Nine Tales for Children

Karel Čapek

plus one additional tale by Josef Čapek

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The Dog's Tale

 

            When the bread van went round to all the villages and then drove back again to the mill with with nice fresh grain, Nutty knew everyone on the route;  Nutty, as anyone could have told you, was the dog who sat on the seat beside old Šulitka and looked round as if he was in charge of the whole wagon; and if it was going uphill and he thought it was too slow he would start to bark and the wheels would immediately turn more quickly, Šulitka would crack the whip, Ferda and Žanka, my grandfather's two horses, would pull harder and then the whole cart would run down to the village in triumph carrying with it the glorious smell of God's own gift of bread.  And that, children, was how Nutty, when he was alive, would ride all round the parish.

            Now in those days there weren't any of these idiotic cars rushing about, in those days you travelled slowly and with dignity and you could hear things round about you.  No car driver can crack the whip with as much style as Šulitka, God bless his soul, or make the horses go faster like he could; and there's no car driver who has wise old Nutty sitting beside him in charge of the vehicle, barking and making a big fuss, nothing like that.  All a car does is rush along and stink, and then when you look to see where it is all you can see is a cloud of dust.  Nutty did his job much better than that; half an hour before he arrived the people would listen, smell the air and say "Aha!".  They already knew their bread was on its way and they would get themselves ready on the doorstep to wish Nutty and the bread man good morning.  And then my grandad's wagon would indeed be running into the village, he would be caling out, Nutty would be barking at the goats, and then suddenly he would jump onto Žanka the horse's back (but what a back that was, thank God, as wide as a dinner table, four people could have sat round it and had their meal), and then he would dance up and down Žanka's spine, running up and down from his harness to his tail, then from his tail to his harness and all the time filling the air with the joy of all the noise he made: 'Woof woof, well done lads, we've made it, by God, me and Žanka and Ferda; hooray!'  And the lads would raise their eyes patiently; the bread came every day, and Nutty always made all the same fuss as if Emperor Franz-Josef himself had arrived.  Well, like I said, it's a long time since anyone travelled with as much style as in the days of Nutty the dog.

            And nobody had a bark like Nutty; it was like a pistol shot.  Bang!, to the right, and all the geese would run away in shock and not stop until they had reached the village by the river and not know how they had got there; Bang!, to the left, and all the pigeons in the village would fly up in the air, go round in a circle and come down again on a mountain up behind the Prussian border; that's how loud Nutty's bark was.  And it was all such fun that it was a wonder his tail didn't fly off, it was whipping through the air so fast.  In short, Nutty had plenty to be proud of; not even a general has a powerful voice Nutty, sometimes not even a politician.

            There was a time, though, when Nutty couldn't bark at all, when he was only little, and had such sharp teeth that he bit through Grandad's best Sunday boots.  Now I need to tell you how it was that Grandad came to have Nutty in the first place, or rather how Nutty came to have Grandad.  One night, very late, Grandad was on his way back from the pub.  He was feeling rather merry, and maybe that's why some mischievous spirit made him start singing as he went along.  Suddenly he lost his tune in the dark and had to stop and look for it.  And while he was looking he heard some kind of whining, whistling, whimpering on the ground by his feet: he made the sign of the cross and felt round on the ground to find out what it was.  He put his hand on a warm and furry little ball, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand, it was as soft as velvet; and he hardly had it in his hand before it stopped whimpering and began to suck on his finger as if it were made of honey.  I'll have to have a look at this, Grandad thought to himself, and carried it back home with him to the mill.  My poor grandmother was at home waiting for Grandad so that she could wish him goodnight; but before she could even say hello, as you should do, my rascally grandad said, "Have a look at this, Helena, see what I've brought you".  Grandma lit the lamp and - Look at that! - it was a puppy, a little baby dog, still blind, and yellow like a peeled walnut.  "Look at this," said Grandad in wonderment, "who do you belong to then, little dog?"  The little dog, of course, didn't say anything; he shivered as he crouched on the table like a ball of unhappiness, his little rat-tail twitched and he whined so pitiably; then a little puddle appeared beneath him as if from nowhere and spread out like a bad conscience.  "Karel, Karel," Grandma nodded earnestly to Grandad, "where've you left your common sense?  This puppy ought to be with its mother."  Grandad was a bit shocked at that.  "Helena, quick," he said, "warm up some milk and get some bread."  Grandma got everything ready, Grandad soaked a piece of soft bread in the milk and tied it into a corner of his handkerchief.  That was so good for feeding the puppy that he sucked on it till his tummy was as tight a a drum.

            "Karel, Karel," Grandma earnestly nodded once again, "where've you left your common sense?  Who's going to keep this puppy warm so that it won't die from cold?"  But Grandad had an answer for that!  He picked up the puppy and took him straight to the stable; in the stable it was nice and warm from Ferda's and Žanka's breath!  Both horses were already asleep, but when their master came in they lifted their heads and turned their wise and loving eyes to look at him.  "Žanka, Ferda," said Grandad, "mind you don't harm Nutty, alright?  I'm leaving him here so that you can look after him."  And then he put little Nutty down in the straw in front of them.  Žanka smelt at the little form in front of him and smelt the good scent of his master's hands, so he whispered to Ferda, "He's ours!"  So that was that. 

            So it was that Nutty grew up in the stable, fed with bread and milk from Grandad's handkerchief, until his eyes opened and he was able to drink from a dish by himself.  And he was as warm as if he'd been with his own mother, so very soon he was a little rascal with a silly head, that's to say, he became a puppy; he didn't even know where his bottom was that he was supposed to sit on, he would sit on his own head instead and couldn't understand why that felt uncofortable; he didn't know what to do with his tail, and as he couldn't count to more than two he would get his four legs all mixed up; then he would give up in amazement and stick his tongue out, which was as nice and pink as a slice of ham.  But anyway, all puppies are like that, in short, just like a child.  Žanka and Ferda could tell you more; they would tell you what a burden it is for an old horse always to have to be careful not to step on a mad little dog; as a hoof, you see, is not like a slipper, it has to be placed down on the ground slowly and lightly so that if there's something on the ground it won't start to howl and complain.  Children are like a cross to be borne, Žanka and Ferda would tell you.

            And then Nutty was a full-grown dog, lively and with a mouth full of teeth like any other dog, but there was still something not quite right about him; no-one had ever heard him bark or growl.  All he ever did was sort of squeak or yowl, and that wasn't really barking.  One day, Grandma suddenly said, "How come Nutty never barks?"  She thought about it, she walked about for three days like a body without a soul, and on the fourth day she said to Grandad, "How come Nutty never barks?"  Grandad thought about it for three days, walking about and constantly shaking his head.  On the fourth day he said to Šulitka, the wagon driver, "How come our Nutty never barks, Šulitka?"  Šulitka took the question seriously; he went to the pub, and there he thought about it for three days and three nights; on the fourth day he needed to sleep, his head was somehow unclear, so he called the landlord over and got out his money to pay the bill.  He counted his money, and counted, and counted, but there was something that stopped him ever counted it properly.  "Hasn't your mother ever taught you to count then, Šulitka?" said the landlord.  Then suddenly Šulitka paid his bill, rapped himself on the head and ran off to my grandad.  "Landlord," he cried as he left through the door, "I've got it!  Nutty doesn't bark because his mother never taught him to!"

