Mikal the Ram: "The Wicked Blacksmith"
The Wicked Blacksmith
Notes from Mikal:
I learned this tale years ago from a master storyteller in the form of an
old American
tale. I knew it had to be older than that, as it gives an explanation of the
"Jack O'
Lantern" at the end. In doing some research, I found it originates in the
Celtic
region, perhaps in Ireland. I have only recently adapted it back to an Irish
tale, but I
left it with a Christian theme, as I cannot find a pre-St. Patrick version
that would fit
the story.
It requires much in the way of theatrics that I cannot explain here. But the
master
storyteller I saw did none of the overacting I normally do, and he got rave
reviews
anyway. This one appeals to the kid in all of us.
THERE WAS IN DUBLIN a very wicked blacksmith by the name of John. Oh, by
Saint Patrick
he was a wicked, evil man. He was never above doing the two things that are
sure to send a
blacksmith to the infernal regions: charging too much, and beating cold
iron! If it was
raining, the man would complain to all how dry it was. And if you had just
washed your
cloak, or groomed your horse, he was sure to find a reason to scatter dust
about and make
a great filth! There was never a more contrary man!
One day there came to the town an old dirty beggar-man. He was so frail that
it took
four walking-sticks to keep him upright. He moved so slow and frail that it
seemed the
wind of a misspoken word might tip him over. Everyone in the town that came
upon him found
some reason to walk to the far side of the road, none of them willing to
stretch their
Christian charity to speak a decent word to him.
When John saw the old man, and how the townsfolk shunned him, he said to
himself;
"Now here is a chance to make these holier-than-thou people feel bad! I
shall invite
in this wretched man, and treat him as they should have!" So he invited in
the old
man and set him in his best chair, the one that was set on rockers. And he
set before him
a feast of two hens roasted whole, and a bowl of a dozen apples, and a full
pitcher of
fresh milk made cool in the stream.
To his amazement, the old man ate both the hens in one bite! Then he emptied
the bowl
as well, and drank the pitcher of milk as if it were a thimble. John did not
know what to
say. The old man seemed not effected by the meal at all, but looked if
anything more frail
than before!
At length, John regained his voice. "Is there anything else you'll be
wanting?" he asked. But before he could rise the old man started to get up,
and up,
and up, until he was a full ten feet tall! His rags had turned to a shining
white robe,
and his face was a shining light.
"I am Saint Michael," the guest said. "Long I wandered looking for a man
who would take in a pitiful stranger. Only you, of all the men in the world,
took me in.
For that deed of Christian kindness, I will give you three wishes.
But listen, John; I have seen the book that Saint Peter keeps at the door of
Heaven!
You might want to keep one of those wishes to the saving of your soul!
But John seemed not to hear. "Three wishes! Well for the first, do you see
that
rocking chair? Not a day goes by but some oaf sits and comes near to
breaking it! I wish
that if anyone sits in it but me, it will rock them 'till they wish to die!
Saint Michael agreed. "Very well. It is done. Now remember your soul, and
take
care with your last two wishes."
But still John was not listening. "Do you see those tools? It has taken me a
lifetime to get them all, yet every fool who comes here is trying to borrow
them! I wish
that anyone who touches my hammers will find that they will beat their
brains out!"
The angel nodded. "It will be as you ask. You have but one last wish, John.
You
should take care and see to the rest of your soul!"
But John would hear none of it. "And that thorn-bush outside; it is a
favorite of
mine. Yet every day some fool drives his horses or oxen over it an near
kills it 'neath
their hooves! I wish that if anyone touches it, that it will grab them up
and sink every
thorn in them until they die!"
Saint Michael sighed. "Well, it is done. That was all your wishes, and not
one was
for the saving of your soul. Take care, John. Repent your ways before the
end does come.
Well, the day did come when John was to die. The Devil, knowing there was no
chance of
John going anywhere else, called a small demon to him and said; "Go above
and fetch
John the blacksmith. He is a goodly wicked man and I've a fine hot fire for
him!"
The demon was off in a small puff of smoke, and he appeared in the front of
John's
shop. "Put down your hammer," he told him. "Your time is up. The Devil has
sent me to take you below."
John waved him away. "I'm not going while I still have work. These
horse-shoes are
not yet done. You can sit and wait!"
So the little demon looked about and spied the rocking chair. "I'll just sit
here," he said, and sat himself down to rock. He rocked and rocked, then
WHAM-BAM! It
slammed him to the floor both front and rear! "What happened?" he wondered.
So
he began to rock again carefully. He rocked, and rocked, and WHAM-BAM! it
slammed him
front and rear again! And before he could breathe a word, WHAM WHAM WHAM
WHAM! it began to
slam his head to the floor both before the chair and behind!
"Help! Oh help!" he cried. "I will die if I get no help!"
"If I let you go will you swear to leave and never bother me again?" John
asked.
"Oh yes oh yes oh yes!" the little demon sobbed.
So John said "Let him go!" And the chair threw the demon up in to the air,
and he landed with a plop. He then vanished in a puff of smoke, reappearing
in the
infernal regions.
"Well," said the Devil, "Where's John." And the little demon sobbed
; "IwasgoingtogeddhimbutthechairIsatinwent BAMBMAMBAMan
ithurtsomuchIhaddatellhimIwouldn'tcomebaccause ithurtsooooomuch..."
"That John isn't going to get away from me," the Devil cried, and he called
in a great big demon and said; "Go above and fetch John the blacksmith. He
is a
goodly wicked man, and I've a fine hot fire for him."
