Strange Happenings: Five Tales of Transformation

  No sooner did the shoemaker do that than Old Scratch jumped out of the shoe, became full size, and dragged the shoemaker away.

  "Now you know two things: why I'm called Old Scratch and that some things definitely don't change."

  But what ever did happen to that black cat, she with the lemon-colored eyes? Why, she was back in the shoemaker's house. When she learned what had happened to the shoemaker—how she learned, I don't know—she took from beneath the floorboards one-half—not a penny more, not a penny less—of the money the shoemaker had made. For that was the exact bargain they had made so many years ago.

  Then the black cat, she with the lemon-colored eyes, went away. Where she went, I don't know.

  Simon

  AS AN ONLY CHILD, Simon was indulged by both his mother and father to such a degree that he grew up to be someone who always assumed he was the center of attention. As Simon grew older, he found that he could charm anyone with his bright looks and sharp wit. Though he always managed to avoid doing anything that might be of help or use to his parents, he was quite comfortable in demanding and taking food, clothing, or pleasure—as much as he wished. It didn't matter to him that his parents had little money: No wish or whim of Simon's went unanswered.

  As Simon grew into manhood, his demands grew, too. Nothing but the finest would satisfy him. He constantly groomed himself. He dressed lavishly. No surprise that he came to believe people could do no better than admire him.

  To the question "What do you want to do with your life?" he would say, "I intend to have the world gaze upon me with admiration and envy."

  One of the things Simon had asked for and received was a rifle. From the moment he had the gun in his hands, Simon's chief desire was to become known as the best hunter in the land.

  Such were Simon's demands that after a while his parents grew quite poor. When the time came that they could give him no more, Simon became angry. "You are unappreciative parents," he told them. "I must have only the best."

  "Simon," said his poor father, "for all I know what you say may be true. But we have nothing left to give you."

  To which his mother added: "Your wants and demands have quite ruined us. If you desire more, you must get it elsewhere—and you must get it for yourself."

  At these words Simon picked up his rifle and left home without so much as a farewell. Though his mother and father wept to see him go, Simon did not even look back.

  Simon journeyed to a village near a great forest. This forest was famous for its wild animals, so Simon decided to become a hunter. He was sure that by selling what he killed, he could earn enough money for his wants and needs.

  All Simon's energies now turned to hunting. He was very good at it. It did not take long before the sound of him coming through the forest was enough to bring terror to all the creatures that lived there. They knew that Simon was an excellent shot, that he was greedy, and that he had no mercy.

  One day when Simon brought his slaughter to the marketplace, a merchant said, "Simon, you do very well with what you bring me. But let me give you some advice: As great as is the demand for furs and hides, what the rich really want these days are feathers. Not ordinary feathers, but gloriously colored ones. The kind you can only find in the deepest parts of the forest. A good shot like you should have no trouble with that. Bring me such feathers, and you shall become truly rich!"

  That was enough for Simon. Rifle in hand, he set off into the forest and began hunting birds. He shot hundreds of them, stripped them of their plumage, and left their carcasses to rot. As for the feathers, he sold them to the merchant.

  As the merchant had promised, Simon soon grew not only rich but also quite famous in that part of the world. He was not satisfied. Wanting everyone to look upon him with awe, he hunted even more.

  As Simon brought in more and more wonderful feathers, the demand for them actually grew. Not only were greater quantities in demand, but he was paid higher prices for the most unusual kinds.

  One day Simon's merchant friend said, "Simon, it is believed that in the most remote part of the forest lives the Queen-of-All-the-Birds. Her feathers—so the rumor goes—have the look, the feel of pure gold. She's known as the Golden Bird. Fetch me her feathers and you shall be the wealthiest of men. The entire world shall sit up and take notice of you."

  His head bursting with visions of wealth and glory, Simon set off in pursuit of the Golden Bird. Though he traveled where few hunters had been, the Golden Bird never passed before his eyes. Simon kept searching.

