Chufíl-Fílyushka

Once upon a time there were three brothers in a family: the eldest was called the Ram, the second the Goat, and the youngest Chufíl-Fílyushka. One day all three went into the forest where their real grandfather lived as a gamekeeper. The Ram and the Goat left Chufíl-Fílyushka with their grandfather and went off to hunt. Fílyushka was used to having his own way; his grandfather was old and very foolish, and Fílyushka was bold. He wanted to eat an apple. So he slipped away from his grandfather, got into the garden, and climbed up the apple tree.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, who should appear but the witch Yagá-Búra, riding in an iron mortar and holding a pestle. She jumped up to the apple tree and said, “Hello, Fílyushka! What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’m just picking an apple,” said Fílyushka.

“Well then, dear, try one of mine!”

“No, it’s rotten,” said Fílyushka.

“Here’s another one!”

“No, it’s full of worms!”

“Don’t be rude; just climb up and take one from my hand.”

He reached out his hand. Then Yagá-Búra grabbed him tight, stuffed him into her mortar, and sped off, leaping over hills, forests, and ravines, using the pestle like an oar to drive the mortar along.

Then Fílyushka remembered his wits and began to shout, “Goat, Ram, come quickly! Yagá has carried me away over the high steep hills, the dark lonely woods, and the endless steppes where the wild geese roam.”

The Ram and the Goat were resting at that moment. One was lying on the ground and heard a faint shout. He said to the other, “Come, lie down and listen!”

“Oh, it’s our Fílyushka crying!”

So they ran and ran, and finally caught up with Yagá-Búra, saved Fílyushka, and brought him home to their grandfather, who had almost gone out of his mind with worry. They told the old man to watch Fílyushka more carefully, then went out again.

But Fílyushka was a mischievous boy, and at the first chance he slipped off again to the apple tree and clambered up. There was Yagá-Búra again, offering him an apple.

“No, you won’t catch me this time, you old hag!” said Fílyushka.

“Don’t be unkind—just take an apple from me; I’ll throw it to you!”

“All right, throw it down.”

So Yagá threw him an apple: he stretched out his hand, and she seized it and leapt over hills, valleys, and dark forests so fast it was like the blink of an eye, and brought him to her home. She washed him, then went out and put him in a bunk.

In the morning she made ready to go out, and ordered her daughter, “Listen! Heat the oven very hot, and roast Chufíl-Fílyushka for my supper.” Then she went out to seek more prey.

The daughter heated the oven thoroughly, took Fílyushka, bound him, and put him on a shovel. She was about to shove him into the oven when he kicked his feet in the air and knocked his head.

“That’s not the way, Fílyushka,” said the Yagá-Búra’s daughter.

“Then how?” he answered. “I don’t understand.”

“Look here, just let go; I’ll show you.” So she lay down on the shovel in the proper way.

But although Chufíl-Fílyushka was small, he was no fool! He stuffed her into the oven at once and shut the door with a bang.

About two or three hours later Fílyushka smelled something delicious, opened the oven, and took out the daughter of Yagá-Búra, well cooked. He buttered her all over, put her in a frying pan, covered it with a towel, and placed it in the bunk. Then he climbed up to the roof beam and took down Yagá-Búra’s pestle and mortar.

Toward evening Yagá-Búra came home, went straight to the bunk, and took out the roasted meat. She ate it all up, collected the bones, laid them out on the ground in rows, and began to roll on them. But she couldn’t find her daughter, and thought she had gone to another cottage to weave. Then, as she rolled, she said, “My dear daughter, come and help me roll on Fílyushka’s little bones!”

From the rafters, Fílyushka cried out, “Roll away, mother, on your daughter’s little bones!”

“Are you up there, you brigand! Just wait, I’ll give it to you!”

But little Chufíl was not frightened.

When Yagá-Búra, gnashing her teeth and stamping the ground, had climbed up to the ceiling, he grabbed the pestle and struck her on the forehead with all his might. Down she flopped. Then Fílyushka climbed up onto the roof, saw some geese flying by, and called out, “Lend me your wings; I need wings to fly home.”

They lent him their wings, and he flew home.

At home, they had long ago given him up for dead and were praying for the repose of his soul. How glad they were to see him alive and unharmed! They changed the requiem into a merry feast, and they lived on happily, and continued to receive good things for many years.