Episode 187 – Twelve Months – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 187 Show Notes

Source: Czech Fairy Tale

This week on MYTH, it’s another listener requested story. You’ll discover that incarnations of time hang out together, that being kind and polite goes a very long way, and that wandering around in a blizzard looking for out of season fruit is a bad idea. Then, in Gods and Monsters, a gamekeeper will stumble across something magical, but with a catch. 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 187, “Twelve Months”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
This story was requested by Anastasia on Spotify. It’s an old Czech fairy tale whose first written record comes from a 14th century scholar; the most famous version (and the one we’ll be using) comes from Czech writer Bozena Nemcova from 1845. I’ll be using a translation from Parker Fillmore, an early 20th century folklorist.
Once upon a time, there lived a woman with two daughters. Or more accurately, she had a daughter and a stepdaughter. And yes, this is a setup we’ve seen a lot of and it never goes well. The woman loved her own daughter Holena dearly, but she could hardly bear the sight of her stepdaughter Marushka since the younger girl was orders of magnitude prettier than Holena. What made it more insufferable was that Marushka had no idea just how beautiful she really was. This left the poor child perpetually confused and hurt as to why her stepmother always frowned so cruelly whenever she stood anywhere near her sister.
The story doesn’t say where the father of the two girls was or where Marushka’s mother was, so imagine your own favorite pair of tragic backstories. Much like any number of fairytale stepdaughters, Marushka was treated more as a servant than as a family member, forced to do all the household chores alone. She cooked and cleaned and washed and sewed and spun and gardened and cared for their cow, all without complaint. While Marushka was laboring away, Holena dressed herself in her best finery and strutted around the house like a grand lady, ordering her servant imperiously.
Marushka bore all of this indignity without complaint. She obeyed every order and shouldered the constant insults and their endless finding of imagined mistakes to berate her over with calm patience. Naturally, this placidity only served to enrage Holena and her mother further. It certainly didn’t help that, despite all of this hard labor and meager meals, Marushka grew lovelier each and every day while, despite her life of idleness and ease, Holena grew uglier. As I’ve said before, everyone knows that pretty people are just better than you and ugly people are wicked and deserve to feel bad. Obviously. No bias there at all.
Anyway, the girls’ mother saw this growing disparity in attractiveness and was becoming quite concerned about it. “This simply will not do. Soon the girls will be of a courting age, and the boys who come around will see how lovely that bitch Marushka is and pay no attention at all to my beloved Holena.” She sighed with feigned regret. “There’s nothing for it. We’ll simply have to rid ourselves of that Marushka before she becomes an issue.” And so the ill-treatment grew worse. They worked her ragged, they beat her daily, they cut her already meager rations, and they did anything and everything else they could think of to ruin her physical beauty and make her as petty and jaded as they were. It was all to no avail. In spite of this abuse, Marushka just kept getting more beautiful and her disposition kept getting kinder and sweeter. They’re basically being the Joker from the comic The Killing Joke where he tries to prove that anyone can end up just as twisted as him with a bad enough day.
One day in the middle of January, Holena got it into her head that she needed a bouquet of fragrant violets to put in her bodice. “I want violets – they’re the only thing that will pull this outfit together. Marushka! Get off your lazy ass and go fetch me some from the forest. Now, dammit!” Marushka (who was of course far too busy with housework to even think about sitting) stopped what she was doing to stare at her sister. “My dear sister, I’m sure that you’re right about violets adding a wonderful dash of color to your ensemble, but it’s, like, January. Who ever heard of violets growing under the foot of snow we have out there right now?”
Holena took this very sound bit of logic about as well as you’d imagine. “You lazy slut! How dare you raise your voice to me! How dare you talk back! No one asked you to think, you stupid bitch. Now go out into the forest this fucking second and get me those violets. And if you try to come back without them because of some bullshit sob story about snow, I’ll fucking kill you.” Without much hope, Marushka looked to her stepmother for support but of course, the older woman sided with her daughter. To be fair, I’m pretty sure that both Holena and her mother are entirely aware that Marushka is right. That’s not the point though – they’re hoping to send her to die of exposure on a fool’s errand in the dead of winter. Taking Marushka roughly by the shoulder, her stepmother shoved her out the door with such force that she tripped and fell, slamming the door behind her.