  One day he found himself in the most tangled part of the forest. As he stood looking about, his hunting bag full of feathers, he caught sight of what appeared to be like gold among the trees. Not sure at first that he was seeing correctly, he stealthily approached the glitter.

  It was a bird but a bird such as he had never seen before. Her beak was blue, sharp, and precise. Her feet were crimson. On her head a jet black crown. But in the rays of light that filtered down among the many-fingered branches, her golden wings sparkled brighter than the sun itself.

  The moment Simon saw this bird he was certain she was the Queen-of-All-the-Birds, the Golden Bird herself. Instantly his mind was filled with thoughts of the money and fame he was sure to get after he killed her and stripped her feathers.

  Rifle in hand, Simon inched forward. The bird did not seem to notice. She even fluttered down to a closer branch.

  Simon crept to within a few feet of the bird. Silently he lifted his rifle and took precise aim at her breast. Just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, the bird turned to him and quite calmly said, "Why do you want to shoot me, Simon?"

  Simon, never taking the Golden Bird out of his gun sight, said, "Because I need your feathers."

  "You don't need them," the bird replied. "In any case, they are not yours to have."

  "The world is there for me to take," replied Simon. "When I take what I want, everybody shall take notice of me."

  "Everybody?" the bird asked.

  "Everybody," Simon insisted.

  "Then," the bird replied, "I shall help you achieve what you want." With a sudden flutter of her great wings, she sprang upon Simon.

  Even as she did, Simon pulled the trigger. The gun fired. The bullet struck true, piercing the Golden Bird's heart. Still, she had sufficient strength to just reach Simon. As she fell, one wing brushed over his face and neck. Then she lay at his feet.

  At the same moment, all the leaves from all the trees fell, too, cascading down like the sound of rain—or tears. The forest grew as silent as a cloudless sky.

  Simon looked around. Hundreds of birds were sitting on the now leafless branches, gazing mutely at him and the Golden Bird, which lay on the ground before his feet.

  Simon merely gazed back. When the birds did nothing, he shrugged, snatched up the dead Golden Bird by the neck, and stuffed her into his hunting bag. Turning his back on the silent, watching birds, Simon started off. His mind was already trying to calculate how much he would get for the golden feathers.

  As Simon walked through the forest, he began to hear high-pitched sounds. He paid them no mind. But as the sounds continued, he realized that his name was being called. "Simon!" "Simon!" "Simon!"

  Simon stopped. He looked about in search of the people who were calling his name. He saw no humans. It was the birds that were following him.

  A little nervous now, Simon continued on.

  "Simon!" "Simon!" This time the calls came from directly overhead.

  Simon stopped and looked up. The birds he had seen before were gone. Now, barely four feet above him, three black ravens had come to rest upon the branches of a dead tree. Their bright beady eyes, like burning black candles with shiny black flames, were hard focused on Simon.

  "Is it a bird or a man?" Simon heard one of the ravens whisper. The voice was high and shrill.

  "Ask it," suggested the second raven. Its voice was smooth.

  Simon, puzzled that he could understand what the birds were saying to one an
other, paused to listen.

  The third raven hopped along the leafless branch until it dipped and, like an accusing finger, hung a few inches from Simon's face. Cocking its head now this way and now that, the third raven, in a low voice said, "What are you, Simon, bird or man?"

  "I am a man, of course," Simon replied.

  "And yet," said the first raven, "you speak to us."

  To which the second raven added, "What is more, Simon, your neck is like the neck of a bird."

  "For that matter," the third raven concluded, "so is your head."

  Taken aback, Simon put a hand to his neck—to his face. It was just as the ravens had said: From his neck up he was all ... feathers! What's more, that neck, which had grown to a considerable length, supported an oval-shaped head.

  Simon felt his eyes. They were perfectly round and set on either side of his face. Where his nose and mouth had been, he felt a long pointed beak. Still, when he looked down at himself, the rest of his body remained as it had been—human.

