Baba Yaga and the Little Russian Girl

 Смелая Девушка- “The Bold Girl”

A retelling of the traditional Russian Fairy tale, as remembered by Paula Lyons, MD as told to her by her grandmother, Blanche.

Once there was, and once there was not, a little Russian girl. She was the youngest child of her mother and father, and they loved her very much, for she was a hard worker, kind-hearted, and smart. She also was very curious and brave.

Her mother loved her for the first three traits and feared for her because of the last two.

One morning, after she had baked the bread, swept the floor, and fixed the broken butter churn, her father said,

 “Little Smelaya Devushka (or as she would be called in English: “Ava Renat”), you have done enough for one day, go and play.”

Her mother agreed, and made her neat, tying her curls in a red ribbon, and gave her a slice of thick home-baked bread, a square of roasted meat, and a generous pat of butter to put in her pocket for lunch, and walked her to the garden gate. Kneeling and looking her daughter in the eye, she entreated,

 “Now go and be safe. Stay away from the forest, and especially shun the hut with chicken feet!”

Little Ava kissed her mother but said not a word, for in truth she was very curious about the hut with chicken feet of which her friends had told terrifying tales.

She made straight for the woods as soon as Mama went inside, and after a while, found herself in a part of the woods that was very dim and thick with trees. She espied a curious small hut inside a fence with a gate, upon whose pales ancient skulls hung. The hut was surrounded by a thicket of brambles. And indeed, the hut stood on chicken feet. A tiger-striped cat lay upon the thatched roof and twitched its tail and narrowed its green eyes at the girl. Crows perched on the thicket of brambles, cawing and looking at her with tilted heads. The scene looked odd, but to Ava, not terrifying. She was curious.

“Hello,” called the foolish child, “I am Ava Renat! Who lives in this hut?”

 The hut turned on its chicken feet to face the girl, and the door opened to reveal the largest, boniest nose Ava had ever seen, attached to the face of a fearsome-appearing witch.

“I am Baba Yaga, child. How sweet of you to visit! Come in!”

 Baba Yaga beckoned welcomingly and lifted the child easily over the fence, explaining as she did so that the gate was always locked.

The hut squatted on its chicken legs so that Ava could cross the threshold. Once inside, Baba Yaga rounded on her in anger and triumph.

“Ha!! I smell a Russian peasant!”

“Yes, I am a little Russian girl, and proud to be one.”

“What?! Why would you be proud to be a Russian peasant, with that smell!”

“The earth of Russia feeds us and clothes us and gives me the love of my parents who are Russian too. And I bathed just last night and I do not smell!”

“Well, little stinky one, you have felt the last of that love, and eaten the last of that food, and have worn your last homespun dress! I am a terrible witch; you should have shunned me as you were told. But now your curiosity has doomed you. My servants will keep you here. I will leave to do my terrible witch deeds elsewhere, and when I return, I shall cook and eat you. THEN, once you are done to a turn, you will smell and taste wonderful. I shall enjoy you as my dinner.”

Little Ava was terrified, but she was both smart and brave, so instead of collapsing and weeping, as you or I might have done, she asked,

”But where are your servants, Baba Yaga? There is no one here but you and me.”

“Fool, I have magic servants, four in number. One is the cat, who will bite and scratch you terribly should you try to escape. Should the cat fail, the second is the gate and its fence, which will stay locked against you and whose posts and rails will grow as tall as trees should you try to climb over. The third is the thicket of brambles, which will engulf you in its arms of stinging death should you defeat the gate. Should the brambles fail (Ha! Never, I think!) my last faithful servants, the crows, will peck out your eyes! Not even the witches that I have captured and eaten have been able to overcome even one of these servants, so I think I will be enjoying nicely roasted Russian girl tonight, done tasty pink in the center!”

With that she grabbed a mortar and pestle from the table and flew out of the chimney. Ava looked out the window and saw that the mortar and pestle had magically grown as big as a boat and oar. Seated in the mortar, Baby Yaga flew away across the sky, using the giant pestle to steer her on her way to do evil deeds in the world.

At this moment, truth be told, Ava did sit down and cry for many minutes and her heart knew only fear. But then she noticed a scraping sound underneath her own soft sobs. She looked and saw the cat pawing at a dish on the floor that had been empty so long that there was dust in it. The cat did not look fierce, only hungry, and the kind-hearted part of Ava rose up. She took the bit of meat her mother had given her out of her pocket and fed it to the cat. While the hungry moggy bolted it, she walked out into the yard, and looked at the gate.

There was no lock, although Baba Yaga had told her there was. It was only that the hasp and hinges were rusted hard. She thought a bit, and then using the butter from her pocket worked very hard for many minutes, rubbing to lubricate the hinges and the hasp. Finally, when her hands were tired, she tried the gate. It swung free, creaking.

Ava walked through the gate out of Baba Yaga’s yard, and the bramble bush began to rustle threateningly and extend new shoots full of thorns towards her.

“Oh look,” Ava cried,” Look at the beautiful bramble bud on your new shoots! It will soon make a red rose, the jewel of the forest!”

 The bramble bush hesitated, and as it did so, Ava whipped the red ribbon from her hair, and in an instant tied it onto the shoot in the form of a flower. The bramble bush brought the “flower” close to the center of its branches, as if looking at it, and Ava dashed past.

As she ran towards home, the crows followed in a flock, cawing and flying ever closer. Fighting the instinct to keep running or to fall on her knees and cover her eyes, she stopped and snatched the bread from her pocket.

“I made this bread myself! It is the tastiest in the whole village!”

She threw it hard and high towards the flock, who descended upon it noisily, fighting for pieces and crumbs among themselves, as is the way of crows. The queen of the flock snatched up the biggest piece and flew away with all her subject crows following her, making their raucous cries.

Ava ran home and told her mother only that she was tired and needed to sleep. Then she laid in her bed for an hour, waiting for her heartbeat to slow and for the trembling in her fingers to subside. When her older brother, Lakai, looked in her room and asked her if something was wrong, she shook her head. He looked at her curiously but did not press her further just then.

When Baba Yaga returned to the hut on chicken feet and found that her “dinner” had escaped, she was furious and demanded an accounting from her servants.

“You never feed me,” said the cat, “But the kind little girl gave me her delicious meat!”

“You never oil me,” said the gate, “and I have suffered from rust. But the smart little girl figured out how to ease my pain by buttering my hasp and hinges!”

The bramble bush never said a word but stroked the only “flower” it had ever produced with a tender touch of its own branches.

The queen of the crows cawed, “Delicious bread! The curious girl got herself out of trouble! Looks like that one is kinder and smarter than you! She fought her own fear, used her brain, and worked hard to get free. You must eat plain porridge tonight, Baba Yaga!”

And Baba Yaga swore and threw pans, so the cat and crows scattered, and she pulled her own nose ‘till it was red in her frustration. She grumbled as she ate her cold porridge about the audacity of little Russian girls.

I would like to be able to say that this was the end of the matter and that little Ava Renat had learned her lesson and never went looking for the hut with chicken feet again.

BUT…

Well, that is a tale for another time.

Paula Lyons, MD

8/31/2018