Brave Mazino and the Witch

All of this happened in Pokapalye, a small mountain village. Its little houses huddle together at the very top of a high hill. The slopes of the hill are so steep that when the hens are about to lay eggs, the residents of Pokapalye tie a linen pouch to each hen. If they didn’t, the eggs would roll down the slope, straight to the foot of the hill, which is covered in dense forest. This shows that the people of Pokapalye are not as lazy as they are reputed to be.

There are many tales told about these poor souls. There’s even a saying: “In Pokapalye, everything is backwards—the donkey drives, the master cries.” But this saying was invented by the peasants from the valley. After all, the valley dwellers are always eager to laugh at the mountain folk. And they laughed at the Pokapalians with particular glee. “Why?” you might ask. Simply because the Pokapalians were easygoing people who never contradicted anyone.

“Eh,” they would reply to the mockers, “just wait, our Mazino will return, and then we’ll see who cries louder—us or you!”

But while the Pokapalians know who Mazino is, you don’t? Well, here’s the story.

Mazino is the darling of the entire village. Don’t think he’s some kind of hero. Not at all.

Mazino was born a weakling, small and frail. His mother, afraid he might give up on life altogether, decided to bathe him in warm wine. Mazino’s father heated a horseshoe red-hot in the fire and plunged it into a tub of wine to warm it up. After such a bath, Mazino became as cunning as wine and as strong as iron. And into the cradle of little Mazino, they placed the shells of unripe chestnuts. After all, everyone knows that bitter green chestnuts make a person smart. And indeed, Mazino didn’t lack for intelligence—he had plenty of his own.

That’s the kind of Mazino he is! So where was he supposed to come back from? From Africa. He had been serving there as a soldier.

Meanwhile, something strange began happening in Pokapalye. Every evening, the witch Michillina would steal either a cow or a bull from the villagers’ herd.

The terrible witch Michillina lived in the forest at the very foot of the hill. All she had to do was blow, and the cows would vanish. The peasants, hearing the witch rustling and bustling in the forest as darkness fell, would chatter their teeth in fear, fall to their knees, and call upon all the saints. They even composed a rhyme:

“The donkey drives, the master cries,
At the foot of the hill, Michillina lies.

At night we’re afraid
To step on the floor:

If Michillina sneezes,
We’ll fall in a heap once more.

In the dead of night,
Again and again,
Our bulls and cows
Disappear from the plain.

The dreadful witch
Is the cause of our strife!

Tremble and flee—
Here comes Michillina, the bane of our life!”

Before, the cows in Pokapalye would graze as much as they wanted, whenever they wanted, and sleep wherever they pleased. Now, they were herded onto a clearing at night, guards were posted, and huge bonfires were lit. But even this didn’t help. Because as soon as the cursed witch Michillina stirred in the bushes, the guards would huddle by the fire, plug their ears with their fingers, and squeeze their eyes shut. And at dawn, lo and behold—another cow, or even two, would be missing from the herd. Then the guards would start wailing and crying, shaking their fists and cursing the witch.

Don’t think they didn’t search for the cows. The peasants of Pokapalye even organized hunts, though, of course, only during the day. But neither the cows nor Michillina herself were ever found. By daybreak, Michillina would vanish, leaving only the tracks of huge boots in the damp earth and strands of long black hair on the thorny branches of the bushes.

The poor Pokapalians had no choice but to lock their cows in barns and not let them out for a single step.

Weeks and months passed. The cows, confined indoors, grew weak and emaciated. They became so thin that instead of a brush, you could clean them with a rake—the teeth of the rake fit perfectly between their protruding ribs.

No one dared to take the cattle out to pasture, no one ventured into the forest, and the mushrooms, left unpicked, grew as big as umbrellas.

Every evening, the residents of Pokapalye would gather in the village square to decide what to do. The mountain evenings were cold, so the Pokapalians would light a bonfire. Sitting by the fire, they scratched their heads and cursed their miserable fate in every possible way, along with the witch Michillina.

They scratched their heads for seven days, twice seven days, thrice seven days, and finally decided to ask the count himself for protection.

The count lived in a round castle on the summit of a neighboring hill. The castle was surrounded by a high stone wall, densely studded with nails and broken glass at the top.

One fine morning, the Pokapalians approached the castle gates. They removed their round, tattered hats and only then dared to knock. The gates opened, and the Pokapalians found themselves in the castle courtyard. They saw many of the count’s hired soldiers. The soldiers sat on the ground, smearing their bushy red mustaches with olive oil. And in the middle of the courtyard, seated in a velvet armchair, was the count himself. Four soldiers, mighty as young oaks, diligently combed the count’s long, black beard with four combs. They combed it from top to bottom, and then again from top to bottom.

The eldest of the Pokapalians shifted from foot to foot for a long time, finally gathered his courage, and spoke:

“We have come to ask for your lordship’s help.”

The count didn’t say a word.

“The cursed witch Michillina,” the old man continued, “has tormented us greatly.”

The count didn’t say a word.

“We wish,” the old man added, “to ask your lordship for a great favor. Order your soldiers to capture the witch Michillina so that we may graze our cows in peace.”

At this, the count opened his mouth.

“If I send soldiers into the forest, I’ll have to send a captain as well...” The peasants smiled joyfully. “But if I send a captain,” the count said, “who will I play lotto with in the evenings?”

