The North Wind

By Ann Falcone

Long ago, a young girl named Simza had cause to challenge the North Wind. Simza and her poor widowed mother had barely enough to keep them from hunger during the long cold winter on their little farm high in the mountains. Each day they carefully measured a ration of kasha hoping to make their food last until spring. One day, when Simza was returning from the barn with a handful of kasha in a little bowl, the North Wind blew so hard the grain scattered on the ground. From far and wide, from every chink and crevasse, mice scampered across the snowy yard and gobbled the grain. While the mice feasted on the kernals, tears welled in Simza’s eyes.

“Oh,” cried Simza, “now what shall I do for my supper?”

“You’ve no quarrel with us,” replied a tiny brown field mouse. “The grain was spoiled once it was strewn on the ground. You might as well complain to the North Wind.”

Well there was nothing to be done about it. Simza’s mother was ill, and needed her kasha porridge and a glass of hot rose petal tea to restore her health. Simza had to go back to the barn and get another ration of kasha for her mother. That day Simza herself had to go without supper so there would be enough to see them through the winter. She tied her apron tightly to keep her stomach from rumbling.

The next day, when Simza returned from the barn, she wrapped her shawl around the little bowl of kasha to protect it from the wind. But the wind blew so hard that her shawl ripped from her trembling fingers and the kasha scattered across the snow covered ground. From far and wide, from every tree and rooftop, the crows flew into
the yard and devoured the grain.

Now Simza was in tears. “This North Wind is a hard fellow. Twice he has spoiled all that I have for supper, and now I must again go hungry. I can bear this for myself, but my mother is frail and ill and now I fear she may have to go hungry too.”

The crows were moved to pity, having often known the sting of hunger themselves. “Maiden,” they cawed, “we know where the North Wind lives. He is a fine and jolly fellow who likes nothing more than to bring the roses to your cheeks and watch the leaves dance from the trees. Let us carry you there that you may plead your case with him. We’re sure he will set things right.”

So the crows lifted Simza and flew high above the tree tops until they reached the ice palace of the North Wind.

“Dear child,” he bellowed, for the North Wind is a great and blustery giant with a great and blustery voice, “what business brings you here?”

“If you please, your majesty,” replied Simza, “your puffing and
blowing has twice spoiled all that I have to eat and I have had to
go hungry. This I can bare, for I shall only tighten my apron until tomorrow, but my mother is ill and sorely in need of food.”

“My dear maiden, I most humbly beg your pardon. I was only trying to blow the very last leaf off a linden tree in Martonfa and meant you no harm. Please accept this magic cloth with my deepest apology. When you are hungry simply place the cloth on a table and command ‘cloth serve me,’ and it shall be spread with all kinds of dishes, hearty, savory, or dainty, as you wish. When you are done, command ‘cloth fold yourself’ and all shall be put away.”

Simza thanked the North Wind and set out on the long journey home. When she had traveled nearly a whole day, she came to an inn. As she was still a half day's journey from her home she thought, “I am too tired to walk any further today. If I offer to clean their stables perhaps they’ll let me sleep in their barn tonight.”

Simza spoke to the innkeeper, suggesting as she had no money that she could clean the stables in exchange for lodgings in the barn, and so the deal was struck. She raked, mopped, swept, strewed fresh straw and even curried the horses until it seemed as grand and fine a stable of that of the emperor himself. The innkeeper’s wife was so impressed she decided to treat Simza to a supper of borsht and black bread. As the landlady carried the supper tray into the barn, she spied Simza placing the magic cloth on the floor.

“Cloth, serve me!” commanded Simza.

At once the cloth spread itself with trays of roast goose, suckling pig, braised duckling, red cabbage, polenta, savory breads, cold fruit soups, crisp apples, fresh pears, fried string beans, vegetable stews, deviled eggs, cheese dumpling, pies, cakes, cookies and sweet creams. Simza sampled them all; each tastier than the last. The innkeeper’s wife hid in the shadows, watching in amazement.

At last Simza placed a cookie in her apron pocket and said, “Cloth, fold yourself.” All the food vanished and the cloth lay folded at Simza’s feet.

“What a marvel!” thought the innkeeper’s wife. “Why should that child keep such a treasure to herself, when I could use it to feed my hungry guests?” So the innkeeper’s wife decided to steal the magic cloth.

Later that night as Simza slept, the landlady crept into the barn and exchanged the magic cloth for an old linen that looked just like it.

When Simza rose the next morning, she tucked the false cloth into the band of her apron and walked the half day’s journey home.

When she returned to her hut, she found her mother much improved. Simza told her of her grand adventure to visit the North Wind and showed her the cloth. Her mother smiled, and clapped her hands, saying, “A wonderful story, my treasure. The thought
of such a miracle fills me with joy. But seeing, is believing.”

Simza placed the false cloth on the table. “Cloth, serve me!” she ordered.
But the Landlady’s old linen simply laid there.

So instead of a offering her mother a fine feast, Simza trudged to the barn for their ration of kasha.

After their humble supper, Simza went out into the yard. She remembered the cookie in her apron pocket. “Crows,” she called, “I offer you this treat, if you would carry me again to the palace of the North Wind.”

From far and wide, from every tree and rooftop, the crows flew into the yard as Simza crumbled the cookie on the ground. “It would be our great pleasure, maiden,” they squawked as they feasted on the crumbs.

The crows grasped Simza’s clothing in their claws, lifting her high above the trees as they flew to the North Wind’s ice palace . . .

Read the rest at: http://www.annfalcone.com/NorthWind.html