home a poetic rendition of
THE SEVEN LITTLE PORK RINDS
Day 4, Tale 4
The Leather Stew
There once was a woman who went door to door
begging scraps from her neighbors. Some food, she cried, for
my poor little daughter who lies sick in bed.
She begged and she wheedled, she spat and she pled.
In that way she obtained, although not much to eat,
seven pieces of pork skin with lard, but no meat.
She gathered some wood bits and took them along
to her daughter at home (who was perfectly strong.)
Boil these up while I pick us some greens for the pot.
The girl cooked the pork rinds. The water grew hot
and soon the aroma of pork was afloat.
The daughter was hungry. The scent seized her throat.
And what if I taste one? What harm will it do?
My mother will miss it at once, that is true.
She’ll beat me. Well, let her. She may do her worst,
she said as she finished consuming the first.
The second soon followed. And next came the third.
With each bite her greed was increasingly stirred,
so on she continued until, with dismay,
she found that all seven were gobbled away.
No pork rinds. Her mother would surely go mad.
She picked up a spare leather shoe that they had
and cut seven strips from the worn-out old sole.
These she threw in the pot, there to tumble and roll.
Her mother returned and she chopped up with zeal
all the greens. These and grease from an old wagon wheel
and some stale crusts of bread soon completed the stew.
With her very first bite, she discovered the shoe.
You’re a demon! I’m poisoned! What is this you’ve done?
I’ll break every bone in your body. Each one.
So saying the old woman picked up a broom
and beat her and chased her all over the room.
A merchant was passing and heard the girl’s screams.
You’re beating your daughter severely it seems.
What could she have done to deserve so much pain?
Oh, mind your own business. I’ll hit her again
unless she stops working. But will she? she said.
Oh no. She’ll get sick and she’ll take to her bed.
I’ve no money for doctors. You see that we’re poor.
But she will go on spinning. There’s no other cure.
The moment my back’s turned she hastens to fill
seven spindles with flax. Thought the merchant, She will?
My house could do nicely with one such as she.
To the woman he said, Would you give her to me?
I’ll make her my wife. She will live like a queen.
I have hens, I keep pigs, and my meadows are green.
My larders are full. I have corn, flour and oil.
In fact, I’m a rich man. She won’t have to toil.
Seeing fortune rain down, the old woman took hold
of her daughter’s ring finger. For one band of gold
she is yours, she declared. With a lusty embrace
the man took the daughter back home to his place.
He hardly could wait for the day to begin
when he might buy flax bundles from which she could spin.
He bought eighty bolts and assured her, Don’t fear.
You’ll earn not a beating but kisses, my dear.
Work as hard as you like, my industrious one.
I must go. In three weeks you’ll have all the flax spun.
To herself she said, Really? Your hopes will prevail
when a liver grows hair, or an ape grows a tail.
As soon as he left, she cooked fritters and cakes
and from morning to night filled her belly with steaks
and fine food. When she finally came up for air,
The flax was not spun and the cupboards were bare.
He’ll return. He’ll be angry! she thought. So she wound
all the flax on the longest strong pole to be found,
tows and all. Then she lowered it over the side
of the terrace, and spun. Or let’s say that she tried.
Macaroni broth served as her moistening dish.
She made ropes of a breadth that a sailor would wish
for his boat. And this sight, so bizarre, caught the eye
of three fairies who chanced to be wandering by.
They laughed ‘til they cried. Then they gave her a boon
as a prize for amusing them. You will find soon
all the flax has been spun, all the cloth has been made,
and is whitened. Their blessing was instantly paid.
Oh, heaven be praised! I’ve been lucky, she swore,
but what if he asks me to do it once more?
I must put that notion right out of his head.
When her husband came home she was lying in bed.
She had hidden some hazel nuts under the sheet
and they cracked as she tossed, from her head to her feet.
When he asked how she was, she said, Close to the end.
Every bone in my body is broken, my friend.
Eighty bolts and the cloth seemed a trifle to you.
I labored to do what you asked me to do.
And the work made you sick! Then your mother was right!
I will go fetch the doctor. He ran out of sight.
She ate all the meats, threw the nutshells away
and was back in her bed. The doctor said, Nay,
this woman is well. But she suffers from fat
and from laziness, too. I am certain of that.
Then you’re wrong, said her husband. Begone. You’re a fake.
She’s worked hard. I have seen it. You’ve made a mistake.
To his wife he said, Patience. I’ll fetch someone new.
But she answered, I’m well now. The doctor and you
have made me feel better. He dropped to his knees.
No more of this nonsense I beg of you please.
More than the cloth I desire you, my wife.
You must do no more work for the rest of your life.
And so Fortune smiled, if deserving or not,
on she who set leather to boil in a pot.