  Frightened, Simon dropped his rifle and sack and tried to rub away the feathers.

  "We say you are a bird," screamed the ravens. "You are no more a man than we. And you killed the Golden Bird!"

  Screaming, the ravens fell upon Simon, pulling and clawing at him. So fierce was the attack that Simon ran off into the forest as fast as he could go. The ravens pursued him so until Simon had to force his way into thick thorny underbrush that was too tangled for them to follow.

  The three ravens flew away. As they went, Simon heard them calling his name. "Simon—Simon—Simon." It sounded as if they were laughing.

  When he was sure he was safe, Simon crawled out from his hiding place. Having no idea where he was, he began to search for a way out of the forest. All that day and night, he wandered.

  At night, by the light of a full moon, he came upon a pool of water. Thirsty, he paused and bent down. Reflected upon the surface of the pool, mirrorlike, he saw an image of himself. From his neck up—wherever the Golden Bird had touched him with her wing—he had turned into a bird.

  Simon stared at his image. At first he tried to tell himself that it was all a dream, that he would wake up and be what he had always been. Even as he tried to convince himself of this, a pack of hunting dogs, howling and baying, leaped out of the bushes and attacked him.

  To protect himself, Simon sprang onto a large boulder. The dogs—baying, snapping, and growling—could not reach him. But nonetheless, he was trapped.

  Simon was still standing on the rock above the snarling dogs, trying to think how to make his escape, when a group of hunters appeared. They carried rifles and torches. When the hunters saw Simon atop the rock, they stopped short, amazed by his appearance.

  After a moment one of the hunters lifted his gun, and was about to fire, when Simon called, "Don't shoot!"

  If the hunters had been amazed at the sight of Simon, they were even more astonished that the strange creature could talk.

  "Are you man or bird?" called one of the hunters.

  "I am a man!" insisted Simon, relieved to know that though he had understood the talk of birds, he could still speak a human tongue.

  "Friend or enemy?" called another hunter.

  "Friend to all!" cried Simon.

  From somewhere he thought he heard the laughter of the ravens.

  "Lift your hands, or wings, or whatever they are!" one of the hunters shouted. "And come down here."

  "Call off your dogs," said Simon.

  When the dogs were pulled away, Simon climbed down from the rock and approached the hunters. Only then did he realize that one of them had a crown on his head. He was a prince.

  "Who are you?" asked the prince, staring with amazement at Simon.

  "I am Simon."

  "Well then, what are you?"

  "Through no fault of mine," said Simon, "magic has turned me into what you see."

  "I know nothing of magic," said the prince. "But I do know you are the most curious spectacle I have ever seen! You must come with me. Others will enjoy the sight of you."

  Simon objected, but the prince would hear no refusal.

  Suddenly fearful of what might happen, Simon turned and tried to run away. Two hunters sprang after him, caught him with ease, and held him tightly. They tied Simon's hands behind his back and placed a rope around his neck. Holding this rope, they led him through the woods.

  Simon, shocked and hurt to be so badly treated, demanded to be set free. The prince took no interest in what he said. Quite the contrary. Though the hunters kept gawking and talking about him, these men acted as if Simon were incapable of any understanding.

  Once, twice, Simon tried to pull on the rope that held him. For his efforts he received a sharp, painful yank. He had to go along.

  The hunters reached their camp. Many people were there, men and women of the court. Some were dressed in furs and feathers; Simon recognized these as adornments he had supplied.

  Very excited, the courtiers gathered around Simon, looked at him, poked him, treating him as if—marvel though he might be—he were no more than a dumb beast.

  Enraged, Simon cursed at them all. This made the people laugh and tease him more, for they found him to be very funny. At last, for the sake of his own pride, Simon decided to say nothing.

