— Do you see this lake? - asked my interlocutor, fixing his gaze on the cliff overlooking Lochlaig (Loch is a lake in Irish). “Although it may seem incredible to you, despite all its unattractiveness, how overgrown it is with irises and all sorts of other grass, this lake is considered the most famous in all of Ireland, believe me!” Young and old, rich and poor - in a word, everyone from near and far comes to him to cure scurvy, ulcers and other ailments. It’s as if the Almighty himself took care that all our members were safe and sound, for it is a great misfortune when they refuse to serve us. Well, just last week a very important Frenchman visited us here. He trudged here on crutches, and returned home as healthy as a cucumber, I give you my word! True, he paid Billy Reilly well for curing him.
- Tell me please! How did Billy Reilly cure him?
- How-how! And so he cured! He took a longer pole and stuck it into the lake to the very bottom, and then pulled out as much clay on it as would be enough for a thousand sores.
- What kind of clay?
- Well, which one? Black, of course! After all, the bottom of the lake is full of this black mud, which can cure the whole world.
- Yes, therefore, this is indeed a famous lake...
- Of course, it would be famous! – my interlocutor agreed. – But not only because it heals, no, no. Everyone knows that at the bottom of it there is a beautiful city in which good people live, like two peas in a pod similar to Christians. Hey, I’m telling you the real truth! Chamas-a-Sneyd saw them himself when he went to retrieve his little cow, which had been stolen from him.
-Who stole it?
– Now I’ll tell you everything! Shamas is a poor boy who lived with his old mother in a miserable shack on the very crest of a hill. They got by somehow, but somehow made ends meet. They had a piece of land that yielded some potatoes, and Pestrushka also gave them a sip of milk. In a word, at that time they did not have such a hard time. In addition, Shamas was a jack of all trades and, when tending a cow, he cut heather and knitted brooms. And the mother sold them on market day and brought home tobacco, salt and everything else that even a poor person finds it difficult to do without.
But one day Shamas climbed the mountains higher than usual - he was looking for longer heather, since city women do not really like to bend low, and therefore prefer brooms with long handles. His little one was smarter than any of us sinners. She followed Shamas around like a lapdog, so there was little need to look after her. That day she found lush moss on the round lawn, green as an onion, and calmly grazed. And Shamas was pretty tired of what could happen to anyone on such a cloudless summer day, and he lay down on the grass to rest - this is how you and I are now resting on these stones.
So what! Before he had time to lie down for a while, he suddenly saw that things were happening around him... Who would you think! Puffers! A whole crowd of puffers. These are the elves: they never take their pipes out of their mouths and love to look after girls when they graze cows or sheep in secluded valleys.
Some puffers tossed the ball, others kicked it, and still others jumped up like cats and caught it in flight. They were all so dexterous and agile that Shamas watched their play with admiration. But most of all he liked the little tanned puffer in a red cap, who knocked everyone down like he was throwing toadstools. Once he even managed to take possession of the ball, probably for half an hour. At this point Shamas could not resist shouting!
- Bravo, my little player!
But before he could close his mouth, splat! – the ball hit him right in the eyes, so sparks fell from them. Poor Shamas decided he was blind and screamed:
- A thousand curses!
But in response I heard only loud laughter!
– The power of the cross is with us! - he muttered. - For what?! Then he rubbed his eyes thoroughly and felt that he seemed to feel better: he could already distinguish the sun and the sky. Gradually he saw everything - everything except his cow and the prankish puffers. They must have disappeared into the morning fog. But where did Pestrushka go? Shamas looked for her here and there, but he could have looked for her to this day and still would not have found her, and this is not surprising - after all, the elves dragged her away with them. However, Shamas-a-Sneyd knew none of this and went home to his mother.
-Where is the cow, Shamas? - asked the old lady.
“To hell with her, with the cow, mother,” answered Shamas. - I don’t know where she is!
“Is this how they respond to an unfortunate old mother, you idiot!”
- Oh, mother, don’t make a fuss for nothing! - said Shamas. “She’s safe, our old Pestrukha, she hasn’t gone anywhere, really.” Now, if I had my eyes on the sticks, I would have seen where she is now. Yes, by the way, about the eyes. Well, I'm lucky! A little more and I wouldn’t have anything to look after our Pestrushka.
- Oh my God! What happened to your eyes?
- Yes, all these puffers, God save us and have mercy. They threw a ball right into my eyes! I didn’t see anything for an hour, well, nothing at all.
- So maybe they stole our cow? - asked the mother.
- No, the hell with it! - said Shamas. “Our cow is cunning, that’s your judge, that’s God’s will.” And she’s not such a fool as to go after the puffers when I found her today not grass, but simply delicious food!
