Episode 170 – Hare Today, Gone Tomorrow

Episode 170 Show Notes

Source: Costa Rican/Cuban Folklore

This week on MYTH, we’ll meet one of the great trickster figures of those stolen away to the Americas – Br’er Rabbit. You’ll see that capitalism is cruel, that all tricksters love food, and that if a deal seems too good to be true, it probably is. Then, in Gods and Monsters, a man will get a job working for the Devil. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 170, “Hare Today, Gone Tomorrow”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
This week, we’re going to meet a trickster figure who is new to the podcast. Kind of. Meet Br’er Rabbit, AKA Brother Rabbit. He is a central figure in the oral traditions of Black people in the Southern US and in the Caribbean where Africans were stolen as slaves and brought to the Americas. His stories are heavily influenced (and often identical) to those of Anansi the Spider (who we’ve met before on this show). This particular tale of the tricksy rabbit comes from Costa Rica as collected in Best-Loved Folktales of the World, edited by Joanna Cole in 1982.
Once upon a time, Br’er rabbit had a farm. And on this farm, he raised a variety of vegetables, including corn and beans. He harvested them, resulting in a full bushel of each. Being a shrewd critter, he resolved to sell these two for as much as he could get for them. The story calls him a rascal for doing this, but isn’t that just…capitalism? That’s basically how selling goods works.
Anywho, Br’er Rabbit set out one Wednesday to do just that. He put on his big straw hat and slung his coat over his shoulder before heading out. He scurried down the road until, before long, he came to Sis Roach’s house. Striding up to the porch, he knock knocked on the door. Sis Roach was in the middle of roasting coffee but she was a sociable bug. She tossed a shawl over her head to keep from taking a chill and then answered the door. “Who’s there? Oh, Br’er Rabbit, it’s good to see you! How’s life? Come in, come in – take a load off. What’s going on?” Wiping off one of the benches with her apron, she gestured for her visiting friend to make himself comfortable.
“Oh, can’t complain, Sis Roach. I was just heading down the road and saw your house, so I thought I’d stop in. I was hoping that maybe you and I could do a little business. What would you say if I said I had a bushel of corn and another of beans I was willing to sell for the paltry sum of two dollars? It’s a steal to be sure, but what choice do I have? Needs must when the devil drives!” Sis Roach gave her visitor a long, appraising look. “That’s certainly an interesting offer, Br’er Rabbit. I’ll have to think it over. If I decide to take you up on it, I’ll come over to your house and let you know.”
Our tricksy rabbit wasn’t quite so easily turned aside however. “Oh I’m afraid I can’t do that, Sis Roach. I’m afraid you’ll need to decide right this very moment, or I’ll have to go look for another customer. I came to you first because we’re such good friends and I wanted you to prosper from this situation. You can come by and pick them up from my house on Saturday around 7 in the morning – I have to go into town, so it needs to be early. What do you say?” Sis Roach thought about it. Two dollars was a very reasonable price, even by the standards of the day. “Fuck it, why not. It’s a deal, Br’er Rabbit. I’ll be over to pick them up on Saturday like you said with my wagon. Since you don’t need to go find another customer now, how about you hang out for a bit? The coffee is almost ready and I have some tamales I just took out of the oven.” I’m not a big coffee fan, but you’d definitely convince me to stay and chat with an offer of fresh tamales.
Apparently, our eponymous hare felt the same way. He agreed to stay for coffee and snacks. Both were incredibly tasty for Sis Roach was one hell of a good cook and coffee roaster. Br’er Rabbit had a fine time munching and chatting with his friend. He stayed for a while until, with his stomach thus fortified for the journey ahead, he said goodbye and headed out. But not for home as he had indicated. Instead, he continued on down the road the way he’d been going.
It wasn’t much later that he came to the home of Sis Hen, another old friend. Striding up to the porch, he knock knocked on the door. “Who’s there,” asked the chicken, who was more cautious than her neighbor. Also, she was busy making lunch and didn’t want to interrupt her shit unless it was important. “It’s me, Sis Hen!” “Who’s ‘me’? That could be anyone.” “Me is me – Br’er Rabbit. I’ve come to you with a little business proposition.” Sis Hen was always a touch cautious where Br’er Rabbit was involved – he had a bit of a reputation for sly dealings – but he also was a good businessman. If he had an offer, it was at least worth hearing him out. “Alright, come in, come in.” She bobbed her head at an open chair. “Sit down, sit down. Now, what was this business opportunity you had for me?”
