A Bowl For You
A Folktale with versions found in Rumania, Italy, Germany, Ireland, and Nepal
A unique retelling by Rocci Hildum
Source: Retold by Allison Cox
Copyright 1994
Healing Heart Project
There was a family of
potters who worked hard to make a living. There was a grandfather, who had been
a potter for a very long time. The grandfather had once been known as a very
skilled craftsman who made the finest pots in the land. The grandfather had
carried clay from the hillside, shaped pots, mixed glazes, and cut wood to keep
the kiln hot. The grandfather taught his trade to his son and together they
taught the daughter in law to shape the pots.
As the grandfather grew older he could no longer carry the heavy
clay from the hillside. He was no longer strong enough to pump the pedal of his
potter’s wheel. Grandfather was too old to cut and carry firewood for the kiln.
Grandfather started to spend his days in the workshop teaching
his young granddaughter how to shape the pots and mix the glazes. Grandfather
taught his granddaughter his craft. Grandfather held Granddaughter’s hands to
teach her how to hold her hands and how to shape the pots. Grandfather taught
Granddaughter how to pump the pedal of the potter’s wheel. Grandfather helped
Granddaughter mix the glazes in shades of blues, reds and purples and greens
and together they painted the pots and bowls with intricate designs.
And as they worked, Grandfather told stories and Granddaughter
listened and shaped the clay. And gradually the stories started to shape the
clay. And gradually the stories became a part of the pots and bowls and things
that Granddaughter shaped.
So when Grandfather told a story about great sailing ships that
set off across the seas to explore the world, Granddaughter shaped a pot, long
on one side that was painted with bright stripes flaring like banners flying in
the wind across the sides.
And when Grandfather told a story about a tiny bird building a
nest in the spring, Granddaughter shaped a delicate bowl the beautiful blue
color of robin eggs.
The more Grandfather told stories, the more Granddaughter
listened. The more Grandaughter listened to Grandfather’s stories, the more the
stories shaped the pots. The more that the stories became a part of the pots
and bowls that Granddaughter shaped, the more popular they became. People
admired the things made by Granddaughter. They could see and hear and feel the
stories in the clay. Many people wanted to buy the things made by the
granddaughter, even more than those made by her parents.
Gradually Grandfather could no longer hold his hands steady to
help shape the clay. Grandfather’s hands were not steady enough to mix glazes
or paint pots and bowls.
Grandfather felt so strange sitting idle in the shop where he had
worked so hard for so many years. Grandfather began to tell his son and
daughter-in-law how to improve the shape of their pots, or how to make the kiln
burn hotter or where to dig for the best clay. Grandfather made suggestions of
how they should mix the glazes and what colors to paint the things that they
made. And Grandfather told his stories.
“Father,” said his son, “You have taught me well how to be a
potter and I have been doing it for these many years. Together we taught my
wife, your daughter-in-law, to be a potter and together we have been potters
for these many years. You do not need to continue to teach me as if I was a
child.”
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable sitting in the house, by the
fire, instead of spending your days in this cold, damp shop?” asked the
daughter-in-law. “Besides, you keep knocking over the pots and bowls with your
cane. We cannot afford to lose our work.”
So Grandfather started to spend his days in the house while the
rest of the family worked in the shop. It was lonely in the house during the
day.
In the evenings, when the family returned to the house,
Grandfather was eager to know how their work was going. Grandfather asked his
daughter-in-law, “Are the pots and bowls selling well?”
Grandfather was disappointed to learn that the family was not
selling as many pots and bowls as they had been.
“Where are you digging the
clay, my son? Are you keeping the kiln hot enough? How are you mixing the
glazes?”
The son and daughter-in-law would respond, “Stop badgering us
with your questions. You have worked hard and you deserve to rest. You do not
need to worry about the pottery any more.”
But the old man couldn't stop asking about the pottery. Making
pots with his family had been his whole life and so every evening when they sat
down to dinner he would question them more. One night, he asked, again, for the
third time that week,
"Are
you sure you're digging the right kind of clay. You're not letting that clay
dry out too much before you use it are you? Are the colors bright enough?"
