Village Tales

There was a boy living with his old grandmother in one of the villages. They had a goat. They would sell its milk and live on the money they obtained. The boy was also fond of hunting. He would go in the morning to the forests surrounding the village. If he hunted a rabbit, bird, or something else, he would return with it to his grandmother. They would feast on it, eat it, and complete the day in joy and happiness.

One day, the boy went to the forest to do hunting as usual. The weather was extremely cold. The birds remained in their nests and burrows, and the rabbits in their holes. The boy penetrated deep into the forest and didn’t succeed in obtaining anything. He thought about returning to his home, but he saw before him an old hut. He went to it and found there a white-haired old man. He greeted him and said: Peace be upon you, grandfather. The old man returned the greeting: And upon you peace, my son.

Then the old man invited the boy to sit and rest from the fatigue of walking. The two talked about their different life matters. After an hour, the boy said: Do you remember anything, grandfather, of the tales the village people used to tell in ancient times? He said: Yes, my son, I remember them all. The boy said: I wish I could hear from you those beautiful tales.

He said: Yes, but I have a condition that you send tomorrow two of the village boys to sit with me, and I will narrate to them those tales. He said: I will do that, grandfather. The boy kept listening to what the boy narrated to him of the beautiful village tales until the sun was about to set. The boy asked the old man for permission to leave, and they left to his home. The boy took what his grandmother had prepared for him of food, went out of the house, wandered a little in the village, then returned to the house and slept happy.

In the morning of the next day, two of the village boys came to the old man’s hut. He welcomed them and informed them of the condition. They agreed and listened to his beautiful tales. On the third day, four listened to the old man. On the fourth, eight. On the fifth, sixteen. On the sixth, all the village’s sons were present at the old man’s. On the seventh day, the old man died. The village people buried him. They said: The old man died, but his beautiful tales didn’t die. We will narrate them to our sons, and they will narrate them to their sons, so that our village’s history remains alive forever.