Marushka knew that it was hopeless, but there was nothing for it but to go into the forest and pray for a miracle. Maybe the trio just live far from other people or maybe any other locals have been poisoned against poor Marushka (who they likely almost never see) by the cruel lies of Holena and her mother. Whatever the reason, the poor girl had no other place to go, so off into the forest she went.
Weeping bitter tears for her own impending doom and the cruelty she still didn’t understand, Marushka climbed up the mountain to where the forest loomed. Snow lay thick along the path with no sign of passage by man or beast over the deep drifts. It was hard, freezing work breaking a trail through the fresh powder and poor Marushka was soon exhausted, starving, and shivering uncontrollably. Teeth chattering, the poor girl raised her eyes to the heavens and prayed to whatever god might be listening to take her away from this suffering, but just let it be swift.
Suddenly, Marushka saw a glowing light ahead of her that she was sure hadn’t been there a moment before. With the last reserves of her dwindling strength, she forced her way towards it. She broke free from the snow to discover that the light came from a massive bonfire that was burning on the mountain’s peak. Around it were twelve stones, one much bigger and taller than the others. Twelve men were seated on the twelve stones. Three of them looked ancient, their hair as white as the snow on the ground. Three were older men but not nearly so ancient as the first three. Three more were solidly middle aged. The last three were beautiful youths. None of them spoke, instead gazing silently into the flames.
Marushka was frightened by this strange and clearly supernatural tableau but she was quite literally out of options (and the warmth of the fire was a salve for her weary soul). She hesitated, then mustered all her courage and decorum to step up to the ring of stones and drop a deep, respectful curtsey. “Hello there, kind sirs. I am exhausted and shaking myself to pieces with the cold. Would it be alright if I warmed myself by your fire for a bit?” The twelve men looked at her then and Marushka knew without being told who these men were – they were the Twelve Months, living embodiments of the year. It was January, seated on the largest stone, who spoke. He nodded kindly towards the flames and Marushka gratefully stretched out her stiff fingers to warm them. “This is no place for you, my child. Why are you out here in the middle of the wilderness in this inhospitable cold?”
“I’m, well, I’m hunting for violets.” January quirked an incredulous eyebrow. “Violets? Who ever heard of violets growing beneath the winter snows?” Marushka blushed a little although it was not her fault she was out here on such an obviously ludicrous quest. “I agree with you sir, but my sister Holena insists that I must bring her violets from the forest before I return home or she will kill me. My mother has backed her up, and so my death warrant is sealed. I figure it’s better to die out here trying than to trudge back to my own execution at the hands of my family. It would be ever so cruel to put them through that. You all seem powerful and knowledgeable. Could you tell me where I could find some violets?” January shook his head with disbelief.
He opened his mouth to speak then slowly reconsidered, looking over at the youngest month. Slowly, elderly January stood and walked over to young March. He handed him a long staff. “Take this, March, and the high seat as well.” March seemed to understand what January had in mind, so he took the staff with a small bow and climbed up into the high seat. Once he was situated, he began waving the staff over the fire in broad, sweeping movements. The flames blazed up in response, instantly melting all of the snow piled around their little clearing. The trees burst into bud; fresh green grass erupted from the formerly frozen soil; little pink daisies bloomed out of the earth; and in mere moments, it was spring.
As Marushka stared, mouth agape, violets began to peek out from amongst the new leaves. Soon, it was as if a great blue quilt had been spread across the ground where the snow had so recently lay. March smiled at the shocked young woman. “There you are, Marushka. All the violets you could possibly want. Pick them quickly!” Marushka was overjoyed. She’d hoped at most for a moment’s respite from the cold before her inevitable death but now she was saved. Thanks to the gathering of the twelve months, her impossible quest was complete. She stooped down and gathered an enormous bunch in her arms. Thanking the months profusely for their kindness, she bade them good day and hurried back home.
You can imagine the surprise on Holena and her mother’s faces when Marushka came bursting through the door, tracking in snow with an armful of blooming violets. The floral aroma filled the cottage with their impossible scent. Both women stared at the exhausted Marushka with almost identical incredulous looks before Holena said what was on both of their minds. “Where the fuck did you get violets?” It was rude and aggressive because, as Marushka had assumed, the two women had wanted her to die out there searching for something that didn’t exist. “I found them high up in the mountains. The ground up there was covered with them.” Which is technically true though it explains absolutely nothing as I suspect Marushka intended.
