Winter's Tales (6 page)

Canadian folktale

A father and his son were away from their village, fishing on the coast of the cold north. They couldn't reach home before darkness fell, so they settled down for the night. They built a wall of ice blocks by a hillside, then sheltered between the wall and the slope, and built a fire to keep the small space warm.

The father held onto his harpoon and the boy clutched his knife in his hand, ready to
defend themselves and their catch from any other hunters who might want to make a meal of them.

But one hunter smelled the fire, the fish and the people, and thought it smelled like his supper.

He was a big polar bear, white from his ears to his toes, but he was thin and hungry.

The polar bear crept up to the wall of ice, looked over, and saw the father with his barbed harpoon and the boy with his sharp knife. The bear didn't want to attack them, in case they woke up fast enough to hurt him with those blades.

So he backed away and he thought for a long time, his thoughts interrupted occasionally by the chirping of a little brown bird on the hill.

Then the polar bear came up with a plan. If he put out the fire, then the man and the boy would freeze, and he could eat them and their fish without any danger from their weapons.

So the bear crept, as slowly and quietly as a bear on huge white paws can creep, right up to the fire.

He patted the fire with his left paw.

It was hot! He jerked his paw back and shook it.

Then he patted the fire with his right paw.

It burned his paw! He jerked his paw back and shook it.

And he patted each little flame flat. Patting, and shaking, and blowing on his sore paws to cool them down. He patted and patted with his paws, until the flames were all gone, leaving only tiny glowing embers in the ashes.

Then the bear backed off, to wait for the air to cool down and the father and son to freeze. Once they were frozen solid, he would be able to eat his tea in safety.

As the polar bear waited and the little bird on the hill watched, the father and son started to freeze. Icicles formed round their mouths and nostrils. Their breathing slowed, and their hearts slowed.

But as the polar bear was deciding which one to eat first, the little brown bird fluttered over to the fire and started to flap his wings at the last ember in the grey ashes.

The bird fluttered and flapped, trying to bring the ember back to life. The bird moved closer to the ember, waving air at it. The bird stood right over the ember and flapped his wings as fast as he could.

And gradually, as the bird fanned the air at the ashes, the ember turned from dull red to bright orange. The bird flapped and flapped, and the ember flickered.

The little bird stayed there, as the ember got hotter and hotter, his wings flapping and flapping, until the ember burst back into life.

The bird staggered backwards as the flames brushed his feathers.

The father and son both took deep breaths of warm air, they sighed and they rolled over.

And the polar bear realised he wasn't going to get his supper from behind the ice wall. So he limped away, his paws blackened from the fire he had tried to put out.

The little brown bird flew slowly back to his low bush on the snowy hill.

The father and son woke up safe the next morning and returned to their village, never knowing the danger they had been in, nor the kindness and bravery that had saved them.

So that is why polar bears are white all over, except for the black skin on their paws.

And that is why we all know a little brown bird with a bright red breast, which is still glowing with the heat of the fire he fanned back to life.

Canaanite myth, Eastern Mediterranean

When gods fight among themselves, the winners rule the earth.

So when Baal, the god of rain, lightning, wind and snow, defeated Yam, the prince of the sea, he felt like the strongest god in the world. Baal demanded that El, the oldest god, grant him the right to build a palace.

El agreed, but only after the warrior goddess Anat threatened to make El's grey
beard run with blood if he didn't honour her brother Baal.

Baal built a palace on an ice-capped mountain, where cool winds could blow through the windows and where he could command the rain, snow, thunder and lightning.

When the palace was finished, Baal decided to hold a feast to show off his power. He arranged for a year's worth of bread and wine to be brought to his palace, then he invited Anat, and he invited El, his wife Athirat and their son Athtar.

But the guest list looked too short. Baal wanted more gods to come and bow down to him in his own home.

So he sent an invitation to Mot, the god of death, who ruled the underworld and also ruled the sun.

Mot responded with an invitation of his own: “How dare you invite me to a feast of
bread and wine? I am not an ox or a stag, I am a lion in the desert, so I hunger for flesh and I thirst for blood. Yet you insult me by offering me bread and wine. So now the flesh and blood I yearn for is your flesh and your blood, Baal. I demand that you come to my land and feast at my table. If you do not attend, then I will send my servants to drag you down.”

When he heard this message, Baal shivered. He'd beaten a sea monster and built a palace, but that didn't make him the most powerful god after all.

So Baal cancelled the feast and left his palace by the back door. He found a dead calf in a field, dressed the calf in his robes and enchanted it to look like a god, hoping Mot would be fooled.

But when Mot's servants took the calf to his feasting table, Mot chewed on its legs and spluttered in disgust. “This is not the flesh of a god, this is the flesh of a beast. Bring me Baal!”

So Baal hid from Mot's servants.

He hid in his boat of snow-clouds. But the servants of death found him. He hid in the rocks at the end of the sun's journey in the west. But the servants of death found him. He hid in the ruined palace of Yam, his old enemy. But the servants of death found him.

Eventually Baal realised that no-one can hide from death forever and that hiding in corners would not look good in the legend of his life.

So Baal stood up, dressed himself splendidly in lightning and snow, and walked down to the underworld.

Baal said to Mot, “How kind of you to invite me to your home.” He sat at Mot's table and he smiled as Mot offered him a dish of mud. Baal knew mud was the food of the dead.

Then, like a polite guest, Baal ate the food in front of him. After three mouthfuls, he choked on it and fell to the filthy floor of Mot's throne room.

When Mot stopped laughing, he ordered the sun to shine longer and brighter and hotter.

Without Baal in his palace, there was no-one to bring cooling winds or soothing rain. So the land suffered under the harsh summer. The earth was dry and dusty, the sky was burning thin.

The gods mourned Baal, and hoped that someone else could take his place, someone who could be winter, and bring life back to the earth. But when El's son Athtar sat in Baal's throne, his feet didn't reach the ground. No-one but Baal could end the drought and famine of Mot's summer.

So Anat dressed for battle. With the severed heads of death's servants hanging from her shoulders and their severed hands hanging from her belt, she marched through the underworld to find her brother.

When she arrived in the throne room, she didn't draw her sword. Instead she spoke politely. “Mot, lord of death, please return Baal to life and the world.”

Mot sniggered. “Aw, poor little Anat, are you missing your brother? You can come and join Baal here at my table. Oh no, there he is
under
my table. Baal is dead, and that's how he'll stay.”

Anat kept her fingers away from her sword and spoke calmly once more. “Without Baal, the world above is dying. The summer is endless, the ground is hard, people cannot plant crops. If you don't return Baal to us, all the people will die.”

“I eat the dead,” answered Mot. “The endless summer pleases me and I am hungry for the death it will bring. So I will not return Baal, and I will command the sun to shine forever.”