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The <3VIagic Orange Tree
cAnd Other
'Haitian Tolktales
"By Diane Wolkstein

THE COOL RIDE IN THE SKY

SQUIRREL'S SONG
THE VISIT
8,000 STONES

LAZY STORIES
THE RED LION
THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE
and Other Haitian Folktales
The <£Magic Orange Tree
cAnd Other "Haitian "Folktales

Collected by

DIANE WOLKSTEIN

Drawings by

ELSA HENRIQUEZ

Schocken Books • New York

 f

First published by Schocken Books 1980

1098765432 1 80818283

Published by arrangement with Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.

Copyright © 1978 by Diane Wolkstein
Text Illustrations Copyright © 1978 by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Wolkstein, Diane.
., _ The magic orange tree, and other Haitian folktales.

j
978 ed. published by Knopf, New York.
Reprint of the 1

\ SJUMMARY: A collection of folktales gathered by the

author in Haiti with comments on Haitian folklore.
1. Tales, Haitian. (1. Folklore— Haiti)
^k-Henriquez , Elsa. II. Title.

(PZ8.1.W3»J&gl980) 398.2'097294 79-22787

Manufactured in the United States of America

Book design by Tony DeLuna

s
 2

Contents

Introduction/

The Magic Orange Tree/ 13

The Two Donkeys/ 2 3
Owl/29
Put That Man to Bed/ 3 7
Four Hairs from the Beard of the Devil/43
The Case of the Uncooked Eggs/49
Tayzanne/57
Cat andDog and the Return of the Dead/65
The One Who Would Not Listen to His
Own Dream/71
Papa God and General Death/75
Bouki Dances the Kokioko/79
Papa God Sends Turtle Doves/87
The Singing Bone/91
The Gizzard/99
The Monkey Who Asked for Misery/ 1
13

The Name/ 1
17

Cat's Baptism/ 1 23

"I'm Tipingee, She's Tipingee, We're

Tipingee, Too"/ 1
29
The Master Thief/ 1 35

viii
 1 1

Horse and Toad/ 143

Mother of the Waters/ 1 5
A Very Happy Donkey/ 157
"One, My Darling, Come to Mama"/ 165
The Forbidden Apple/ 171
"Papa God First, Man Next, Tiger Last"/ 177
The Last Tiger in Haiti/ 1 8 3

"Bye-Bye"/ 1 89

Songs in English and Creole/ 195

Acknowledgments/ 2 1

IX
The c9Wagic Orange Ttge
cAnd Other
'Haitian "Folktales
Introduction

"Cric?"* the Haitian storyteller calls out when she

or he has a story to "Crac!"* the audience re-
tell.

sponds if they want that storyteller to begin. If

they do not respond with crac!, the storyteller can-
not begin. "Cric?" another storyteller calls out,
hoping for the welcoming "crac/"
It is not that the audience is rude in refusing

one storyteller and choosing another; rather, they

are giving their pledge. For if the listeners cry crac!
they are expected to, and do, give their full support
to the storyteller. They listen to hear that the story
is told correctly. Embellishments are accepted, con-
memory are not. The listeners
fusion or losses of
comment on the events and characters of the stories.
They comment on the storyteller's talents. And as
soon as a song begins within a story, the audience
joins in. I have heard groups joyously sing the

chorus ten and twenty times.

Communal storytelling in Haiti takes place

* Cric is pronounced "creek." Crac is pronounced "crack."

Cric?-Crac! an introductory phrase to French stories, is said

to have been brought to Haiti by the Breton sailors in the
seventeenth century.
Since there is still controversy in Haiti concerning the
phonetic spellings of Creole words, I have chosen the gal-
licized spellings. The Frenchified system also permits a certain
access to the Creole words to the English- and French-speaking
reader.
outside the capital city of Port-au-Prince, in the
plains, mountains, and countryside. In these rural
areas the men work in the fields and the women
take care of the household. Once a week the
women sell the family produce in the marketplace.
The houses are small thatched-roof huts, without
electricity. In the evenings the families create their
own entertainment. When the adults are not too
tired, and especially when the moon is full or on
a Saturday evening, they gather outside on their
steps and talk and gossip. Soon a story may be
thought of. Cric?
In moments group might gather: friends,
a
neighbors, teen-agers, children, and toddlers. With
many ready to tell, the storytellers must compete
for a chance. If a storyteller tells well, he will call
out eric? just as he is finishing his last sentence, but
perhaps someone else has already called out eric?
Then the general sentiment of the crowd decides
who will be the one to unwind the magic thread.
Children of seven or eight mouth the words as
the storytellers speak, for most of the stories are al-
ready well-known. But if the children are too noisy,
they will be reprimanded and sent away. Some-
times they will gather at a distance and form their
own group, telling stories and imitating the gestures
and intonations of the adults.
Though the stories involve set gestures and ex-
pressions, what is most exciting is the variety and
inventiveness of the individual storyteller. The best
storyteller takes a story known to all and creates
his or her own story. Everyone knows the tale, but
this time what will the storyteller give? in entertain-
ment? in imagery? in wisdom?
Many of the tales I recognized at once because
of their European or African counterparts. "Mother
of the Waters" is a version of the German "Mother
Holle" collected by the Grimm brothers. "Bye-
Bye" resembles the Basotho tale "Tortoise and
Dove" collected by Minnie Postma. Other stories,
such as "The Two Donkeys," "Owl," and "The
Last Tiger in Haiti," were new to me. Yet even
those stories I had known were different. It was like
eating fruit such as apples and pears all your life and
suddenly tasting mangoes and papayas and guavas.
Odette Menesson Rigaud and Milo Riguad,
who have lived in Haiti for the past forty years and
are profoundly involved in Voodoo, the religious
life of the peasants, were the ones who introduced

me to the fruits of the Haitian night. It was Odette

who, in 1 97 wrote a letter of introduction to Jean-
1

Baptiste Romain, director of the Faculte d'Ethnol-

ogie of the State University of Haiti. He in turn
introduced me to the remarkable Jeanne Philippe, a
practicing psychoanalyst, country doctor, lover of
stories,and child of a Carib Indian mother and
Haitian father. Many evenings I sat on the porch of
Dr. Philippe's house and listened with Jeanne and
her parents to the peasants in the neighborhood tell

stories,which the family knew well but loved to

hear again. Jeanne's neighbor, Willy, often accom-
panied me to hear stories in Carrefour-Dufort, a
country village fifteen miles southwest of Port-au-
Prince.And Odette took me to visit her friends
at Croix-des Missions, Diquini, Planton-Cafe, and
Masson.
Before I left for Haiti, I had read of the tradi-
tion of the professional storytellers {maitre conte),
who were not paid but offered food and lodging in
exchange for their talents. In the eighteenth century,
they traveled from one plantation to another and
were most often called upon to perform at festivals
and wakes. If a child died, they would tell simple
stories; if an important man died, long romances. But
in the 1920s,most of the master storytellers left Haiti
with the other farmers because there was work avail-
able cutting sugar cane in Cuba.
On few master storytellers
the chance that a
might still be in Haiti, I would ask at each storytell-

ing evening if anyone knew a maitre conte. Almost

everyone knew or had known of one who lived in
this or that village, always one village or one night
away. began to wonder if the master storyteller
I

was not mythic. Then one evening in Carrefour-Du-

fort two villagers rushed up to me and whispered:
,,
"Delaba has just returned from Port-au-Prince.
(For weeks I had heard that Delaba, a goatherd,
was also a great maitre conte.) "Where is he?" I

whispered. "He's coming," they announced.

When Delaba arrived, the whole atmosphere
changed. A group of teen-agers, children, and adults
surrounded him, laughing and talking animatedly.
He was tall, dark in color, and he had a charismatic
presence. The storyteller who was speaking quickly
finished, for all attention was on Delaba.
Delaba nodded to me, walked to the place the
other storyteller had occupied, and began: "Cric?"
"Crac!" the others responded.
Delaba shook his head in disgust. He raised his
voice: "Cric?"
And this time a resounding "CRAC/" answered
him.
He smiled at his audience, pleased. It was this
contact with his audience that differentiated Delaba
from the other Delaba not only created
storytellers.
his own story, but he also played with the audience.

If they sang loudly, he would raise his hand and

admonish them. "Sweetly," he would say, or at
other points in the story, "More, louder, stronger."
And the audience complied.
He was an excellent entertainer. He varied his
voice from contralto to falsetto, from loud to soft.
He impersonated animals with gesture and voice.
He sang and danced. When he danced, he not only
turned in a circle clapping (as did Edouard, the
narrator of "Bouki Dances the Kokioko"), but he
Photo by Odette Menesson Rigaud

Storytelling at Masson, Haiti. Storytellers and author.

also invented steps and gestures. He danced slowly,
he danced fast. The audience loved him. They sang
louder and louder. Again he admonished them, this
time with a twinkle in his eye and a tilt of his head.
After each storytelling event, I would return
with the eric on my Sony battery tape recorder.
But the words of the story were not enough, for
what was told and how and why was often affected
by the crac, by the presence and reactions of the
audience. By my second trip to Haiti, I began to
take notes, either during the stories or after I had

returned to my hotel.
Yet, when began to compare the notes con-
I

cerning the different storytellers with the quality of

the stories that were told, I was surprised to find
that there was often very little correspondence. Al-
though Delaba was the best entertainer, none of his
stories appear in this collection. The words of his
stories did not have sufficient substance, beauty, or
humor. And while Edouard was among the worst
performers — his speech was often inaudible and
garbled, his movements awkward —
his story "Bouki
Dances the Kokioko" is included. In a printed col-
lection, words alone had to determine which of the
storytellers' stories would be included. Yet who can
measure the joy and delight that Delaba gave to
others?
I thought about the brothers Grimm, Joseph
Jacobs, and Harold Courlander, and about all the
 they had not included in their collections. I
stories
began to realize that story collectors, unlike folk-
lorists, who make statistical samplings of all the
stories they have gathered, choose in the end those
stories they believe in.

Stories about the trickster team, Bouki and

Malice, abound in Haiti. The history of Haiti has
long been one of oppression, deprivation, and suf-
fering. Twenty-five years after Columbus landed in
Haiti, only a handful of the native Indian popula-
tion remained. The Spanish brought slaves from
Africa to work their sugar-cane and cotton planta-
tions. When the French took control of the west-
ern part of the island in 1697, they continued to
import slaves. Although Haiti has been indepen-
dently governed since 1804, the majority of the
people today do not have enough to eat. Farm-
still

ers are taxed on their produce to and from market.

Infractions of governmental regulations are met
with by severe punishments. People fix evil spells on
their relatives and neighbors. This harsh reality of
Haitian survival is reflected in a multitude of stories
dealing with beatings, killings, shame, and dishonor.
Clever little Malice triumphs; and big, stupid Bouki
is fooled once again.
And the difficulties continue. In the 1970s, two
thousand people inhabit each square mile of tillable
soil, and over eighty-five percent of the populace

cannot read or write. Education became free in

10
1816, but for more than a century only the rich
could afford to pay for the supplies and books
needed for schooling. The supplies have been free
since 1 946, but half the teachers have had no formal
training and the books are in French. Since the
peasant children grow up speaking Creole, which
sounds similar to French but is structurally a differ-
ent language, the illiteracy rate has not changed
significantly. The farmers continue to be tied to the
land, and the land is eroded and insufficient to pro-
vide for the children.
Yet, despite the inconsistencies, irrationalities,
and intense problems of survival there is an order, a
sense of life, and a richness of understanding among
the Haitian peasants that goes beyond the daily
poverty and difficulties and emerges in certain of
their songs, proverbs, and stories.
In almost every story in this collection the
background of hunger and survival exists, but there
is also the humor ("I'm Tipingee, She's Tipingee,
We're Tipingee, Too"), the silliness ("Cat Bap-
tism"), the psychological insight ("The One Who
Wouldn't Listen to His Own Dream"), the politi-
cal acumen ("Horse and Toad"), the poetic imag-
ery ("Papa God Sends Turtle Doves"), the wisdom
("The Forbidden Apple"), and the will to live
("The Magic Orange Tree") of a people who have
not only survived but have done so with a creativ-
ity in art, song, dance, and story to rival Papa God.

11
 If there is an abundance of stories with songs,
contes chantes, that is because I am a storyteller and
delighted in the participation of the audience in the
story and with the storyteller. This enthusiastic
communal participation is undoubtedly related to
the religious experience of the people. The Voodoo
priest or priestess does not speak to a passive, sub-
dued congregation. On the contrary, it is the beat
of the drum that announces the entrance of the
spirits,and any member (regardless of age, status,
or sex) of the singing, dancing congregation who
is sufficiently immersed in the ceremony may be

chosen by the spirits and possessed.

It is my hope that when you, my reader, turn
the page and bite into the strange fruit of the Hai-
tian night, your present world will dissolve and you
will for the moment be possessed by the mysterious
world of the spirit: the story.
Cric?

DIANE WOLKSTEIN

12
The Magic
Orange Tree
The Magic
Orange Tree

About the Story: When a born in the coun-

child is

tryside, the umbilical cord may be saved and dried

and planted in the earth, with a pit from a fruit tree
placed on top of the cord. The tree that grows then
belongs to the child. And when the tree gives fruit
in five or six years, that fruit is considered the
property of the child, who can barter or sell it.

(Young children in Haiti very quickly become eco-

nomically active.) Trees in Haiti are thus thought
to protect children and are sometimes referred to
as the guardian angel of the child. However, if the
tree should die or grow in a deformed manner, that
would be considered an evil omen for the child
who owned the tree.
The song of the orange tree is often sung by
the storyteller after the eric?, before the begin-
ning of the story. Each storyteller may offer a
slightly different melodic version of the song.
Therefore, the storyteller's decision to sing before
the story not only teaches the audience the story-
teller's specific melody but also warms up the audi-
ence, for singing gets the blood flowing and the
heart's juices jumping.

H
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

C RIC? CRAG
There was once a girl whose mother
died when she was born. Her father waited for some time to remarry,
but when he did, he married a woman who was both mean and cruel.
She was so mean there were some days she would not give the girl any-
thing at all to eat. The girl was often hungry.
One day the girl came from school and saw on the table three
round ripe oranges. Hmmmm. They smelled good. The girl looked
around her. No one was there. She took one orange, peeled it, and ate
it. Hmmm-mmm. It was good. She took a second orange and ate it.

She ate the third orange. Oh-oh, she was happy. But soon her step-
mother came home.
"Who has taken the oranges I left on the table?" she said. "Who-
ever has done so had better say their prayers now, for they will not be
able to say them later."
The girl was so frightened she ran from the house. She ran
through the woods until she came to her own mother's grave. All
night she cried and prayed to her mother to help her. Finally she
fell asleep.

morning the sun woke her, and as she rose to her feet some-
In the
thing dropped from her skirit onto the ground. What was it? It was an
orange And the moment it entered the earth a green leaf
pit. sprouted
from it. The girl watched, amazed. She knelt down and sang: *

Orange tree,
Grow and grow and grow.
Orange tree, orange tree.
Grow and grow and grow,
Orange tree.

Stepmother is not real mother,

Orange tree.

The orange tree grew. It grew to the size of the girl. The girl
sang:

* See music 196-197.

p.

15
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

Orange tree,
Branch and branch and branch.
Orange tree, orange tree,
Branch and branch and branch,
Orange tree.
Stepmother is not real mother,
Orange tree.

And many twisting, turning, curving branches appeared on the

tree. Then the girl sang:

Orange tree,
Flower and flower and flower.
Orange tree, orange tree,
Flower and flower and flower,
Orange tree.
Stepmother is not real mother,
Orange tree.

Beautiful white blossoms covered the tree. After a time they be-
gan to fade, and small green buds appeared where the flowers had
been. The girl sang:

Orange tree,
Ripen and ripen and ripen.
Orange tree, orange tree,
Ripen and ripen and ripen,
Orange tree.
Stepmother is not real mother.
Orange tree.

The oranges ripened, and the whole tree was filled with golden
oranges. The girl was so delighted she danced around and around the
tree, singing:

Orange tree,
Grow and grow and grow.

16
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

Orange tree, orange tree,

Grow and grow and grow,

Orange tree.

Stepmother is not real mother,

Orange tree.

But then when she looked, she saw the orange tree had grown up
to the sky, far beyond her reach. What was she to do? Oh she was a
clever girl. She sang:

Orange tree,

Lower and lower and lower.

Orange tree, orange tree,
Lower and lower and lower,
Orange tree.
Stepmother is not real mother,
Orange tree.

When the orange tree came down to her height, she filled her
arms with oranges and returned home.
The moment the stepmother saw the gold oranges in the girl's
arms, she seized them and began to eat them. Soon she had finished
them all.

"Tell me, my sweet," she said to the girl, "where have you found
such delicious oranges?"
The She did not want to
girl hesitated. tell. The stepmother seized
the girl's wrist and began to twist it.
"Tell me!" she ordered.
The girl led her stepmother through the woods to the orange tree.
You remember the girl was very clever? Well, as soon as the girl came
to the tree, she sang:

Orange tree,

Grow and grow and grow.

Orange tree, orange tree,
Grow and grow and grow,

i7
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

Orange tree.

Stepmother is not real mother,

Orange tree.

And the orange tree grew up to the sky. What was the step-
mother to do then? She began to plead and beg.
"Please," she said. "You shall be my own dear child. You may al-
ways have as much as you want to eat. Tell the tree to come down and
you shall pick the oranges for me." So the girl quietly sang:

Orange tree,
Lower and lower and lower.
Orange tree, orange tree,
Lower and lower and lower,
Orange tree.
Stepmother is not real mother,
Orange tree.

The began to lower. When it came to the height of the step-

tree
mother, she leapt on it and began to climb so quickly you might have
thought she was the daughter of an ape. And as she climbed from
branch to branch, she ate every orange. The girl saw that there would
soon be no oranges left. What would happen to her then? The girl

sang:

Orange tree,
Grow and grow and grow.
Orange tree, orange tree,
Grow and grow and grow,
Orange tree.
Stepmother is not real mother,
Orange tree.

Theorange tree grew and grew and grew and grew. "Help!"
cried the stepmother as she rose into the skv. "H-E-E-lp "

The girl cried: Break! Orange tree, Break!

 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

The orange tree broke into a thousand pieces . . . and the step-
mother as well.

Then the girl searched among the branches until she found ... a
tiny orange pit. She carefully planted it in the earth. Softly she sang:

Orange tree,
Grow and grow and grow.
Orange tree, orange tree,
Grow and grow and grow,
Orange tree.
Stepmother is not real mother,
Orange tree.

The orange grew to the height of the girl. She picked some
tree
oranges and took them to market to sell. They were so sweet the peo-
ple bought all her oranges.
Every Saturday she is at the marketplace selling her oranges. Last
Saturday, I went to see her and asked her if she would give me a free

orange. "What?" she cried. " After all I've been through!" And she
gave me such a kick in the pants thathow that's got here today, to
tell
—
you the story "The Magic Orange Tree."
I

21
The Two Donkeys
The Two Donkeys

About the Story: When Willy and I first arrived in

Carrefour-Dufort, I was a great curiosity. Within
minutes of getting out of the car, a crowd of all
ages surrounded me. Willy, who had once lived in
the village as an assistant to an anthropology stu-
dent, saw an old girlfriend and disappeared.
Several years before, when I was working for
the parks department in New York City, telling
stories to children in Harlem and Bedford-Stuyve-
sant, I had also from time to time found myself the
only white person among a large crowd of black
people. Then, the people had immediately asked me
who I was and why I had come. Now, no one was
speaking; they were staring and pointing and whis-
pering.
I noticed one little girl smiling shyly at me. I

bent down and smiled at her. At once her hand

darted out. Quickly she touched my hair. (It is blond
and fairly straight.) Even more quickly she brought
her hand back close to her side. Everyone laughed.
"Bonsoir, messieurs-dames" I said. A great
singsong response echoed: "Bonjpur, mademoiselle"
"No," someone said, "she's married, she's wearing
a ring." I pointed to my ring and nodded and at
once the questions began in Creole:
"Do you have children?" "Yes."

24
 )

THE TWO DONKEYS

"How many?" "One. A girl."

"What's her name?" "Rachel."
"Where is she?" "In Port-au-Prince."
"Where is your husband?" "In New York."

"What's his name?" "Benjamin."

"What's your name?" "Diane"
"How old are you?" "Thirty-one." (Great
consternation!
"Why don't you have more children?"
That was enough.
"What's your name?" I asked a young woman
near me. Complete silence. I hadn't followed the
proper order of questioning. I waited. We looked
at each other. I waited. It was almost dusk and the
odor of the night blew up from the river. "My
name is Justine," a dark, pretty girl offered. At that
moment Willy reappeared.
He explained that I told stories and wanted to
hear stories and would pay a small sum of money
for a good story. Immediately there were shouts:
"I'll tell a story." "I'll give a story." "I have one."
"Silence!"Willy shouted. "Where shall we
go?" he asked. "My house," Dadi offered. With
that, about thirty children and adults trooped off to

Dadi's house.
We didn't go inside. The houses are not more
than ten feet by fifteen feet. In the clearing in front
of the house the storytelling began. I took out my
notebook and pen, switched on my tape recorder,
and listened.
Although my own Creole was halting, I could
usually follow the general movement of the plot.
But sometimes, especially when the storyteller did
not speak clearly, was lost. I listened instead
I

to the frogs croaking and to the crickets. The

Haitian night was very dark and voluptuous.
But when Julien began "The Two Donkeys,"
my attention was immediately caught. His gruff

25
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

voice described the love of the donkeys and his

quite masculine body swayed to and fro in the most
feminine manner, imitating sensual passion. The
others were equally caught by Julien's antics as he
changed his voice and body for the enraptured
farmer, the angry farmer, the "good" farmer's wife,
and the ecstatic donkeys. The most wonderful mo-
ment of the pantomime came when Julien pulled
back the seat of his pants to show us how the
woman's skirt had been pushed out by the growth
of her tail. When Julien got to the part where the
husband returned home, the audience was so ex-
cited one woman beat him to the punchline by call-
ing out: "Didn't she break every pot and plate in
the house?" "Yes," Julien reassured her, "every pot
and plate." "Good! Good!" she shouted. Julien de-
accompaniment of great
livered his last lines to the
applause and laughter.

T HERE were once two donkeys who

were always together. A male donkey
and a female donkey. They ate grass on the mountainside, rubbing each
other's long necks with their heads. They rolled on the grass, playfully
biting each other's ears, frolicking and frisking.
Then one year there was a dry season. The worst that anyone had
ever known. No rain fell. No plants grew, no shrubs, not even one
blade of grass.
"We shall both die if this continues," the male donkey said to his
wife. "I have a plan. Let us change ourselves into human beings. I shall

become a find work with whoever can pay me. You change
man and
into a woman and stay wherever you can find work. Then when the
rainy season comes again, we shall both change back into donkeys and
meet here as we were before."
The female donkey agreed. She changed into a woman and was
so beautiful that she was married that evening to a farmer who saw

26
 — —
THE TWO DONKEYS

her, fell in love with her, and couldn't wait. The male donkey changed
into a man and also found a place to stay. And the dry season passed.
Six months went by. The rains began and moistened the ground.
The faded earth was soon filled with life and covered with flowers and
grass. The man changed back into a donkey and ran eagerly to the
mountain, but his wife was not there. He waited, and when she did not
return, he began to travel from town to town, calling her:

Anne, Anne #

for that was his wife's name.

