THE LITTLE PURPLE STONE

Once upon a time, give or take, there was a young girl named Kisszepseg who lived with her grandmother in a small cottage at the edge of an ancient forest. Kisszepseg was a sweet-natured creature who patiently bore her grandmother’s constant bossing, nagging, complaining, shouting, and whining. The grandmother was, as you may have ascertained, a pain in the neck, but simple, sweet Kisszepseg loved her nevertheless.

One day the grandmother said, “Kisszepseg, I have a yearning for a berry pie. I want you to go into the woods and pick berries for me. There is a bush full of berries near the giant fir tree that was split by lightning. You must bring me exactly one thousand berries, do you hear? One berry less and the pie is ruined.”

Kisszepseg picked up a large basket and skipped into the woods. She found the berry bush just where her grandmother had told her it would be and set about picking berries. She counted, “One, two, three, four… nine hundred and stinking ninety-eight, nine hundred and stinking ninety-nine, one thousand!” When she was done there was not a single berry left on the bush.

On her way back home Kisszepseg came upon a giant bear lying on its side in the center of the path, moaning piteously. Keeping a good distance, Kisszepseg asked, “What is the matter, Mr. Bear?”

“I perish of hunger,” said the bear weakly.

“Oh,” said Kisszepseg, stepping back a bit. “Well, I have to go now.”

“Wait!” said the bear, lifting its head a bit and sniffing the air. “Do you have berries?”

“Well, I… they’re for my grandmother,” Kisszepseg blurted out, “and if I don’t bring her exactly one thousand berries she’ll have my head.”

“Your grandmother sounds like a crackpot,” said the bear. “She probably can’t even count to a thousand. Surely you could spare one little berry? One berry would revive me. One little berry would save my life.”

“Wait,” said Kisszepseg. “How do I know you won’t get better and eat me?”

“That would be a fine show of gratitude,” said the bear. “I promise.”

Kisszepseg took a single berry out of her basket and rolled it toward the bear. The bear’s tongue wrapped around it and swallowed it up. Then the bear took a deep, wheezy breath, struggled to his feet, and shook his shaggy coat. He bowed deeply to the girl, and walked off into the forest.

Kisszepseg began walking home again, but doubts began to possess her. “Grandmother can count like nobodies’ business.” She remembered the time she had brought her grandmother forty-eight cents change from the market. She had pressed the coins into her grandmother’s hand and, without even looking, her grandmother shouted, “Stupid girl! They gave you a Canadian penny!” and slapped her.

In a panic, she began rooting through the underbrush looking for berries, but couldn’t find any. She plopped down on the ground and had a good cry. When she wiped away her tears she saw something shining on the ground in front of her.

“A berry!” she exclaimed, and grabbed it, but was surprised to find it was a round purple stone. She was about to toss it away when she thought, “It looks just like a berry. If it fooled me it will surely fool Grandmother.” She buried it deep in the basket of berries and skipped happily home.

Kisszepseg’s grandmother set right to work baking the berry pie, and once it had cooled she sat down at the kitchen table with a big spoon and dug right in. “This is the best berry pie I ever…” Suddenly her eyes rolled up in her head and she slumped forward onto the table, dead. Out of her mouth rolled the little purple stone.

“Oh, poop!” said Kisszepseg. She ran straight away to fetch the neighborhood witch. She told the witch the whole story.

The witch eyed the purple stone carefully. “This is no ordinary stone. It is a tear-stone, formed from the tears of someone who has had a particularly bitter life. Very poisonous. Where did you get it?”

“I found it,” said Kisszepseg, not admitting that it had probably formed from her own tears. “Can Grandmother be saved?”

“Her soul longs for that last berry and will return for it,” said the witch.

“But the bear ate it.”

“Then you must kill the bear.”

“The bear was nice,” said Kisszepseg. “I don’t want to kill the bear.”

“Did you want to kill your grandmother?”

“No. I mean sometimes, but no.”

“Get the berry back,” said the witch.

The next morning Kisszepseg went back to the forest to find the bear. She followed its tracks a long way. At last she spotted it in a clearing. The bear was sitting against a log, picking his teeth with the tusk of a wild boar.

“Hello, Mr. Bear,” said Kisszepseg.

“Hello.”

“Remember that berry I gave you yesterday? I hate to ask, but I sort of need it back. Is there any way you could, like, cough it up or something?”

“Sure,” said the bear. It made some deep heaving sounds, then put its paw to its mouth, spit out the berry, and tossed it to the girl.

Kisszepseg caught the berry and tucked it in her pocket. She smiled broadly. “Thank you so much!”

“Now you have taken back the berry, so I will take back my promise,” said the bear.

“Oh, poop!” said Kisszepseg. The bear leapt upon her and swallowed her whole. It was very dark inside the bear. Kisszepseg reached in her pocket for the candle and tin of matches she always carried in case she had to walk about at night. She struck a match. The flame ignited the bear’s internal gases, and there was a big explosion. Kisszepseg was propelled out the backside of the bear as if shot out of a cannon. The bear ran off in the opposite direction with its tail on fire, never to be seen again.

Dazed, Kisszepseg sat on the ground until her ears stopped ringing. She reached in her pocket, but the berry was gone. She looked all around and spotted it on the ground in front of her. She was about to grasp it when a frog flicked out its long tongue, grabbed the berry, and swallowed it. Kisszepseg leapt upon the frog and held it tightly.

“Spit out that berry, or I’ll kill you,” she said.

“Wait,” said the frog. “Don’t kill me. I’ll give you the berry but you must do something for me.”

“OK,” Kisszepseg said hesitantly. “What?”

“I’m not really a frog. I’m under an enchantment. If you kiss me you can break the spell.”

“Seriously? Does that old line ever work?”

“No, it’s true,” said the frog. “Please.”

“Oh, OK,” said Kisszepseg. “Berry first.” She put out her hand and the frog spit the berry onto her palm. “Thanks,” she said, and leaned forward. “No tongue.” She kissed the frog. In a flash the frog turned into a pig.

“What the heck?” said Kisszepseg.

“It worked,” said the pig. “Thank you very much.”

“Wait. You’re a pig. I thought you would be a prince.”

“Who said anything about a prince?”

“I just assumed,” said Kisszepseg.

“Don’t be upset. I’ll still marry you.”

“You’re a pig!”

“What’s the problem?” said the pig. “Are you kosher?”

“Just leave me alone,” said Kisszepseg. “I’m having a bad day.” She trudged home, keeping one hand on the berry in her pocket to make sure it did not get away again.

Her grandmother was still sprawled dead upon the table. The witch had instructed Kisszepseg to return the berry to the pie and feed it to her dead grandmother. The moment she placed the spoonful of pie in her grandmother’s mouth the old woman’s color returned. She sat up, reached out, and slapped Kisszepseg.

“Stupid girl!” said the grandmother. “What have you done? I was in heaven. Your grandfather was there. Your mother was there. It was so beautiful. Everything was free. Why did you bring me back? Back to this dung-heap of suffering? Why can’t you do anything right? What is wrong with you? Why don’t you ever…”

Kisszepseg shoved another spoonful of pie into her grandmother’s mouth and the old woman fell dead upon the table again. Out of her mouth rolled the little purple stone.