He took the proffered seat and leaned forward eagerly. “Well, my fine fowl friend, I have a bushel of corn and another of beans that I need to sell in a hurry. I’m in a bind, so I’m willing to let ‘em go for only two dollars. Just tossing my shit out into the street as it were, but I’m a little desperate to be honest. I’ll take what I can get. I came right over to your home, Sis Hen. You and I go way back, so I wanted to give you the first crack at this amazing offer. We’re old friends, and I always like to do favors for my friends when I can. What do you say?” The chicken clucked to herself as she got up to turn the tortillas she was cooking on the griddle. She tossed the idea back and forth in her mind, going back and forth with her visiting friend all the while. After some talking, she finally decided that it was indeed one hell of a good deal. “It truly is an incredible bargain, Br’er Rabbit. I’ll do it.”
“That’s amazing! You’re really helping me out of a jam here. You can come by and pick them up from my house on Saturday around 8 in the morning – I have to go into town, so it needs to be early. That work?” It did indeed, so Sis Hen agreed to come over at 8 to pick up her corn and beans. As a gesture of good will, she handed her friend and new business partner a hunk of cheese she had just made to taste. Br’er Rabbit agreed it was quite good and took some for the road as he headed out once more. Yet again, he did not actually head home as he had indicated. Instead, he headed on down the road once more. He travelled on until he came up to Sis Fox’s house.
For once, he didn’t have to knock on the door because our fine fox was out in the yard tending to her chickens. “Hey there, Sis Fox! How’s life been treating you?” “Well bless my soul! If it isn’t Br’er Rabbit gracing my doorstep. Can’t much complain about things, though Shanks’ mare has been obnoxiously lively this morning. Why don’t you come inside with me? We were just about to eat.” Once again, Br’er Rabbit spun his whole yarn about being in a pinch and needing to sell a bushel of corn and a second of beans for the low low price of only two dollars. He also lied through his ass and claimed she was the first one he had thought of, being such a good friend and all. He talked her around to agreeing to buy his goods for that incredible price. “That’s amazing, Sis Fox! You have no idea how much you’re helping me out here. You can come by and pick them up from my house on Saturday around 9 in the morning – I have to go into town, so it needs to be early but not too early. I need my beauty rest.”
After another fine meal at someone else’s expense, Br’er Rabbit said his goodbyes and headed ‘home.’ But, of course, he didn’t head home at all. No, he headed even farther on down the road until he came to the home of Br’er Coyote. Instead of knock knocking this time, Br’er Rabbit just waltzed right inside without waiting for an invitation. “What’s shaking, Br’er Coyote? How’s things?” Br’er Coyote looked up from the big bubbling kettle of fresh preserves he’d just taken off the stove. “Is that Br’er Rabbit? Well how do you like that? I haven’t seen you in an age. Guess it’s better to walk right in and make yourself at home than to wait to be invited. Well since you’re here, might as well come over and taste these preserves. I could use a second opinion.”
The clever rabbit had eaten at three different houses already, but he was never one to turn down free food. He happily took a dish of preserves and licked it clean. In between gobbling up sweets, he gave his now practiced spiel about needing to sell a bushel of corn and another of beans for the low price of only two dollars. And as before, he lied through his bunny teeth about coming to his bestest friend first to make this incredible, exclusive offer. Br’er Coyote considered this and, despite knowing how sly Rabbit was known for being, this was clearly too good an offer to refuse. After a little coaxing, he agreed to buy them both. “You’re really saving my ass, bud. I was really in a bind. You can come by and pick them up from my house on Saturday around 10 in the morning – I have to go into town, so I can’t have anyone showing up too early. I need my beauty rest.”
Having eaten yet again and also having sold his bushels of beans and corn to yet another person (despite only having one pair), he continued along the road yet again. Soon enough, he came to the home of Hunter Man, who was sitting on his porch cleaning his guns. This feels very Deliverance all of a sudden, but also like Bugs Bunny confronting Elmer Fudd. “Hey there, Hunter Man. Don’t shoot!” He chuckled awkwardly. “You’re going to think I’ve plumb lost my mind, friend, but I’m in debt up to the tops of my rabbit ears. I have a bushel of corn and another of beans that I need to sell, and I’m practically giving them away for the low, low price of two dollars. It’s a terrible loss for me, but what can I do? I need the money. But I figured I might as well help out my old friend Hunter Man, so I came to you with this offer first. Since we’re such old pals and all that.”