Holena snatched up the violets and fastened them about her waist as a garland. She might be a heinous asshole, but she did have a genuine eye for fashion so the violets did bring the outfit together. She inhaled the delicate fragrance many times throughout the day, and invited her mother to do the same. Despite having been the one to fetch the impossible flowers, Holena never once invited her stepsister Marushka to take a sniff.
The next day, as Holena was sitting idly next to the chimney watching her stepsister slave away, she got it into her head that she simply must have fresh strawberries to eat. This was before the days of global supply chains, so if a fruit wasn’t in season, you were usually just shit out of luck. Like with the violets the day before, Holena didn’t much care about whether a whim was feasible. That was for Marushka to figure out or die trying. Hopefully the latter. “Marushka, go out into the forest and pick me some fresh strawberries. I have the most terrible craving and simply must taste their sweetness today.”
Despite having been sent on a death mission the day before (or perhaps because of it), Marushka was utterly flabbergasted by this demand. “Good heavens, my dear sweet sister! Wherever am I supposed to find strawberries this time of year? Have you ever heard of strawberries growing under the snow?” Holena took that totally reasonable objection just about as well as you’d expect. “The fuck makes you think you can talk back to me you miserable slut! How dare you argue with me! Get off you ass right this second, go out into the forest, and get me my fucking strawberries right this fucking second! And if you try to come back to this fucking house without strawberries, I will fucking kill you!”
As before, the stepmother sided with Holena in her utterly unreasonable demand. They both still wanted Marushka dead and figured she couldn’t possibly pull off a miracle two days in a row. Taking her stepdaughter roughly by the shoulder, she shoved Marushka out of the house and into the bitter cold, slamming the door behind her. The young woman was stunned by being handed a second death sentence so soon after escaping the first. Weeping bitterly for the cruelty of her fate, Marushka headed up the mountainside. She also had no illusions about the likelihood of getting a second supernatural reprieve.
Fresh snow had fallen overnight, leaving no trace of her previous trek and indeed no sign of any passage of man or beast across this wild place. Marushka soldiered on in a fruitless search for fruit and was soon exhausted, weak from hunger, and shivering from the cold. She kept searching but hope had long since died. As she was nearing the end of her strength, Marushka saw a familiar glow in the distance. Stumbling with a little renewed vigor, she soon came upon that fire surrounded by the twelve men on twelve stone seats. Her heart was happy and light as she bowed to the twelve months and great January on the high seat.
“Hello again, kind sirs. It is good to see you again. Might I join you and warm my bones by your fire? I’m afraid that I am once again shaking to pieces with the cold.” January nodded towards the girl, inviting her to join them beside the flames. Grateful, Marushka hurried forward, stretching stiff fingers towards the heat. “It is good to see you again as well, Marushka, but why are you here for a second day in a row? What are you hunting this time that brings you out this far into the wilderness in the bitter cold of winter? Surely you’re not looking for violets again.” “No, not violets. I’m, uh, looking for fresh strawberries.” She looked a little sheepish even though it still wasn’t at all her fault that she was on this fool’s errand.
Great January cocked his head at Marushka in confusion. “Strawberries? But my dear Marushka, my child, it is winter and strawberries grow even more poorly under the snow than violets do.” She nodded sadly. “I know, great sir, but this wasn’t my choice. My sister Holena says I must bring her strawberries from the forest or she will kill me when I come back. My stepmother took her side, so I’m sure that they’re serious. I know it’s a longshot but maybe you can tell me where I can get some strawberries?”
January looked around at his fellow months before coming to a decision. He slowly stood and walked across the fire to the month seated across from him. He handed him a long staff. “Take this, June, and the high seat as well.” June seemed to understand what January had in mind, so he took the staff with a small bow and climbed up into the high seat. Once he was situated, he began waving the staff over the fire in broad, sweeping movements. The flames blazed up in response, instantly melting all of the snow piled around their little clearing. Green grass carpeted the earth; leaves erupted from the trees; birds began to sing sweetly; and lo, it was summer. Starry little white blossoms sprang up amongst the grass, covering the ground beneath the beech trees. Fruit sprouted from the blooms, green at first before growing and ripening through pink and into deep, lush red.
“There you are, Marushka. Pick your strawberries quickly!” cried June. Marushka gasped in delight and hurried to fill her apron with as many plump strawberries as she could carry. Dropping a polite, grateful curtsy to the months, she thanked them and bade them goodbye before hurrying away. You can imagine the surprise on Holena and her mother’s faces when Marushka came bursting through the door, tracking in snow with an apronful of ripe strawberries. The fruity aroma filled the cottage with their impossible scent. Both women stared at the exhausted Marushka with almost identical incredulous looks before Holena said what was on both of their minds. “Where the fuck did you get strawberries?” It was rude and aggressive because, as Marushka had assumed, the two women had once again wanted her to die out there searching for something that didn’t exist. “I found them high up in the mountains. The ground under the beech trees was covered with them.” Which is still technically true though it again explains absolutely nothing as I suspect Marushka intended.
Without a drop of gratitude, Holena took the strawberries and gobbled them down. She and her mother ate them greedily, the red juice staining their lips and their hands. During all their devouring, it never once occurred to them to ask if Marushka wanted even one. Despite everything she had gone through, her stepsister and stepmother never even considered that it might be kind to offer her a share of the literal fruits of her labor. For her part, Marushka was mostly grateful to be safe and warm at home. Though I don’t know how safe she really is with two women who have tried to get her killed twice now.
The next day, Holena was once again sitting around doing nothing but primping and criticizing the imaginary mistakes made by her stepsister who was busily cleaning. The strawberries yesterday had been delicious but they were gone now. Besides, she had a hankering for something different – fresh apples. “When you’re done pretending to work, Marushka, I need you to go out and fetch me some fresh red apples.” The poor, much-abused Marushka really shouldn’t be surprised at this utterly unreasonable request after the last two impossible quests in as many days, but the demand still caught her flat-footed.
“But Holena, my beautiful, sweet, and utterly reasonable sister! Wherever am I supposed to find apples this time of year? The trees are all barren of leaves and fruit both.” Holena took that totally reasonable objection just about as well as you’d expect. “Are you seriously still back-talking me, you worthless, ungrateful bitch? You’re lucky we even let you live in this house with how rude and lazy you are. Stop being a useless slut, go out into the forest, and gather my motherfucking apples right this motherfucking second! And so help me, if you try to pull some bullshit and come back here without them, I’ll kill you dead right then and there.”
As before, the stepmother sided with Holena in her utterly unreasonable demand. They both still wanted Marushka dead and figured she couldn’t possibly pull off a miracle three days in a row. Taking her stepdaughter roughly by the shoulder, she shoved Marushka out of the house and into the bitter cold, slamming the door behind her. The young woman was stunned by being handed a third death sentence after surviving two in a row. Marushka headed up the mountainside. She didn’t weep this time though. She had met the 12 Months the last two times she’d been in dire need, so maybe they would appear for her again.
Fresh snow had fallen in the night again and between that and the bitter wind, there was no track of man or beast to be seen. She knew where to go though and headed straight for the mountain peak where the months had been waiting each time before. Sure enough, she soon spied the familiar glow of the fire. As usual, ancient January was seated on the high stone chair with the other eleven arrayed evenly around the fire beside him. She walked boldly up to the fire this time and dropped another deep, respectful curtsy.
“Hello again, kind sirs. It is good to see you once more. Might I join you and warm my bones by your fire? Thrice now, I am shaking to pieces with the cold.” January nodded towards the girl, inviting her to join them beside the flames. Grateful, Marushka hurried forward, stretching stiff fingers towards the heat. “It is good to see you again as well, Marushka, but why are you here for a third day in a row? What are you hunting this time that brings you out this far into the wilderness in the bitter cold of winter? What impossible errand has your family sent you on this time?” “Apples, Great January. My sister says that she simply must have fresh red apples. And of course they have again warned that if I fail in this task, they will kill me. I am sorry to have to keep imposing on your generous hospitality like this.”
Ancient January couldn’t even manage to be surprised this time. He’d half expected her return and, as soon as he’d seen Marushka, he’d guessed why she was here. It took only a quick glance around the group for the months to agree to aid the poor girl again. January stood and offered the staff to one of the older months. “Here, September; you take the high seat for this.” September seemed to understand what January had in mind, so he took the staff with a small bow and climbed up into the high seat. Once he was situated, he began waving the staff over the fire in broad, sweeping movements. The flames blazed up in response, instantly melting all of the snow piled around their little clearing. The trees burst into growth that instantly transformed into the riotous colors of fall. The fields around the fire were the dusty browns and yellows of harvest season, soon buried under the falling leaves. Amongst these, Marushka saw an apple tree whose branches were laden with fruit.
“There you go, Marushka. Pick your apples quickly!” cried September. Marushka gasped in delight and hurried to fill her apron with as many dark red apples as she could carry. She plucked one and then a second when September called out “That’s enough, Marushka! Don’t pick any more.” Ever respectful, she immediately stopped, holding both apples in her apron. Dropping a polite, grateful curtsy to the months, she thanked them and bade them goodbye before hurrying away. The two women at home were even more surprised than ever when Marushka came bursting through the door, tracking in snow with a pair of plump, crisp apples. They stared at the exhausted Marushka with almost identical incredulous looks before Holena said what was on both of their minds. “Where the fuck did you get apples?” It was rude and aggressive because, as Marushka had assumed, the two women had once again wanted her to die out there searching for something that didn’t exist. “I found them high up in the mountains. There were plenty of them growing on a tree up there.” Which is technically true though it explains absolutely nothing as I suspect Marushka intended.
“Plenty of them? And yet you only brought us two?” Holena’s eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. “No, you picked a bunch but you’re such a fat, selfish prick that you gobbled the rest of them on your way home. How can you be so cruel?” Marushka was used to her sister’s insults, but this insinuation of poor character stung. “Oh, I would never do that, my dear sweet sister! I haven’t eaten a single apple, I promise! They wouldn’t let me pick more than two. I reached for more but they shouted at me to stop.”
“You lying bitch! I wish lightning would strike you dead for being such a terrible, selfish ass. I’ve got half a mind to beat you until you learn honesty.” Marushka froze, desperate not to provoke her sister into carrying through on her threat. Fortunately, Holena was everything she accused Marushka of being, so she soon got bored of berating her sister and took a bite out of her apple. Her eyes rolled back in her skull as the light sweetness filled her mouth. “Holy shit, that’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten. You’re lucky you found such tasty apples – it’s the only reason you’re not getting beaten until you can’t walk.” Holena’s mother agreed, both ravenously devouring their fruit.
Almost the moment they had swallowed the last bite, they began craving more. Holena debated sending Marushka after another batch but, after her recent betrayal, she couldn’t trust the selfish girl not to eat them all on the way home again. There was simply no way around it – Holena would just have to fetch her own apples. It was truly a terrible burden and entirely because Marushka was utterly untrustworthy. “Mother, fetch me my fur coat. I’m going up the mountain myself for more apples. No sense in sending that lazy slut again, She’ll just eat them all on the way back and make up some bullshit lie again. If you want something done right, do it yourself, I guess. It’s so hard to find good help these days.”
Her mother begged Holena not to head out into the deep snow, especially with another winter storm clearly brewing, but she had raised her daughter to be a stubborn asshole who refused to accept no as an answer. There was simply no stopping Holena from doing something once she had made up her mind to want it. Holena threw on her fur and covered her hair with a warm shawl, then she tromped out the door and up the mountain.
The story says that the snow lay deep and thick with no track of man or beast in any direction. Considering that Marushka just came in from outside maybe half an hour ago, the weather must be even worse than implied (which certainly explains her stepmother’s reaction to Holena leaving). The little jerk wasn’t deterred though – if that lazy slut Marushka could do it, then so could she. She knew from Marushka’s tales that the tree should be on the mountain peak, so she headed more or less in that direction. It was a longer, harder journey than she had expected and only her wounded pride and refusal to let Marushka beat her at anything kept her feet moving. Soon, she spied that telltale light up ahead and picked up the pace.
To her surprise, it resolved into a massive bonfire around which were seated the Twelve Months. Holena had kind of thought that her lazy stepsister had made up the existence of others up here to explain her failure away, but they were indeed very real. Without even addressing the seated figures, much less asking their permission, she elbowed her way sharply into the circle and warmed up by the fire. It was rude as hell but par for the course for Holena.
Great January frowned down at this rude ass from his high seat. He hadn’t expected to see anyone else so soon after Marushka’s departure, and certainly not someone with such poor manners. “Who might you be? And what do you want?” Holena rolled her eyes at being addressed by this weird old dude, especially without proper respect in his tone. “What the fuck makes you think it’s any business of yours who I am or what I want, your ugly piece of ancient shit?” With a sneer and a disdainful hair toss, Holena tromped away from the fire in search of the apple tree. If these fuckers were real, then she must be in the right place. And unlike that sniveling coward Marushka, Holena wouldn’t let some old weirdo’s yelling stop her from taking as many apples as she wanted.