Anne, Anne,
Springtime has come again
Anne

At last one day he came to the town where Anne was living. She
was in the kitchen peeling malengas and yams for her husband's dinner.

Anne, Anne,

She dropped the yams and listened.

Springtime has come again

Anne, Anne

Her ears became longer, her two arms began stretching, and from
under her skirt a tail started pushing.
The farmer, waiting in the fields for his dinner, was getting angry.
"I told my wife to bring my dinner by noon. And where is she? What
can she be doing at the house all this time?"
As the farmer came nearhome, ready to give his wife a good
his
beating, he heard a great crash as if a pot had been broken. Poiv! Then
out the kitchen door trotted a female donkey. HEE-huh HEE-huh.

If you pronounce Anne as Ahnne, you will join in on the Creole-French pun in
which Ahnne (ane) also means donkey.

27
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

A male donkey who was waiting by the gate rushed up to her and they
both stood on their hind legs, braying with pleasure and biting each
other's long ears. HEE-huh! HEE-huh! HEE-huh! Then they turned
toward the and ran happily out of town to the mountains.
hills

The man went into the kitchen and found his wife was gone, and
every pot and plate in the kitchen was broken. Every pot and plate.
Everything!
Well, I tell you this story because I want to point out to you
how important it is to have a proper engagement, and how necessary
it is to meet your future bride or bridegroom's relatives —the sisters,

brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, and especially the mother. Otherwise,

if you are too hasty, such a thing can happen. It can. And to you.

28
Owl
Owl

About was the most

the Story: This storytelling
exciting I have ever witnessed. It took place at Mas-
son, a sugar-cane area about ten miles from Port-au-
Prince. The storyteller, Rosemarie Masse, was fifty
years old. She was thin and muscular. She stood
erect and proud in her faded, blue dress. As she be-
gan, she chose a teen-age girl to help her. That par-
ticular girl was a good choice, for she had a loud,
strong, infectious voice and was proud to be in the
center of the gathering.
At the point in the story where Owl arrives at
the girl's house, Rosemarie ran to one of the men
on the outskirts of the crowd and grabbed his straw
hat. She set it on her own head at a becoming tilt.
Everyone laughed. Then, when the dance began,
"Dong ga da, Dong," Rosemarie clapped her hands
and nodded to her young partner. The partner then
took over the singing, and Rosemarie began to
dance.
She danced holding herself perfectly erect,
moving only her hips and chest, with her arms out-
spread. She danced with such beauty and grace and
sexuality, I wanted to join, but I wanted even more
to watch her. The young children immediately be-
gan to dance in place; everyone else was clapping
and singing. Each time Rosemarie danced, the sing-

30
 OWL
ing and clapping must have lasted from five to fif-

teen minutes. Her young partner's voice maintained

its strength and power, and the audience of about
fifty people gave Rosemarie their full support.

I whispered to one of the villagers that Rose-

marie danced well. "Of course," he replied. "It is

the old women who know how to dance. They

have lived."

her and she liked him. "If

seen my face, she
o it
|WL thought he was very ugly. But one
evening he met a
had been day,"
never would have liked me." But
Owl
and talked with
girl

thought, "and she had

still she had liked
him.
So Owl went to her house the next night. And the next. And the
night after that. Every evening he would arrive at the girl's house at
seven, and they would sit outside on the porch steps, talking together
politely.
Then one evening after Owl had left, the girl's mother said to
her, "Why doesn't your fiance come and visit you during the day?"
"But Mama, he's explained that to me. He works during the day.
Then he must go home and change and he cannot get here before
seven."
would like to see his face before the marriage," the mother
"Still, I

said. "Let's invite him to our house for a dance this Sunday afternoon.

Surely he doesn't work on Sunday."

Owl was very pleased with the invitation: a dance in his honor.
But he was also very frightened. He told his cousin, Rooster, about
the girl and asked him to accompany him to the dance. But that Sun-
day afternoon, as Owl and Rooster were riding on their horses to the
dance, Owl glanced over at Rooster. Rooster held himself with such
assurance, he was so elegantly and fashionably dressed, that Owl
imagined the girl seeing the two of them and was with shame.
filled

"I can't go on," he choked. "You go and tell them I've had an
accident and will be there later."

3i
 " "

THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

Rooster rode to the dance. "Tsk tsk, poor Owl," he explained.

"He has had an accident, and he has asked me to let you know that
he will be here later."

When was quite dark, Owl tied his horse

it a good distance from
the dance and stumbled up to the porch steps.
"Pssst," he whispered to a young man sitting on the steps. "Is

Rooster here?"
"Well now, I don't know."
"Go and look. Tell him a friend is waiting for him by the mapou*
tree."
Rooster came out. "OWL!"
"Shhhhhh—
"Owir
"Shhh—
"Owl, what are you wearing over your head — I mean your face?"
"It's a hat. Haven't you ever seen a hat before? Look, tell them
anything. Tell them I scratched my was riding
eyes on a branch as I

here and the light — —

even the light from a lamp hurts them. And you
must be certain to watch for the day for me, and to crow as soon as
you see the light, so we can leave."
"Yes, yes," Rooster said. "Come in and I shall introduce you to
the girl's relatives."

Rooster introduced Owl to everyone, explaining Owl's predica-

ment. Owl went around shaking hands, his hat hung down almost
completely covering his face. Owl then tried to retreat into a corner,
but the girl came over.
#
"Come into the yard and let's dance, " she said.

Dong ga da, Dong ga da, Dong ga da, Dong.

Dong ga da, Dong. Eh-ee-oh.

Owl danced. And Owl could dance well. The girl was proud of
Owl. Even if he wore his hat strangely and had sensitive eyes, he could
dance.

* mapou (pronounced ma-pu) is believed in Haiti to be inhabited by evil spirits.

* See music p. 197.

32
 OWL

Dong ga da, Dong ga da, Dong ga da, Dong.

Dong ga da, Dong. Eh-ee-oh.

Rooster was dancing too. When Owl noticed that Rooster was
dancing, instead of watching for the day, Owl was afraid that Rooster
would forget to warn him, and he excused himself to the girl. He ran
out of the yard, past the houses to a clearing where he could see the
horizon. No, it was still night. Owl came back.

Dong ga da, Dong ga da, Dong ga da, Dong.

Dong ga da, Dong. Eh-ee-oh.

Owl motioned to Rooster, but Rooster was lost in the dance. Owl
excused himself again to the girl, ran to the clearing; no, it was still

night. Owl returned.

Dong ga da, Dong ga da, Dong ga da, Dong.

Dong ga da, Dong. Eh-ee-oh.

Owl tried to excuse himself again, but the girl held on to him.
"Yes, stay with me," she said. And so they danced and danced and
danced.

Dong ga da, Dong ga da, Dong ga da, Dong.

Dong ga da, Dong. Eh-ee-oh.

The sun moved up in the sky, higher and higher, until it filled the
house and the yard with light.

"Now—let us your fiance's face!" the mother said.

see
"KokiokoT* Rooster crowed.
And before Owl could hide, she reached out and pulled the hat
from his face.
"MY EYES!" Owl cried, and covering his face with his hands,
he ran for his horse.
"Wait, Owl!" the girl called.

* Kokioko-(Ko-kee-o-ko), is Creole for cock-a-doodle-doo.

35
 "

THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

"Kokioko!" Rooster crowed.

"Wait, Owl, wait."
And as Owl put his hands down to untie his horse, the girl saw
his face. It was striking and fierce, and the girl thought it was the most
handsome face she had ever seen.
"Owl—
But Owl was already on his horse, riding away, farther and farther
away.
Owl never came back.
The girl waited. Then she married Rooster. She was happy, except
sometimes in the morning when Rooster would crow "kokioko-o-o."
Then she would think about Owl and wonder where he was.

36
Put That
Man to Bed
Put That
Man to Bed

About the Story: Sexual matters are discussed freely

by Haitian peasants before their children. The
woman is proud of her sexuality, the man of his
virility. It is said of a young girl who has not had
a relationship with a man: "She does not know
life." The Haitian peasant mother believes that by
the time her daughter is eighteen, she should find a
husband and eventually have children.
For this reason ChofTs mother tells Chofi to in-
vite the young man into the house. She knows that
the man a possible husband. He is the one who
is

frees herfrom the snake, allowing her access to the

"waters of life." The mother also understands that
young girls, not always knowing quite what a man
wants, need encouragement.
Chofi's storywas told on the porch of Jeanne
Philippe's house in Thor. Thor is on the way south
to Jacmel, about a twenty-minute drive from Port-
au-Prince. Gathered on Dr. Philippe's porch were
seven storytellers, Jeanne, her parents, and about
fifteen children from the neighborhood, who ap-
peared as soon as the first storyteller began.
Solange Cide, the storyteller, might herself
have been Chofi. Eighteen years old, very pretty,
and newly arrived from Jacmel, Solange spoke with

38
 PUT THAT MAN TO BED

great shyness and with frequent blushing. The audi-

ence loved the story. Each time the mother screamed,
gales of laughter came from the listeners. Even
though Solange told the tale in a quiet, reserved
manner, the story itself brought forth a vociferous
response, as do most stories in Haiti that center
around sex.

Chofi came near the spring, a

o NE day Chofi's* mother sent her to the
spring to bring back water. But when
snake, who was lying by the edge of the
and hissed at her.
spring, uncoiled itself
Chofl drew back and waited. She waited until she thought the
snake had gone back to sleep. Then she quietly approached the spring.
But the snake arose immediately and again hissed at her. Chofi waited.
She waited a long time, but each time she thought the snake had
gone to sleep, it would uncurl itself and hiss at her.
At last Chofi saw a man walking in the woods near by. She ran
to him and asked him if he could kill the snake for her.
"Of course," said the man. "But what will you give me in re-
turn?"
"I will pay you," said Chofi.
"I don't need money."
"I will give you food."
"I am not hungry."
"Then I will give you something else," said Chofi.
The man agreed and killed the snake for Chofi.
When Chofi returned home with her calabash filled with water,
she did not tell her mother what had happened. The two ate dinner
and went to sleep.
At ten o'clock the mother woke up. Someone was singing outside
the gate:
* Chofi is pronounced "Shofee." The girl's name is a pun on the Creole-French
word chauffer, to warm up.

39
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

Chofi, Chofi
I killed the snake for you
And cut my foot.

You promised me money

I told you no.
You promised me food
I told you no.

Chofi, Chofi,
Give me what you promised.

The mother called to Chofi: "Someone is at the gate asking for

you."
"Mama, I am not expecting anyone."
But the man continued singing:

Chofi, Chofi
I killed the snake for you
And cut my foot.

"Chofi," said the mother. "Get up this minute and let the man
inside."
Chofi went to the gate, and the man followed her up the path.
"Stay here on the porch," Chofi said. And she went back to sleep.
But the man did not like sitting there alone, so he began to sing again:

Chofi, Chofi

"Chofi," her mother shouted. "This man will wake up all the
neighbors. Bring him inside the house."
Chofi did as her mother told her.
The man waited a long time, but as Chofi did not return, the man
started to cry like a baby, "Chofiiii, Chofiiii." Then he was singing and
crying at the same time:

40
 PUT THAT MAN TO BED

You promised me money

I told you no.
You promised me food
I told you no.

"THUNDER AND LIGHTNING! "* Chofi's mother screamed.

"What does this man want? Chofi, bring him into your bedroom and
tell him to go to sleep."
Chofi went to the man and led him into her room. "Sit down
there," she said to him, pointing to the far corner of the room.
The man sat down and immediately began singing:

Chofi, Chofi

"Chofi!" cried her mother. "Fat that man to bed."

down at one end.
So Chofi led him to the bed and told him to lie

"Be quiet now," she said to him, and she lay down at the other end.
For a time the man did not sing. He seemed to be happy. But
when Chofi turned her back on him and went to sleep, he began to
sing and cry all over again:

Chofi, Chofi
I killed the snake for you
And cut my foot.

"Chofi," shouted her mother, "this is the third time I've told you:
put that man to bed."
"But he is in bed, Mama."
"Then cover him must be cold."
up. He
So Chofi gave him part of the sheet. But the man was still not
happy and continued singing:

Chofi, Chofi

* A free translation from the Creole epithet, Tonnerre.

41
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

"Chofi," shouted the mother. "Warm that man up!"

When the man heard that, he slid over to Chofi's side and em-
braced her. Soon Chofi turned out the light, and the man did not sing
again.

42
Four Hairs
from the Beard
of the Devil
Four Hairs
from the Beard
of the Devil

About the Story: Oh-oh is a Haitian exclamation

expressing surprise, approval, trouble, delight, and
many other feelings. The two words are almost
sung, at a pitch about a fifth above the storyteller's
normal speaking voice, and both "ohs" are voiced on
the same tone. I've rarely heard a Haitian story
without at least one oh-oh, but Julien's oh-ohs were
small dramas in themselves.
When kings appear in Haitian folktales they
are frequently ridiculed. In point of fact, kings
were not a part of Haitian history but power sym-
bols coming from the royal tradition in African
and European folktales. With one "oh-oh," Julien
suggested the pride, bearing, stupidity, and greed of
"the Ruler," in this case King John.
Julien, the raconteur of "The Two Donkeys,"
was a moody, spontaneous, and witty storyteller.
He told "Four Hairs from the Beard of the Devil"
on a friend's porch in Carrefour-Dufort to a group
of fellow farmers, most of whom were also in their
early twenties. He had a natural way of using an-
cient expressions, such as, "honor" and "respect,"
and an equal facility for throwing in comments to
please his contemporaries: "All kings are fools."
Julien usually dramatized the physical descrip-
tions in his stories —limping when a limp is men-

44
 FOUR HAIRS FROM THE BEARD OF THE DEVIL

tioned, mimingthe removal of a hair from his

beardless chin, jumping up from the shock of his
own loud snoring. But at other times, when there
was little drama in a story, Julien's voice would be-
come heavy, coated, and tired. He would speak as
if he were about to fall asleep. Then suddenly, he

would unravel the rest of the story in one breath,

shout "Cric?" and gallop off into the next story
with the excitement of a young boy who has been
given just the toy he's always wanted.

him at all.

she asked, he always did.

T
She was always giving him
HERE was once a young boy who lived
with his stepmother, and she didn't like
difficult tasks to do, but whatever

Then one day, she thought of a way to get rid of him. She made
a small cotton sack and said to him, "I want you to bring me back four
hairsfrom the beard of the devil in this sack."
Now the boy didn't know how he would be able to pull four hairs
from the devil's beard, nor did he even know where the devil lived,
but he was not afraid. He took the sack and set out down the road.
He came upon the king of Spain walking in the woods with his
daughter, who was limping badly.
"Young boy," asked the king, "where are you going whistling
like that?"
" Honor, * I am on a mission to bring back four hairs from the
beard of the devil for my stepmother."
"Oh-oh! Well, you ever get there, and I doubt very much you
if

will," said the king, "but if you do, would you ask the devil what I
can do for my daughter's sore foot? For three years she's been limping
like this. Show him, child."

* "Honor" an old form of respect offered to elders and to those in a superior

is

mountains a person who is approaching will call out "Honor,"

social position. In the
and the one addressed will answer "Respect" to let the newcomer know he is
welcomed.

45
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

The girl limped a little in front of them, and the boy shook his

head sadly.
"I will surely ask the devil,'' he said.
A day later the boy met another king, King John.
"Where are you off to, young lad?" King John asked.
"Honor, to the house of the devil, to bring back four hairs from
his my stepmother."
beard to
"Oh-oh. Well, my boy, if they don't eat you when you get
there,would you ask the devil why my well has been dry for two
months now?"
"I will, honor," the boy said and walked on.
"Halt!" a guard called out, pointing his gun at the boy. "Where
are you going?"
"I am on my way to the house of the devil to bring back four
hairs from his beard to my stepmother."
x

"To the big devil?" the guard said in awe.

"That's right."
"Come over here," the guard whispered. "Please, would you speak
to him for me? I have been standing here for three years now, holding
this gun, and no one has come to relieve me. I do not know what to do.

Ask him what I should do, and if you get a good answer I'll give you
half of what I own."
"All right," the boy said, and he continued walking and walking
until he came to a house that looked like the house where the devil
might live. He knocked on the door and the devil's wife came to
answer it.
"Honor," he said politely and bowed.
Now the devil's wife appreciated being addressed in such a polite
manner.
"Respect," she answered. "Come in, little boy." And when she
looked at the boy she liked him and didn't want the devil to eat him.
"What did you come for?" she asked.
And the boy told her what his stepmother wanted, what the king
of Spain wanted, what King John wanted, and what the guard wanted.
"Not so difficult," she said, "if you can stay awake the night. Now

run and hide under the bed."

46
 "

FOUR HAIRS FROM THE BEARD OF THE DEVIL

"I SMELL FRESH MEAT!" the devil shouted as he entered

the house.
"Of course you do, my dear," said his wife. "It is your dinner
waiting for you on the table. Let us sit down and eat."
After they had eaten, they went to bed, and as soon as the devil

began to snore, zzzZZzzz, his wife reached over and took one of the
hairs of his beard and began to twist it. She twisted and twisted it.

Fsst. She pulled it out.

Then she took a second hair and began to twist it. Fsssst. It was
out. Oh. The devil woke up.
"Who is pulling my beard?" he asked.
"Oh-oh, did I do that?" said the wife sleepily. "I must have been
dreaming."
"What was your dream?" the devil asked.
"The king of Spain walking in the woods with his daughter.

She is limping. He is
is

so sad. He does not know how to help her

—
"What a fool! All he needs to do is to crush the sulfur rock in
front of his house and put the powder on his daughter's toe and the
sore will disappear. . . . Kings are fools. Wife, go to sleep."
"Yes, yes," she said.

She waited and when her husband was snoring again, zzzzZZ, she
took a third hair and began to twist it. Fsst. It was out.
"Ooh. Are you pulling my beard again?"
"Oh? Did I do that again? I was dreaming another dream."
"Tell me your dream."
"King John is sitting near his well. He is thirsty, but there is no
water to drink. The well is dry."
"Number-two fool! Let him take out the guava that is plugging
up the bottom of his well and his well will be filled with water. All
kings are fools."
"You are right," his wife agreed. "I will go back to sleep."
For the last time, the devil's wife reached over, took a hair from
his beard, and began to twist it. Fssst. The fourth hair was out.
"Wife, what is it now?"
"I just had another dream. What a night I am having."
"Tell me this dream," the devil said.

47
 " "

THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

"A guard standing at attention, pointing his gun. He has been

is

standing there for three years now. No one has come to relieve him
—
"The biggest of fools!" cried the devil. "Let him stop the first

man who passes and ask the man to hold his gun while he buys a pack
of cigarettes and that's that."
"That's that," the wife and went to sleep.
said,

"That's that," the boy added from under the bed.

Before dawn, the woman woke up. She gave the boy the four
hairs from the devil's beard and wished him luck. He thanked her and
set out on his way.
The boy waved his sack with the four frizzled hairs at the guard.
"Did you really see the great devil?" the guard asked.
"Honor, I did. And I have an answer for you. Just ask the first
person who passes to hold your gun, say you have to buy a pack of
cigarettes, say anything —then you'll be free."
"How simple," the guard said. And he took all his money out of
his knapsack.As he was handing the boy the last penny, he said, "Ex-
cuse me, could you hold this
—
"Not me!" the boy said. "Ask the next person who passes. Good
luck!"
"Halt!" the guard cried, for someone was already passing. The
boy kept walking as a young man took the gun from the guard.
The boy advised King John to remove the guava that was block-
ing his well, and soon water was gushing up its sides. King John re-
warded the boy with a donkey loaded with two sacks of gold.
The boy continued on his way and pointed out the sulfur rock to
the king of Spain. The king of Spain thanked him and asked the boy
to come back for his money. Then the boy went home.
"Honor, here is your sack and inside are the four hairs from the
beard of the devil." The stepmother could not believe it. As she ex-
amined the four grizzly hairs, the boy looked around for the last
time, then he said, "I must go now, for someone still owes me money."
The king of Spain's daughter was now cured and was walking,
skipping and running. The boy was well paid, but he did not return
home with his money, nor did he go anywhere else. He was perfectly
content at the house of the king of Spain.

48
The Case
of the
Uncooked Eggs
The Case
of the
Uncooked Eggs

About the Story: Dadi, a peasant woman in her

forties, told this story the same evening Julien told
"The Two Donkeys." I heard Dadi tell many stories
and never watching her. She spoke with
tired of
assurance and composure in a high, clear nasal
voice. She had prominent cheekbones and a soft,
proud face. Although people would afterward tell
me that they knew Dadi's stories, she had such a
captivating effect on everyone that her audiences of
children and adults would listen as if they had
never heard the story before.
As Dadi began the story a neighbor punc-
tuated each business transaction with "yes . . . yes."
He seemed to be both reinforcing the validity of
the story and supporting Dadi's storytelling. But as
soon as the woman in the story received the sum-
mons to go to court, the neighbor was quiet, as was
everyone else.
The account Dadi gives of raising animals and
buying land describes accurately the ambitions of
almost every Haitian peasant. No matter how much
land a child is given, there is never enough. If a

child inherits land from he is considered

his parents,
fortunate; but if been able to purchase
a person has
land by his own work and accomplishment, that
person is considered "a success."

50
 ;

THE CASE OF THE UNCOOKED EGGS

Once, in the marketplace in Kenscoff, a man

was pointed out to me as being very rich. He was
reputed to own hundreds of acres of land. "How
can that be?" I asked. "He looks like a peasant." I

was assured that hewas very wise to dress that way

(in a plain cotton shirt, pants, and a new straw hat)
otherwise, he might attract the evil eye.
This may have been what happened to Dadi's
heroine when she all too graciously revealed the
full extent of her "success."

A poor woman

he gave her a gift of three eggs. She looked at the eggs.

Kenscoff once offered
in
lodging to a soldier, and before he left

longer on one end. She decided not to cook them but to put them
They were

under the hen to hatch.