            "Yes," said Grandad, "you're right; Nutty never knew his mother.  Ferda and Žanka won't have taught him to bark, there's no other dog nearby, so Nutty doesn't even know what barking is.  Šulitka, you're going to have to teach him to bark."  So Šulitka sat down in the stable and taught him to bark.  "Woof, woof," he demonstrated, "now watch carefully, this is how you do it; first you go grrrrr down here in your throat, then you push it out through your mouth all in one go: woof, woof.  Grrrr, grrrr, woof woof woof!"  Nutty's ears perked up, this was a kind of music that he liked even though he didn't know why; and all of a sudden he began to bark himself just from the joy of it.  It was a funny sort of barking, a squeaky sort of a bark like when a knife scrapes across a plate, but anything is diffucult the first time you try it; even you didn't know your ABC at first.  Ferda and Žanka listened to old Šulitka barking like a dog; and eventually just shrugged their shoulders and never took him seriously again.  But Nutty was especialy good at barking, he learned quickly and the first time he went out with the bread van it was bark to the left, bark to the right, like the shot of a gun; and to the day he died Nutty never got tired of barking and he barked all the hours God gave him; it gave him such joy that he learned to do it really well.

            But acting as Šulitka's coachman when he went out delivering the bread was not Nutty's only job.  Every evening he would go all round the mill and the yard to check that everything was in its place, chase after the chickens to stop them clucking like an old woman at the market, and then he would go and report to Grandad, wagging his tail and looking clever as if to say, "You can go to bed now, Karel, I've got everything under control".  Grandad would say what a good dog he was and then go to bed in God's own peace.  In the daytime though, Grandad would often go round the towns and villages to buy grain and other things such as clover seeds, lentils and poppy seeds; and then Nutty would run round with him, and on the way back home in the night he would be afraid of nothing and find the way even when Grandad got lost himself. 

            One day, Grandad went to buy some seed and it was right there in Zliček; so when he'd bought it he went straight into the pub.  Nutty waited outside for a little while; but then something good came to his nose, a gorgeous smell from the kitchen, so that he had to go and see what it was all about.  And there, upon my soul, the people who lived there were eating sausages; so Nutty sat down and waited to see if any lovely piece of meat might, just somehow, fall down onto the floor.  While he was waiting one of Grandad's neighbours drove up in front of the pub - quick, what was his name?  Let's call him Joudal.  Joudal found Grandad at the bar, one word followed after another and finally they both got onto Joudal's carriage so that they could go home in each other's company.  Off they set, and Grandad forgot about Nutty altogether, while Nutty was sitting in the kitchen cadging  sausage.

            The people finished their meal, they threw the remains of the sausages on the stove for the cat; Nutty wiped his mouth and only then did he remember where he had left Grandad.  He looked for him, he smelt all round the pub, but Grandad was nowhere.  "Hey, Nutty," the landlord called to him, "your master went that way," and gestured the way Grandad had gone.  Nutty understood what he meant and set off home by himself; at first he went along the road, but then he said to himself, "I must be mad to go this way; if I cut across over the hill I can get there quicker."  So off he went over the hill and through the woods.  It was already evening, already dark; but Nutty was afraid of nothing.  Nobody's going to steal anything from me, he thought to himself.  But he was hungry though, as hungry as a dog. 

            It was already night and the full moon came up; and where the trees were less close together on a wide part of the path or in a clearing Nutty saw the moon so beautiful, shining like silver above the canopy, that it made his heart beat faster in wonderment.   There was a quiet rustling among the trees as if they were playing on a harp.  Now it was complete darkness in the woods, but suddenly Nutty saw a silvery light ahead of him, the harp-like music seemed to be playing louder, and his hair stood on end; he crouched down low on the ground as if in a trance.  In front of him was a clearing, and in the silvery light he saw fairy dogs dancing.  They were beautiful white dogs, of a pure whiteness he could even see through, and they danced so lightly that not even the dew on the grass was disturbed; and Nutty knew straight away they must be fairy dogs because they did not have that special interesting smell by which any dog can tell a real dog.  Nutty lay in the wet grass and stared.  The fairies danced, chased each other, tumbled over each other or chased round and round after their own tails, but they did it all so lightly, so much like spirits of the air, that not a blade of grass moved under their paws. Nutty watched them carefully: if any of them had a scratch or started biting at fleas that would mean he was not a fairy but a white dog.  But none of them did scratch and none of them did bite at a flea.  So that was the holy truth, they were fairies.  When the moon was high, the fairies raised their heads and began tenderly and beautifully to howl and to sing; not even the orchestra at the National Theatre could have made music so well.  Nutty was so moved by it he began to cry and would have sung along with them if he hadn't been afraid of spoiling it all.  When they had finished singing they lay down around some kind of older female dog whom they seemed to respect, she must have been something like a leader among the fairies or a sorceress, she was all silver and very frail.  "Tell us a story," they all asked her. 

