A Story About a Doll, a Witch, A Girl, and her Lover (Almost) by Guest Storyteller Marie Selavy.
Once upon a time, there was a young girl called Vasiriesa the Brave. She was not very graceful, nor very beautiful, nor very tall, but she had three gifts from her mother (who died in her youth). One, a clever mind; two, a Book of Not So Useful Knowledge; and three, a doll with a big head, purple hair, and staring eyes.
“If ever you should need help,” said Vasiriesa’s mother, “give her a bite to eat, and a drink, and she will come to your aid.”
When Vasiriesa was of an age where girls packed up and prepared to study Great Subjects at the University, her father–a famous author–married a musician only three years Vasiriesa’s senior. With her new stepmother came Three Beautiful Roadies, a motley crew with tangled hair and kohl-lined eyes that dressed in cast-off bits of the Musician’s finery, ill-fitted as it was (They seemed to prefer it that way). They simpered and sighed around the Musician’s husband but treated Vasiriesa most cruelly for not knowing things such as how to bake without hen’s eggs nor cow’s milk, or play the ukulele, or other fashionable skills.
Now, when one has a house with a Famous Author, a Brilliant Musician, and Three Beautiful Roadies, sooner or later groupies will come to call. Their lovely home was filled top to bottom with scruffy young men and women dressed as peasants with the jewels of kings and queens, warbling terrible songs and painting things on the walls. The Three Beautiful Roadies thought this a cunning arrangement indeed, owing to the comeliness of the groupies, but these odd bohemians had eyes for none but Vasiriesa. For, as you know, there is no surer way to attract the attention of suitors than to insult their existence, ignore them completely, or (in one particular desperate case) set them on fire.
“Enough!” cried the Brilliant Musician. “With my dear husband leaving on yet another Tour, I cannot handle my Three Beautiful Roadies and that mousy little thing, too. We shall rent a cottage up North, among the students and gentleman farmers and green folk, and leave the madding crowd behind us for the summer.”
All was well and good if you were a Brilliant Musician or one of her Three Beautiful Roadies, but as the summer wore on all the hard work of maintaining a cottage fell to Vasiriesa. She did not mind chopping the firewood or polishing their leather demimonde’s boots, or even picking endless beans for their dreary stews, but none of this was getting her to the University. She began to despair of ever becoming a Scholar after all.
One night, everything changed. The Brilliant Musician decided to spend an evening at her friend and rival’s home, where the Brilliant Musician and Sad Drummer would compose a Haunting duet. The Beautiful Roadies mocked Vasiriesa’s cookery, rent her careful mending, and as a final insult, cast out the lights she needed so dearly to study by night.
“If you want to read,” they cackled, “go fetch a light from the neighbor! And don’t hurry back!”
“I’ll show you,” thought Vasiriesa.
“The neighbor, hah!” she said aloud. “I’ll fetch a light from Baba Yaga, and be glad to do it!”
The youngest Roadie gasped, but her elders shushed her. They giggled in mad glee with the prospect of being rid of that distracting step-Roadie once and for all.
Vasiriesa set out at once, carrying her book, her doll, and a bit of bread and butter. As she stormed out in a mad huff, it took nearly till dawn for her to realize that she had no idea where Baba Yaga lived. Remembering her mother’s advice, she stopped at a river to quench her thirst, offering both food at drink to her doll.
With a squeak of the joints and a blink of her huge, staring eyes, the doll sprung to life and glared at her.
“Bout time,” sputtered the doll, wiping away crumbs.
“Right. Since we’re already acquainted, why don’t you tell me how to find Baba Yaga so I can get the light, or meet my untimely death, or both?”
The doll cracked her neck, sending dozens of little purple braids flying. “Follow the river until you find the Traveling University. Baba Yaga holds office there, in a hut on chicken legs. When she is needed to sign a paper, or punish a student, or gather tuition, she picks up and moves her whole hut.”
After a long day of following the river and avoiding advances from youngest sons, brave little tailors, and the odd wooden boy, she came upon a most peculiar university. It could not be less like the grand halls of knowledge in the city she hailed from; each building slid about as if on tracks, or picked up and moved on tiny feet, or disappeared entirely, shimmering into form several yards hence. It was a most magical–and nauseating–effect.
On the outskirts of the university stood the hut the doll had described, roosting in a bit of bracken. As Vasiriesa made her way to this strange abode, she realized that the nest was not only broken branches and swampy plants alone, but woven through with scrolls and parchment. She quite forgot herself in finding something new and interesting to read–indeed, these were the remnants of a thousand failed dissertations.
So intrigued was she that she did not notice Baba Yaga watching her from the front door.
The End. For now….
Source: Vasilisa the Fair, Alexander Afanasev. Also, somewhat inspired by Psyche and Eros.
About our Guest Storyteller:
Marie Selavy might have some experience with demanding graduate assistant-ship, but she doesn’t want to talk about that. She’d rather talk about Australian books, pretty girls, guerrilla art, or how to make a mushroom out of a paper bag. You can find her all over the internet: for her collection of whimsical odds and ends, take a look at her blog, girlsbooksfoodartlove, or for book reviews and more, check out Leaving Shangri L.A. Plus, she knows the location of the Secret Stash, and she’ll only reveal it to people she likes. Sadly…she likes a lot of people.