Soon three fat red roosters peeped out of the shells. The woman
raised the roosters and took them to market and sold five them for
dollars. With the money, she bought two small pigs. She nourished

the pigs on banana peels and corn and sold them for a goat. She sold
the goat for a calf, and when the calf had grown into a strong ox, she
sold it and bought land.
Some years later, the same soldier was again passing through
Kenscoff and asked for lodging at the woman's house.
"Oh, don't you recognize me?" she cried. "When you were here
last you gave me three eggs. I never forget when someone does me a

good turn."
She was so happy to see him she made him a large meal, and as
they ate together, she told him what she had done with the three eggs.
After they had finished their coffee, she took him around her property
and showed him her fields of carrots, tomatoes, leeks, and radishes;
her cattle; even her flowers. He stayed with her for five days. She
treated him royally and then he left.
Eight days later she received a summons to appear in court. As
she had never done any harm to anyone in her life, she did not go. A
5*
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

week later, she received a second summons. She ignored this one as
well. But when the third summons came, she woke at two in the morn-
ing and walked five hours to town.
Waiting for her in the courthouse was the soldier. He declared
that because of his gift to her of three eggs, she was able to buy live-
stock, fields, and even roses and violets. Now it was only correct that
she share her goods with him.
"But the soldier did not give me roosters," she told the judge, "he
only gave me eggs!"
"Yes, and those eggs, did they not give you all that you have?"
the soldier insisted.
The woman left the courthouse. She hired a lawyer. The soldier
hired a lawyer. The case went on and on; the two lawyers deliberating
endlessly. As the case came to a close the woman was so exhausted,
she was nearly willing to divide her property with the soldier.
Then, on the Thursday evening before the final decision was to
be made on Monday, an old ragged beggar knocked on her door.
"Charity for a poor man," he said. "A little something to eat."
"Not at this moment," she said. "I am not giving out charity. I
do not even know what I will have tomorrow." And she explained
the case to him.
"Madame, don't you worry; nothing serious will happen!"
"Nothing serious! It's almost all over!" But she relented and of-
fered him some bread and rice and beans.
Then he said, "Madame, here is some advice. Eat well on Saturday
and Sunday. Get up early Monday, make yourself coffee, walk to
town, and I will be waiting for you in the court."
The woman looked at him. "You will be waiting for me. But
what can you do?"
"You shall see."
Sunday, just before midnight, the woman woke up. She prepared
coffee for herself and started down to Port-au-Prince. The beggar was
already seated on one of the benches. The woman sat down. The law-
yers arrived and the final speeches were made. They talked and talked
and talked. The woman felt so tired she was certain that if someone

52
 "

THE CASE OF THE UNCOOKED EGGS

dropped a handkerchief on her, she would fall to the floor and not
be able to get up.
Just then the old beggar called out: "Judge!
"What is it, old vagabond?"
"I have come to hear the verdict."
"Why should an old beggar like you concern yourself with the
verdict of this case?"
"Several days ago, this good woman gave me as charity some of
her dinner of rice and beans. I ate the rice but brought the beans home
to plant. I told my friend I have seven beans to plant and he offered
me space in his fields. He is at this moment in the fields waiting for
me. And now I am waiting for you, for your decision. I want to know
whether it is worth the effort for me to plant my beans."
The people in the courthouse laughed and shouted. The lawyers
stood up to look at the man.
The judge said, "Whoever heard of cooked beans being planted?"
"Thank you, judge," said the beggar. "When this good woman
told me it was believed in court that eggs could provide flowers and
pigs and goats, I thought, perhaps I, too, should make the effort. After
all, if the laws have been changed, and eggs can give all that, what can
beans do?"
Everyone shouted, "Bravo!"
The case was dismissed. The woman had won.

55
Tayzanne
Tayzanne

About the Story: Although most stories told in

Haiti do not have titles, the more popular ones

do have names. When a storyteller is about to tell

awell-known tale, he will shout out its name after
the crac! The two stories I heard called out the
most often in Haiti were "Tayzanne" and "The
Magic Orange Tree."
The first time I heard "The Magic Orange
Tree," I loved it and knew at once that I would
tell it. Then, to my delight, when I heard it a sec-

ond time, there were even more details I wanted

to add. Many times after that when listening to the
story, a particular turn of phrase or joke or descrip-
tion struck me and I would add it to my original
version.
It was with "Tayzanne." Each time
different
I heard it I would sing along with the others. But
later, when would think about the story itself, I
I

could not quite grasp it. Only the song remained in

my mind, the haunting poignant melody of "Tezin,
mon ami, moi, zin" (see music on page 198-199). I
would then listen again to the story on my tape re-
corder, but each version fell short of a certain full-
ness. I prepared the manuscript of Haitian stories,

without "Tayzanne." And yet I kept asking myself,

58
 TAYZANNE

how can I offer a collection of Haitian stories with-

out "Tayzanne"?
On my last trip to Haiti, I heard four more
versions, not and I loved the song
one that I liked,

more and more. When I came back to New York,

I checked all the versions to be certain I had not

been too severe. But the words would not magically

change themselves.
Then, one afternoon in New York, at the Art
Foods Restaurant, I sat at a table with Chuck Mee,
a friend and fellow writer, and found myself telling
him about the elusive quality of Haitian stories.
He said, "What seems to me most mysterious
is how you, the storyteller, received each story."
"But I haven't even told all the stories I heard.
I can't even figure out how to put one of the most

fantastic stories into the book."

"Tell me that one," he said.
"Okay," I said, lowering my voice, "I'm going
to tell you 'Tayzanne.' " And there, in the clatter
of the noonday dishes, I half whispered and half
told "Tayzanne." "But that's marvelous," he said
when I'd finished. "You have to put that one in the
book. Tell it just that way."
Later, as I typed the story, I realized that the
version I'd toldhim was a combination of versions
I had heard from Solange at Thor, Justine at Carre-

four-Dufort, and that of Suzanne-Comhaire Sylvain

in Contes Haitiens. Ithad taken five years for the
different versions of "Tayzanne" to knit themselves
together, whereas I had eagerly told "The Magic
Orange Tree" a week after hearing it. If there is a
question about which Haitian story is most acces-

sible, the answer probably depends on the receptiv-

ity of the translator. Even the most popular Haitian
story must be "received" before it can be revealed.

59
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

water.
her
E VERY day, either Velina or her younger
brother went to the spring to bring back
One morning, when Velina dipped her bucket into the
ring fell off. Ahh-hh. The waters stirred. Up came a great
water,
silver-

golden fish.

"Have you seen my ring?" Velina asked.

The fish disappeared into the waters and came up again with
Velina's ring on his nose.

"Oh, thank you," said the girl. "My name is Velina. I live nearby
and come almost every day to the spring for water. But I did not know
you lived here."
The fish said, "My name is Tayzanne.* I live in the deepest part
of the spring. If you would like, I will take your bucket and bring you
water that is cool and sweet."
Velina held out her bucket and the fish took it and disappeared
under the spring. Down he went. Down and down. And then he ap-
peared again with Velina's bucket filled with clear, sweet water. Velina
thanked him and went home.
After some days, the mother noticed that the water Velina
girl's

brought back from the spring was always clearer than that which her
brother brought back. She spoke to the little boy and told him to pay
more attention to where he got his water. Several days later, she saw
it was still muddy. She scolded the boy and said, "I told you to pay

more attention when you dip your bucket into the water. I want you
to bring back water as clear as your sister's."
So the little boy decided to follow Velina the next morning to
see where she dipped her bucket into the water. He walked quietly
behind Velina, and hid behind a tree, and watched as Velina came to
the edge of the spring and sang:

* —
Tayzanne (pronounced Tey-zahnne) is Tezin in Creole. In Creole zin means
"hook" and te is the past tense. Literally, then, Tezin means "hooked," but the
Creole song insists on Tezin being called zin as well. He is thus the hook and the
hooked. In his dual role, Tayzanne the fish entices the young girl away from her
family and toward the spirits.

60
 TAYZANNE

Tayzanne, fish of the clear spring,

Tayzanne, fish of the deep.
Tayzanne, my friend,
My friend, Tayzanne, Tayzanne,
Tayzanne, my friend,
O come to me.
Then he went home and told his mother that the next day he
could bring back water as clear as Velina's.

"How will you do it?" his mother asked.

"It will be easy. I will do as Velina. I will sing to the fish in the
spring and when he comes out I will give him my bucket and he will
,,
give me clear, sweet water just as he does for Velina.
"No, no," said the mother. "You must not do that. That is an evil

spirit who lives in the water. I will go myself."

That evening the mother followed Velina to the spring. She hid
and listened as Velina sang:

Tayzanne, fish of the clear spring,

Tayzanne, fish of the deep.
Tayzanne, my friend,
My friend, Tayzanne, Tayzanne,
Tayzanne, my friend,
O come to me.
Then saw the silver-golden fish leap from the waters and take
she
Velina's bucket and return with it filled with water. She went home.
But Tayzanne, through his powers, understood the mother's in-
tentions, and told Velina that her mother would try to kill him. He
told her that if she saw three drops of blood on her breast she would
know that her mother had succeeded. Velina started to cry when she
heard this, but Tayzanne said she need not worry for in the end they
would be together.
The mother told her husband that there was an evil spirit in the
spring who was consorting with their daughter and that they must kill
it the next day.

61
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

In the morning, Velina's mother sent her to market to sell vege-

tables. Velina did not want to go, but she had to obey. The mother
and father and the little brother went to the spring. In a stern voice
the mother sang:

Tayzanne, fish of the clear spring,

Tayzanne, fish of the deep.
Tayzanne, my friend,
My friend, Tayzanne, Tayzanne,
Tayzanne, my friend,
O come to me.

There was no movement in the waters. "You sing," she said to

her son, "your voice is lighter. It is closer to Velina's." The boy sang
softly:

Tayzanne, fish of the clear spring,

Tayzanne, fish of the deep.
Tayzanne, my friend,
My friend, Tayzanne, Tayzanne,
Tayzanne, my friend,
O come to me.
The fish He was very large. The father threw the rope
leaped up.
he had brought with him. He threw it like a lasso and caught the silver-
golden But the fish was so powerful it did not die. The father had
fish.

to take out his machete to kill it.

Velina was sad all day. In the afternoon her breast felt damp. She
thought it was her tears, but when she looked down at her white
blouse she saw three drops of blood. Quickly she gathered together
her vegetables and went home. She entered the house and saw her
mother was cooking a large fish over the fire. She ran out. She ran to
the spring. She sang:

Tayzanne, fish of the clear spring,

Tayzanne, fish of the deep.

62
 TAYZANNE

Tayzanne, my friend,
My friend, Tayzanne, Tayzanne,
Tayzanne, my friend,
O come to me.
The waters were still. Velina went home. But she would not enter
the house. She sat on a chair outside. She began to comb her hair. Look-
ing into a small mirror and combing her hair, she sang and she wept:

Tayzanne, fish of the clear spring,

Tayzanne, fish of the deep.
Tayzanne, my friend,
My friend, Tayzanne, Tayzanne,
Tayzanne, my friend,
O come to me.
Her brother heard her singing and came out. Ah. What he saw.
The chair she was sitting on was sinking into the earth.
"Velina! Velina, stop crying," he said. "Your tears are softening
the earth."
But Velina was so filled with sadness she did not hear him.
The brother ran inside. "Papa, Papa, come quick. Velina is sink-
ing into the earth."
"It is late," the father answered. "You are imagining things, go to
bed."
"But Papa, please, please."
The brother ran outside again. Velina had sunk into the earth up
to her waist.
"Mama, Mama, Mama," he cried, "you must come, Velina is sink-
ing into the earth."
"Nonsense," said the mother, but the boy pleaded so desperately
that she went outside just as Velina's shoulders sank into the earth.
The mother ran and grabbed her daughter by the hair, but the rest of
her had already been swallowed up. The mother stood there and the
brother too, in the night —and all that was left was Velina's hair.

63
Cat and Dog
and the Return
of the Dead
Cat and Dog
and the Return
of the Dead

About the Story: When Dog says, "Everyone is

forever mourning the dead," this is more than true

in Haiti. The spirits that the people serve are their
dead parents and distant ancestors. And the Haitian
dead are extremely exigent, bringing illness and bad
fortune to their children when they are displeased.
Perhaps a living person did not serve sufficient food
and drink at the wake, or erect a tombstone, or
leave flowers or a candle at the grave. To find out
which spirit is angry, and why, a hungan or mambo
will be consulted. These shamans then either speak
to the dead themselves or will arrange for a cere-
mony during which the ancestral spirits can contact
their children.
It is much easier with Papa God. (God is al-

ways referred to by the Haitian peasant as "Bon

Dieu" or "Papa Bon Dieu.") Papa God created the
world, but then he sat back and let things run them-
selves. He makes few demands on his children, but

he has his dignity and likes to be treated with

proper respect and gratitude. In the folktales he
is actually very human —
eating, sleeping, smoking,
making mistakes. I found him very appealing and
often asked storytellers if they knew any stories
about Papa God.
Antoine Exavier told two stories about Papa

66
 CAT AND DOG AND THE RETURN OF THE DEAD

God: "Cat and Dog" and "Papa God and General

Death." He told both of them on the same evening,
as we were sitting on a stone ledge in Diquini behind
the house of his employer, Madame Bellande.
Antoine was on very good terms with Madame
Bellande. She was more than eighty years old and he
was past sixty. He had worked for her for forty
years, following her when she moved from her large
family farm in Jacmel to Diquini. Diquini was in the
countryside even though it was only ten miles from
Port-au-Prince. Both Antoine and Madame Bellande
were with earthy humor and merry conversa-
filled

tion. Antoine loved the stories he told and would

burst out laughing before the funny parts.

lems of the
to his own
village.

concerns.
o
The
|NE evening Cat and Dog were
together
hours passed, and
by the fire

Dog turned
discussing the prob-
the conversation
sitting

"If only there were more people," Dog said. "Then I would have
much more to eat."
"More people!" Cat exclaimed. "There is not enough food for
everyone now. What would happen if more people came?"
"If more people came, there would be more food eaten, and more
bones for me!" Dog answered. At the thought of it, his eyes glowed.
"Bones . .
." he repeated, smiling. Then he leaped into the air. "That's
it. That's how to get more people. I shall go to Papa God and ask him
to bring back the dead to fill up the earth."

"Fill up the Dog, there are already people

earth! living wherever
you can see. Where will they go?"
"Well," Dog considered. "If everyone is forever mourning the
dead, they ought to be able to make room for those they miss so much.
Yes. My idea is a very good one. I shall visit Papa God tomorrow."
The next morning, Cat was first in line at the butcher's. He
bought eight large bones and started on his way to Papa God's house.

67
 "

THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

En route he dropped the bones in places Dog would be certain to

notice.
Cat knocked on Papa God's door. No answer. He put his ear to

the door, zzzz . . zzzz

"Papa God! Papa God!" he called.
When at last Papa God came to the door, Cat bowed politely
three times and explained, "Papa God, I have come to warn you of
some recent foolish talk on earth. Dog has been thinking of inviting
the dead back. But the truth is, there are already so many people there
is not much left to eat, nor much space to live. I know you like your

peace and quiet (especially in the mornings), and if the dead return,
there will be so much expansion that they'll soon be building houses
near you. And certain people can be quite noisy, especially the dead,
since they've been quiet for so long."
"Well, well," Papa God said, "sit down and have some coffee."
While Cat sipped his coffee, Papa God thought about how much
he enjoyed sleeping late in the mornings. Cat finished his coffee, bowed
again politely, and set off for home.
Not until evening did Dog arrive. He
had eaten all eight bones
and looked twice as fat as in the morning. Papa God was sitting on
the porch. Dog tried to bow, but he was so stuffed he could only nod
his head.

"Papa God," Dog began, "since you made me without teaching

me it is through the kindness of the people on earth that I eat.
a trade,
I have come to ask you to allow the dead to return to earth so there
will be more food and more
—
"More!" Papa God echoed. "MORE! I have never seen such a
fat dog as you. Go back home and be glad there is someone who is
feeding you so well."
It was only then that Dog realized who might have left all those

bones on the way to Papa God's house. It was too late. Dog bowed as
best he could to Papa God and went home.
Since that time, the dead have never returned to the earth, nor
has Dog ever confided in Cat again.

68
The One Who
Would Not Listen
to His Own Dream
The One Who
Would Not Listen
to His Own Dream

About the Story: In Haiti, Catholics, Voodooists,

and Protestants take seriously the messages in their
dreams. Once, I hired a jeep to drive to Jacmel. The
driver arrived on time and was eager to leave. But
I was feeling out-of-sorts. It had rained recently,
and I kept asking the driver about the condition of
the mountain roads. He assured me that the roads
were fine and that the sooner we started the better.
Finally I told him that I had had a bad dream the
night before.
"Oh, no! " the Protestant driver declared. "Then
we won't go. It would be too dangerous."
"Why is that?" I asked him.
"Well, it depends on your dream. Tell me your
dream."
I had dreamt that I was trying to hide from a
man and woman who were standing on a hill look-
ing at me through the window. But each time I
would try to seal the blinds with Scotch tape, they
would open from another part. I asked the women
in the room to cover the windows so that no light
would shine out, but the women wanted to be able
to admire themselves in the mirror. Then I saw a
page with letters arranged in syllables —JAL OF NE
FB. I became more and more frightened, for I felt

72
 THE ONE WHO WOULD NOT LISTEN TO HIS OWN DREAM
someone could arrange my fate by combining the
syllables.
"Oh, that's fine," the driver assured me and
started up the motor of the jeep. "As long as no
sickness or death came to you in your dream, there
is no danger. We can leave for Jacmel."

Jacques, a nineteen-year-old student, told "The

One Who Would Not Listen to His Own Dream."
He sat on Jeanne Philippe's porch and spoke in a
simple, undramatic fashion, as if he were reciting a

rote passage.

poor and thought that

might change.
oif
|NCE, two

they settled in another

were walking across
friends
the countryside. They were both very
village, their fortunes

They walked across land, over sand, over stone, over water. Day
after day they walked, one of the friends could go no farther and
until
lay down to rest. The other continued. He walked up a small hill and
finally he too lay down to sleep under an orange tree.
As he slept, he dreamt and in his dream a voice came to him and
said, "The princess is ill. Take a leaf from the orange tree, make a tea
with it, and she will be cured."
When the man woke in the morning, he broke off a large leaf
from the tree and continued on his way. In the next town he came to
the king's house. On the door of the house was a sign: Quiet! The
princess is ill.

He knocked on the door and the king answered it.

"Honor, I have come to cure the princess."

"My dear sir," said the king, "if the great doctors in Haiti have
not been able to cure her, how will a poor man like you do it?"
"That is why I have come."
The king had no answer to that so he let him in.The young man
went to the princess's room. He divided the orange leaf into many tiny

73
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

pieces. For three days and three nights he spoon-fed orange-leaf tea
to the princess, and at the end of that time she was cured.
The king was so pleased he gave the young man three-quarters
of his fortune, and the princess and the young man were married. The
man lived happily with the princess and she with him. But he had a
good memory and did not forget his friend.
After a time he traveled over the mountains to the village where
he had last seen his friend. He asked for him and soon found him. The
friend was as poor as when they had separated. The man then told his
friend all that had happened to him, how he had continued on and
fallen asleep under an orange tree, how a voice had come to him, tell-
ing him how he might cure the princess, and how he was now married
to the princess. At the end of his story, he gave his friend a large sack
with gold and wished him well. Then he went home to his wife.
But the friend was not satisfied. He thought to himself: "If he
can hear voices, so can I." He walked to the hill his friend had de-
scribed and lay down under the same orange tree.
He fell asleep. During the night a voice came to him and said,
"Go away." But the man only turned over. The voice spoke to him
again. "Go away," it said. But the man would not listen. A third time
the voice warned him: "Go away."
The man would not listen to his own dream. He stayed. And in the
morning he was found, eaten by wild dogs, demons, and loup-garou*

* Loup-garou pronounced "lu gam." The peasants in Haiti believe that at night
is

certain members ofthe community, relatives as well as neighbors, turn into animals
and wild creatures and wander the countryside causing evil and working spells. The
worst name for them is loup-garou (wolf-monsters). They are also called demons
and bad spirits.

74
Papa God and
General Death
Papa God and
General Death

About the Story: One day when my daughter Ra-

chel and I were visiting Odette and Milo Rigaud
at their home near Petionville, Rachel went into
was four years old, the Washing
the bathroom. She
Hands Age, and could easily spend an hour wash-
ing and rewashing. Suddenly I heard a shriek.
Rachel and Milo both emerged from the bath-
room with red faces. Rachel was mortified: she had
been stopped just as she was about wash her
to
face. Milo was horrified: Rachel had used up the
family's three days' water allotment for flushing the
toilet, bathing, and brushing their teeth.
Rationing the water supply in Port-au-Prince
is a frequent occurrence, especially in the dry
months between December and March. In the
countryside, water always rationed. In the areas
is

with irrigation systems, each farmer is allowed only

a few hours a day for his fields, and it is well
known that the controller of irrigation is usually
the richest man in the district, more highly paid
than the mayor, the judge, or the chief of police. In
many mountains and plains areas, no irrigation sys-
tems are available; the people are forced to walk
every day to the nearest water source, which could
be five or ten miles away, depending on where they
live.

76
 PAPA GOD AND GENERAL DEATH

Antoine Exavier, who farmed the land all his

life and knew well the importance of water, told
this story to Madame Bellande, and her two great-
grandchildren at Madame Bellande's house in Di-
quini.

o |NE evening, two men were walking on

Papa God and General Death.
a hillside,
As they walked along, General Death pointed to a large yellow
stone house overlooking the valley and said, "Last week I took one
from there." Then he pointed to a smaller house down the path: "To-
morrow I shall take one from there."
"You are always taking from people," said Papa God, "and I am
always giving to them. That is why the people prefer me."
"Oh, I wouldn't be so certain of that," said General Death.
"Well, Papa God. "Let's ask the man you will be
let's see," said

visiting tomorrow for some water and see whether he gives more
water to you or to me."
So Papa God walked up the path to the small house and Death
stood waiting by the road.
"Good evening," Papa God called from outside the gate. "Have
you some water for a thirsty man?"
man answered.
"I haven't a drop," the
"I beg of you," said Papa God. "I am very thirsty. And I am sure
Papa God would be pleased if you would give me some water."
"My good fellow, don't talk to me of Papa God. Do you know
how far I have to go for water? Ten miles! Five miles to the spring
and five miles back! And Papa God makes places where there is so
much water people are swimming in it. No, don't talk to me of Papa
God."
"My good man," Papa God said patiently, "if you knew with
whom you are speaking, I am certain you would give me some water."
"Who are you?" asked the man.
"I— I am Papa God."

77
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

"Papa God," said the man, "I still do not have any water. But I
will tell you this: if General Death should pass this way, then I would
have water."
"How is that?" asked God.
"Because Death has no favorites. Rich, poor, young, old —they
are all owner of the large house
the same to him. Last week, he took the
on the week
hill, before
the he took my neighbor's wife, the week
before a young baby, and the week before that an old man. Death
takes from all the houses. But you, you give all the water to some
people and leave me here with ten miles to go on my donkey for just
one drop."
Papa God saw Death motioning to him. It was Death's turn. Shak-
ing his head sadly, Papa God walked away.
Several minutes later, General Death walked up the path.
"Good evening," he said. "Can you give me some water?"
"If you please," said the man, "what is your name?"
"I am General Death."
The man excused himself and went into his house. He returned
with a calabash full of cool water.
"Drink!" he said to General Death. "Drink as much as you wish."
And Death drank. He drank long and he drank fully. And he
must have been pleased, for the next day he did not stop at the small
house but continued on his route down the hill.

78
Bouki Dances
the Kokioko
 Bouki Dances
the Kokioko

About the Story: Edouard, a farmer from Carrefour-

Dufort, called eric? as Dadi finished her three-eggs
story. He spoke in a rather garbled way and laughed
so hard through most of the story that it was often
necessary to ask him to repeat certain sentences.
When he danced the first part of the kokioko, he
held himself erect, his right hand under his right
breast, and swayed his upper chest from side to
side — a bit like a rooster. When he came to the
"Samba dance" section of the song, he clapped and
turned around and around. The audience joined
him on "Samba dance," singing and clapping while
Edouard turned in a circle.

HERE who

than anything
Ti
else in the world.
was once
loved dancing.
If
He
a king of Haiti
loved dancing more
he could, he would have invited
dancers to perform for him every evening of the week; but unfortu-
nately, he did not have enough money in his treasury to pay them.
One evening after dinner, when the king was sitting alone in his
*
garden, he made up a song:

* See music p. 200-201.

80
 BOUKI DANCES THE KOKIOKO

Kokioko, oh, Samba,*

Now I dance, now I dance like this.

Samba, oh, Samba, ah.

Now I dance, now I dance like this.

Samba dance, Samba dance, Samba dance,

Samba dance.

He sang it several times, then he stood up. He sniffed the soft

night air and, swaying from side to side, he made up a dance to match
his song:

Kokioko, oh, Samba,

Now I dance, now I dance like this.
Samba, oh, Samba, ah.
Now I dance, now I dance like this.
Samba dance, Samba dance, Samba dance,
Samba dance.

And the more he whirled around the more impressed he was with
his own dance. "No one could make up such a dance," he thought to
himself. "But, of course, there are always those who think they can do
."
anything. Maybe . .

The next morning, the king announced that he would pay 5,000
gourdes to anyone who could dance the kokioko. That evening, a long
line of dancers, many with newly made amulets around their necks,
waited outside the palace hoping they might be able to guess the steps
of the kokioko. And that night, the king saw some of the most splen-
did dancing he had ever seen all for free, for no one, amulet or no
amulet, was able to guess the steps of the kokioko.
The was the same thing, and the night after. Some-
next night it

times one dancer would happen to do the first steps of the kokioko,
and the king would sit up in excitement. Once, a dancer did the first
and second parts of the kokioko, but then he did the wrong steps for
the Samba dance.

* Samba is a word of African origin meaning master musician or storyteller.

8!
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

Months passed and the king never tired of watching the dancing.
But always after the dancers and servants left for the evening, the king
would dance the kokioko by himself, so he wouldn't forget it.
It happened that one evening, Malice, the king's gardener, re-

turned to the palace for his hat. As he came near the garden he heard
the king singing:

Kokioko, oh, Samba,

Now I dance, now I dance like this.
Samba, oh, Samba, ah.
Now I dance, now I dance like this.
Samba dance, Samba dance, Samba dance,
Samba dance

Malice crept up to the gate and saw the king was dancing the
kokioko in the moonlight. He followed every movement with greedy
eager eyes and then ran home to tell his wife, Madame Malice.
Before work the next morning, Malice went to see his friend,
Bouki.
"Bouki," he said, "we have been friends for many years and now
I am going to do something really great for you."
"Oh-oh," said Bouki. He had been friends long enough with
Malice to know that when Malice started out to help you . . . you were
much better off before he came along. No one was trickier than
Malice. "Leave well enough alone!" said Bouki.
"Bouki, do you know what
saw last night? I saw the king danc-
I

ing the kokioko in his garden. I saw every step he made. I can't dance
it for him because I am his servant and he would suspect me. But I will

teach you the steps and you will win the 5,000 gourdes."
Now 5,000 gourdes is a lot of money — especially for Bouki, who
had many little Boukis to feed. And also for Malice — who had many
little Malices.
"Show me the dance," said Bouki.
Malice sang and danced:

82
 BOUKI DANCES THE KOKIOKO

Kokioko, oh, Samba,

Now I dance, now I dance like this.

Samba, oh, Samba, ah.

Now I dance, now I dance like this.
Samba dance, Samba dance, Samba dance,
Samba dance.

Then Bouki tried to follow Malice's movements:

Koki-o-o-OH!

Bouki was so and awkward, he nearly fell over.

fat
"Never mind," said Malice. "I'll be back tonight to teach you.
We'll do a little bit every night and you'll learn."
Two months later, Bouki and Malice joined the line of dancers
waiting outside the king's palace. When it was Bouki's turn, he went
in alone and danced for the king. It was a very fat dancer who danced
the kokioko, but it was the kokioko!

Kokioko, oh, Samba,

Now I dance, now I dance like this.
Samba, oh, Samba, ah.
Now I dance, now I dance like this.
Samba dance, Samba dance, Samba dance,
Samba dance.

There was no doubt about it. The king was flabbergasted,

amazed, stunned, and forced to give Bouki his reward. Bouki rushed
joyously out of the palace with his sack of 5,000 gourdes.
"I'vewon, Malice, I've won!" Bouki shouted.
Bouki and Malice walked gaily home through the forest, but as

they passed a large breadfruit tree, Malice suddenly stopped and said:

"Bouki, now that you can dance the kokioko, I'm going to teach you
one of the easiest dances there is."

Malice moved his rump back and forth, closed his eyes and sang: *

* See music p. 203.

85
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

Ifyou have no sense,

Put your sack on the ground
And dance.

"That's easy," said Bouki. And he put his sack on the ground and
imitated Malice:

Ifyou have no sense,

Put your sack on the ground
And dance.

"Good," said Malice. And he began to sing faster and faster and
shake his whole body:

Ifyou have no sense,

Put your sack on the ground
And dance.

Bouki did the same. And his eyes were shut tight when Madame
Malice crept out from behind the breadfruit tree and picked up his
sack.

Ifyou have no sense,

Put your sack on the ground
And dance.

Suddenly Bouki opened his eyes and looked on the ground. "My
sack, Malice, my SACK!"
"Oh-oh, did you put it on the gr-round?" asked Malice in mock
seriousness.
"Yes, of course."
"Oh, Bouki, no! I tried to warn you," said Malice. And he dis-

appeared into the night, singing:

Ifyou have no sense,

Put your sack on the ground
And dance.

86
Papa God Sends
Turtle Doves
 Papa God Sends
Turtle Doves

About the Story: Dadi told this story in front of

her house in Carref our-Duf ort. The full moon shone
behind her as she described the flight of the birds
{Fee O lay) in the sky. She stood on tiptoes and
her arms formed circles above her head, each arm
rotating outward from the center of her body. As
the intensity of the story increased, her circles be-
came smaller and faster. When the birds turned
and turned she used her right arm only and very
quickly rotated it in front of her chest in a clock-
wise motion, with a bent elbow. She spoke the
words "turn and turn and turn" in one breath and
stopped when her breath gave out. It was a very
dramatic and touching storytelling.

HERE was man and

sons were not quite

T:
grown
woman who
up, they left
once an old
had three sons. When the
their mother and father and
an old

went to the city to find work. One went to Jacmel, another went to
Mirogoane, and a third went to Port-au-Prince. The father did not
want them to go, but the mother said there was not enough food for
them all.
Both the mother and father missed their sons. In the mornings

88
 PAPA GOD SENDS TURTLE DOVES

they spoke about them and in the evenings they spoke about them.
One morning, when they were particularly lonely for their sons,
a turtledove flew into the courtyard.
"Look, Mother," the old man said, "a turtle dove."
"Yes," the woman said. "It makes me think of our children."
"Papa God has sent us this turtle dove, let us take care of him."
"Why does it make me think of my children, I wonder," said the
old woman and she shook her head sadly.
But the old man did not wonder. He went into the fields and
came back with some wood with which he made a cage for the turtle
dove. He gave the bird grain and water and the bird stayed.
The next morning, the old couple found a second turtle dove in
their yard.
"Look, Mother," the old man said. "Papa God has sent us another
turtle dove to keep our first turtle dove company."
"When I look at it, it makes me think of our sons. I don't want it

here," the old woman said.

But the father put it in the cage with the first turtle dove. And
the next morning, a third turtle dove landed in their yard.
"Mother, see, now it is finished. We have the third. Our sons are
home with us again."
"What are you talking about?"
"Yes, they left as children and returned as birds."
"How can children leave and return as birds? I never heard of
such a thing."
"Old woman, don't you know God can do whatever he wishes?"
"I want my children, not these birds!" the woman screamed. She
seized one of the birds by the neck as if she would kill it.
"If you hurt that bird you will hurt yourself," the father said.
"If you don't believe me, look at your left breast."
The woman looked down at herself and saw three drops of blood
on her breast.
"I have warned you. Now let the birds be." And the father went
into the fields to work.
But the woman could not stand the sight of the birds. All day she
went in and out of the house and tried to avoid looking at the birds,

89
 .

THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

but a fury got into her and she seized one from the cage and brought it

into the house and killed it.

At that moment in the fields, the father heard his son calling him
and turned around. Outlined against the evening sky was the image
of his son.
"Papa, Mama has killed me," he said.
"That is nonsense," the father said. "You have been away for ten
years and now you say your mother has killed you."
"But you know I am back. You yourself said so."
Then the father ran toward the house and saw one of the birds
was missing from the cage. He went inside and truly the mother had
killed it. She had cooked it in a pot and now she put it in a plate for
him to eat. But he could not eat it. He -brought it outside and laid it on
the ground while he opened the door of the cage. "Fly away," he said
to the other birds, "fly away."
But the birds flew down to the earth, and gathering the bones of
the turtle dove from the plate, they flew up into the air. Fee o lay. Fee
o lay. They circled and circled in the air, and the man and woman saw
there were three turtle doves flying.
Fee o lay. Fee o lay. Fee o lay. One of the turtle doves fluttered
down into the woman's at me fly, Mama." Fee o
face and said, "Look
lay. Fee o lay. Fee o lay. Fee o lay. "I'm flying for you." And
Fee o lay.
the bird made greater and greater circles in the sky.
The second bird fluttered in the face of the father and said,
"Look at me fly, Papa. I'm flying for you." Fee o lay. Fee o lay.
Fee o lay. Fee o lay. Fee o lay.
Then the third bird flew toward the mother and said, "Why did
you want to me? Didn't you know we would return to you?"
kill

Then all three birds began to turn in the air, to turn and turn
and turn and turn and turn and turn and turn and turn and turn . .

until they fell to the ground. And there stood the old man and woman's
three sons. When the mother saw them, she dropped down dead.
They tried to bring her back to life, but it was too much for her
to believe that children could leave and return as birds. It was not too
much for the father. And he and his three sons lived happily together
until the end of their lives.

90
The Singing Bone
The Singing Bone

About the Story: Late one afternoon, as I sat by the

river in Carrefour-Dufort, watching the sun set and
waiting until the work in the sugar-cane fields
would be few young women and older boys
over, a
gathered around me. We were chatting together
when an unkempt woman with few teeth, torn
clothes, and an angry look approached from the
river bank.
"What do you have in there?" She was refer-
ring to my blue canvas bag. I opened it wide so
she could see the contents: a black tape recorder,
pens and pencils, a tan notebook. "Give it to me,"
she said, pointing to the tape recorder.
"I need it," I answered.
"I need it more," she said. "You are rich. You
are a foreigner. I am poor." She touched her own
thin clothes to demonstrate her words. "Give it to
me," she repeated.
"No," I finally answered.
"Then give me money," she said.
I looked at the people around me. They all

needed money. One of the younger boys joined

her: "Give me money, come on." I looked for
Willy, but as usual, he had disappeared. The woman
grabbed at my skirt. The younger boys surrounded
me.

92
 THE SINGING BONE

had told no one at the hotel where I was going.

I

I realized that no one knew where I was. Rachel

would soon be going to sleep in Port-au-Prince. I

stood up. "Okay," I said, "if you tell me a story, a
good story, I'll pay you."
She burst out laughing. She spit on the ground
and waved her arms crazily at me. Then she stormed
off, shouting and sputtering epithets.

I stood watching her until she reached the

bend in the river. I sat down. No one said anything.
After a while the talk resumed. I waited until the
voices of the othersbecame loud and bright, then
I leaned toward the tall young man sitting on my

left and lowered my voice. "Are there any police in

Carrefour-Dufort?" I asked him.

"Yes," he answered. "I'm the police."
I looked at him more closelv. It must be true:
he was the only one in the crowd whose clothes
had norips or patches. He was wearing a new straw
hat.He was the police.
News of my meeting with the woman spread
through the community. I, who had arrived in the
afternoon so in control, was by evening turned
about. I sat at the evening's storytelling feeling vul-
nerable and open to whatever was to be.
That evening Justine told "The Singing Bone."
Swame, a laborer of fifty, gave a full-length rendi-
tion of "The Gizzard." The moon was full, the
frogs croaking, the children loud and noisy. A spark
was running from storyteller to storyteller: every-
one wanted to tell. It was one of the most lively
evenings in Carrefour-Dufort. It was also the first
time a storyteller offered me a role in her story.
When the father in "The Singing Bone" asked the
king if he would take his bet, Justine put out her
hand to me. "Cut!" she said. I put out my hand to
her. "Cut! " the others answered for me. We touched
hands. The bet was on.

93
 "

THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

Yet, despite the full support the audience gave

Justine during her story, when shecame to the
moral, a man shouted, "It is not for you to draw
those morals." was under twenty, out-
Justine
spoken, and independent in her ways. She would
not be silenced. She shouted back at him: "I have
as much right as you!"
"Yes!" her friends cried. "She told the story
well."
"No, no," the others protested, "not for a loose
woman —
But before the argument could get underway,
another storyteller cried "Cric?" and there were
sufficient cracs for the story to begin. Story after
story, I was learning: A story begins much before
its beginning.

died leaving
son. Then
him with
his
Ta small boy.
second wife died.
HERE was once a man who
much luck with
He married again
When he married
women. His
didn't have
first

and had another

a third time he
wife

chose a woman who was very fat and very mean. It seemed like she'd
live a long time.
One day she said to her two stepsons, "Whoever brings me the
largest bundle of firewood shall have the most to eat at dinner."

Out the door ran the older boy. The younger boy started to fol-
low, but before he could reach the door, the stepmother took a
hard cane stick and hit him over the head and killed him. Then she put
the kettle on the fire to boil. She cut the boy into pieces and threw him
into the pot.
When boy returned with firewood, she told him to
the older
bring his father his dinner. The boy carried the plate to his father's
shop. The father went out into the yard and ate his dinner. Only
one bone remained. This the father threw under an orange tree. Then
he went back to work.

94
 THE SINGING BONE

Before the brother returned, he looked around the yard for more
wood. As he passed near the orange tree, the bone underneath it began
*
to sing:

Oh brother mine, come close to me,

Oh brother mine, listen now to me:
Stepmother killed me
Father ate me
Here I lie
Under the orange tree.

"Oh-oh." The boy ran into his father's shop.

"Father, come quick," he cried, "there is a bone singing in the
garden."
"Son, how can a bone sing?"
"Truly, Father, the bone is singing. Come with me and you will
hear for yourself."
The father followed his son, and when the boy came close to the
tree, the bone began to sing:

Oh brother mine, come close to me,

Oh brother mine, listen now to me:
Stepmother killed me
Father ate me
Here I lie
Under the orange tree.

"Oh-oh. The bone truly sings," said the father, "and I have found
my fortune." He picked up the bone and put it in his belt. He did not
return to work, but went home.
"Look here, wife," he said. "I have in my belt a bone that can
sing."
When the wife saw the bone, she looked quickly away and asked
the boy if he wanted to eat.

* See music 204-205.

p.

95
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

"No, I shall wait for my brother."

"Silly," the stepmother said. "He is out playing. You know how
little ones are, as long as their bellies are full they will continue to play.
Come now, eat."
"No," the boy insisted. "I shall wait for my brother."
"Let us leave now for the king," said the father. "With this bone
I shall make my fortune."
As the family approached the palace, they saw the king sitting in
his garden sharing a barbecue with some of his friends.
"King," the father said, "I have come to make a bet with you. I

own a bone that knows how to sing."

"Where have you found such a marvel?" asked the king.
"No matter," the father answered. "Do you take my bet?"
"Cut," said the king.
"Cut," said the father.
"I take your bet. Now let us see your bone."
The father took the bone from his beltand placed it on the
ground. "Go up to the bone," he said to the king, "and you will
hear it sing."
The king went up to the bone, but the bone did not sing.
The father went up to the bone, but the bone did not sing.
The stepmother went up to the bone, but the bone did not sing.
When the brother went up to the bone, the bone sang:

Oh brother mine, come close to me,

Oh brother mine, listen now to me:
Stepmother killed me
Father ate me
Here I lie
Under the orange tree.

"I begin to understand," said the king. "You own a singing bone,
but tell me, how many sons do you have?"
"Two."
"I only see one here," said the king. "Send for the other."
Messengers were sent to look for the boy, but no one had seen him.

96
 THE SINGING BONE

"I understand even better now," said the king. And he sent his

servants into the palace to bring out the largest cooking pot in the
kitchen.
"Now then/' he said to the stepmother, "go up to the bone and
let us hear it sing."
She went up to the bone, but the bone did not sing.

"Go over to the fire instead," he ordered her.

"Son, go up to the bone," the king said to the boy.
The brother went up to the bone and the bone sang:

Oh brother mine, come close to me,

Oh brother mine, listen now to me:
Stepmother killed me
Father ate me
Here I lie
Under the orange tree.

And while the king listened to the bone singing, he noticed that
the stepmother, standing next to the fire, was beginning to melt.
"Do not lose all that good fat," said the king. "Put her into the
cooking platter and put the cooking platter over the fire."

The fire blazed and the stepmother melted and melted and melted.
She melted, until she was all gone.
The king picked up the bone and brought it over to the platter.
He slowly greased the bone and the bone began to grow: feet, legs,
organs, stomach, chest, arms, neck, mouth, nose, eyes, hair —and there
the boy stood, just as he had been.
win the bet. For
"So," said the king to the father, "you did not
you no longer have a singing bone, but you have your two sons again.
And now I say to all who are here: Choose whom you want to marry,
but if you choose a tree that has fruit, you must care for the fruit as
much as for the tree."

97
The Gizzard
The Gizzard

About the Story: At the end of the storytelling

evening in Carrefour-Dufort, Swame began his

"The Gizzard." The other storytellers that

story of
evening had stood and moved about. There had
been much dancing and singing. But Swame sat on
a chair, and looking straight at me, spoke quietly
without stopping. By then it was eleven o'clock.
The audience was tired and restless. They were
farmers who rise with the sun at four in the morn-
ing. "That's enough!" someone called out. "Stop!"
People began to mill about and talk loudly. Others
continued to shout for Swame to finish: "Too long!
Enough!" But Swame continued, undaunted, to the
end.
In Swame's story of "The Gizzard," the hungan
(pronounced hoon-gahn) appears in three different
roles: the hungan-diviner who uses cards; the hun-
gan, man of wealth, who needs no charity; and the
hungan as healer. In the early days the hungan or
mam bo (female Priestess) grew into their positions
with age or knowledge. These people were in di-

rect contact with their family spirits and cured

family members of their illnesses. They did not
claim to be hungans, only servants of the spirits,

and they usually worked at other trades to earn

money. The modern hungan, who is concerned

ioo
 THE GIZZARD

principally with healing the sick, is in this tradition.

Hungan-htaler, he is known as the hungan-makout
because of the straw bag he carries over his shoul-

der, which contains his herbs and medicaments.

There is another hungan now, the hungan-
asson. He has bought his powers from spirits who
are not his family spirits. With his arrival there is
more black magic and sorcery. He always uses an
asson, a gourde rattle made from snakebones, in
performing his ceremonies. It is from this rattle that
his powers derive, for he obtained it during his own

initiation ceremonies.
When the princess in "The Gizzard" goes to
see a hungan, it is probably a hungan-asson. She
follows the usual procedure. She brings with her
payment, normally a bottle of clairin and a candle,
but as she is a princess, three sacks of silver is quite
fitting. The hungan then divines why she has come,
either by reading cards or by a candle flame held
over a tin of water. The princess chooses cards and
wisely waits for his divination of her problem. She
then pays him for had come to
his diagnosis. If she

be treated for illness, she would have had to return

another time or to have consulted another hungan,
probably a hungan-makout, who would be involved
in the curing ceremonies.
On my nextvisit to Haiti, I was eager to hear

more stories from Swame. Willy and I drove to

Carrefour-Dufort, but Swame wasn't there. We
were told he had gone to the Dominican Republic
to find work cutting sugar cane. The next year I

came to Haiti, I again asked for Swame. He was

in Haiti, but not then in Carrefour-Dufort. Friends
of his assured me they could find him. I said I
would return in three days.
At last I was seated in a straw chair in Carre-
four-Dufort, two feet away from Swame. I offered
Swame a present and thanked him for the story of

IOI
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

"The Gizzard." I said I could not forget it and

askedif he would tell another such long, beautiful
story.
Swame refused the present. He said he would
not tell a story unless I gave him five dollars. Willy
removed his glasses in a grand gesture of amaze-
ment. Five dollars is almost a week's salary in Haiti!
Would it be proper for me to pay Swame five
dollars for one story? Willy would call me a fool.
But then, I thought, how is it possible to put a price
on a story, especially from a man who can tell such
a story as "The Gizzard"?
Swame began, but within the first two sen-
tences, he got confused. The others said no, that
wasn't the way the story went. Swame began an-
other story. Again the others corrected him. He
tried three or four times, but he could not tell a

story.
Cric? someone called. The stories went their
round. Then I turned to Swame. And again he
began, and again he became confused.
T had not realized how true it was: A story has
no price. It is a gift of the spirit. It comes of the
moment. It is here and it is gone.
For whatever reasons, Swame could not dupli-
cate what he had done three years before. His head
was determined. He was eager to try. But his spirit
refused.

HERE was once a mother who had three

i She was very poor and worked all
sons.
the time. But one day she stopped for a moment and said to herself:
"I do not have three boys so that I can do all the work. They must
work too. They must have some trade. Yet it would make no sense for
me to choose a trade for them without asking them."

102
 THE GIZZARD

So she called her oldest boy to her and said to him: "My child,

what trade would you like to do?"

"Mama," he answered, "I would like to be a sailor, working on
the sea."
"I shall send you there," she said and called her second son.
"Mama, I would like to be a carpenter," he said. The mother
agreed and called her third son.
"My child, what trade would you like?"
"Mama, what would like most in the world is
I to walk in the
fields and hunt and take what the Good Lord gives me."
The mother agreed. She sent her oldest son off to the sea. She ap-
prenticed her second son to a carpenter, and the youngest son lived
at home.
In the mornings, the youngest son would
and take his rise early

gun and go hunting. Sometimes he returned that evening, sometimes

the next night, but he always brought back food for himself and his
mother.
must have been that the Good Lord approved of hunting as the
It

trade for the third son. It seemed especially so as, within the next year,
the first son was drowned at sea and the second son was killed at work
by a hammer, leaving only the third son to live at home and fight
with his mother against poverty.
One morning, the boy woke up early and left for the woods.
When he was high in the hills, he saw a small, pretty bird with a
mark of pink under the neck. The bird was beautiful, so beautiful, the
boy said to himself: "How can I kill this little bird? But then, how
can I not kill it? Isn't hunting the trade the Good Lord gave me?"
The boy took gun and aimed at
his the bird and shot it. The
bird
fell to the ground as if dead. But it wasn't dead, for the boy had shot it,

not to kill it, but to graze it. He ran to the bird and picked it up and
stroked it gently. He and caressed its feathers, and then he
talked to it

blew lightly under its feathers. Whh h h. And the bird revived.
The boy took the bird home and said to his mother: "Mama, all
the animals I bring you are for us to eat. But you must never eat this
bird. Even if you are dying of hunger, you must never eat it. must We
respect this bird and consider it different."

103
 "

THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

The boy made a cage for the bird and bought some grain. Before
he left in the morning he fed the bird and told his mother to feed the
bird again at eleven o'clock and to give the bird as much grain as it

wanted. The bird grew and became beautiful. It groomed itself and
cleaned its feathers and looked very much like a pigeon.
One morning a white man was driving in his car past the house
and saw the bird in its cage. He immediately recognized the pink
marking under the throat where the gizzard was. This was a special
bird, and anyone who would eat its gizzard would become so rich that
his house would fill to the ceiling with silver.
It didn't take the man long to stop his car and go through the
gate andknock on the woman's door.
"Madame," he said, "may I ask you for a glass of water?"
Oh, these white people, they were always needing special things.
Knives, forks, spoons, glasses. She didn't own any glasses.
"Excuse me," she said, "I will have to go next door to my neigh-
bor and borrow a glass
—
"No, no," said the man. "I only want a little water to clear my
throat."
The woman He poured some water into
then offered him the jug.
a cup, swished it mouth and spit it out.
around in his
"Madame," he said, "I did not come to you because I needed
water, but rather because I saw how poor you are and I have come to
make a bargain with you. I would like to eat the gizzard of that little
bird in the courtyard. If you will kill it and cook it for me, the minute
I eat it, I shall marry you."
Oh! The woman nearly became crazy. She ran here and there
telling everyone that she was getting married! Then the white man
put his hand in his pocket and took out a fifty-dollar bill.
"Buy whatever is needed," he said. "Tomorrow we are getting
married."
The woman hurried to buy chickens, beans, rice, and bananas.
She invited everyone she knew. Early the next morning she bought
a small pot with three legs. She killed the bird and set it to cook in the
pot in the courtyard. She stayed in the house busying herself preparing
all the dishes for the guests.

104
*.«* A-tfl
 " "

THE GIZZARD

It must have been that the Good Lord was watching out for that
boy, for he decided to stop hunting and return home. As he walked
down the street he heard people talking about his mother. "She is go-
ing to marry a rich man!
"What difference does it make?" he thought to himself. "If you
are not born to be rich, you never will be."
Still, as he came near his house and saw so many people standing
around, he wondered why
mother had not told him, not even one
his

word, about getting married. He entered the courtyard and saw

some meat cooking in a small pot with three legs. He reached in the
pot and took a small piece. He didn't even know what it was. Plop. He
swallowed it. Then he left.
What had he eaten? The gizzard, of course!
Some of the guests were standing around the table, some were
seated. Soon the white man came in and sat down in front of a plate
that had been especially prepared for him. He examined the meat, pok-
ing here and there. He could not find the gizzard. He stood up and
said: "Madame, there will be no marriage."

Plop. Madame fainted. Fortunately there was Four Flowers Vine-

gar in the house, which someone found and poured into her ear and
she woke up.
"Madame," said the white man, "there was no gizzard in the small
bird and that was what I needed. I am therefore not obliged to marry
you."
The man walked out of the house and got into his car. Madame
ran after him and saw her son coming up the street.
"Child," she cried. "Did you take anything that was cooking in
the three-legged pot in the courtyard?"
"Yes, Mama, I just took a small piece
—
Oh-oh. I cannot repeat to you the words that mother then used
to her son. But I you that she went into the house, took out
will tell
everything the boy owned, and threw it on the street.
"Never come back in this courtyard again," she said.
The boy began to cry. He picked up his clothes and things and
walked down the street toward the hills. All day he hunted. But in the
evening he realized he had no matches to make a fire.

107
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

Then in the distance he sawand walked toward its light.

a fire He
came to a house, entered the courtyard, and knocked on the door. An
old woman, who was a witch, answered.
"Old woman," said the boy, "I have been hunting since the after-
noon but I have no matches to cook my meat. I saw your fire and have
come to ask you if I can use some of your fire to roast my meat."
"Child," said the old woman in a low voice, "you are a small boy.
This house is yours, but as for the animals, throw them away. When
an old woman prepares dinner, she prepares everything: meat, rice,
beans, bananas. Dinner will soon be ready and I will give you your
portion."
The boy ate andand ate. His stomach grew and grew and
ate
grew, until he could not eat any more.
"Little boy," the old woman said, "you will stay with me until
you die." She meant that she and her son, who was also a witch, would
eat him the next morning. But this was not to be —
for this boy was
—
lucky and things always went well for him.
The next morning when the boy woke up he was covered with
silver. The was covered with silver. Oh. The boy ran to
entire floor
the old woman and told her what had happened. Oh-oh. She ran to
the room and saw the silver —
all the silver. She scooped it up and after

many trips put it all in the trunk in her room.

Then she told her son, and when he saw all the silver in the trunk,
he said: "Mother, we cannot eat this boy. We must respect him."
Then he went into the boy's room and hugged him, saying: "We
shall be brothers. I am the older and you are the younger."

So the boy lived with the two witches a long time. Every eve-
ning his room would fill with silver and soon there were no empty
containers in the house. They bought the boy all kinds of clothes. He
had more than one hundred pairs of shoes. They gave him such rich
food to eat that he became fat. Then they gave him a pair of glasses,
even though he didn't need them. But the boy never left the courtyard
because the old woman had warned him that there were devils living
nearby who would eat him.
Still, as the time passed and the boy grew older, he began to dream

of girls. One Sunday, the boy washed himself and put on his finest suit.

108
 —
THE GIZZARD

He looked at himself in the mirror and said: "The time has come for
you to marry." He went to the old woman and said he was going to
take a stroll in the courtyard.
As he walked in the courtyard he watched the old woman, and
the minute she turned her head ivhoosht —he was over the gate and
into the street. He stopped awhile to catch his breath and collect him-
self. Then he began to saunter. The boy was dressed in no ordinary
costume and he knew it.

He strolled down the streetand passed the king's house. Now the
king had a daughter who often sat in her balcony watching the men
go by. But if any man tried would never answer.
to talk to her, she
The saw
instant she young man she said: "That one is for me."
that
She sent word to her father that the guards should stop the young man
who was passing in the street, for she wanted to marry him and no
other, and if she did not marry him, it would be the king's fault. The
king immediately sent two strong guards to chase after the young man.
"Mister," they called.
But the young man did not turn to the right or the left. He had
gone out to find a woman and those were men who were calling him.
"Mister! Mister!" the guards cried, catching up to him.
The young man looked at them from under his glasses and said:
"What is troubling you?" (You know how certain people are when
they have a little money. They think they're so important.)
"The king has sent for you."
(And you know what that boy said? ) "Which king?"
"The king. The king wants to speak with you."
So the young man returned to the king's house.
"Hello, King," he said waving his hand.
The king began to explain at once: "I have a daughter who has
fallen in love with you from watching you pass by in the street. She
says she will die, and it will be my fault, if she does not marry you. I

ask you, for my sake, marry my daughter."

"My would be happy to be married, but at the mo-
dear king, I

ment I have no money."

"Oh, don't let that trouble you. I have plenty of money."
"Well, if that is how it is, I should like to be married tonight."

109
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

You can imagine how many phone calls the king had to make and
in so short a time, but everyone wedding that evening.
was at the

The next morning when the princess woke up, she saw their room
was filled with silver.

"Papa, papa," she went running to her father. "I have married a
man richer than you are."
"Nonsense, my child, I am the richest man there is, and should
any man be richer than I am, he would be king of
all of Haiti."

But the princess insisted that the king come to their room to see
for himself. Oh-oh. The floor was covered with silver. And every eve-
ning, more and more.
It became too much for the princess. And one day she took three

sacks of silver, put them in the back seat of her car, and drove out into
the country to see a hungan. She asked the hungan to read her cards.
"Yes, I see," said the hungan. "You have come about your hus-
band. He receives money in a magical way."
"Yes, hungan. But how?"
"What happens that he receives money like that what happens —
— it is the gizzard of a small bird he has swallowed. Even if he dies, the
gizzard will still be in his body, and he will receive money, even under
the earth. He will receive money all his life."
"Hungan, how can I get the gizzard?"
"Have you ever taken a bath with your husband at the holy
spring at four o'clock in the morning?"
"No."
"Good. Then ask your husband to do so. And buy yourself a
bottle of regurgitive and a bottle of rum."
The husband agreed to take such a bath. And when he stepped
out of the holy spring, brrr he was chilly.
"Quick, drink this," said the princess. "It will warm you up." But
itwas the regurgitive she gave him. And it made him throw up. The
third time, outcame the gizzard. The princess grabbed it up and swal-
lowed it. Then they both drank several glasses of rum and went home.
When they woke in the morning, it was the princess who was
rich and the young man who was poor. How long did she allow him
to stay? Two days. Then he was sent away.

no
 THE GIZZARD

The grand young man walked in the streets. He still had friends
who him to eat and drink, to dances and parties. But as he had
invited
only one suit, the more he wore it, the more shabby it became, and
soon it had holes, and then he was truly poor. He developed an in-
fection in his eyes. Then he became blind. He walked along, with his
eyes closed, his hand out, asking: "Give charity to a poor man." He
was so poor he didn't even have a young child to guide him.
Once, as he was walking up a small hill, he said to himself, "I am
tired. I shall find a tree lie down in the shade." He soon fell
and
asleep. Plop! Something and hit him on the face.
fell

"Ah," he said, "I must have been sleeping under a mango tree."
He reached for his cane and slid it along the earth looking for the
mango. Tok. The cane struck something. He reached down, picked
it up and ate it.

"Why this isn't a mango," he said, "it's an apple. Good Lord! I

can see. I can see! Thank you, Good Lord. Thank you, life. Now I

shall become a hungan and never have to ask for charity again."
He picked up the apples under the tree and squeezed their juice
into his calabash. Then he noticed another apple tree with even more
beautiful apples. He went to that tree and picked an apple and ate it.
At first, it tasted delicious, but then he began to feel strange. His eyes
hurt. He was blind again.
But then, he rubbed some of the juice from his calabash over his
eyes. He could see. He shook apples from the tree that made him blind
until he had a great quantity. He walked to the road with the apples
and waited for a girl who was returning from the marketplace.
"Young girl," he called out.
The girl ignored him.
"Young girl," he called again. "Look at me, I am in no shape to
chase after girls. I am asking you for a favor and one that can
help you too."
The girl came closer and listened.
"I want you to sell these apples for me. You can sell them for five
dollars or for whatever price you want. Keep the money; I don't want
the money. But I want you to sell them at the house of the king, and
none other. And should anyone on the way try to buy these apples,

in
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

you are to refuse. These apples are only for the king's house."
The girl agreed and took the apples. As she walked toward the
king's house, several people asked her how much the apples were, but
she didn't answer. As soon as she reached the king's house, she called
out: "Apples. Foreign apples. Apples." The princess asked her how
much she wanted for her apples.
"I am selling them for ten dollars," she said. "They are foreign
apples."
She was paid ten dollars.
Everyone ate the apples: the king, the queen, the princess, the
children; even the turkeys, they ate the apple pits. And everyone be-
came blind. Fortunately the guards had not eaten the apples so they
could help the royal family about. Many of them went all over the
country looking for a hungan who could cure the royal family, but
no one could.
Soon the young man presented himself at the house. He claimed
he was a hungan and rubbed the juice over the king's eyes. The king
could Then he put the juice over the eyes of the queen, and the chil-
see.

dren. They could see again. But he said to the king: "There is something
that is preventing the princess from seeing. She needs a bath at the holy
spring. I shall take her myself."
And at four o'clock in the morning, when the princess emerged
from the spring, he gave her the regurgitive. Out came the gizzard.
The young man picked it up and swallowed it. Then he rubbed the
juice over her eyes and told her: "You can go."
The king asked him how many thousands of dollars he wanted
for having cured them.
"I need no money," he answered, "for I am
you are."
richer than
Whether he stayed with the royal family or not,know. I don't
Whatever he did, wherever he went, he always had money. The boy
himself had said: "If you are not born to be rich, you never will be."
But the hungan had said: "He will have money all his life."
And he did.

112
The Monkey
Who Asked
for Misery
The Monkey
Who Asked
for Misery

About the Story: Limene, a farmer and the husband

of Dadi, told "The Monkey Who Asked for Mis-
ery" to a very delighted and enthusiastic audience
at a storytelling gathering in Carrefour-Dufort.
Limene's story of Monkey is in fact one epi-
sode in a three-episode story involving Dog, Cat,
and Monkey. Limene began: Dog meets Cat walking
along the highway and asks him where he has been.
"I am walking along and you are walking along,"
Cat answers. "What need do you have to know
where I am coming from? But since you have asked,
I will now arrest you, for I am the police." They are

soon in a fight, and Cat But Cat is not

dirties himself.
completely certain it is he that has done so. He
therefore goes to a hungan to find out whether it
was he or Dog. While the hungan is performing a
ceremony of divination Dog arrives with the same
question. Cat leaves and meets Monkey. Monkey
advises Cat to go home. At this moment, a woman
walks by with a calabash on her head (beginning
the episode used in this collection) . Monkey forgets
Cat and Dog, but at the end, after he is chased
by Dog, Monkey, too, dirties himself. In the last
episode, Monkey and Dog go to a dance together.
They get into a fight over Monkey's candy. Dog
insists Monkey give him more. Monkey says he has

114
 THE MONKEY WHO ASKED FOR MISERY

no more. "Then tell me what it is called,' Dog in-

'

sists. "Monkey-turd," Monkey answers. The epi-

sode and story end with more turd and another

brawl.
There are hundreds of Haitian stories built
around excrement, and every time they are told
they are greeted with shouts of joy and merriment.
The adults are as eager for and delighted by these
stories as the children. Each time I heard one I was
—
entranced at the outset they almost always begin
in a witty, clever manner — but as soon as the word
"poupou" or "caca" enters the story, everyone,
storyteller included, seems to be so overwhelmed
that story line, sense, and wit are abandoned for
sheer pleasure at the quantity of times poupou, caca
or turd can be mentioned.

ket. Just as she passed,

and broke. The sweet
M ONKEY was sitting in a tree when a
woman walked by on her way to mar-
she tripped and the calabash on her head fell off
sugar-cane syrup in the calabash ran all over
the ground.
"Good Lord, what Misery you have given me," she cried. "For
three days I have been walking to market to sell this syrup and now
IVe lost it. Good Lord, Papa God, why did you give me such
Misery?" But there was nothing to be done, so the woman continued
on her way.
Monkey came down from the tree. What was this Misery Papa
God had given the woman? He sniffed it. Hmmm. It smelled good.
He put one finger in and licked it. Hmm. He put in another finger.
He put in his hand. And then one foot. And soon he was licking
it up from the ground. Th Th Th Th Th Thh. Then it was
. . .

gone. But Monkey wanted more. He had not known Misery was so
sweet. He decided to visit Papa God. He raced at top speed and found
Papa God.

"5
 — "

THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

"Good morning, Papa God," Monkey.

said

"Hello, Brother Monkey," said Papa God.

"I've come to see you, Papa God."
"Yes, Brother Monkey."
—
"Papa God I want Misery."
"In the awful condition you're in, you want Misery?"
"Oh yes, Papa God, I need lots and lots and lots of Misery."
"Brother Monkey —
"Papa God, I've already tasted Misery. I know how sweet it is."

"Well then, go over there. Do you see the three sacks? Take that
one. No, not that one that one. Yes. Put it on your back and walk
until you come to a place where there are no trees. Then open it up.
But remember, if you truly want lots of Misery, there must not be any
trees in the place where you open it."
Monkey took the sack. He put it on his back. He thanked Papa
God and left. He walked and walked and walked and walked and
walked. He walked and walked and at last, he came to a place where
there was not one tree to be seen. Monkey set the sack down. He
looked in every direction. There was not one tree. He rubbed his
stomach. He couldn't wait. He loosened the string of the sack and
opened it up.
Rrrrrr. Rrrrr. Rrrrrrrr. Five huge dogs jumped out of the sack
and began to chase Monkey. Monkey ran. The dogs followed close
behind him. When Monkey had no breath left, a tree appeared. One
tree. Monkey climbed that tree and the dogs barked and scratched, but

they could not reach Monkey.

Papa God had sent the tree. Papa God sent the tree especially to
Monkey.
Too much Misery at one time is not a good thing —even for
Monkey.

116
The Name
The Name

About the Story: The woman who told "The

Name" was a solid, strong, fierce woman in her
She had been a peasant but
forties. now lived in a
newly cement house north of Petionville and
built
owned a grocery store. She spoke in a firm, no-
nonsense voice to a group of her relatives and
neighborhood children that had gathered in the
evening on her porch. Her gestures were cutting,
and as I listened to her I was afraid.
After visiting her house the second time, my
tape recorder, tapes, and canvas bag suddenly van-
ished in the night. I had had them when I stepped
into my car. They were gone when I reached the
hotel. How could they have disappeared? I turned
at midnight and drove back to Bois-Moquet. Every-
one was surprised. Yes, they had all seen me put
everything into the car. How could it have disap-
peared? Ernst, the hotel manager at the San-Souci,
suggested I see either a hungan or the mayor in the
morning.
The mayor of Petionville was a gallant, dressed
in bright green, and sporting two pistols in his hip
pockets. He listened intently as I spoke and then
advised mecome back in two weeks when he
to
would have more time. In two weeks, I would be in
New York. Fortunately I had thought to bring two

118
 THE NAME

tape recorders, so I grieved over the loss of my

tapes, and the stories that had been told, but after
all, what was to be done?

The next evening, when I was driving with

Willy back from Carrefour-Dufort and he heard
the story, he insisted justice must be done. So the
following morning, Willy and I stood in a crowd of
eager plaintiffs at the police station in Port-au-
Prince. At last my turn came and I was ushered

into a small room. The officer nodded to me and

listened seriously as I described each incident.
"Yes," he said, but when he picked up his desk
phone phone was dead. He called
to investigate, the
for another phone to be brought in, and that, too,

was dead. He looked at me and I at him. We both

shrugged our shoulders. I looked at Willy. He was
standing in the doorway, but he'd seen. He shrugged
his shoulders, too.
I thanked the officer and walked out into the
bright sunlit streets of Port-au-Prince. Schoolgirls
in theirnavy blue uniforms and brown oxfords
were passing by. Gangly youths dressed as police-
men stood at attention outside the gendarmerie.
And far up in the mountains, in Bois-Moquet, was
the woman who had told "The Name." I could feel
her presence here in the city. What defense did
the mayor, the police, or even the telephones have
against her powers? Her elemental force had to be
recognized and reckoned with. After all, was it

not the stuff that folktales are made of?

sat down
will give
at the table,

you something to
T eat."
HERE
was once a girl who worked for
an old woman. Each time the old woman
she said to the girl: "If you tell me my name, I

But the girl never said anything, for she did not know the

119
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

woman's name. From the time she woke up in the morning until the
time she went to sleep, the girl worked for this old woman, cleaning
her house, cooking her meals, doing whatever the woman asked. And
the woman never gave her anything to eat or drink.
There was no one the girl could go to for help, for all the neigh-
bors had long since moved away. They knew the old woman was a
witch.
"Don't blame me if you are hungry," the old woman would say
as she sat down at the table. "Tell me my name and I will give you
something to eat."
The poor girl remained silent and hungry.
One day the woman bought a large turkey and killed it. She gave
the girl the intestines and told her to wash them in the river.
When the girl got to the river with the intestines, the fish, the
shrimp, and the eel were waiting for her at the river's edge.
"Little girl," the eel called to her, "if you give me something to
eat, I will tell you the name of the old woman."
The girl willingly gave the Fivip* The
eel a part of the intestines.
eel swallowed it and disappeared under the water without saying
anything.
"Little girl," called the shrimp, "if you give me something to eat,

I will tell you the old woman's name."

The girl broke off another piece of the intestines and gave it to
the shrimp. Fwip. The shrimp swallowed it and disappeared.
"Little girl," said the fish, "give me some of the intestines. I am
the one who will tell you the woman's name."
Only a small piece remained. The girl gave almost all of it to the
fish. Fwip. The fish swallowed it and was off, without saying a word.
AU that was left was a little piece, not much bigger than my small
finger.
"No one has told me anything," the girl cried. "And now I have
to go back to the house and what will I say?"
Then the crab poked his head out from under the sand.
* Fivip is an African onomatopoeic sound for swallowing. It is done by keeping
your mouth open and making the sound "sh" as you inhale.

I20
 " —
THE NAME

"Very good," he said. "Give me what is left and I will tell you
the name."
The girl gave the last bit to the crab.
The crab chewed it slowly. After he finished, he said: "Do you
know what the old woman is called? Her name is 'In the Storm, Coffin
on her Back.'
"Thank you," said the girl.
"Now, when you return," the crab continued, "wait until the
woman is seated at the table and when she asks you what her name is

tell But it is not necessary for you to tell the old woman who told
her.
you her name. If you do, she will come here and try to kill me."
"I won't tell her," the girl promised.
When the girl entered the house, the woman was already seated
at the table with her rice and beans and salt and pepper before her.
"Tell me my name," the woman said as always, "and you may
have something to eat."
"I know your name," the girl replied.
"Who told you my name?"
"I know your name."
"Tell me."
" 'In the Storm, Coffin "
on your Back.'
The woman rose from the table. She was furious. She took the
machete from the wall and ran down to the river.
The girl didn't follow her. She sat down in the woman's place
and began to eat and eat and eat.
"Eel!" cried the woman. "Did you tell the girl my name?"
"Not me, woman," said the eel. "It wasn't me."
old
"Shrimp, did you tell the girl my name?"
"Not me, old woman. It wasn't me."
"Fish, did you tell the girl my name?"
"Not me, old woman," said the fish. "It wasn't me."
The old woman became angrier and angrier. She walked into the
water looking for the animal who had told the girl her name. Then she
stepped on something and saw was a crab under her foot.
it

"Crab!" she cried. "Did you tell the girl my name?"