            The old fairy dog thought a little and then this is what she told them: "I will tell you the story of how dogs made man.  When God made the world and all the animals He saw that the best of them all and the wisest of them all was the dog so he made the dog their leader.  All the animals in the Garden of Eden lived and died and had children in happiness and contentment, only the dog became more and more sad as time went on.  And so God asked the dogs, 'Why are you sad when all the other animals are happy?'  And the oldest dog said, 'Well you see, God, all the other animals have everything they want and need, but we dogs have a little bit of understanding here in our heads, and with this understanding we can see that there's something higher than we are, and that's You, our Creator.  We can sniff at anything except at You, and that's something that we dogs miss.  And that's why, Lord, we'd like You to create for us some kind of god that we can have a nice sniff at.'  God smiled, and he said, 'bring me a bone, I'll make a god for you that you can have a good sniff at.'  Then all the dogs ran off and each of them brought back a bone: one brought back a lion bone, one a horse bone, one a camel's bone, one a cat's, in short a bone from every animal there was except that none of the dogs brought back a bone from a dog; as no dog would ever touch dog meat, or even a dog's bone.  All these bones were put into a great pile and God made man out of them so that the dogs would have a god they could sniff at.  And as man is made from the bones of all the other animals except the dog he has the characteristics of all the animals: he has the strength of a lion, he works as hard as a camel, he's as sly as a cat and as big-hearted as a horse.  But what he does not have is the loyalty of a dog, not the loyalty of a dog!"

            "Tell us another story," all the fairy dogs asked her again.

            "Then I'll tell you," the old fairy began, "about how a long long time ago all the dogs had their own kingdom on Earth and a magnificent dog's castle.  But the humans were envious of the dogs' kingdom on Earth and they worked their magic against it for so long that one day the whole kingdom, magnificent castle and all, fell down deep into the ground.  But anyone who digs in the right place will dig his way into a cave where the dogs' treasure was left."

            "What's the treasure like?" they all asked enthusiastically.

            "Well," said the old fairy, "it's in a chamber which is wonderfully beautiful.  The columns are made of the loveliest bones, but not bones that have been bitten at, quite the opposite; there's as much meat on them as on a goose's thigh.  Then there's a throne made of smoked meat with steps going up to it made of the finest gammon steaks.  And on these steps there's a carpet of sausage skins, and on the carpet is a layer of mincemeat as thick as your finger ...."

            Nutty was no longer able to contain himself.  He leapt out into the clearing and cried, "Hey, where is this treasure? Where is it, where is it?"

            But at that moment all the fairy dogs and the old dog instantly disappeared.  Nutty wiped his eyes; there was nothing to see but the silvery moonlight, no even a blade of grass had been turned by the fairies' dance, not a drop of dew disturbed on the ground.  All there was was the peaceful moon shining into the charming space between the trees, and the dark trees looking on like a black wall of battlements. 

            Then Nutty remembered that at home he could at least expect to have some bread and some water, so he ran off home as fast as he could.  But ever since that time, whenever he was going through a wood or a meadow with my Grandad, he would think now and then of the dogs' treasure that had fallen into the ground and he would start to scratch at the earth, desperately trying to dig a hole in the ground with all his four paws.  He must have let the other dogs in the neighbourhood know about it, too, and they must have told others, and the others must have told others so that every dog in the world will think of that lost dogs' treasure when he's in a field and he'll start scratching out a hole in the ground and sniff, and sniff, and sniff at it again to see if he can't smell the smoked-meat throne of the ancient empire of the dogs somewhere deep in the earth.