The frown on Great January’s brow deepened at each new insult. He watched her go with righteous anger and bitter disappointment before turning back to the assembled months. They all nodded. January raised the staff over the fire himself, waving it in imperious arcs. The fire died down, taking the remaining daylight with it. The world grew dark and cold as an icy wind came howling over the mountain with frozen teeth. Snow began to fall so heavily that it looked like a thousand feather beds had exploded at once.
Holena was immediately lost in the sudden blizzard, unable to see her own hand in front of her face. She struggled on doggedly, stumbling blindly into a tree she hadn’t noticed before tripping into a deep snowdrift. Shaking hard enough to rattle her bones, Holena tried to claw her way out but the cold was sapping her remaining strength rapidly. Her hands burned from the bitter winter chill before going numb, making escaping even harder. The cold seeped into her bones even through her thick fur coat. The wind kept blowing and the snow kept falling, soon burying Holena inside the drift like she had never been there.
Holena knew that she was going to die. A better person might have realized that their own bad decisions had gotten them into this mess. A halfway decent person might even have finally admitted how cruel they’d been to their loving sister who had only ever been kind to them and regret it. Not Holena. She blamed Marushka for getting her into this mess by selfishly eating all of the impossible apples that she had been sent into a winter storm to fetch. She even blamed God above for not performing a miracle to save a perfect angel like herself. Basically, she deserves this death.
Back at home, Holena’s mother waited and waited and waited. She stood at the window staring into the storm’s fury for as long as she could stand it, but there was no sign of Holena. When that no longer sufficed, she opened the door and tried to stare through the swirling snow. She waited some more that way, shivering from the borrowed cold but still no Holena. “Where is my dear sweet daughter? Does she love those apples so much that she simply can’t stop eating them?” It never occurred to her that her daughter might have failed at something that Marushka had achieved (you see where Holena gets it from), so she had to assume it was some youthful indiscretion. “Oh dear, she can be a very strong-willed girl sometimes. I’ll have to go out myself and find her.”
Throwing her own fur coat over her shoulders with a shawl over her head, the stepmother headed out into the storm after her missing daughter. “Holena! Holena!” The howling wind whipped her voice away, her cries lost in the rising fury of the storm. As she headed up the mountain, it abruptly grew worse. The snow was now falling too thickly for her to see where she was stepping but she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her beautiful angel out in this. Which would be a perfectly motherly thing to feel if not for the utter lack of such sentiments during any of Marushka’s trips. It’s hard to see her as a great mother when she’s been trying to murder her stepdaughter for no good reason.
Marushka (who naturally hadn’t been consulted about either woman’s departure) busied herself at home. Her family would be cold when they finally came back, so she began preparing a warm, hearty meal to help them recover. While that simmered, she took care of their cow and cleaned the house. By the time dinner was ready, Holena and her stepmother had still not returned. Marushka went to the window to peer into the storm, which was now a furious blizzard. “What can they still be doing out there in this awful weather? Why haven’t they come home?” It didn’t occur to her either that something bad could have happened, but that was due more to a sweet disposition and generous spirit.
She ate dinner alone and spent more time peering out the window for any sign of her missing family. The storm had spent its fury before much longer. The world was blanketed under a thick carpet of fresh snow. It was beautiful, the pale snow glowing in the moonlight and the frosty stars twinkling in the velvet sky above. But not a single living creature could be seen stirring in the storm’s aftermath. Exhausted from her own ordeals in the blizzard the last three days, Marushka collapsed into sleep.
When she woke in the morning, she prepared a hearty breakfast for Holena and her stepmother, who she still hoped would be walking through that door any minute. They must have simply gotten hampered by the blizzard and stayed by the fire with the Months until it was safe to travel. “They’ll be as hungry as they are cold when they finally get here.” But there was still no sign of them. And there never would be for, as you’ve probably already figured, both of them had frozen in the blizzard and died on the mountain. Marushka accepted that they were both gone in time, which meant that the cottage and the cow were hers. She took care of everything exactly as she always had, only without the insults and beatings. After a time, she married a handsome farmer who made a wonderful, caring husband for her and they lived happily ever after.