121
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

"Yes, old woman," said the crab, "it was me!" And he started
moving backward into the river.
The woman plunged into the water after the crab.
"Crab, did you tell the girl my name?"
"Yes, old woman," answered the crab, moving deeper and deeper
into the water. "Yes, old woman, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. It was me."
"Crab!" shouted the old woman. And then she slipped on a rock,
hit the bottom, and didn't come up again.
"Yes, old woman," said the crab. "It is me." And he ate her up,
name and all.

122
Cats Baptism
Cats Baptism

About the Story: This storytelling occasion was

one of my favorites. I had spent the day with
Odette Menesson Rigaud in Kenscoff and we
stopped in the late afternoon at the home of some
peasants who lived on her husband's land in Platon-
Cafe. The peasants were glad to see her and offered
fresh vegetables and fruit for her to bring home.
As evening fell, the family gathered in the
house and the storytelling began. Among the group
was Madame Arbelle, a young, very dark, very
beautiful woman, who was nursing her infant as
the stories were being told.
At a pause she said, "I have a story. Cric?"
"Crac!" the others agreed. "She tells stories
very well."
Madame Arbelle passed her infant to one of
the relatives and told "Cat's Baptism." Each time
she sang the meow, in a nasal tone, everyone would
howl with laughter, and she would smile. But
when she came to the end, "meow meow meow,"
then all the adults and children in the room joined
her "meow meow meow meow" and she, laughing,
opened her arms and took back her child.

124
 cat's baptism

T
was time for the smallest cat's baptism.
I Mr. and Mrs. Cat spoke with the child's
godfather. They spoke with their relatives, and they spoke with the
priest. The baptism was arranged for the following Sunday.

The Cat family, in their finest clothes, walked solemnly and

proudly to the church. They sat in the front rows, attentive and eager.
When the priest, a large brown cat, stepped onto the pulpit, the service
began.
The priest sang:

Meow meow meow

meow meow.

All the members of the church responded:

Meow meow meow

meow meow.

The priest continued to chant:

Meow meow meow

meow meow.

And the congregation responded:

Meow meow meow

meow meow.

Then the priest held up his hand for silence and motioned to the
godfather to step forward. "Please," the priest said, "kindly sing the
prayers for your godchild."
The godfather sang:

Meow

125
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

"I beg your pardon," the priest said. "I do not understand you.
What was that?"
The godfather sang again:

Meow

"What?" the priest cried. "You are not singing properly at all.

Sing after me."

Meow meow meow

meow.

The godfather sang:

Meow

"You one of the cats from the other side

are insulting the priest!"
of the church cried out, and he ran over and smacked the godfather.
YAOH! Two members of the cat family rushed up and smacked him.
YAOH! Meow! PAAAf One of the cats had bitten the tail of the
priest, thinking he was the godfather. Five more cats joined the fight

and soon all the cats in the church were fighting:

meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow MEOW
meow meow meow meow MEOW meow meow meow meow meow
meow MEOW meow meow meow meow meow meow MEOW ....
.... meow.

126
"I'm Tipingee,
She's Tipingee,
We're Tipingee, Too'
"I'm Tipingee,
She's Tipingee,
We re Tipingee, Too'

About the Story: Odette and I had driven to Croix-

des-Missions to speak with Andre Pierre about
painting the jacket of the book. Thirty years ago,
Andre Pierre was a farmer with a very large fam-
ily, none of whom had enough to eat. He was a
hungan for his own family and had a special talent
for painting the bowls and calabashes that were
used in Voodoo ceremonies. Odette convinced him
that it would not be sacrilegious to paint the same
Voodoo decorations onto scratchboards and sell
them. When Odette's friends saw the painting of
Erzulie Freda, Voodoo goddess of love, that Andre
Pierre had painted for her, they immediately com-
missioned him to paint for them. Now, at seventy,
Andre Pierre is one of the most revered and re-
spected Haitian painters.
When we walked into his tiny studio, he was
working on a painting of Baron-Samedi (General
Death). It was twilight, and he continued to paint
as we talked. We spoke about the folktales, and he
said each had deep meaning. I mentioned the story
of the magic orange tree. "That story I knew when
I was a boy," he said. "Life from death —
that is the
orange tree. As we get closer to death, we under-
stand more deeply the stories. The secrets of life

130
",>
I M TIPINGEE, SHE S TIPINGEE, WE RE TIPINGEE, TOO

are in the stories." I then asked him if he would

paint a scene from the story of the orange tree to

be used for the jacket of the folktale book. He
was willing, but his price was beyond what I could
afford.
We went back to speaking about the stories.
It was nearly dark. Andre Pierre switched on one
glaring electric light bulb, which hung from the
ceiling. He offered us some kola and sent one of his
grandsons (he proudly informed us he had over
fifty) to gather together storytellers in the neigh-
borhood for an evening's storytelling.
I had no painting for the jacket, but I was glad

to have found another soul, a Haitian and a hungan,

who also loved the orange tree story. And then
later, in Andre Pierre's houmfort* I heard Antoine
Coleau tell in a simple, straightforward manner the
story of Tipingee.
Two days afterwards, I went into Georges
Nader's Gallery in Port-au-Prince. Lying on the
floor against thedoor of his office was the painting
I —
had asked Andre Pierre for the painting of the
magic orange tree. Where was Mr. Nader? He was
there. And no, the painting had not been sold. And
yes, I could buy it. And yes, I could afford it. It
was by a young, unknown Haitian painter, who
had just begun to paint, D. M. Maurice.
As I anxiously waited for it to be wrapped, a
woman came over to me and offered me twice the
price I had paid. I looked at her, amazed. Sell the
painting of the magic orange tree? The moment
the string was tied I was out of the store. I hid the
painting under my bed until I left Haiti. I carried
it onto the plane and into my editor's office in New
York City. And when
took off the wrapping, she
I

said: "The magic orange tree!"

* houmfort —Voodoo sanctuary
131
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

THERE
who
was
lived
once named Tipingee*
a girl
with her stepmother. Her fa-
ther was dead. The stepmother was and even though she lived
selfish,

in the girl's house she did not like to share what she earned with the
girl.

One morning, the stepmother was cooking sweets to sell in the

market. The fire under her pot went out. Tipingee was in school, so
the stepmother had to go herself into the forest to find more firewood.
She walked for a long time, but she did not find any wood. She con-
tinued walking. Then she came to a place where there was firewood
everywhere. She gathered it into a bundle. But it was too heavy to lift
up onto her head. Still, she did not want anyone else to have any of the
firewood. So standing in the middle of the forest she cried out: "My
friends, there is so much wood here and at home I have no wood.
Where can I find a person who will help me carry the firewood?"
Suddenly an old man appeared. "I will help you to carry the fire-
wood. But then what will you give me?"
"I have very little," the woman said, "but I will find something
to give you when we get to my house."
The old man carried the firewood for the stepmother, and when
they got to the house he said, "I have carried the firewood for you.
Now what will you give me?"
"I will give you a servant girl. I will give you my stepdaughter,
Tipingee."
Now Tipingee was in the house, and when she heard her name
she ran to the door and listened.
"Tomorrow I will send my stepdaughter to the well at noon for
by her name, Tipingee,
water. She will be wearing a red dress, call her
and she will come to you. Then you can take her."
"Very well," said the man, and he went away.
Tipingee ran to her friends. She ran to the houses of all the girls
in her class and asked them to wear red dresses the next day.

•Tipingee (Te-ping-gee): the "g" in the last syllable is pronounced as a hard "g"
as in "geese."

132
 "i'm tipingee, she s tipingee, we re tipingee, too

At noon the next day the old man went to the well. He saw one
little girl dressed in red. He saw a second little girl dressed in red. He
saw a third girl in red.
"Which of you is Tipingee?" he asked.
The first little girl said: "I'm Tipingee."
The second little girl said: "She's Tipingee."
The third little girl said: "We're Tipingee, too."
"Which of you is Tipingee?" asked the old man.
Then the little girls began to clap and jump up and down and
chant:

I'm Tipingee,
She's Tipingee,
We're Tipingee, too.

I'm Tipingee,
She's Tipingee,
We're Tipingee, too.

Rah! The old man went to the woman and said, "You tricked me.
All the girls were dressed in red and each one said she was Tipingee."
"That is impossible," said the stepmother. "Tomorrow she will
wear a black dress. Then you will find her. The one wearing a black
dress will be Tipingee. Call her and take her."
But Tipingee heard what her stepmother said and ran and begged
all her friends to wear black dresses the next day.
When the old man went to the well the next day, he saw one
little girl dressed in black. He saw a second little girl dressed in black.
He saw a third girl in black.
"Which of you is Tipingee?" he asked.
The first little girl said: "I'm Tipingee."
The second little girl said: "She's Tipingee."
The third little girl said: "We're Tipingee, too."
"Which of you is Tipingee?" asked the old man.
And the girls joined hands and skipped about and sang:

133
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

I'm Tipingee,
She's Tipingee,
We're Tipingee, too.

I'm Tipingee,
She's Tipingee,
We're Tipingee, too.

The man was getting angry. He went to the stepmother and said,
"You promised to pay me and you are only giving me problems. You
tell me Tipingee and everyone here is Tipingee, Tipingee, Tipingee,
Tipingee. If this happens a third time, I will come and take you for my
servant."
"My dear sir," said the stepmother, "tomorrow she will be in red,
completely in red, call her and take her."
And again Tipingee ran and told her friends to dress in red.
At noon the next day, the old man arrived at the well. He saw one
little girl dressed in red. He saw a second little girl dressed in red. He
saw a third girl in red.
"Which of you is Tipingee?" he asked.
"I'm Tipingee," said the first girl.

"She's Tipingee," said the second girl.

"We're Tipingee, too," said the third girl.

"WHICH OF YOU IS TIPINGEE?" the oldman shouted.
But the girls just clapped and jumped up and down and sang:
I'm Tipingee,
She's Tipingee,
We're Tipingee, too.

I'm Tipingee,
She's Tipingee,
We're Tipingee, too.

The old man knew he would never find Tipingee. He went to

the stepmother and took her away. When Tipingee returned home,
she was gone. So she lived in her own house with all her father's be-
longings, and she was happy.

134
The Master Thief
 The Master Thief

About the Story: story on my first

Willy told this

visit to On my next visit I

Dr. Philippe's house.
asked him to tell it again. He did so almost ver-
batim. He loved all the trickery. When he said,
"Why he did not take his goat and boot with him,
I do not know," both times he doubled up laughing.
I had asked him to tell it again because the

ending seemed somewhat abrupt, but he ended it

the same way. I asked Jeanne Philippe about the
tale and she said it was a very old one and that she

had heard it when she was young. Even then, she

said, there was mention of the bank and electricity,

and it ended in the same way.

HERE man who had

T: three sons.
and they were good students. After they had finished
was
He
a wealthy
paid for their education,
their schooling,
he asked them what trade they wanted to follow.
"Papa, I want to be a lawyer," said the first one.
"That is fine," the father said. So the boy packed his bags and the

father sent him to law school.

"Papa, I want to be a tailor," said the second.
"That is also fine," the father said. The boy packed his bags and
the father apprenticed him to a master tailor.

i
3 6
 THE MASTER THIEF

"Papa, I would like to be a thief," said the third son.

"I do not think I heard you correctly."
"You heard me correctly, Papa. I want to study to be a master
thief."
"How can this be? I spend my money to educate you, and de-
prive myself, and all you want is to steal. Why don't you choose
something useful like your other two brothers?"
"But, Papa, one can only work according to one's abilities. Please,
Papa, apprentice me to the shoemaker, the Boss shoemaker in the vil-
lage who is known for his tricks."
So the father took his son to the Boss shoemaker. "Teach him
what you can," he said.
The shoemaker was rather surprised that the son of such a wealthy
man wanted to work for him, but he soon saw that the boy was earnest.
In a very short time the boy became adept at explaining to the
customers: "Not ready yet. Oh, come back tomorrow." "Did I say
Friday? I meant the following Friday." "Really, you must be patient."
Many of the customers became so tired of waiting for their old
shoes to be repaired that they bought new ones. So the shoemaker sold
the old ones and by this and other tricks he made a tidy profit.
But one evening, the shoemaker and his student were sitting by
the public road and the shoemaker was cooking rice. It seemed that
his customers had been unusually patient lately so he was unable to

buy meat. They were forced to eat dry rice without any sauce.
"We never ate like this at home," the boy said. "We had meat at
both lunch and dinner, and bananas and potatoes as well."
"In my profession one must show patience when one's customers
are patient," the shoemaker replied.
"Even so," the boy said.

Then they noticed a peasant in the distance leading his goat toward
them on his way to market.

"You see that goat?" the boy said. "We are eating goat tonight."
"But how?"
"Give me one of your better boots and go hide in the bushes."
The boy took the boot and laid it in the road so the peasant would
be sure to see it as he passed. The peasant walked by with his goat,

i37
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

noticed the boot, but did not stop. The boy then snatched up the boot,
raced through the bushes, and laid it in the road in front of the peasant.
As the man approached the boot he slowed down.
"Awhile back I saw one boot," he said to himself. "This makes
two. If I had them both I would have a pair."
So the man tied his goat to a mapou tree and went back for the
first boot. Why he did not take his goat and the boot with him, I do

not know. Well, the boy quickly untied the goat and led him to the
Boss shoemaker. They feasted on goat meat for several days, and the
Boss was pleased.
A week later they happened to be sitting in the same place by the
public road and saw the same peasant walking toward them leading
another goat.
"We shall eat goat meat again," the boy said.

"But how? You don't think you can fool the same man twice
do you?"
"Wait and see."
The boy rushed ahead of the peasant and waited for him in the
bushes by the mapou As the peasant approached, he began to
tree.
bray: "Be-be Be-be Be-be." The peasant stopped to listen. The boy
brayed louder to excite him. "BE-BE BE-BE BE-BE BE-BE."
"That must be my lost goat, calling me," the man said. He tied
his goat to the mapou tree and started into the bushes.

The boy continued braying for a time, leading the man farther
and farther from the road. Then he doubled back, untied the goat, and
quickly led him to the Boss shoemaker.
When the man could not find his goat and came back to the road
and found his other goat was gone, he said, "It's this tree. There is a
spirit in this tree that is making my goats invisible."
"You are doing very well," the Boss said to the boy. "I think you
will be getting your diploma soon."
"That is good. I am readyworking seriously."
to begin
The following week the shoemaker said, "Here is one gourde.
Take it to market and buy me beans, rice, spices, and whee-ai. If you
can buy all of that with one gourde, I will give you your diploma."
The boy paid fifteen centimes for beans, rice, and spices. He had

i
3 8
 THE MASTER THIEF

five centimes left to buy whee-ai. But he didn't know what whee-ai
was. He asked at all the stalls, but no one had any whee-ai. "I will tell

him there is no whee-ai at the market this week," he thought and with
the five centimes he bought himself some candy.
Near the gate of the shoemaker's house was a chadeque* tree. As
the boy passed it he remembered how hot and peppery the pits of its
fruit were. So he picked one fruit, opened it, and put the pits in his
pocket. Then he went around to the back and handed the Boss shoe-
maker the groceries, but as he did so, he acted startled. "Oh-oh," he
said. "You look terrible. Are you sick? Quick, put out your tongue."

Without thinking, the Boss opened his mouth and the boy threw
the pits onto the Boss's tongue. "Wheee-Allll!" the Boss shouted.
"Now I have given you all you asked," the boy said, "and I would
like my diploma."
"With pleasure!" the Boss shoemaker answered, "I am afraid to
work under the same roof with you. You are too skillful for me."
With his diploma in his hand, the boy walked home. He was
proud of his diploma but wise enough to know that his parents might
not be glad to see either him or his diploma. His father owned a very
large estate with land that stretched for kilometers. On the edge of his
father's land, the boy built himself a rough shack. Then he began to
work seriously. After working steadily for many months, he had
enough money to build a beautiful house.
One day, the father was walking on his property and saw a house
larger and more beautiful than his own. He wondered who would
dare to build on his land a$d he knocked on the door.
"Papa!" the young man said. "Come in." He welcomed his father
—
and showed him his house his new furniture, his paintings, his rugs,
and his sacks filled with gold and silver coins.
"Why haven't you been to see us?" the father asked.
"I have been working very seriously, and I was not certain you
would approve of my kind of work."
"Work is good," the father answered. "Only I am surprised that
you who have so much seem to have forgotten us."

* chadeque (pronounced "shadek") is a kind of grapefruit.

*39
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

"Oh, no," the son said, and he offered his father a sack filled with
money.
The father accepted it and soon left.

Several days later the father returned, and his son offered him
another sack of money. When the father came for a third visit and the
son handed him still another sack, he paused.
"Tell me," the father asked, "how is it that you have given me
so much money and yet your supply seems to remain the same? You
have as many sacks today as you had on my first visit."
"Iwork steadily, Papa. I practice my profession conscientiously."
"Your profession interests me. Do you think I am too old to
learn?"
"In my profession it is not age but skill that counts."
"Well?"
"Well, if you like, come to my house this evening in a dark suit
and bring an empty sack, and you'll see."
The two men walked that evening to the village.
"We are going in here," the son said, stopping before a bank.
When they were inside, the son said, "Stand by the door, Papa, and
don't move. Don't move and don't touch anything. I'm going to fill

up our bags."
While the father was standing there, he noticed something on the
wall that interested him. He put out his hand and touched it, but it

was live electricity. Yonjo. He fell to the floor dead.

The son ran over to his father, but the father was quite dead. He
tried to pick him up. The body was big and heavy. "What am I going
to do?" the son thought. "If I leave him here, he'll be found and they'll

come to question Mama and me. If I try to take him home, I'll be
caught."
The master thief took out his knife and cut off his father's head.
He put it in one of the sacks, and went to his mother's house.
When the bank was opened the next day, the body was found.
And just as the master thief had presupposed, the police took the body
and began to make an inquiry in the neighborhood. The young man
did not leave his mother's side.

140
 "

THE MASTER THIEF

"Who has lost someone? Who has lost someone?" the police
chanted, as they came up the road toward the mother's house.
The son ran to his mother and put a sharp knife and a stick of
sugar cane in her hand. "Peel the sugar cane," he told her.
Then, as the police entered with his father's body and the mother
cried "Oh," the master thief pushed his mother's hand against the
knife. "Oh, Mama, look, you have cut yourself with the knife and are
bleeding."
"Oh!!!" The mother fainted.
"Oh, Mama," he said bending over her and slapping her face.
Then he turned to the police and explained. "She's so sensitive, just one
drop of blood and she faints. She's always been this way. We have to
be so careful
—
And the police, not wanting to bother with such a family, turned
and left the house, chanting, "Who has lost someone? Who has lost
someone?"
So it was that the master thief saved the family's honor. Some time
later he buried the head, and no one ever found out the identity of the
decapitated corpse.

141
Horse and
Toad
Horse and
Toad

About the Story: Elmir Innocent, a young woman

of twenty, told the story of Horse and Toad's race
in a clear, engaging, dramatic manner at Masson.
When she sang Toad's song, she provocatively
moved her hips from side to side. When she sang
Horse's song, she hardly moved, holding her head
in the air. The audience joined her full-heartedly.
I, too,was singing Toad's song along with every-
one. When Elmir finished, I suddenly jumped up
and shouted: "Cric?" There was a loud and aston-
ished "CRAC!" from the audience.
This was my third trip to Haiti and my fifth
visit to Masson. For a long time, I'd been wanting to

share with the Haitian storytellers some of the stories

I knew. I'd been wanting —
but waiting. Now as I
stood there ready to begin, I realized why I had
been right in waiting. In Masson, any storyteller
who received a cracf started off at a lively trot,
whereas my Creole still only moved word by word.
But here in Masson the heat and fire and spark of
storytelling caught me.
I began with the Russian tale of an old man and
woman who had a bet as to which could remain
silent the longest. They both became ill, and when
at last the mayor (I used hungari) came into their
house and offered the old woman's coat to anyone

144
 HORSE AND TOAD

who would take care of the silent couple, the woman

jumped up and shouted: "What? Not my new
coat!"
I used more pantomime than words and strode
and jumped and leaped about the dirt area where

the storytellers performed. made great arm move-

I

ments and lots of grimaces. I saw each child's and

each adult's wide-eyed expression as I moved from
person to person. Do they understand? Do they
understand? was went through my mind.
all that
The children were laughing what a marvel —
to see a white woman in glasses and blue jeans
(Haitian peasant women always wear dresses) and
a funny accent making such faces. The adults were
laughing and also watching intently. In the end
everyone laughed and clapped. I sat down shaking
and sweating, my heart thumping.
For several moments I could neither see nor
hear. Then, somewhere in the outer periphery: "Li
conte bien" And another voice: "Li conte bien"
"She tells stories well," they were saying. I closed
my eyes . . . overcome.

but it took a
T:HE ters.

long time for someone to

king of Leogane* had three daugh-
The two were quickly married,
first

come for the third. Then sud-

denly, on the same day, two suitors appeared before the king and asked
to marry his daughter. The two suitors were Horse and Toad.
Of course the king preferred to have Horse as his son-in-law, for
Horse would be much more useful, but he pretended to be fair, so he
said, "My dear sirs, since I have only one daughter and since there are

two of you who love her, the only fair way to decide between you

* Leogane is pronounced "Lay-o-gahn." There was never a king of Leogane, but

during the French occupation, Leogane and Cap-Haitien were the two seats of gov-
ernment. The only king of Haiti was Jean-Christophe. Before him, the French plan-
tation owners governed their regions by appointment of the French Crown.

H5
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

is to hold a contest. I will ask both of you to run a race from Brache*
to Leogane this Sunday. The one who arrives first will marry the
princess.
When Horse heard the terms of the contest, he was delighted. He
was certain he would win, for no one could run faster than he. But
Toad had his ideas, too.

OnSunday, the princess was seated in a comfortable straw chair

in Leogane, surrounded by friends and relatives. Horse and Toad
waited side by side in the road at Brache.
The king's representatives cried out: "Go!"
The race was on. But neither Horse nor Toad moved.
"Please take the lead," Horse said gallantly. "We both know that
I can run faster than you."
"No, no," said Toad cordially, "you take the lead, for I shall
win."
Horse and Toad stood arguing in the middle of the road, each
gesturing for the other to go first.
"You," said Horse.
"No, no, please," said Toad.
Finally the king's representatives came up and gave them both a
good kick in the behind. "Now—go!" they cried, "and don't forget
to stop and sing at each signpost."
Horse and Toad were off. Horse quickly gained the lead and
trotted along at an easy pace. When he reached the first signpost he
sang slowly and pompously: #*

Ekoray, Samba!
Ekoray, Samba!
Ekoray, Samba!
Ekoray, Samba!