So mother and son talked all night about their cow, and in the morning they went to look for it. Having searched all the peaks and valleys, Shamas suddenly noticed that his Pestrushka’s horns were sticking out of the swamp... Hey, why not his Pestrushka’s horns?
- Mother! Mother! - he shouted. - I found her!
- Where is it, my boy? - the old woman shouts.
- Yes, in the swamp! – answers Shamas.
Then the poor old lady starts screaming in a voice that is not her own. Neighbors came running from all over the area and pulled the cow out of the swamp. One could swear that this was the same Pestrushka. But still not the same! You will soon see this for yourself.
Shamas and his mother took the dead animal home, skinned it, and hung the carcass over the fireplace. Of course, the fact that they were left without a drop of milk was very difficult, and although they now had plenty of meat, it would still not be enough forever. And besides, the neighbors looked at them askance: they say that they are going to eat dead meat?
But the worst thing was that they really could not eat this meat, because when it was cooked, it turned out to be tough, like carrion, and even black, like peat. You could just as easily sink your teeth into an oak plank as into this meat, only then you would have to sit further away from the wall so as not to smash your head against it, trying to rip your teeth out of this meat. So in the end they had to throw this meat to the dogs. But even those turned away from him. And so it was thrown into a ditch, where it rotted.
This failure cost poor Shamas many bitter tears - because now he had to work with double zeal. And from dawn to dusk he disappeared into the mountains behind the heather.
One fine day he was walking with a bunch of brooms on his back past these very hills and suddenly saw his Pestrushka! She was tended by two red-haired men.
- Bah, no way this is my mother’s cow? says Shamas-a-Sneyd.
- No way! - one man answers.
- Yes, of course she is! - says Shamas, throwing the brooms on the ground and grabbing the cow by the horns.
Then – what would you think! - the red-haired men are driving the cow with all their might towards this very cliff. One push - and she flies somersaults along with Shamas, who seems to have grown to her horns. One splash, and the waters of the lake closed over them, and Shamas and the cow sank to the bottom.
But just as Shamas-a-Sneyd thought that the end had come for him, he suddenly saw in front of him a most magnificent palace made of precious stones and gems. And although he was completely blinded by the splendor of this palace, he still had enough sense not to let go of the horns of his little cow. Who knows what else they could have done to her? And when he was invited to enter the palace, he refused.
But then a terrible noise was heard, the doors of the castle opened, and a hundred of the most lovely ladies and gentlemen came out.
– What does this mortal need? – asked one of them, who seemed to be a gentleman.
– I need my mother’s cow! replied Chamas-a-Sneyd.
“But this is not your mother’s cow,” said the gentleman.
- That is, how so! cried Chamas-a-Sneyd. - Yes, I know her like the back of my hand!
-Where did you lose it? - asks the gentleman.
Then Shamas comes up to him and lays out everything: how he went to the mountains, saw puffers there who were playing with a ball, how the ball got into his eyes and how his cow disappeared.
“Perhaps you’re right,” says the gentleman and pulls out his wallet. “Here’s twenty cows for you, get it!”
- Eh, no! - says Shamas. “You can’t fool me with chaff.” Give me my cow and that's it!
“What an eccentric man,” says the gentleman. - Better stay here, live in the palace!
“And I live well with my mother.”
- Fool! Yes, stay here, you will live in the palace.
“I feel good in my mother’s hut,” says Shamas.
– You will walk through the gardens here, pick fruits and flowers.
“For me, it’s better to pick heather in the mountains.”
- You will eat and drink sweetly.
- Hmm, since Pestrukha is with me again, there will always be potatoes and milk.
- Oh-oh-oh! - the ladies around him shouted. “Are you really going to take the cow that gives us milk for tea?”
- What then? My mother needs more milk than yours. And she will get it! So stop talking to me about it. Give me back my cow!
Then they surrounded him and began to offer whole mountains of gold for a cow, but Shamas flatly refused. Then, making sure that he was stubborn as a donkey, they began to push him.
But still he did not let go of the cow’s horns until finally a sharp gust of wind carried him out of the palace. And instantly he found himself with his Pestrushka on the shore of the lake. The water was completely calm, as if no one had disturbed it since Adam’s childhood - and that was a long time ago, you understand.
That's it. Shamas-a-Sneyd took his cow home, and how happy her mother was with her! But only she said: “Oh my God, it’s not our little beast!” – the little cow immediately fell apart, like a dry peat briquette. Such was the end of the Spotted Shamas-a-Sneyd.
“And now,” said my interlocutor, rising from the stones, “I’ll go and have a look at my little cow, or else the puffers will drag her away!”
I assured him that nothing like that would happen, and with that we parted.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru