The Tale Too Light to Tell
She was unlike the others. She talked and walked differently. She wanted to float and glide and fly. She put stones in her pockets to keep herself on the ground. Her mother put mud in her mouth. Her father put paste in her ears. Her brother called her Fatso and her sister called her Slug Muffin. She picked up her bucket and followed her family up the hill.
The children threw stones at the storyteller. They hissed and screamed catcalls, “That is the worst story we‘ve ever heard. Tell us about the snake that ate the old man. Tell us about the dragon that burned the village. Tell us about the panther that fought with the bear. We don’t want to hear about girls. Girls stink!”
The storyteller picked up her pouch and walked away. She had cold stew left in the bucket. She would eat before she slept. She would find somewhere along the road to lay down her cloak and someone to listen to her story. When the sun rose, the storyteller smiled before opening her eyes. The beginning of the day was exciting. Hope rose deep inside. The next village would include a receptive audience with good food and hot tea. The villagers recognized the colorful rags of a Tale Teller.
The village leader told her, “We will feed you and you can tell stories to the children after dinner. If they like your tales, you can tell to the adults the next night.”
The storyteller began after three long breaths. Far away a child was born. Her mother squatted as the baby was pulled from the womb by the midwife. The midwife knew something was wrong. The little body was too light. She wrapped a heavy rock and tied it to the baby’s feet before swaddling the child so it would not float away. She waited until morning to tell the mother. “Your child is not a groundling, she is a spirit of the air. You must burden her with stones to keep her safe. You must feed her more to keep her heavier or she will float away.”
“Go away with your stupid story. We want to know about the Flying Head that ate burning rocks. Tell us about the woman who slit her daughter’s throat when her stepdaughter switched places in the bed. We need the story about killing twelve foals to feed the greedy dapple-grim colt.” Said the children as they threw rocks at the storyteller and walked away.
The storyteller moved from village to village trying to tell the story of the little girl who was too light to live among the groundlings. The children had no patience for the tale. They protested by throwing things until the old woman would gather her belongings and leave. After months of travel she came to a village with no children. The village leader explained she could tell to the old people. She began her tale in the afternoon because the elders retired early. She repeated the same story about the spirit of the air born to groundlings burdened with rocks and extra food.
When her mother put mud in her mouth, the girl was relieved because she could stop eating for a while. When her father put paste in her ears, the girl was comforted because it lessened the taunts of her siblings. Her brother called her Fatso and her sister called her Slug Muffin. She followed her family up the hill carrying her bucket.
“I can’t believe you’ve listened without interrupting. I don’t know how the story ends.” Said the storyteller.
“Give me a stone.” Said a bearded man who reached out his hand.
“I’ll take a rock.” Said a silver-haired woman.
The storyteller emptied her pockets, pouches and buckets. After her audience members took every stone, rock and pebble, the storyteller floated away. She is floating still.
Laura Beasley lives in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. She has been published in Enchanted Conversation, a Fairy Tale Magazine, Rose Red Review and eFantasy.