Hunter Man was deeply suspicious of Br’er Rabbit (I don’t know if ‘old friends’ is something either of them would honestly use to describe their relationship), but it was indeed one heck of an offer. He turned it around this way and that but Hunter Man could find nothing wrong with what he was being sold, so he agreed to Br’er Rabbit’s terms. “You can come by and pick them up from my house on Saturday around noon. I’ve got to go into town early that morning, but I should be back by then. You’re really helping me out here, Hunter Man. See you Saturday.” I don’t know why Br’er Rabbit decides to break his pattern and skip 11 am here. In the story, Br’er Rabbit actually says that he won’t be back until one, despite telling Hunter Man to come by at noon (which makes no sense and doesn’t jive with the rest of the story).
This time, Br’er Rabbit actually headed back home, having hit up everyone he thought likely to purchase his corn and beans. Bear in mind that he has just promised to sell these same two bushels to five different people on the same morning. He’s clearly got some scam in mind, so now let’s find out how he gets himself out of the predicament he’s gotten himself into by being greedy.
Saturday morning soon came, and 7 am found Br’er Rabbit sitting on his fence watching the road. The sun had hardly cleared the horizon before he saw Sis Roach driving her wagon towards his home. “Pull your wagon around back, Sis Roach, and then come on inside. I’ll show you the bushels and you show me the money.” She was still slightly suspicious that this deal seemed too good to be true, but the corn and the beans were quite real. Satisfied, she pulled out a handkerchief, which she had knotted the money up inside for safe-keeping. Br’er Rabbit pocketed the money with a smile. “Again, I can’t thank you enough for helping out of a bind here. Tell you what – how about you sit down in the hammock I’ve hung from the crossbeams of my home and smoke this nice Cuban cigar? You were nice enough to come out here early for me, and I’d hate for you to have to turn right back around and head back. Take a load off for a bit – loading that wagon can wait until you’ve rested.”
It was quite early and a cigar did sound quite nice, so it wasn’t hard to coax Sis Roach to put her feet up and have a nice swing in the hammock. Br’er Rabbit bustled about the house getting ready for his ‘trip into town’ for the next hour. He headed outside to get stuff loaded up. He came rushing back in moments later in an obvious panic. “Oh shit, this is bad, Sis Roach! Sis Hen is striding down the road with a wicked gleam in her eye. She’s very clearly coming here, though I can’t imagine why!” As you might imagine, Sis Roach wasn’t a big fan of Sis Hen, what with the latter thinking that the former made a tasty snack.
“Oh heavens, Br’er Rabbit, this is simply awful news! You have to hide me, old friend! If she finds me here, she’ll surely gobble me up. Oh I can just see myself kicking and screaming as I slide down her gaping maw!” “Of course, Sis Roach! Let me think, let me think. The oven! She’ll never think to look in there! I’ll go outside to talk to her, try to head her off. You stay here and be absolutely silent. I’ll take care of you.” Too terrified to object, Sis Roach crawled inside the oven, trembling in fear.
As soon as the oven door was closed, Br’er Rabbit put a big smile on his face and headed out to meet his next customer. “Hey there, Sis Hen! Pull your wagon into the shed and come inside. I’ll show you the bushels of corn and beans and you show me the money.” Sis Hen did so. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was just a little bit off, but he did indeed show her the promised goods, which were very much real and in perfect condition. She shrugged. Sometimes a deal was just a deal. She fished out her two dollars and handed them over to Br’er Rabbit, who quickly pocketed them.
As soon as the transaction was complete, he made big, significant eyes with his customer and put a dramatic finger to his lips in an obvious ‘shush’ noise. In an increasingly elaborate series of pantomimes, he indicated to Sis Hen that she should take a look in the oven, but be very quiet about it. She crept over with tiny hops, beady eyes peeled for whatever was making Br’er Rabbit act so fucking jumpy. She whipped open the oven door, revealing Sis Roach who was frozen in terror at being thus revealed. Before she could get over her shock, Sis Hen darted her head forward, spearing the bug with her wickedly sharp beak and swallowing her down, feet still kicking and struggling uselessly. And that was all for poor Sis Roach.
“Thank god you showed up, Sis Hen. That awful roach scuttled inside my house and wouldn’t leave. I was terrified that she was going to steal your beans and corn before I could deliver them to you – I’d hate to be seen as someone who doesn’t follow through on a bargain.” Sis Hen ruffled her feathers, quite pleased with herself and loving the flattery. “Tell you what – why don’t you take a load off and have a nice swing in my hammock while you puff on this Cuban cigar? The trip back is going to be long and hot, and you’ve certainly earned a little rest for helping me out like that.” It didn’t take much to convince the clucking chicken to take Br’er Rabbit up on this generous offer. Soon she was swinging contentedly and puffing on a fine cigar.