The
son exchanged looks with his wife and said,
"I
wish you paid as much attention to your eating as you do to telling us what we
do wrong. Look at yourself. You have half of your meal spilled down your shirt.
It's disgusting."
Grandfather
looked down at his shirt. His hands shook so much any more that he often
spilled his meals on his clothes.
"I
can't even get the stains out of your shirts or the tablecloth anymore when I
do the wash," added his daughter-in-law.
Grandfather looked at his shirt and at the table. Indeed,
Grandfather was embarrassed and ashamed to see that his clothes and the
tablecloth were stained from the food that he had dropped. Grandfather looked
at the faces of his son and daughter-in-law and they could see his shame.
Grandfather slowly rose from the table and with his cane in one hand and his
bowl in the other, tottered over to his chair in the corner by the fireplace.
Grandfather sat there to finish his meal alone. Grandfather balanced his bowl
and spoon with one shaky hand and kept his other hand on his cane to balance
himself.
Granddaughter got up to join Grandfather.
"You
sit back down and finish your food right here at the table. I wish you were as
concerned about your work," her father told her angrily. "We haven't
sold one of your pots in a long time. You're just not working as hard as you
used to."
The girl looked up at her father and said,
"To
shape and paint beautiful pots, I need Grandfathers' beautiful stories."
“You need
to concentrate on your work and stop being distracted by listening to those
foolish stories,” said her father.
From that night on, grandfather continued to eat his meals in the
corner in his chair. He would balance his bowl with one hand and spoon his food
with the other. Since his hands shook, he would sometimes loose his grip on the
bowl and his dinner would drop to the floor, the bowl crashing to pieces.
The
daughter-in-law became angry, " I can't keep making bowls just so you can
break them.” Grandfather sat in his chair with tears in his eyes.
A few
nights later, grandfather was telling Granddaughter a story, sitting together
in his corner, when the girl's mother walked up to them with a wooden bowl in
her hand.
"Here,
I bought this at the market today for you. Maybe now you won't break your
dinner bowl anymore."
Grandfather felt the shame and embarrassment rise in him again
and he just sat. Granddaughter took the bowl from her mother and looked at it,
turning it over and over in her hands.
"Grandfather,
may I borrow this? " she asked.
Grandfather shrugged sadly and the girl set off to the pottery
shop.
In a little while, Granddaughter returned with a block of wood
and a knife and started to carve the piece of wood, seated on the floor in
Grandfather’s corner.
“Tell me a story, Grandfather.”
Grandfather started to tell a sad story.
Granddaughter carved the block of wood, pausing every once in a
while and comparing the block of wood to Grandfather's bowl. And as Grandfather
told the story, Granddaughter shaped the block of wood and listened to
Grandfather’s story. And as Grandfather told the sad story, the story started
to shape the block of wood, the story started to become part of the wood.
The girl's parents were setting the table with the evening meal.
Her father came over to see what his daughter was working on.
"What's
this? Have you given up on pottery altogether and decided to take up
woodworking?" her father joked.
"Oh
no, Father, but I thought I'd better learn how to shape a wooden bowl, "
the girl answered, keeping her eyes on her whittling. "One day you and
mother will be old and your hands will be unsteady, and you will need wooden
bowls too.”
The husband and wife looked at their daughter in shocked silence
and then they turned to see tears in each others’ eyes. This time, it was their
turn to shake, as they slowly sank to their knees and begged Grandfather to
forgive them.
From that day Grandfather ate his meals at the table with the
family, from a pottery bowl made by his family.
Every day Grandfather joined his family in the pottery shop
again. The old man would spend his days in the shop, sometimes dozing in a
chair, but usually telling stories.
And while Grandfather told stories, Granddaughter, and the son
and the daughter-in-law would listen and they would shape the pots. And the
stories began to shape the clay, the stories became a part of the clay.
So when Grandfather told a story about a great dragon with
shining green wings, the daughter-in-law listened and shaped a deep shining
green bowl with handles that stretched wide.
And when Grandfather told a story about an enchanted princess
with long flowing hair and eyes that sparkled, his son would shape a long
slender vase that sparkled in the sunlight.
The pots and bowls began to sell well again. The family lived on
together in this way for many more years, not always in harmony, but certainly
with more caring than before.
