The Cockerel

Ukrainian Folk Tale

Once upon a time there lived a poor lad, but that's not what the tale is about. Once he found a ten-ruble coin, that's all there is to it. I don't know how to tell a story, I don't dare sing a saying. Tell you tall tales? It's of little use, too much confusion. A story is true, even without looking back, without skill, but something has to be told.

Somewhere in the wilderness, under a linden tree, where alcoholics peacefully sip spruce sap, lived an old man and an old woman. The old man had a cockerel, the old woman had a hen, and a speckled hen. The old man scattered millet under a bench, right under the cockerel's nose. The cockerel pecked and grew, until the bench was right under his nose. The old man kept scattering, and the cockerel pecked and grew. He grew so big he was practically crushed!

"Clean up the bench," he shouts, "Grandpa!"

Grandpa cleared it out—the rooster is growing, right up to the ceiling. He won't stop, he just keeps pecking, I wish Grandpa had millet in his bundle...

- Clear up the ceiling, Grandpa!

There's nothing else to do, I cleared it out—the rooster's already touched the roof.

- Grandpa, I can hear the wind already, clear up the roof quickly!

Roof? Well, off with it! And it's already sticking out above the hut, its head right up to the stars, its crest glowing red—well, try and rise! From the clouds it looks down on the forests, bam!—it hit the clouds.

- Grandpa, quickly clear away the sky, and give me more bread!

Grandpa would have cleared it out, but God intervened:

- Oh, Grandpa, you've gone too far!..

God killed the rooster. Then the old man started cursing:

"My rooster?" "And without any sin?" "Well, what a bummer, you scoundrel—just you wait, I'll sue!"

The word was spoken, and the old man walked out the gate, seeking justice against the Creator.

"They'll find justice, I hope. It's not a matter of glory, but everyone deserves justice!"

One day goes by, another goes by, he'll pick it up here, he'll find it here. Suddenly, he saw gold scrap metal under a bush, and around it, fifty kopecks' worth of silver! He picked it up, unperturbed, and returned home with it. He lived well from then on, but he'd like more... Besides a woman with a hen, maybe a young fool? So many different things, you wouldn't recognize anything.

I used to visit them, drink vodka, eat pancakes. But what a fool he is—God forbade the rooster. The story, in general, isn't about that. My head's already empty. Fill it up! The bottom's empty, and you can see the bottom of the glass...

THE END

©1998 Mikhail Dmitrienko, Alma-Ata