As before, Br’er Rabbit hustled and bustled around the house, getting everything ready for his ‘trip into town’. As 9 am neared, he headed outside and looked down the road, After seeing what he was expecting, he rushed back inside, eyes bulging from his head in a visible panic. “Lord have mercy on us, Sis Hen! Guess who I spied coming down the road towards us?” She sat up in the hammock with difficulty, swaying awkwardly. “Calm down, Br’er Rabbit? Who’d you see?” He pointed towards the door. “It’s Sis Fox, and she looked awfully hungry. I don’t know if she’s looking for you or me, but it’s bad news either way.”
Sis Hen flew into a squawkling panic, running around and flapping her wings ineffectively. “Oh lord, she must be here for me! If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all. You have to hide me, Br’er Rabbit! Don’t let that awful fox eat me up, feathers and all!” “You hide in the oven, Sis Hen, and I’ll go outside and try to head off Sis Fox. You’re an old friend and I would hate for anything to happen to you, so I’ll put myself at risk to save you.” She was in such a blind panic that it didn’t occur to her to wonder why he was having her hide in the exact same place that Sis Roach had been hiding before her untimely death at the sharp beak of the oven’s new occupant. She was just glad to have a place to hide from the dangerous fox.
As soon as the oven door was closed, Br’er Rabbit put another broad smile on his face and headed out to meet his third customer of the day. “You’re right on time, Sis Fox, but of course I would expect no less. Why don’t you pull your wagon into the barn and then come inside. I can show you the goods and you can show me the money.” She did as she was bid, so she of course didn’t notice the other two wagons in their respective hiding spaces. Some instinct was bugging her, telling her that something was off but she could see nothing amiss. The beans and corn were there as promised, so she handed over the two dollars they had agreed to.
After pocketing this third payment of two dollars, Br’er Rabbit made wide pleading eyes at Sis Fox and made a huge, silent shushing motion with his hand. Sis Fox cocked her head, wondering what the hell was going on but taking the warning to be silent. With a series of increasingly intricate pantomimes, he indicated to her that she should creep over to the oven and look inside. Cautiously, expecting a trick or trap, she did so. She whipped the door open, revealing a terrified Sis Hen huddling inside. The poor chicken had time to let out one terrified squawk before Sis Fox was on her. Claws ripped and teeth flashed and, in a twinkling, nothing was left of Sis Hen but a few stray feathers. “Thank heavens you came by today, my friend! That awful hen just burst in here right before you and tried to rob me of the corn and beans that rightfully belonged to you. There’s no telling what would have happened if you hadn’t been here. Tell you what – why don’t you sit back and relax in my hammock? I’ll even light up a nice Cuban cigar for you to show my thanks.”
Sis Fox was feeling quite full and a little sleepy after her large and unexpected meal, so it took very little to convince her to lay back in the hammock and smoke. While she snoozed, Br’er Rabbit bustled busily around the house, getting ready for his ‘trip into town.’ As 10 am neared, he headed outside once more to look for his next scheduled arrival. As soon as he spotted his form coming down the road, he put on that patented panicked expression and rushed inside. “Shit shit shit! Sis Fox, you won’t believe who I just saw stalking down the road towards us!” Sis Fox was awake in a flash, eyes searching wildly for whatever was making Br’er Rabbit so scared. “Calm down, old friend, and talk to me. Who did you see?”
“It’s that old bastard Br’er Coyote! He’s slinking down the road with a cruel gleam in his eye, but I don’t know if he’s here for you or me.” Sis Fox whirled in a panicked circle but there was no escape except towards the approaching danger. “How can you be such a shit for brains, Br’er Rabbit! He’s obviously here for me! You’ve got to hide me and quick. Oh god, I hope he doesn’t smell me here.” Br’er Rabbit pretended to look around for a hiding place before gesturing towards the stove. “Inside, Sis Fox. Quick! It’s the only place with enough other smells that he won’t be able to pick yours out.” Accepting this dubious logic, she rushed into the oven and hid at the very back, brushing away a few of the feathers left over from the chicken who had so recently (and unsuccessfully I might add) hid here.
As soon as the oven door was closed, Br’er Rabbit put that big, shit-eating grin back on his face and went outside. “Well hey there, Br’er Coyote. On time as always. Pull your wagon around to the side of the house over there and come inside. I’ll show you the goods I promised you, and you show me the money you promised me. Sound good?” Something smelled funny here (and you and I already know what it is), but Br’er Coyote couldn’t put his paw on exactly what the problem was. The beans and corn were indeed all there, as promised, and so he handed over the two dollars as they had agreed. “Hey, before you head out, why not sit down and share a Cuban cigar with me? It’s getting towards the hottest part of the day and loading up those bushels is going to be a pain. You deserve a break.”