The peasants fell to their knees.

“Have mercy, my lord count, help us!”

The soldiers around them yawned loudly and smeared their red mustaches with olive oil.

The count said:

“I am the count and worth three men. Therefore, I say to you—no, no, and no. And besides, since I haven’t seen your witch Michillina, it means there is no witch.”

At this, the soldiers yawned one last time, shouldered their rifles, and began slowly advancing on the Pokapalians. The villagers backed away, step by step, until they found themselves outside the gates.

The Pokapalians had no choice but to gather again in the square that evening, light a bonfire, and scratch their heads. After an hour, one of the peasants said:

“Why don’t we write to Mazino?”

Everyone was delighted. They wrote a letter and sent it off.

And so, one evening, Mazino arrived for a visit.
What a noise and joy there was! Mazino was surrounded from all sides. They bombarded him with questions and stories, and every other word mentioned the witch Michillina.

Mazino listened to everyone and then began to speak himself:

"In Africa, I saw cannibals who had to eat locusts because people refused to be eaten. In the sea, I saw a fish wearing a shoe and a boot; it wanted to become the queen of fish only because its friends had neither shoes nor boots. In Sicily, I saw a woman who had seventy sons and only one pot for soup. In Naples, I saw people rushing down the street without moving their legs because if two Neapolitans stopped to chat on a corner, the noise they made would create such a wind that no one could stand still on all four streets. I saw black and white people, yellow and red, skinny as a buffalo and fat as a splinter, I saw many brave men and even more cowards. But I have never met such cowards as in my native Pocapalya."

The villagers listened to Mazino's speech with their ears wide open and mouths agape. However, when he reached the end, their mouths snapped shut, and for the first time, they began to wonder if they should take offense.

But Mazino didn't give them time to think about it properly. He spoke again:

"Now I will ask you three questions, and when midnight strikes, I will go catch your witch Michillina."

Where was there time to take offense?

"Ask! Ask!" the Pocapalyans shouted in unison.

"Let the barber answer first. How many beards has he had to shave and trim in the last six months?" And the barber answered:

"Soft beards, hard beards,
Long beards, flat beards,
Well-groomed beards, dirty beards,
Curly beards, various beards—
I cut and shave without count,
Such is our job!"

"That's what I thought," said Mazino. "Now let the shoemaker speak. How many boots have you been ordered to make in the last six months?"

"Ai me!" sighed the shoemaker.
"I used to make ringing heels,
And shoes with carved heels...
It seems Pocapalya
Has become quite poor:
I sit idle,
I walk barefoot!"

"That sounds like the truth!" said Mazino. "For my third question, let the ropemaker answer. How many ropes have you sold in the last six months?"

And the ropemaker answered:

"Strong ropes, braided ropes,
Durable ropes, twisted ropes,
Twine, thread, and rope,
Ribbons, strings, and cord—
In the past weeks,
They were all bought up..."

"Now, that's enough," said Mazino. "I'm very tired from the road. I'll take a nap for an hour or two. Wake me up exactly at midnight, and I'll go fetch the witch."

Mazino lay down by the fire, pulled his soldier's helmet over his eyes, and began to snore. Until midnight, the Pocapalyans sat motionless, even afraid to breathe, lest they wake the soldier.

Exactly at midnight, Mazino jumped to his feet, drank a pot of warm wine, spat three times into the fire, and, without looking at anyone, marched down the road toward the forest.

The villagers began to wait. Gradually, all the logs in the fire turned to coals. Then all the coals turned to ash. Then the ash began to blacken, blacken...

By that time, Mazino returned. He was dragging... who do you think? The count himself! Mazino was dragging him by his long black beard, and the count was pleading, screaming, resisting, and kicking.

"Here's your witch!" said Mazino and, looking around, asked with concern: "Where did you put the hot wine?"

Although the fire was still warm, the count curled up into a ball, like a fly in autumn frost.

The Pocapalyans looked from the count to Mazino and couldn't utter a word from astonishment.

"Well, what's there to be surprised about?!" Mazino barked at the villagers. "It's all very simple. The witch Michillina had a long beard. And the barber said that all of you shave regularly. So, none of the residents of Pocapalya could be the witch Michillina and leave tufts of beard on the bushes.

The witch Michillina wore good boots. And the shoemaker said that the Pocapalyans have forgotten how to put shoes on their feet. So, again, none of you could be the witch Michillina and leave traces of huge boots nailed with spikes on the ground. And if the witch Michillina were truly a witch, why, tell me, would she need to buy so many ropes? Evil spirits don't need to tie up stolen cattle... Where has the hot wine gone?!"

Meanwhile, the count tried to hide in his own beard because there was nowhere else to hide.

Mazino asked:

"What should we do with him?"

The Pocapalyans, who had been silent until now, began to shout all at once:

"Strangle him with his own beard!"

"Put him in the garden as a scarecrow!"

"Put him in a sack with six dogs and six cats."

"Eh," said Mazino, "there's little use in all that. First, let him return all the stolen bulls and cows. Let him clean the barns where the Pocapalyans' cattle are locked up because of him. Then let him herd the cattle until the cows' ribs are covered with meat and fat."

And so it was done.

And Mazino, having settled the villagers' affairs, went back to serving as a soldier.

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Brave Mazino and the Witch

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