He was about to start off for the next signpost when he heard
Toad begin his song:
***

*Brache (pronounced "Brahsh") is three miles from Leogane. A rich sugar-pro-

ducing area, it was named after De Brache, the devious, strong-minded French
lieutenant-governor of the Leogane region (1710-60).
## See music
p. 206.
*** See music
p. 207.

146
a* //**v4f<^
 HORSE AND TOAD

Tell me,
Tell me, tell me, tell me
O tell me true.
How can a tiny little toad
Like me
Win
A lovely girl like you?
Horse was amazed, for he was certain he had left Toad far behind.
Horse now trotted faster. When he reached the second signpost he
began his song immediately:

Ekoray, Samba!
Ekoray, Samba!
Ekoray, Sam-

But before Horse had finished his song, Toad began his song:

Tell me,
Tell me, tell me, tell me
O tell me true.
How can a tiny little toad
Like me
Win
A lovely girl like you?
Now Horse ran fast. Fast, fast, fast, fast, fast. He was running and
he was sweating, but just as he got to the third signpost, he heard Toad
singing:

Tell me,
Tell me, tell me, tell me
O tell me true.
How can a tiny little toad
Like me
Win
A lovely girl like you?
149
 MOTHER OF THE WATERS

How was it Horse looked around for the tiny slimy

possible?
creature so he could trample him and go on to win the race himself.
But Toad darted under some straw at the side of the road.
"Sing!" the king's representatives at the third signpost ordered.
Horse sang his song:

Ekoray Samba.
Ekoray Samba.
Ekoray Samba.
Ekoray Samba.

Then Horse ran. He ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran
and ran and ran. But it was no use. No matter how fast Horse might
run, Toad was already there. The other toads along the road were
four of Toad's relatives. The real Toad, the princess's suitor, was sit-
ting all this time under her chair waiting. And as soon as the real Toad
saw the dust rising up in the road and Horse racing toward them, he
leaped into her lap and sang:

Tell me
Tell me, tell me, tell me
O tell me true.
How can a tiny little toad
Like me
Win
A lovely girl like you?

The princess tried to push Toad away, but he clung to her skirt.
Then Horse came rushing up, but the people said: "Too late. Toad is
the victor."
So even though the king had wanted Horse to win, and had pur-
posely arranged the terms of the contest so that Horse could win, Toad
was more clever. And it was Toad who won the contest and married
the princess.

150
Mother
of the
Waters
Mother
of the
Waters

About the Story: Whenever I have told this story

I have been questioned as to whether this is an

authentic folktale. Listeners are puzzled by the
idea of a young girl disobeying the magic figure of
the Mother of the Waters. It is rather daring for
an inexperienced person to go against the magic of
a spirit.
Though the act of disobedience is unusual in
folktales, this particular story was recorded by
Suzanne Comhaire-Sylvain in Haiti, and the version
she published in 1937 is nearly identical to the one
I recorded in Haiti in 1973. In her version, the girl
articulates her thoughts and says, "I can not obey
the old woman, that cat is hungry."
It may be that Comhaire-Sylvain was also in-
trigued by the question of disobedience, for she
chose to write the first part of her doctoral thesis
(Les Contes Haitiens) at the Sorbonne on just this

story. In her thesis, Comhaire-Sylvain describes

over one hundred parallel versions of "Mother of
the Waters." The ones that most closely resemble
the Haitian one are from the Caribbean (they con-
tain the search for water, the old woman with
sores, the cooking, the large and small eggs, and the
beating of the cat) and from Africa (the same

152
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

images, but no beating of the cat). The images of

fertility are different in both the American Indian
(Spiderwoman, large and small pottery jugs) and
the European (the oven, the cow, the feather bed,
the apple tree). But in all these versions there are
only six in any act of disobedience.
which there is

A young seamstress told this story one evening

after work as she was sitting with her co-workers
in a tiny dress shop in Petionville. She was timid
and correct in her behavior toward her boss, but
once she began the story, she was in her own world.
She spoke quietly and intently, as if she were see-
ing each image as she spoke it.

HERE was once a young girl whose

T:
mother and father were both dead. As
she had no way to get anything to eat, she had to hire herself out as a
servant. She worked for a woman who lived by the river. But even
though the woman had a daughter the same age as the servant girl, she
showed no kindness to her. She beat her and spoke roughly to her and
gave her only scraps to eat.

One day, the woman sent the servant girl to the river to wash the
silverware. As the girl was washing the silver, a tiny silver teaspoon
slipped through her fingers and was carried away by the water. The
servant girl reached for the teaspoon, but the current was moving too
swiftly. She went back to the house and told her mistress what had
happened.
"Find my teaspoon," the woman screamed, "or never return to
my house. ,,

The servant girl returned to the river and followed the stream.
She walked all day without finding the teaspoon, and as the sun began
to set in the sky, she started crying.
An old woman sitting on a stone near the river's edge asked her
why she was crying.

153
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

"I have dropped my mistress's silver teaspoon in the river. She

says if I do not find it, I may not return. I will have no work. How will
I eat?"
The old woman did not answer. Instead, she asked, "Will you
wash my back?"
"Of course," the girl answered.
She soaped and scrubbed the old woman's back, but the woman's
back was rough and hard and covered with sores and thistles, and the
girl's hands were soon bleeding.

"What is it?" the woman asked.

"It is nothing," the girl answered.
"Let me see your hands," the old woman said.
The girl held them out. The old woman spit on them. The cuts
closed up and the girl's hands were as they were before.
"Come home with me," the old woman said, "and I will give you
dinner."
She led the girl to her home in the mountains and gave her banana
pudding. Then they went to sleep.
The had swept the yard, the woman gave
next day, after the girl

her a bone, a grain of rice, and one bean and told her to make dinner.
"Grandmother," the girl said respectfully, "please forgive me, but
I do not know how to make dinner with these."

"It is simple," the old woman said. "Place them in a pot of boiling
water and dinner will soon be ready."
The girl followed the woman's directions, and by noon a delicious-
smelling casserole of rice, beans, and meat was steaming inside the pot.
As they ate the old woman told the girl: "I will be going out. In
a few hours a wild cat will come and beg for food. Do not give it any
food. Beat it with my stick."
A few hours after the old woman left, the girl heard a mewing
outside the door. Me-ow. Me-ovo. Me-ovu. The cat was so thin and
hungry the girl did not have the heart to hit it. She brought it a saucer
of milk and watched it eat. After a while the cat went away.
A short time later the old woman returned. She was pleased with
the girl. So the servant girl stayed on with the old woman. The girl

154
 MOTHER OF THE WATERS

helped her, and the old woman always gave her enough to eat.

Then, after several months, the old woman told her it was time
for her to return to her mistress.
"Yes," said the girl. "But how can I go back without the silver

teaspoon?"
"Walk down the road," the old woman said. "When you come
to the first crossroads you on some straw.
will see a pile of eggs lying
The larger ones will call out: Take me, take me! Take one of the
smaller eggs and break it open at the next crossroads."
The servant girl thanked the old woman and set out.
At the first crossroads she saw the pile of eggs. The larger ones
cried: Take me, take me! The girl chose the smallest egg and when
she cracked open at the next crossroads, out came a tiny box, which
it

grew and grew until it filled her arms. The girl opened it and inside
—
were forks and knives and spoons all made of silver.
The woman and her daughter were so jealous when they saw the
servant girl's box of silverware that they made her tell the story of
how she had gotten it three times. Then the very next morning, the
mother sent her own daughter down to the river to wash the silver-
ware.
The girl didn't even bother to wash the silverware. She simply
threw the small coffee teaspoon into the river and went home.
"I have lost the coffee spoon," the girl declared.
"Then go and find it," the mother said knowingly, "and do not
come home until you do."
The daughter walked alongside the river all day. Then, toward
evening, she saw the old woman sitting on a stone. Immediately she
began to cry.
"Why are you crying?" the woman asked.
"Oh-oh. I have lost my mother's silver spoon. She says I may not
go home unless I find it. What shall I do?"
"Will you wash my back?" the woman asked.
The girl took the soap and began to wash the woman's back when
the thistles on the woman's back cut her hands.
"Oh-oh!" she cried.

*55
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

"What is it?" asked the woman.

"It's your filthy rotting back. It cut my hands and they are
bleeding."
The old woman took the girl's hands and spit on them and they
were healed. Then she brought her to her home in the mountains and
fed her supper.
next morning, the old woman gave the girl a bone, a grain
The
of rice,and one bean and told her to make dinner.
"With this garbage?" said the girl.
"What a sorry tongue you have," the woman answered. "I only
hope you are not as nasty as your words. Place what I have given you
in a pot of boiling water and dinner will soon be ready."
At noon the pot was filled with rice and beans and meat. They
ate their meal and the old woman said:

"I am going out. In a few hours a wild cat will come and beg for
food. Do not give it any food. Beat it with my stick."
Some time after the old woman left, the girl heard a mewing out-
side. Me-ow. Me-ow. Me-ow. She grabbed the old woman's stick and
rushed for the cat. She hit it and hit it and hit it and hit it until she
broke one of its legs.

Much later that evening, the old woman returned. She was lean-
ing on a cane and limping, for one of her legs was broken. The next
morning she told the girl: "You must leave my house today. You will
not learn and I cannot help you anymore."
"But I will not go home without my silverware," the girl insisted.
"Then I shall give you one last bit of advice. At the next cross-
roads you will find a pile of eggs lying on some straw. The larger ones
will call out: Take me, take me! Choose one of the smaller eggs and
break it open at the next crossroads."
The girl ran out of the house and down the road. When came she
to the first crossroads the larger eggs called out: Take me, take me!
"I am not foolish," said the girl. "If an egg speaks to me, I will
listen. If it is a large one, all the better!"
She chose the largest egg and broke open at the next crossroads.
it

Out came all kinds of lizards, goblins, demons, and devils and ate the
girl up.

156
A Very
Happy Donkey
A Very
Happy Donkey

About the Story: Elsie, a seamstress of about six-

teen years old, told this story at Jeanne Philippe's.
She told it in a quiet, amused manner, only raising
her voice for the donkey's loud cries, HEE-huh,
and end when Tiroro calls for help.
at the
When Tiroro was desperate, he called on the
Haitian peasant trinity: Jesus Christ, Damballah
Oueddo, and Papa God. Tiroro was probably bap-
tized and maybe even received communion (most
peasants attend the Catholic Church for baptisms
and funerals and, when they can afford it, for com-
munions and weddings). It is possible that Dambal-
lah Oueddo, who is at the head of the Haitian
spirits, was also Tiroro's own ancestral spirit. Yet

of the three called upon, it is Papa God who re-

sponds to Tiroro. With his movable domain and his
flexible schedule, Papa God happened to be in the
vicinity at the moment of Tiroro's plea.
There was much joking in the audience when
Elsie described Tiroro as a wastrel, vagabond,
and drummer. The storytellers that evening were
young, many of them under twenty, and all of
them (with the exception of Willy) were already
working. They enjoyed hearing about Tiroro's
blissful state of laziness.They knew too well how
soon it would be over.

i
58
 A VERY HAPPY DONKEY

HERE was once a woman named Tiyaya

1
and she had a son named Tiroro and a
donkey named Banda. She lived in the mountains in a small hut with
one door, one window, one table, one chair, and one mat. Her only
son, Tiroro, was a wastrel and a vagabond. He never helped his mother,
even with the gardening, but spent his days and nights playing the
drum.
One morning Tiyaya woke up and she was sick. "Tiroro, I am so
tired I cannot move. You must go to market for me today. Eat your
breakfast and go saddle Banda."
Tiroro finished his breakfast of mais moulu* and went to find
Banda. Banda was nibbling grass under a tree.

"Come now, Banda," Tiroro said.

"HEE-huh. Where are we going?" Banda asked.
"To market," Tiroro answered, leading her back to the house.
Then he saddled Banda and tied two large baskets to the saddle.
One he filled with fresh carrots and the other with fresh turnips and
cauliflower.
"Tiroro," his mother called to him from the house.
"Yes, Mama."
"Have you the carrots?"
"Yes, Mama."
"And the turnips?"
"Yes, Mama."
"And the cauliflower?"
"Yes, Mama. I've everything. Everything. We're leaving now,
Mama."
"And Banda, did you take food for Banda?"
"Yes,Mama. I've everything."
"Then may Papa God go with you. . . . And get a good price for
the vegetables."
Tiroro and Banda walked along the mountain path and soon came
across other peasants on their way to market. As they walked they told
stories and sang and joked and the time went by quickly.

* Mais ("Mye-is") moulu is ground corn that is cooked similarly to rice.

159
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

they reached Petionville the sun was setting. The others

When
stopped to rest for a few hours. Tiroro decided to do the same. The
others unsaddled their donkeys. Tiroro unsaddled Banda. He brought
her water in a pail and tied her rope to a stake in the earth. Then he
ate a few carrots and lay down to sleep with his head on the baskets.
It seemed to Tiroro that he had just closed his eyes when he heard
Banda braying: "HEE-huh! HEE-huh! HEE-huh!"
"What Banda?" Tiroro whispered. "Are you hungry?" He
is it,

reached his hand into the basket and took out two cauliflowers and
brought them to Banda. Banda munched peacefully on the cauliflowers
and Tiroro lay down again.
A half hour passed, then: "HEE-huh! HEE-huh!"
"Again!" Tiroro said, waking up. "You're still hungry?" He
reached into the basket and brought out a bundle of turnips and walked
over to Banda. Banda munched on the turnips and Tiroro lay down.
But ten minutes later: "HEE-huh! HEE-huh!"
"Banda, me sleep!"
let

"HEE-huh! HEE-huh! HEE-huh! HEE-huh!"

"Carrots! Maybe that's what you want!" Tiroro said. And he
took two bundles of carrots from the other basket and brought them
to Banda. But now that Banda had tasted all the vegetables she was
hungrier than ever:
"HEE-huh! HEE-huh! HEE-huh! HEE-huh! HEE-huh!"
Banda brayed so loudly the man sleeping next to Tiroro shouted:
"Shut that donkey up!"
"What shall I do with you?" Tiroro cried. He was so sleepy and
tired. In desperation he went and brought both baskets of vegetables
and placed them by the stake in front of Banda. "Now eat and let me
sleep!" he said.
A few hours later Tiroro woke up. The peasants were saddling
their donkeys. Tiroro saddled Banda. He picked up the baskets. Oh-oh.
. Oh-oh. The baskets were empty. There was nothing in them.
. .

Banda had eaten every carrot, every turnip, and every bit of cauli-
flower during the night.
The son of Tiyaya burst into tears. "In the name of Papa God, in

1 60
IWL If**^^
 A VERY HAPPY DONKEY

thename of Our Lord Jesus Christ, in the name of Damballah Oueddo,*

what shall I do? Someone answer me! What shall I do?
Papa God answered Tiroro. He said: "Next time feed your
donkey grass."
Poor Tiroro. He cried and cried. The others continued on their
way to market. What was Tiroro to do? He turned up the mountain
path toward his home, with an empty stomach, two empty baskets, and
a very happy donkey.
"HEE-huh! HEE-huh! HEE-huh!"
Banda!

* Damballah Oueddo is pronounced "Dam-bal-lah Way-do."

i6 3
"One, My Darling,
Come to Mama"
"One, My Darling,
Come to Mama"

About the Story: Pradel Parent, who was my chief

translator, grew up in the countryside near Mayan-
man and led the rural life of a peasant. He had ob-
viously heard many stories when he was young, for
when he would listen to the stories on tape, after a
few minutes he would nod his head and laugh and
say, "Yes-yes." It seemed to me he knew a good
third of the stories I had recorded. Sometimes he
would say, "Yes, that's the way it goes, that's the
one I know." Other times he would say, "No, he
is telling it differently."
Most Haitian peasants do not speak or under-
stand French. Pradel was bilingual because he had
learned French from his father, who was a school-
teacher in the mountains. Pradel knew no English.
He worked as a manager in a cassette factory in
Port-au-Prince and after work would come to the
Sans-Souci Hotel to help me translate the stories
from Creole to French. Sometimes he also accom-
panied me at night to the storytellings.

He was responsible and efficient and always

eager to work and But he had a certain
to please.
melancholy about him. He often spoke bitterly
about his father because his father had gone off
with another woman and abandoned his mother
and himself and his sister, Marie. One evening when

1 66
 ONE, MY DARLING, COME TO MAMA

we were talking, he said: "Now / will tell you a

story." It was the only folktale he told me: "One,
My Darling, Come to Mama."

despised the fourth.

she would stand
T HERE was once a woman who had four
daughters. She loved the
Each time she brought food home
outside the door and sing:
*
first three and
for her children,

One, my darling, come to Mama,

Two, my darling, come to Mama,
Three, my darling, come to Mama,
Stay, Philamandre, stay,
Stay where you are.

The older daughters would run mother

to the door and let their
in. Philamandre remained in the corner. The three girls and their

mother would sit at the table and eat. And if there was any food left,
it would be given to Philamandre. The three older girls grew fat and

sleek. Philamandre was thin as a nail.

Now a devil had been watching the mother for a long time. He
saw how the mother would arrive at her house and sing, and how the
young girls would run to the door. He had secretly been practicing
her song:

One, my darling, come to Mama,

Two, my darling, come to Mama,
Three, my darling, come to Mama,
Stay, Philamandre, stay,
Stay where you are.

At last the devil decided he was ready. He came to the door and
sang in a deep gruff voice:

* See music p. 208.

167
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

One,my darling, come to Mama,

Two, my darling, come to Mama,
Three, my darling, come to Mama,
Stay, Philamandre, stay,
Stay where you are.

knew the gruff voice was not their mother's

But, of course, the girls
and did not open the door. The devil went to see the plumber.
"Tighten my voice," he said. "Tighten it as much as you can, so
it will be as high as possible."
When the devil returned to the house of the young girls, his voice
was three octaves higher and sounded like a bird:

One, my darling, come to Mama,

Two, my darling, come to Mama,
Three, my darling, come to Mama,
Stay, Philamandre, stay,
Stay where you are.

"Some silly bird," the girls said to each other and did not go to
the door.
A little later their mother returned and sang:

One, my darling, come to Mama,

Two, my darling, come to Mama,
Three, my darling, come to Mama,
Stay, Philamandre, stay,
Stay where you are.

The girls at once recognized her voice and let her in. As always
the four ate together, leaving the scraps to Philamandre.
The devilwent back to the plumber and complained, "You tight-
ened it too much." So the plumber loosened it a bit and when the devil
returned the next day, his voice sounded just like the mother's:

1 68
 ONE, MY DARLING, COME TO MAMA

One, my darling, come to Mama,

Two, my darling, come to Mama,
Three, my darling, come to Mama,
Stay, Philamandre, stay,
Stay where you are.

The girls ran to the door to let their mother in and the devil
grabbed all three and ran off with them.
Philamandre remained in the corner.
After a while the mother returned and sang:

One, my darling, come to Mama,

Two, my darling, come to Mama,
Three, my darling, come to Mama,
Stay, Philamandre, stay,
Stay where you are.

No one came to the door. The mother sang again:

One, my darling, come to Mama,

Two, my darling, come to Mama,
Three, my darling, come to Mama,
Stay, Philamandre, stay,
Stay where you are.

Still no one came. Where were her dear ones? Then she heard:

One cannot come Mama, to

Two cannot come to Mama,
Three cannot come to Mama,
Philamandre is

Where she is.

The mother pushed open the door andwhen she did not see any-
one she ran from the house like a madwoman, singing her song to any-
one who would listen.

169
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

Philamandre walked out the open door, down the road to town.
She found work, and after some time, she married the king's son.
Many years later a madwoman was heard singing in the street:

One cannot come Mama,

to
Two cannot come to Mama,
Three cannot come to Mama,
Philamandre is

Where she is.

The hurry her away from the palace. She

king's servants tried to
was in rags, and her wild hair, filled with droppings of birds, looked
like branches of a tree. But every day she would come back and sing:

One cannot come to Mama,

Two cannot come to Mama,
Three cannot come to Mama,
Philamandre is

Where she is.

Then one day the queen's servant said to the queen, "There is a
raggedwoman in the street who calls every afternoon for Philamandre.
Do you know anyone of that name?"
The queen rushed to the window. The woman in the street, the
beggar woman, was her own mother. She went down and brought her
into the palace. She washed her and gave her new clothes and cut her
hair.

"Mama," she said, "the others are no more. But I am here. Look
at me, I am Philamandre. You did not care for me, but I am here, and
now I will take care of you."

170
The Forbidden Apple
The Forbidden Apple

About the Story: Antoine St. Louis, a farmer of

about forty years, told this story at Carrefour-
Dufort. He stood as he acted out the different char-
acters, and when the sisters jumped over the hole,
he did a sort of skipping dance. In this story the
audience did not join him on the song; he sang by
himself.His voice dramatically wailed, moaned,
and sobbed as the sisters sang and cried to their
father. The audience listened intently. When he de-
livered the last line, a man in the crowd called out:
"That's right, that's true."
The majority of the stories I heard ended with
formalized endings. The most frequent one was a
version of: "I was passing by and saw them, but
when they saw me, they kicked me so hard, that's
how I got here today to tell you the story." I used
this form once, to begin the book. There were two
other approaches: Many of the best storytellers, in-
stead of using conventional endings, would pause a
moment, let the silence enter, and then cry: "End
of story!" A third approach was for the storyteller
to give his or her own commentary on the events.
When Justine tried this at the end of "The Singing
Bone," it was not accepted, but when Antoine did
so at the end of "The Forbidden Apple," the audi-
ence was satisfied.

72
 "

THE FORBIDDEN APPLE

named Leon. The two were

T HERE was once a father who had three
children, Bon Bazie, Mazalie, and a son
obedient and well-behaved, but Leon
girls

was a gambler and spent his days playing cards and dice.
The sisters were afraid of their father. What he said he would do,
he did, and when he was determined to do something, no one dared
stand in his path. No one even tried. Not his daughters, nor his wife,

who was long since dead, and certainly not his neighbors. There was
no one, well yes, there was Leon . . . and Leon was always provoking
his father.

One day came home at noon with a bright red apple in

the father
his hand. He placed it on the table and said, "This apple is for my din-

ner. If anyone eats it I will throw them in the hole in the garden and
the earth over them."
Soon after the father left, Leon entered the house.
"Leon," his sisters said, "here are some rice and beans for dinner."
"Hmm, what a rosy apple," Leon said.
"Leon!" his sisters shouted.
— "Do
not touch that apple — it is

Papa's. He said if anyone ate it, he would

"Papa's apple, then of course I shall eat it. Why shouldn't I eat the
apple? Shall I go next door and beg our neighbors for an apple?"
"Leon!" the girls implored.
"What is Papa's is mine." And Leon picked up the apple and bit
into it. No one spoke. There was silence in the house as he ate it.