Br’er Coyote wasn’t really in any hurry and a swing and a smoke did sound good, so he was easily convinced. He lay there drowsily, just enjoying things for a bit as Br’er Rabbit bustled around the house getting ready for his ‘trip into town.’ After a time, the sly rabbit slunk over to the hammock and whispered in Br’er Coyote’s ear. “I’ve got something stashed away for you in the oven. Creep over there as quietly as you can and see what it is.” Immediately suspicious again, he slipped out of the hammock and over to the oven. Whipping the door open, he peered inside to see Sis Fox playing possum. She’d been hiding this whole time, but pretending to be dead didn’t work out so well for her. In a matter of moments, she was actually a corpse. Some minutes later, she wasn’t even that. Br’er Coyote devoured her, bones and all leaving no trace she had ever been cowering in that oven in mortal terror.
“Thank you for your service, Br’er Coyote. I’m so sorry to have interrupted your rest and cigar there. I discovered that awful fox hiding in my house while you were resting, and I knew that she would leap out and devour me unless you got her first. Sit back down and kick your feet up. Finish your cigar. It’s extremely hot out right now, so why not wait until it’s a little cooler? No need to rush. You know what they say, here today gone tomorrow. Nobody knows when the reaper’s cold scythe will come for you, so why not enjoy life while you can? That’s what I think anyway, so I never rush.” Br’er Coyote might have objected if he weren’t so full. As it was, a little nap sounded quite nice so he crawled back into the hammock and fell asleep.
Some time later, he awoke to the sound of Br’er Rabbit rushing back into the house in a clear panic. “God be merciful to us poor sinners! Br’er Coyote, you’ll never guess who I just spied hurrying down the road towards us?” The canine was on his feet in a flash, teeth bared. “Who, old friend? Who has you so afraid?” “It’s Hunter Man, and he’s heading this way with a gun thiiiiiiiis big over his shoulder! I don’t know if he’s after you or me, but it can’t be good for either of us!” “Oh shit, Br’er Rabbit! That asshole has always had it in for me, so he must be following my trail! You’ve got to hide me, friend! I helped you out of a jam, right? Your turn.” Br’er Rabbit pretended to panic for a moment before turning to look at the oven. “There’s only one place big enough to hide you in, Br’er Coyote – the oven. Quick, get inside! I’ll go and see if I can throw him off your trail.”
In the heat of panic, Br’er Coyote didn’t see any flaws with this plan, so he climbed into the oven that had been the final resting place for three poor critters already today. As soon as the oven door was closed, Br’er Rabbit’s smile returned to his face. This was going swimmingly – just one more sale to make. “Hey there, Hunter Man! Thanks for coming. I just got back a little while ago. Pull your wagon right up here in front and come inside. I’ll show you the bushels and you show me the money.” Hunter Man did so. He kept a careful eye out for some trick on the part of Br’er Rabbit, who was known to be a cunning one. He saw no sign of mischief though – the corn and the beans were both there, as promised.
“You’ve had a long, hot trip to get here, Hunter Man – why not sit down in this hammock and have nice smoke with a Cuban cigar? You can load up the corn and beans after you’ve rested a bit.” He was still suspicious, but not terribly worried. What could a single rabbit really do to an armed hunter like himself? Thus, he did lay out in the hammock and relax with a cigar (though he kept his gun close at hand, just in case). After he’d kicked back for a time, Br’er Rabbit slunk over and whispered in Hunter Man’s ear: “Grab your gun, man, and creep over to the oven. Open the door quietly, and look what’s hiding inside.”
Hunter Man’s gut said that this mysterious whatever was what had triggered his uneasy instincts earlier. He snatched up his rifle and slipping over to the oven as silently as he knew how (which was very fucking silently after years of stalking prey) he crept over to the oven and threw the door open. And who should he see cowering inside but his old nemesis Br’er Coyote. It’s possible that the latter realized just how he had been betrayed, but it was already too late. The cornered canine snarled in fear and defiance as Hunter Man raised his rifle and fired. He couldn’t possibly miss at such close range, and Br’er Coyote was no more. Considering the corpse of the coyote a nice boon on a good day’s trading, Hunter Man carried it away along with his bushels of corn and beans. He was, of course, the only one who actually got what he paid for. Or at least, the only one who got them for longer than the single hour it took for their killer to arrive and finish them off as part of a cascading con like that opening scene with the Joker in the Dark Knight.