For once, the people who actually deserve it are punished almost entirely through their own shitty actions while the one good person gets rewarded. Too few stories have an ending this satisfying, so it’s nice to have every once in a while. And so, with the wicked frozen in a snowbank somewhere, 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 complicated gift-giver is the Knight Bambus.
This story comes from Czech Folk Tales, translated by Dr. Josef Baudis. As a side note, it’s a different story than I referenced at the end of the last episode. Due to some travel and personal stuff, I recorded that episode early and ended up changing things afterwards. Oops. Anyway. Once upon a time, there was a poor gamekeeper. He had been poor his whole life and had endured more than his fair share of hard times. Thus it was understandable that, as he grew old, he dreamed of being rich. Being a gamekeeper – or more accurately an assistant gamekeeper – wasn’t exactly a path to great wealth. It was more the kind of job where you worked until you died.
One day, the head gamekeeper was complaining to his assistant – his official title was ‘underforester’ – about a constant annoyance in the forest. “You know those old ruins? There’s a fox or roe (a type of deer) or some critter kind of like that who often scampers across my path. I’ve shot at it like a hundred times but I’ve never managed to actually hit the damned thing. It’s frustrating as hell. The next time you’re out that way, keep an eye out for that little bastard.” I don’t know how you can possibly confuse a roe and a fox unless your eyes are just truly terrible (which might explain the equally terrible aim) but never mind that.
Naturally, the old assistant gamekeeper decided to head out to the ruins as soon as he possibly could. No sooner had he arrived in the vicinity than he heard a rustling in the brush and out popped an enormous fox. Which might go a little way towards explaining how it can look anything at all like a roe, though still mostly not. Something about this whole situation made the man uneasy in a way he couldn’t really explain, but he ignored the feeling. He sat down, loaded his gun with five large charges (which makes me think this is an old-style muzzle-loaded rifle), and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. That same huge fox reappeared, this time carrying a very young fawn in his mouth. The gamekeeper took aim and fired. The fox cried out, dropping the fawn, and ran off into the bushes, leaving the deer to flee to a nearby cave.
“I definitely hit it, but it must not have been a clean shot. It was probably a fatal one though, so I can follow its trail.” With this in mind, he headed into the ruins proper to look around a bit. The story says that the fox ran into the bushes, not the ruins, but based on what happens later, it seems like he was at least partly looking for the fox in the ruins. He went through the gate of the dilapidated structure to find a courtyard where one wall had collapsed. So, you know, ruins. He moved on into a spacious cellar where, to his surprise, he found three lamps burning. This place was supposed to be deserted, so this was very strange indeed. But it was only the beginning of the weird shit to come.
In one corner of this cellar he saw something glittering in the lamplight. Wandering over, he was amazed to find not one, not two, but three heaps of gold coins plus another heap of big gold pieces. “Does this belong to someone? It must, right? Shit, if I had all of that, I’d be able to retire from gamekeeping and spend my golden years having a grand old time.” No sooner had he said this than an ancient, gray-haired man appeared as if from nowhere. “What are you looking at, gamekeeper?”
The gamekeeper jumped, startled. He’d been sure he was out here alone, but then he’d also been sure this place was utterly abandoned so clearly he didn’t know as much as he thought. “Oh, I shot a fox but he ran off somewhere. I came in here looking for him, but I thought this place was abandoned.” The old man smiled sardonically. “I’m afraid you won’t find that fox for I am he.” The man stared at the supposed fox, who looked absolutely nothing like said fox, but he accepted this odd statement at face value. He lived in a fairy tale world after all, so who knows how much weird shit he’s seen in his long life? “But why were you running around in the shape of a fox? Seems dangerous, so why do it?”
The old man bowed slightly. “I am the Knight Bambus, and these forests that you keep belong to this ancient castle. Alas, I obtained my great wealth as a robber-knight, using my military prowess to steal from those unable to defend themselves. As punishment for my wicked deeds, I must keep watch here now even as my estate crumbles.” The gamekeeper nodded sagely. That seemed like a perfectly reasonable explanation, even though it didn’t explain at all who had punished him or why being a fox was part of it. “How long is this vigil supposed to last?”