"No problem," the demon smiled, and disappeared, whomf! in a great cloud of
smoke. He reappeared outside John's shop, whomf! "Put down your hammer," he
told
him. "Your time is up. The Devil has sent me to take you below."
John waved him away. "I'm not going while I still have work. These
horse-shoes are
not yet done. You can sit and wait!"
"Nothing doing!" the demon snarled, "I heard about your chair!"
John thought a moment and said, "As soon as I finish these shoes, I'll go.
But if
you help, it would go a lot faster!"
The demon agreed, but just as soon as he selected a hammer and started to
work the
iron, something happened. Tap, tap, tap, he struck the horse-shoe, then BAM!
The hammer
struck him in the head! He looked at it carefully, then once again he
started. Tap, tap,
tap, he struck the horseshoe, then BAM! The hammer struck him in the head
again! Then
before he could move the hammer started pounding him, BAMBAMBAMBAM, right
between the
eyes!
"Help! Oh help!" he cried. "I will die if I get no help!"
"If I let you go will you swear to leave and never bother me again?" John
asked.
"Oh yes oh yes oh yes!" the big demon sobbed.
So John said "Let him go!" And the hammer hit the demon up in to the air,
and
he landed with a plop. He then vanished , WHOMF! In a big cloud of smoke,
reappearing in
the infernal regions.
"Well," said the Devil, "Where's John."
And the big demon bellowed; "IwasgoingtogeddhimbuthesaidIshouldhelpmake the
shoesanthehammerwentBAMBMAMBAManithurtsomuchIhaddatellhimIwouldn'tcomebackca
useithurtsooooomuch..."
The Devil said, "If you want something done right, you've got to do it
yourself!" So he began to climb up out of the pit, to fetch back John.
John was still working on the horse-shoes when the ground began to shake.
Then the
earth cracked open and great clouds of brimstone smoke filled the air. With
a huge gout of
fire, the Devil rose out of the ground, his hooves as big around as serving
platters and
his horns as wide as two men's' shoulders. "John!" he shouted, "I've come
to take you down below!"
John waved him away. "I'm not going while I still have work. These
horse-shoes are
not yet done. You can sit and wait!"
"None of your tricks! I've heard about your chair, and I've heard about your
tools!" the Devil cried. "Nothing will stop me! You're coming now!"
John set his jaw, and looked the Devil in the eye. "Well then, if you think
you
can take me, just try!"
And they fell to fighting and kicking. Blood was spilled and teeth were
lost! It looked
bad for John, for not too far into the fight, he was in the clutches of the
Devil, those
taloned hands wrapped about his throat. Then he noticed they were next to
the thorn-bush.
With the last of his strength he rolled them over until the Devil was right
in the middle
of the thorns.
Quick as a wink the thorn bush lashed out and wrapped tighter and tighter
around the
Devil, squeezing inward until there was no more than a tight little ball of
thorns no
bigger than a child's fist on the ground.
John walked up to the ball and he asked, "Devil, are you in there?"
And a tiny voice replied, "Yes sir."
"Are you going to go away and never bother me again?"
"Yes sir. Oh yes indeedy!"
"Let him go!" John cried, and the thorn-bush shot the devil up and up like a
shooting star. Then he crashed into the ground with a thundering roar that
shook the earth
for hours.
Well, John lived many years past that time, and of course the time came when
he would
have to die. All things must die, and it was his time. Since no one came to
take him away,
John collected his tools and started off himself, on the long climb into
Heaven. He
climbed up and up, and finally came to the gates of Paradise. He pounded on
them, and
Saint Peter came running out to see what all the noise was. "Why it's John
the
blacksmith! We weren't expecting you!"
"Why not?" John asked. "I've died and I must go somewhere."
"Well," Saint Peter said, "We must look in the book and see if you're
welcome here." With that he pulled out a huge book and turned to a page.
"John!
My oh my, this page shows all the good things you've done on earth. It has
only one entry;
You fed an old beggar-man. That's hardly enough to get you in here."
Then Saint Peter turned to the next page. "This page will list all the bad
things
you've done." But before he could continue, the page began to unroll, and
rolled out
the gates, over two or three clouds, and fell off the edge. "Oh John!" Saint
Peter shook his head. "This won't do! we can't let you in Heaven!"
"Well then, where do I go?" There was only one place, so John started down,
down, down to the infernal regions. It got darker and hotter and far more
evil than he
could have imagined. Out there on a dismal plain some small demons were
playing catch with
a fireball. As John approached, one of the little demons caught a glimpse of
him. It was
the little one the Devil had sent up first.
"OH NO!" the demon cried, "JOHN'S A'COMMIN'!" And he ran up to the
gates screaming. He ran all the way into the throne room of the pit, crying
"John's
a'commin'! John's a'commin'!"
And the Devil cried "JOHN? Lock all the gates! Bar all the windows! Guard
all the
walls! He won't get in here!"
When John knocked at the gate, the Devil cried out, "Go away! We don't want
you!"
"Let me in!" John called, "I've died, and they won't let me in Heaven. I
must go somewhere!"
"Not here!" the Devil replied. "No room for you in here!"
"Then where should I go?"
The Devil thought a bit, then he reached into the hottest part of the pit,
and pulled
out a glowing, white hot coal. This he threw over the wall to John.
"Here!" the Devil shouted! "Go raise some hell of your own!"
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