For his part, Br’er Rabbit was happy. Not only had he made nice with the most dangerous creature in the area by selling him cheap vegetables, he’d made ten dollars, four wagons, and four yoke of oxen in the doing. The story says he made seven and half dollars, but I’m not sure of that math (unless the corn and beans cost 3.5 dollars, which is possible I guess). Either way, he made a tidy profit for the low, low price of four corpses. And that’s why you should never trust a rabbit.
Though he’s clearly one of the inspirations for that wascally wabbit Bugs Bunny, there’s one huge difference between the two. Br’er Rabbit is downright cold-blooded and planned a series of murders to a bunch of creatures who clearly considered him a friend. Bugs on the other hand usually won’t start shit but he will go to the ends of the earth to finish shit. Betwixt the two, I’ll take Bugs any day. And so, with the butcher’s bill paid, it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s clever trickster is El Bizarron.
This story hails from the island of Cuba as set down in Best-Loved Folktales of the World, edited by Joanna Cole. Once upon a time, long, long ago, there lived a man named El Bizarron (roughly translating to the brave or the valiant). He wandered far and wide in search of work. Partly this was because work could be hard to find; mostly, it was because he was a very restless fellow. He wandered here and there, but more often there than here.
One fine day as El Bizarron was in one of those there places, he heard tell that there was work to be had but there was a catch – it was as a servant in the devil’s own house. Even those who were bold enough to tell strangers about a job posting for Satan warned those who considered taking it to stay the fuck away. “Pues, ten cuidado!” they would say, a forceful way of saying watch out! These warnings were well founded since, as it turned out, the Devil had already straight up murdered his last two servants. This is not the easy breezy beautiful covergirl version of Satan we sometimes see in media (and even in folklore), but a mean, cruel son of a bastard. It was well known that everyone who worked for him ended up dead, and usually sooner rather than later. Much, much sooner. El Bizarron’s name means brave as I mentioned, but perhaps he should change it to arrogant asshole. “The Devil doesn’t scare me. I’m on my way to take the job.”
And so he did. He marched right up to the Devil’s front door and knocked, firmly and loudly. And who should answer but old Lucifer himself. “I hear you’re in need of a strong man to do some work for you, Old Scratch.” The ancient demon smiled widely, showing his long, wickedly sharp teeth. “Actually, I have enough work for six such men. I don’t suppose that you have five more of you hiding in your coat pockets?” He laughed at his own bad joke. “Ah well, I suppose you’ll do. Come in, mortal.” And so El Bizarron did, marching boldly through the open door.
The Devil led the man to the room where he would be spending his nights. “It’s already late, so rest up. You’ve got a very long day of chores ahead of you tomorrow.” Utterly unconcerned, El Bizarron stretched himself out on the bed. Before long, loud snores echoed down the hallways from his room. No concerns kept sleep at bay for him, nor did any stress dreams trouble his mind. He awoke easily in the morning, refreshed and full of vigor. Must be fucking nice. He went downstairs and was assigned his first task. “Go and fetch water for the house.” It was a common task since fresh water was needed for all sorts of morning chores, not the least of which was making food. El Bizarron shrugged. “No problem. Can I get a pick and a shovel?”
It was sort of an odd request, but the Devil shrugged and decided to let this play out. It wasn’t like he couldn’t just torture the man to death later if whatever he was planning wasn’t either useful or entertaining. He gave the mortal the requested tools without any fuss. El Bizarron took them and headed down to the river. Instead of filling up a bucket and returning (likely having to make many more such trips), he instead began using the pick and shovel to dig a stream towards the Devil’s house. The story says, and I quote, “Like six men he toiled. Well…like three anyway.” I don’t know why, but something about that phrasing just tickles me. Anywho.
As the clock struck 11 am, the Devil went out to check on his new servant and found him thus toiling away. “What the fuck, dude? I asked you to fetch water, not dig a ditch! Can’t you follow simple instructions?” El Bizarron glanced up briefly from his work. “No, I get that. I’m digging a canal straight to your house. Much more efficient this way – once I’m done, no one will have to go and fetch water anymore. It’ll just flow right to you.” The Devil reflected on that answer. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. The man had been working for only a few hours, and already he had a working canal that was the depth of a pitchfork (because naturally that’s the unit of measurement for the Devil). This new servant was every bit as strong as he claimed but worse, he could also think. It was a dangerous combination. The Devil went back inside to contemplate just what he had gotten himself into.
A few days of uneventful labor and chores went by before another noteworthy thing happened. On that morning, the Devil had a new task for his newest servant: “Go and fetch wood for the house.” El Bizarron shrugged. “No problem. Can I get a length of rope? A really long one if you have it.” His earlier concern had receded somewhat, so the Devil handed over the requested rope without any muss or fuss. The man took it, looped it over his shoulder, and set off for the nearby mountains. Instead of chopping down the trees as one would expect, he instead began looping the rope around them. To be clear here, I don’t mean that he’s tied the rope around a tree or even around a few trees – he’s wrapped the rope around the whole motherfucking forest. It was lucky that the Devil had such an unwieldy length of rope just sitting around for no good goddamned reason.
After all of his walking to get the rope set up, the soles of El Bizarron’s shoes had worn down to only a fraction of a millimeter thick. It’s an especially odd detail and one that doesn’t appear to pay off in any way whatsoever in the rest of the story. As before, the Devil came out himself at 11 am to see what the fuck was keeping his servant. He found him just finishing up with the rope, having looped it around the entire forest and now tying it off with a secure knot. “What the hell are you doing, mortal? I asked you to fetch wood not…whatever the fuck this is.” El Bizarron glanced up briefly from his work. “I’m securing the entire mountain’s wood at once so I can carry the whole thing back in one trip. Much more efficient that way.” We’ve officially left behind strong human territory and entered into demigod realms. The Devil reconsidered his new servant yet again. “You’re an absolute barbarian, mortal. Go back to the house. No, without the mountain and the forest! Where the fuck were you planning to put that? The backyard? Just leave it and head back.”
Not long after this incident, there was a throwing contest on the beach with metal bars. Who was staging this throwing contest is unclear – maybe the other servants? Maybe it’s just locals on the island who don’t work for the Devil and this beach is just close to his house? The last option seems the most likely to me, but the story doesn’t clarify. Anyway, the Devil saw an opportunity to make use of his freakishly strong servant. “If that bastard can haul an entire forest on his back, then surely he can throw a metal bar farther than any of those assholes. I’ll enter him into the contest to win me a prize.” Smiling widely, Satan led El Bizarron to the beach, the latter with a metal bar balanced on his shoulder.
He was entered into the contest and walked over to the other competitors. Everyone else was limbering up or making practice throws. El Bizarron lay down beneath a shady tree and took a nap. Everyone else ignored him, thinking him too lazy to be a real threat. Hours passed and finally, it was the sleeping man’s turn. He woke up and stretched with a great yawn, then peered out towards the horizon. “You need to tell those boats out there to clear the area, or I may sink them with my throw.” There was no real way to do so, but El Bizarron was insistent that it was far too dangerous for him to throw if they were still out there, so the contest judges decided not to let him throw. It was a huge disappointment to everyone. He’d made such a big fuss about how impossibly far he planned to hurl his bar that everyone had been looking forward to watching.
The only one who was more uneasy than disappointed was Old Scratch himself. The more he learned about his servant’s inhuman strength, the more it worried him. An ox’s brawn coupled with a fox’s brain was entirely too dangerous a combination. The more Lucifer thought about it, the more it felt like he was keeping a ticking time bomb under his roof, a dangerous beast leashed only with a single thread. It could turn on him at any moment, so the Father of Lies decided to betray his servant first. He would rid himself of this dangerous mortal.
The two made their way back to the Devil’s house from the beach, chatting amiably about the contest and how unfair it was that the judges had disqualified El Bizarron. In an unctuous but charismatic tone, Satan suggested that since he himself wished to spend the night stretched out on the iron grill of the barbecue, his servant might wish to sleep beneath. It’s a very bizarre request, but maybe it makes sense for a demon like the Devil? Or maybe he’s just a good enough liar to sell it. Either way, El Bizarron just shrugged. “Okey dokey, boss. Sounds great.” And so it was arranged. While the man was off doing chores, the Devil found and hid two heavy rocks that he planned to drop on the man in the night, killing him while he slept. Trickery seemed much safer than anything approaching a fair fight.
Evening fell and both went to their spots on and below the grill to sleep. El Bizarron, who was a keen observer of details, noticed that his employer looked bulkier than usual and in a weirdly angular way. It was certainly a suspicious thing, especially after the unexpected change in bed locations that night. Suspecting foul play was afoot, El Bizarron laid his bed out beneath the high grill directly under the Devil’s bedding. As soon as he was sure that Lucifer wasn’t looking, he crawled out of his bed and curled up in the farthest corner. Then he waited, faking snores to avoid arousing suspicion. Around midnight, the Devil made his move, dropping the boulders he had smuggled up onto the high grill on the bed below.