  When it was time to eat, a great feast was served to all the court. Simon, tied up, could do nothing but watch. No one seemed to consider that he might like to join the festivities. True, from time to time people at the prince's table threw him bits of food. Simon, who was used to eating at a table, at first refused to eat from the ground. But when his hunger grew to be too much, he tried to pick up a few morsels when no one was looking. The rope, however, held him short. He had to stretch his neck forward and peck at the ground. When people noticed, they found his antics amusing, and laughed. Simon stopped eating.

  At the feast the prince announced that because he was sure he would find nothing more wonderful than the half-man, half-bird he had caught, his hunt was over. He ordered a cage to be built. Simon was forced inside.

  It was not a very big cage. Simon could only sit, and he had to hold the bars to keep his balance. Sometimes a fury took hold of Simon and he shook the bars, causing laughter that made him furious. But there was nothing he could do about it.

  The next morning when the prince's party was ready to move on, the cage, with Simon in it, was loaded onto a cart and pulled along with all the other baggage. Simon, in his cage, was displayed as the supreme trophy.

  For three days the prince and his party traveled. To Simon's great mortification, he was the center of attraction in every town through which they passed. Because they were going from the country to the city, they went through larger and larger towns. News of the bird-man had gone ahead. Larger and larger crowds came to stare, to cheer, to jeer and poke fun.

  Simon glowered at his tormentors. Secretly, he plotted all the malevolent things he would do to them when he got free.

  At last the traveling party came to a great city. The prince was led in triumph to his palace through large crowds.

  In anticipation of Simon's arrival, an elaborate cage had been built. Simon was forced into it. Then the cage, with him inside, was hoisted into the air and hung like a chandelier in the very center of the court. That way he could be viewed by everyone at every hour.

  Sometimes people prodded at him, or banged on the cage to get a reaction. Occasionally Simon would lose his temper. That made people laugh. He screamed insults at them. More laughter. Though people were at first amused, it did not take long for them to take offense—and then lose interest. His cage was placed in a corner by a window. He was ignored.

  Days passed. Simon grew sullen. He would not talk or respond to anything or anybody.

  Months went by. Simon had no view of the outside world except through a small window in the palace wall. This window looked out into the sky. The most Simon could see of the world was the changing weather.

  One day a great b
anquet was held in the hall. In his cage Simon listened to the talk, the jokes, the songs. Growing restless, he turned to look through the window. Outside, a storm was raging. As Simon snapped at the occasional bit of food thrown to him, he thought that at least he was being fed, and he was dry and safe.

  A small brown sparrow flew into the hall to take refuge from the storm. Exhausted, she rested on the window ledge. The sparrow fluffed out her feathers, shook her head dry, and began to preen her tail. Then she caught sight of Simon sitting in his cage.

  Simon, though pretending not to, watched the sparrow eagerly.

  The bird took a hop closer and studied Simon with great interest. "What ghastly weather!" she chirped.

  Simon, grateful for a little friendly conversation, replied, "Yes, it looks it."

  "Are you a bird?" the brown sparrow whispered.

  Desperate for sympathy, Simon pressed against the bars of his cage, as close to the sparrow as possible. "I was a man," he replied. "But I was turned, partly, into a bird. Now I'm nothing but a creature in a cage for people to stare at and make fun of."

  The sparrow settled down. "How did you come to be the way you are?" she asked

  Simon told the sparrow how he had hunted birds and sold their feathers. But then one day he had shot a most unusual bird and—

  The sparrow rose up, her beak snapping with anger. "So you are the one who shot our Golden Queen!" she cried with fury. "You deserve all the punishment you have. I'd rather be out in the cold storm than warm inside with you." So saying, the sparrow turned and flew out the window.

  Simon could only wish that he, too, could fly into the storm.

  Two years went by. The prince, who had once prized Simon as his most curious possession, came to be interested in other things. The cage was moved from the central court to a distant room.

  As much as Simon hated being looked upon and made fun of, he found his isolation worse. He had nothing to gaze upon but empty walls.