and you can travel with us.”

I gave my master one hundred crowns, thought the servant, for the advice not to abandon the old way for the new, so he did not join those men, but went his own way.

As he continued along the same road, he soon heard gunfire, shouts, groans: the travelers were being attacked by bandits, who killed every one of them. Praised be those hundred crowns that went to my master! thought the servant. His word of advice has saved my life.

Darkness descended upon him in a desolate stretch of countryside, and he was unable to find shelter. Finally he saw a solitary house, knocked, asked for a night's lodging, and was invited in. The master of the house prepared supper, readied the table, and they sat down to eat. After they had finished, he opened a door leading underground, and out came a blind woman. The master poured out soup for her in a death's head and gave her a bit of reed to use as a spoon. The blind woman ate, then the man led her back underground and closed the door after her.

Next he turned to the traveler. “What do you have to say about what you just saw?”

Remembering the second word of advice, the servant replied, “I think you must have your own explanations.”

Then the master of the house said, “That is my wife. When I used to go away, she would receive another man. Once I came back and found them together. The bowl she eats out of is the man's head; the spoon is the
reed I used to gouge out her eyes. Now what do you think? Did I do right, or wrong?”