Then he left.
When the father returned from work, his eyes went directly to
the empty space on the table.
"Who has taken my apple?" he called.
No one answered.
"WHO HAS EATEN MY APPLE?" he shouted.
"Leon," the girls whispered.
"Go into the garden this minute," the father said. "Each of you
will jump over the hole, over and over and over, until the one who
took my apple admits to having done so."

173
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

Bon Bazie, Mazalie, and their father went into the garden. Leon
had not come home yet.
As Bon Bazie jumped across the hole, she sang: *

Papa, it's not me

It's Leon.
Nor is it Mazalie
It's Leon.
But even if he's the one,
He's your only son.

Then it was Mazalie's turn and she sang:

Papa, it's not me

It's Leon.
Nor is it Bon Bazie
It's Leon.
But even if he's the one,
He's your only son.

"Leon!" the father shouted. But Leon had not come home yet. It
was dark now.
"Go over the hole again," the father said. "Over and over and
over."
Bon Bazie jumped across the hole. She was singing and she was
crying:

Papa, it's not me

It's Leon.
Nor is it Mazalie
It's Leon.
But even if he's the one,
He's your only son.

Then Mazalie ran and she was crying as she sang, crying for her
brother:
* See music 208-209.
p.

174
 THE FORBIDDEN APPLE

Papa, it's not me

It's Leon.
Nor is it Bon Bazie
It's Leon.

But even if he's the one,

He's your only son.

"Leon!"
"Yes, Papa." Leon came out of the shadows.
"Leon," the father ordered. "Jump over the hole."
Leon jumped across and proudly and slowly sang:

Papa, it is me.
I am Leon.
Papa, it is me.
I am Leon.
But even if I did so,
Why should I not do so?

When the father heard that, he seized Leon and threw him into
the hole, killing him. The
father threw dirt over him and the sisters
was the end of Leon.
cried and cried, but that
—
Let me tell you something that father was cruel, and that father
was harsh, but that was his nature and Leon knew it. If ever I had a
father like that, and he told me, "Don't touch my things!" I would
never touch his things. Never.

175
"Papa God First,
Man Next,
Tiger Last"
 "Papa God First,
Man Next,
Tiger Last*

About was a
the Story: Luders, the storyteller,
strong and handsome farm laborer from the Masson
area. He did not move about as he spoke, but stood
with his feet firmly planted on the ground about a
foot and a half apart. He expressed himself with a
vibrant voice and flashing eyes and teeth, making
clear, decisive gestures. He had confidence and as-
surance and a certain sweetness.
As he spoke I thought to myself, here is a child
deeply loved and cared for by his mother. Despite
the preponderance of harsh "mothers" in the Hai-
tian folktales, the children survive and a few even
blossom. Luders' story is about a mother who re-
fuses to sacrifice her child, regardless of who is to
be called "first."

T HERE is

Man next, Tiger last."

One day Tiger* cornered Man by the water and asked
an old saying: "Papa

the old saying true: 'Papa God first, Man next, Tiger last'?"
God first,

him, "Is

•Tiger (tigre) is a generic term used in Haiti and the Caribbean since the seven-
teenth century for wild, ferocious animals of the cat family. There is no record of
tigers having inhabited Haiti.

178
 — '

"papa god first, man next, tiger last"

"If you will let me climb that coconut tree, I will tell you,"
Man said.
"Climb the tree," Tiger said.

Man climbed the tree. When he was high in the tree, far from the
ground, he shouted: "It is true: 'Papa God first, Man next, Tiger last.'

Tiger growled and roared. He let out a low whistle. A band of

tigers came running out of the bushes. Tiger said to them, "The man
in that tree says: 'Papa God first, Man next, Tiger last'!"

The tigers surrounded the tree, leaping on it, clawing it, shaking
it; but tigers can't climb trees, and Man knew this.
"I know what we can do," the first tiger said. "I will lie on the
ground and you can climb on my back. We will form a ladder of
tigers and the last tiger will be high enough to grab Man."
So Tiger lay down next to the tree, and the tigers, beginning with
the heaviest and oldest grandfathers, began to climb on top of him.
The last tiger to climb to the top of the pile was the youngest.
As the youngest tiger reached the top, Man leaned over and
whispered to him, but loud enough for all the tigers to hear: "If you
make one move, I'm going to take out my knife and cut off your
head."
Oh! The mother of the baby tiger was in the middle of the pile.

When she heard that, she let out such a scream YOW—that all the
ground and ran away.
tigers fell to the
Then, when they were all gone, Man called out after them, "As
I said before: 'Papa God first, Man next, Tiger last'!"

181
The Last Tiger
in Haiti
The Last Tiger
in Haiti

About the Story: I went to Masson to

Each time
hear stories, was the guest of Bonheur, one of the
I

hungans of the community. Bonheur was a large,

tall man with a commanding presence and a strong,

forceful voice. He seemed to have incredible en-

ergy. One evening, after four hours of presiding
over the storytelling, he invited Odette and me to a
Voodoo family service for the dead in a clearing in
the woods two miles from the village. The cere-
mony went on until five in the morning.
During the ceremony, when a participant be-
comes possessed by a spirit, his face becomes a mask
and he takes on the symbolic and physical qualities
of the spirit. If possessed by Damballah Oueddo,
the snake spirit, he will writhe on the ground and
hiss. In other ceremonies, an animal about to be sac-
rificed will be hypnotized until its eyes and body
reach such a hauntingly human state of tranquility,

that it seems as if it has resigned itself to its fate.

Frequently, after the animal sacrifice, which is done

quickly and with no element of torture, one or
more people will become possessed by a spirit. It
isamazing that often a person who had earlier in the
evening described metamorphoses in stories would,
when undergoing a possession, literally experience
such a transformation.

184
THE LAST TIGER IN HAITI

The Voodoo service for the dead is meant to

give the ancestor spirits access to this world through

the body of their children so that they can make
their wishes known or can offer contact and con-
solation. But sometimes the spirits come to punish
or destroy.
In Bonheur's story, "The Last Tiger in Haiti,"
the father warns his son about letting "anyone" into
the house. The father, a hunter with a secret name,
is probably a hungan. Bonheur, himself, repeatedly
refused the position of hungan. His uncle had been
a hungan, but Bonheur complained that it was too
demanding. He already worked during the day as a
laborer in the sugar-cane But three years ago
fields.

when he was twenty-seven, he fell ill. During his

sickness, he heard voices and knew he would die if
he would not accept the responsibility of hungan.
Bonheur and Odette gossipped together during
the service, but several times when Bonheur seemed
to be paying no attention to the others, he would
spring from his seat, crash through the crowd of
singing, dancing participants to straighten the up-
turned skirt of a woman who was possessed or to
liftfrom the ground a man who was undergoing
an
overwhelming possession. Yet, when Bonheur told
stories, I was surprised to see that the audience,

who clearly acknowledged him as their religious

leader, would, when not enthralled, talk and chatter
as freely as if anyone else were speaking. But Bon-
heur had his tricks: Just when the audience grew
restless, he would squat down, his eyes would grow

large, and he would introduce some exciting and

frightening new event into his stories.

85
 " " "

THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

T HERE was once a

This father was a hunter. He traveled
everywhere in Haiti and killed every tiger but one. The one he had
not killed was a twisted tiger. After the father killed a tiger he would
father who had a son.

skin it and wrap its skin very tightly so it looked like a fig. Then he
would put it on the balcony to dry.
One day the father told his son, "I am going away. Do not let any
of your friends enter the house. And when you are sitting on the
balcony do not wave or call to them. But if you should need me, call

me by my secret name." The father left.

The boy sat on the balcony. He watched the people walking in
the street. He began to feel lonely. Then he saw a friend. He called to
him. (Itwas the last tiger in disguise, but he did not know it.) "Fssst.
Do you want to come up and visit? I'm alone in the house. Papa has
gone away."
"Okay," his friend said.
The boy went down and opened the door. His friend came in-
side. They went upstairs to the balcony.

The friend would not sit down. He looked at the row of tiger
skins on the railing and said, "If you want me to stay with you, give
me one of those figs. You have so many."
"Yes, we do have plenty of figs. You can have one."
The boy handed his friend the tiger's skin.
But the moment the friend took the skin he touched it to his heart
and he became a living tiger and spoke to the boy: "Your father ate my
father, your father ate my mother and my godmother and all my
family. Count for me. Count
—
The boy, seeing it was a real tiger, began to cry, "Oh-oh oh . . .
—
"You don't need to cry," said the tiger. "You need to drop all
the tiger skins from the balcony to the ground. The skins will become
tigers again and they will eat you. Now do as I say."
The boy threw the tiger skins to the ground. He counted:
"One . . two
. three four five
—
Then he remembered his father's name, Yaya. He called out:
"Yaya, Yaya, poor Franchile."

1 86
 " " —
THE LAST TIGER IN HAITI

The father heard him. "What did I tell that boy? I told him not
to let his friends enter the house." Still, he called to his son: "Franchile,
give out the tiger skins. Count them out, but count them out slowly,
very slowly, so I will have time to get home."
When the boy heard this message from his father, he wiped his
forehead. He felt a little better.
Now the living tiger called to the boy: "You are giving me tigers
from over the country. want my own relatives now my father,
my mother, my cousins—
all I

Franchile threw him more tiger skins. Hecounted them slowly:

—
going
"Six
fast
— —he waited
—"nineseven" a long time "eight" — he was not

The father came home. He quietly slipped onto the balcony

through a small hole. "My child," he whispered, "show me the wicked
one, the one who posed as your friend, that one is the only real one."
"There he is, Papa. You see him? The one who is moving."
The father took aim. He shot him. Pow. Then all the others
dropped to the ground and became tiger skins.
And since that time, there have not been any more tigers in Haiti.

i8 7
"Bye-Bye"
 —

"Bye-Bye"

About the Story: Michelle was a girl of about nine-

teen who worked as a seamstress. Sitting on a chair
on Jeanne Philippe's porch, she spoke simply and
quietly, with a constant twinkle in her eye. When
the turtle in the story spoke "the one English word
he knew," Michelle looked directly at me, said
"Bye-Bye," and burst out laughing. "Bye-Bye!"
"Bye-Bye!" the others joined in. There was general
merriment. Not until later did I get to hear the end
of the story, for everyone wanted at that moment
to try out their English words on the American
the one from New York.

for he had no wings.

Pigeon felt
A LL the birds were flying
New

sorry for Turtle and said, "Turtle, I'll

from Haiti
York. But Turtle could not go,

take you with

to

me. This is what we'll do. I'll hold in my mouth one end of a piece
of wood and you hold on to the other end. But you must not let go.
No matter what happens, do not let go or you'll fall into the water."
Pigeon took one end of a piece of wood and Turtle the other end.
Up into the air Pigeon flew and Turtle with him, across the land and
toward the sea.

190
lit*. .jbvUfufj
 "bye-bye"

As they came near the ocean, Turtle and Pigeon saw on the shore
a group of animals who had gathered together to wave good-bye to the
birds who were leaving. They were waving steadily until they noticed
Turtle and Pigeon. Turtle? They stopped waving and a great hubbub
broke out.
"Look!" they cried to each other. "Turtle is going to New York.
Even Turtle is going to New York!"
And Turtle was so pleased to hear everyone talking about him
that he called out the one English word he knew:
"Bye-Bye!"
Oh-oh. Turtle had opened his mouth, and in opening his mouth
to speak, he let go of the piece of wood and fell into the sea.
For that reason there are many Pigeons in New York, but Turtle
is still in Haiti.

J
93
Songs in English and Creole

The Creole songs appear as transcribed directly

from the Haitian singer. The words in these songs
which the Haitians say "don't mean anything" can
be of French, Spanish, African, Carib-Indian, or
early Creole origin. The is some-
English translation
times free, otherwise fairly depending on the
strict,

words and melody. In the cases where no one could

offer any translation of the words, such as "Owl,"
there is only a Haitian version.

195
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

from "The Magic Orange Tree"

ENGLISH

J- r 60

ji N I
J~~3 1 l

r
J
r
U f-J
Oh O- range tree! Grow and grow and grow

pa O - range tree! O -
m
range tree!
^
Grow and
i
grow

i m
and grow O - range tree! Step - moth-er is

$i J -n J1 i u
not real moth - er O - range tree.

CREOLE

a J'* 60
^^ r g r
Ah Z'o -range moin pous - se pous - se pous-se

p •
Z'o- range moin
^
Z'o - range moin
j

pous -
j

se
j
pous -
i

196
 SONGS

r\

#
se pous - se
p^
Zo - range moin Bel mere pas

m ma - man
J1
Z'o -
i.
range moin.
U 1

fro?n "Owl

CREOLE

With spirit (J =138)

P i

i
Dong

Dong
J
ga

ga
J
da,

J
da,
Dong

J
Dong,
ga

97
da,

Ay
Dong

^
-
ga

EE -
da

^
O
Dong.
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

from "Tayzanne"

ENGLISH

$s
Tay
ji

- zanne, fish of the clear

i»
spring. Tay
S

t
zanne. fish of the deep,
WW
Tay- zanne my friend,

my friend Tay - zanne. Tay - zanne Tay - zanne

i i i
m
my friend, come to me.

198
 SONGS

CREOLE

^ J = 84

3
Te - zin, mon a - mi, moi zin. Te

*
zin, mon a - mi, moi
rt
zin, Te - zin dans

jj^nl'eau mon a - mi,

j
moi
i
zin. C'est Te -

l m
zin mon a - mi moi zin.

199
 J •

THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

pom "Bouki Dances the Kokioko"

ENGLISH

vo 1
J = 80 (ad

« pp^
lib)
3

^^ ^
•
Ko - ki - o - ko oh Sam - ba.

r— 5—
*^ S J 1 *1
£
J

^
Now I dance, now I dance like this. Ko- ki - o

j r
ko
j
Oh, Sam
J'

- ba.
i J^
Now I dance, now
S-i

I dance,

t ^m
like this. Sam
m - ba,
jtjjj
oh

'J vJ' J
$ p l
J

^
Sam - ba, ah Sam-ba
accelerando

# j j^ § J
Ji
dance, Sam-ba dance, Sam-ba dance, Sam-ba dance Sam-ba
(clap) (clap) (clap) (clap)

$ J

dance,
J
Sam- ba
J j
dance, Sam- ba dance, Sam-
pm
ba dance.
(clap) (clap) (clap) (clap)

200
 j

SONGS

CREOLE

yil jTi
Ko - ki - o -
i

r
ko,
^ ah Sam - ba, li
si
dan -

fe J u Jk
u u

^
se, li dan - se pas bon. Ko - ki - o

»J~u nm
* f j

ko, ah Sam-ba — li dan - se, li dan - se pas

iI 1 5

bon, Sam - ba man -man rhe - le Ko- ki - o

m £ 3
ko auaille mm'.
I
Sam - ba man-man
S rhe-

P p m
le Ko - ki - o - ko auaille mm'. Sam

P ba Bou- ki
j] Lir
ban-mon dos, Bou -
j
ki dan - se

201
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

{continuation of song)

P ^p non. Sam
WM
- ba Bou- ki ban mon dos,
i

m
Repeat 4 times
accel. to J - 108

jj
Bou- ki dan - se non Bou- ki dan-se
(clap)

p
i danse, Bou- ki dan - se
i
danse, Bou-ki dan - se
(clap) (clap) (clap) (clap)
Fine

P danse, Bou - ki dan - se

5
danse,

(clap) (clap)

202
 SONGS

ENGLISH

J-

m
176

s §
If you have no sense, Put your

§
tm on you
sack the ground and dance If have no

m sense,
j

Put
m j^
your sack on the ground and dance. _

CREOLE

J = 176

hn^s Si ou pas gagne sens met - tez

i

#s sac a terre pou

g
dan - se Si ou
i

jl ,
l J-JJ nHJ JjjjlJJH I

pas gagne sens _ met- tez sac a terre _ pou dan-se.

203
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

from "The Singing Bone"

ENGLISH

100= J

Oh Bro - ther mine, come close to me.

i '''

Oh
i i
Bro -
j
ther mine,
- tt ^^
lis - ten now to me.
*

Step

'-
d g
mo - ther killed me. Fa - ther ate me.

P ' J 1 M '

¥
Here I lie, un - der the o - range tree.

204
 SONGS

CREOLE

Tempo varies from 100 to 126 - J

P l
j,
Pas -
j
se,
j
pas - se,
i \
S~*
c'est mon
.

grand frere moin.

i 1f# i/~3 r3 J y ^
Pas - se pas - se, c'est mon grand frere moin. Ma

tm mere qui m'a cue m mon

i
fre- re m'em por-tem, Mon
5

P^i pe - re qui m'a man

j

-
J

ge
J
bas
J J

les o

& i

range.
* I
Pas-
J
se,
i J)

pas-se,
I J J
De -
3
ver seau che- che
S
les bois

i pp^a
li joinn' les os tout d'e - zos - ses.

205
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

from "Horse and Toad"

CREOLE

mm Majestic

E -
J - 132

kor -
i
ay, Sam - ba.
m ^m
E - kor - ay, Sam - ba

41
fe«

P^ E - kor -
2
ay, Sam - ba. E - kor

P1HP ay, Sam-ba.

m^m WiP
E- kor -ay, Sam- ba. E-kor- ay,Sam-ba.

ENGLISH

J -152
u»=*=jLively

i
* Tell me, Tell me, me me
Tell tell

m O
i

tell
p3=S
me true, How can a ti - ny lit - tie

206
 SONGS

ht-ns
t 1
ny, '

toad like me Win a love - ly girl like you?

CREOLE

Lively J = 120

pi 3 i
Com - ment, com - ment, com - ment, com- ment

p fat

Ian mi - tan mwrin tiou - le

€h «-<S>

Com -

pfe i i
ment, com -ment com-ment, com -ment Ian mi - tan mwrin

pi w^
tiou - le era - paud pi - ti pi - ti con ca

y
i" * si
t
O Ian mi - tan mwrin tiou - le.

207
 THE MAGIC ORANGE TREE

from "One, My Darling, Come to Mama"

ENGLISH

J-= 120

^^ i
r\

p 1. One,
J J
my
'

dar - ling come to Ma - ma

2. Two, my dar - ling come to Ma - ma.
3. Three, my dar - ling come to Ma - ma,
a rosier
Faster

Stay, Phil - a -
J
man-dre,
— J
stay.
f

Stay where you

X
¥
are.

from "The forbidden Apple"

ENGLISH

0im Pa- pa it's not me,

JJ M »>
it's Le - on. Nor is it

0mm Bon Ba « zie, it's

FP^i
Le - on. But e- ven if he's the

p 4
I
one,
•

he's
'
a

your on
Jj'j i
- ly son.
T

But
*

e- ven if he's the

208
 SONGS

m i
f
one, he's your
J~7 4
on - ly
'

son.
j>
^
CREOLE

92: J

Pm Bel cher pa - pa
m ?=m pp
c'est pas moin c'est Le - on.
r~ ~*

^m Bel cher
m
pa
—
- pa
-•*

c'est pas moin c'est

1
Le - on.

m C'est pas moin qui - fait

i
9a, C'est
*

Le - on qui -
m
fait 9a,

j i -n ra u, jj
s
C'est pas moin qui - fait 9a. C'est Le - on qui- fait 9a.

Jnou vie p' ti p' - ti con &

&
* C'est pas moin qui - fait
r
9a.
:
i'
r
9a.
ft**

209
My Thanks
and My Love

First to Benjamin Zucker, lover of stories and story-

teller, who in his love each time encouraged me to

"go to Haiti and come back!"

To Jinx Roosevelt and Brooke Goffstein, my
muses in the early stages of collecting the stories.
Jinx and her children, Amie, Phoebe, and Nick,
eagerly came to hear Cric? Cracf each time I re-
turned from Haiti. Brooke read the printed versions
and said: "Bon Bagaye!"
To Pat Ross, a special editor, who helped me
in every way and loved the stories so much that she
herself went to Haiti.
To my friends who read the manuscript and
whose questions and suggestions greatly added to
the content and style of the notes: Joan Bodger,
John Flattau, Beebee Gray, Wendy Kesselman,
Judith Kroll, Thomas Powers, Lili Seggos, and Erlo
Van Waveren.
To Shirley Keller, my friend and a fine musi-
cian, who accompanied Rachel and me on our last

trip to Haiti and heroically transcribed the Haitian

songs and set them in meter and melody.
To Odette Mennesson Riguad and Milo Rigaud,
who introduced me to Haiti and critically and en-
couragingly went over the finished manuscript and

21 I
MY THANKS AND MY LOVE

illustrations. To Gerald Murray, professor of an-

thropology at the University of Massachusetts, who
suggested themes for the notes and modified my
bald statements.
To our daughter, Rachel Cloudstone Zucker,
who knows every story in the collection and says,
"Cric? Cric? Crack a joke!"
We all love Elsa Henriquez's illustrations.

212
 Boston Public Library

LOWER MILLS
BRANCH LIBRARY

i
pfc

T
85800358-52 LV
The Date Due Card in the pocket indi-
cates the date on or before which this
book should be returned to the Library.
Please do not remove cards from this

pocket.
Folktales/Mythology

$5.95

The Magic Orange Tree

And Other Haitian Folktales
Collected by Diane Wolkstein
With 13 Drawings by Elsa Henriquez

"Diane Wolkstein's book is sheer delight. Grown-ups of all ages, as

well as children of all ages, will revel in it."
— Lillian Ross in The New Yorker

"The special merit of this book is to introduce us to the storytellers,

who are a living fairy tale themselves, being moved by a spirit which
we have lost and to which we all have to find our way back again."
— Marie- Louise Von Franz, Jungian therapist
"The Magic Orange Tree an unusual and arresting book
is Folk-
lorists, much from it
anthropologists and storytellers will learn Her
prefatory notes are so eloquent and so filled with flashes of light
thrown upon the customs, beliefs and practices of the Haitian people
that nothing else seems to be wanted."
—
Katherine M. Briggs, author of Encyclopedia of Fairies

"In a very real way, Diane Wolkstein is a handsome example of ... a ,,

Translator; ... a person who can bridge cultures in such a way as to

bring understanding — wit, humor, and moral meaning — along with

the words."
— Barre Toelken in Journal of Latin American Literature & Arts

"It is a joy to have this book, not only to read it, but to listen to it. For it

speaks with the voice of the folk which mark of the true
is the
storyteller in any age The Magic Orange Tree is a gift."
—P. L. Travers, author of Mary Poppins

Schocken Books 200 Madison Avenue New York City 10016

ISBN: 0-8052-0650-7