The cacophony of shattering stone filled the air, followed almost immediately by the sound of a slap. “Damn it, that was one hell of a mosquito that just bit me.” The Devil shivered at these words. Those boulders should have killed any mortal man, and this fucking servant had shrugged them off thinking they were mere bug bites! He was impressed, disturbed, and terrified in equal measure. Lucifer decided that he needed to see this sight for himself and crawled down out of his grill bed. Exactly as he’d expected, he found El Bizarron sitting amongst the broken boulders without the slightest scratch or bruise. It was impossible, and yet it was also plainly true (since he never considered that he might have simply been tricked).
El Bizarron looked around at the crushed stone with a raised eyebrow. “Guess it wasn’t a mosquito after all but these falling rocks. Odd. How do you think they reached me here beneath the grill?” He glanced up to where the Devil’s bed had been in a frankly appraising way. Satan’s teeth were chattering now. He’d taken his shot at the king and missed, so now was the time for bribery. “My dear fellow, I don’t need a servant anymore. How about I give you a donkey loaded up with silver and you go far, far away? Maybe the moon? Is there somewhere farther than the moon?” The man shrugged. This was better than working anyhow. “Sounds good, boss.”
And so the Devil had a burro brought up and loaded its saddlebags with coins until they bulged like sacks of potatoes. “There you are, mortal. Our deal is done. Now go.” And El Bizarron went. No sooner had the man and his donkey plodded out of sight than the Devil’s Wife made her first appearance in this story. She’d had time to think over everything that had happened with this oddball servant and, being cleverer than her husband, she’d see through the ruse. “You absolute numbskull! That mere human tricked you into thinking he’s superhumanly strong. Just because he tells you that he can carry a forest on his shoulder or hurl a metal bar miles out to sea doesn’t mean he can really do it! He manipulated all of you into believing his lies without ever forcing him to actually prove his boasts. He’s no stronger than any other mortal man.” She hurled insults and sneers at her husband as though they were stones being hurled at a stray dog. Which is not a nice thing to do, but the Devil and his wife are not nice people.
This unceasing stream of insults convinced Satan that he’d been tricked and that he had to do something about it. He saddled up a horse and set out after El Bizarron, intent on taking back his donkey and his riches. The mortal meanwhile was very pleased with himself for pulling this off but he was also clever by nature, so he kept an eye out behind him in case the sucker figured out that he’d been played. Thus he spied Old Scratch coming over the hill long before he caught up to the slower donkey all laden with silver.
Looking around, El Bizarron spied a field of sugar cane and hid the burro inside. That done, he lay down in the middle of the road with his feet sticking straight up into the air. The Devil soon galloped up close enough to see this bizarre thing and reined in his horse to a stop. “What happened to you? Are you sick, mortal?” The man glanced over at the Devil as though noticing him for the first time. “Oh, hey. No, I’m good; it’s that damned donkey. He stopped in the road and refused to walk any farther. I’m afraid I lost my temper and kicked him up above the clouds.”
Without his wife to keep insisting that this was a trick, the Devil was a lot less sure of himself. What if this asshole really was this strong? He was so calm and matter-of-fact about everything that it was hard to imagine that he was lying (even though he totally is). “Okay, sure, but why are you lying in the road with your feet up like that?” “Well I don’t want that poor donkey to die when he finally comes back down. I let my temper get the better of me and should have just carried the donkey myself until he’d rested a bit. I’m waiting here to catch him with my feet and ease his fall when he eventually lands.”
That was enough for Satan. Trembling like a leaf in a thunderstorm, he turned his horse around and spurred it desperately for home. He didn’t look back once to see if that poor donkey ever landed again. When he made it back to his house, his wife was waiting for him. “Did you catch him, oh useless husband of mine?” “And I wish I hadn’t! He was there in the road by himself having kicked the poor donkey into the heavens. If I had waited around for it to land again and demanded my money back, he might have kicked me all the way to fucking Heaven. And what kind of place would that be for the Devil? If you want the money that badly, go and get it yourself. As for me, I’m just glad to be rid of him!” And so El Bizarron was able to ride away safely with his donkey and his silver.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Instagram as MythsYourTeacherHatedPod, on Tumblr as MythsYourTeacherHated, and on Bluesky as MythsPodcast. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff.
Next time, we’re heading to Scandinavia for the annual holiday special. You’ll learn that a magical talking snowman isn’t really all that special, that you should really give your snow people legs when you build them, and that old dogs are very wise but very crotchety. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you’ll meet a jolly Christmas elf who doesn’t work for Santa Claus, although both are pretty down with violence. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.