Once upon a time my father had an apiary. My father gave all his bees names: he called one Anna, another Myra, and the third Tyra. He gave everyone a name. One day my father sent me to guard the bees. And the apiary, I must say, was beyond the Vyatka River.
I approached the river and saw: on the other bank of the Vyatka, a huge bear caught the Taira bee and was tearing it apart. What to do? I go there, here. I ran and ran, looking for the boat, but I couldn’t find it. I grabbed myself by the hair and threw myself to the other side. And the bear completely tore Taira apart, only her wings were lying on the ground.
I collected bee bones and began to put them into a woodpile. I folded and folded - my woodpile grew to the very sky, I rested my head on the cloud. Then the wind blew and I fell down to the ground. I fell down, fell into a swamp and got stuck in it up to my waist. I floundered and floundered - I just can’t get out. What should I do, I think? I ran home to get an iron shovel and barely dug myself out. And if I hadn’t dug it up, I probably would have died there.
And by this time the bear had eaten Tyra, he had eaten too much - he couldn’t move. He lounged on the lawn and warmed his fat belly in the sun.
- A-ah-ah! - I shouted. - Gotcha!
The bear jumped up and ran! The bear runs, I follow him, the bear runs, I gallop, the bear gallops, I run. I'll catch up with him any minute now. Yes, there was an oak tree on the way, and in that oak tree there was a hollow. Bear-there! I approached the oak tree and looked: the hollow was small, even my finger wouldn’t fit. What to do? Then I ran and jumped into the hollow with a running start - straight to the bear. I grabbed him by the beard and said:
- Now I'm caught!
I wanted to get him out of there, but the hole in the hollow was small: I couldn’t get out on my own, and I couldn’t get the bear out. What to do? I thought, I thought, I ran home, brought a saw and an ax, felled the oak tree and left the hollow. He went out himself and pulled out the bear.
The bear began to fight me. I was still little then, I didn’t have much strength. The bear tore me apart and swallowed me.
Here I am sitting in the bear’s belly and suffocating. What to do? I ran home, brought a sharp knife and ripped open the bear's belly. I ripped it open, skinned it, pulled out its entrails, and cut up its intestines. I barely found myself in the bear's stomach. If I hadn’t found it, I probably would have died there.
He saved himself from the bear and went to the apiary to guard the bees.
I came and saw: Tyra was flying along with other bees, as if nothing had happened. Probably still flies today.
A fairy tale goes there, and I go here.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru