UKRAINIAN FOLK TALE

THE TURNIP

There once lived an old man and an old woman. Their yard was small, their garden smaller, and the work never ended.

In spring the old man took the last turnip seed of the year, rolled it in his palm, and said:

— This time you’ll grow so big the neighbors will talk.

He planted it. He watered it. He pulled the weeds. And the turnip grew — not by the day, but by the hour. First like a fist. Then like a head. Then like a barrel. By the end of summer it sat in the middle of the garden so round and heavy that the earth around it cracked.

The old man grabbed the greens.

He pulled and pulled — and could not pull it out.

— Old woman! — he called. — Leave the stove and come help!

The old woman took hold of the old man. The two of them pulled — the turnip sat as if it had roots in the center of the world.

They called the granddaughter.

Granddaughter held grandmother, grandmother held grandfather, grandfather held the turnip.

They pulled and pulled — and could not pull it out.

Out from under the bench ran Zhuchka the dog.

Zhuchka held the granddaughter, the granddaughter held the grandmother, the grandmother held the grandfather, the grandfather held the turnip.

They pulled and pulled — and could not pull it out.

The cat came down from the stoop, licked her paw as if she already knew how this would end.

The cat held Zhuchka, Zhuchka held the granddaughter, the granddaughter held the grandmother, the grandmother held the grandfather, the grandfather held the turnip.

They pulled and pulled until their knees shook. The turnip did not move.

Then a mouse peeked from her hole. Small. Grey. Almost nothing.

— You too? — said the old man, out of breath. — What can you do?

The mouse said nothing. She simply took the cat’s tail.

Mouse held cat, cat held dog, dog held granddaughter, granddaughter held grandmother, grandmother held grandfather, grandfather held the turnip.

They pulled and pulled…

And — once!

The turnip leapt from the ground so hard that everyone tumbled into the garden, and the mouse landed on top, as if she had been in charge all along.

Afterwards they sat on the stoop and ate the turnip with salt and garlic. The old man said:

— Without the mouse it would have sat there till winter.

The old woman nodded. The granddaughter laughed. Zhuchka wagged her tail. The cat pretended not to care. And the mouse sat in the corner with her crumb — the smallest piece, and maybe the sweetest.

That is the tale. And anyone who listens knows: sometimes the one you barely see is the one who moves what no one else can.

END