“Until my task is complete.” He gestured towards the gold in the corner. “When three poor people come here and each of them takes away two sackfuls of gold, I shall be freed from this torment. My charge is to give all of my ill-gotten gold away to those in need for nothing.” The old knight sighed. “But few come here. Already, I have outlived three generations of my kinsmen in this decrepit ruin of a castle.” Knight Bambus stared wistfully into the middle distance for a moment before shaking his head and turning back towards the gamekeeper. He directed his guest to fetch two leather sacks from an adjoining room and collect all the gold he could carry into them, filling them up to the brim. “Take this and go in good fortune, gamekeeper. There are only two conditions: first, you must keep all of this gold for yourself; and second, you mustn’t tell a soul what you have seen. I must wait for those in need to find their way here on their own without knowing what waits for them.”
The gamekeeper bowed in thanks and promised to keep both conditions, swearing that he wouldn’t even tell his wife Haticka where the gold had come from. The old knight helped him hoist the heavy bags onto his shoulders and bade him farewell as he left the crumbling ruins. As he left, the knight warned him again to tell not a soul, especially not his wife because, and I quote, “For what a woman knows, all the world knows; that’s the gospel truth, sure enough.” Which is of course some very sexist bullshit. Men are often huge gossips, they just don’t think of themselves that way.
Anywho, the gamekeeper left the castle behind, laden down with two very heavy sacks of gold. As he left the forest, he found Haticka waiting for him. Her expression was equal parts relief and worry as she rushed over to hug him. “Florian, are you alright? Where the hell have you been all this time? You just disappeared in the forest for three days without a word! I’ve been looking everywhere for you, but no one has seen or heard from you!”
Florian (which was apparently the gamekeeper’s name that the story didn’t think was important until now), was touched by his wife’s concern and excited to have finally solved their money issues forever. He hugged her back as best he could with the two sacks. “You won’t believe what’s happened, my beloved Haticka! I was at the ruined castle of Count Bambus where I met the old robber-knight himself! He gave me two sacks of gold pieces to take away for free – we’re rich, Haticka! Have a look at our retirement fund!” He dropped one of the sacks to let the gold spill out on the ground. Instead of glittering wealth though, out spilled heaps of fallen leaves. It was only then that he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to have told anyone where the money had come from. See, it was totally his fault and not at all his wife’s.
The story says that Florian frowned and Haticka burst into tears at this, but that’s hard for me to swallow. Florian is the one who genuinely knew that the gold was real. Haticka only heard about it two seconds ago and never saw a single gold piece so I doubt she would cry about it. Be confused maybe, or annoyed at her husband for playing such a cruel joke after vanishing for three days or even worried that Florian is losing his marbles or suffered some head injury during his vanishment. Regardless of their actual reactions (Florian is definitely the one who cried), the gold was gone and the old couple had to continue on in poverty exactly as before.
The story doesn’t say but I imagine that Florian tried to return to the Knight Bambus but wasn’t able to see him again since he already knew about it, which is against the curse’s terms. I also imagine that excited husbands immediately blabbing about the source of the gold that they were warned repeatedly to say nothing about is why the old knight’s punishment has lasted for three generations. It would certainly explain why the old man was so insistent on driving home the point that he absolutely couldn’t tell a soul, especially his wife. Maybe the sexist statement about women telling secrets to the world wasn’t something Bambus actually believed but just a tool to keep Florian’s mouth shut, but who knows. Alas for old Knight Bambus, he still isn’t able to get closer to the end of his torment (although we still have no idea who cursed him or why being a fox is part of it). I’m guessing that no one has yet been able to take the gold away and keep it without ever spilling the beans about where it came from. Who knows how long his punishment will continue. Maybe he’s still out there somewhere waiting for someone else to come and take his gold.
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.
Episode 12 of Saturday Morning Roleplay is out now, the first part in a new story about a top secret spy training program in the most unlikely of places – Ian Flemming High School. Join our team of pluck teen spies in a high stakes, cloak-and-dagger game of capture the flag with their rivals The People’s Republic of High School. As a reminder, this show is an actual-play tabletop roleplaying podcast using a variety of game systems to tell stories inspired by our favorite cartoons. All episodes are safe for work, rated TVPG for cartoon violence and rare mild language. Check it out on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts. And if you could, please leave a positive review or comment on your app of choice and tell your friends about us. This is still a very new show, so reviews and word of mouth recommendations make all the difference.
Next time, we’re off to the hinterlands of England for an old folktale. You’ll see that the things that go bump in the night hate the moon, that witches can be very helpful, and that sticks can be magic. Then, in Gods and Monsters, more magic sticks will show up in a battle against an especially hideous dragon. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.