Chapter 6
Chapter Six: The Escape
Vasilisa stared at the smiling faces of the dried skulls on posts, each creating its own light from the two empty eye sockets. She had been walking for two days and she was tired and cold and hungry. Her hands were tense and cramping, so tightly did she hold her dollie between them. Though the night was raven black, the moon had not yet risen and the fact that the only light shone from so near the ground made the scene all the more eerie.
A noise broke through the woods beyond and although Vasilisa was frightened, she did not have the energy to run. She saved her strength for courage and stood up where she had collapsed. An old, hoary woman entered the glade. She was stooped and ugly, her eyes like black wells in an angry face. She stopped suddenly upon reaching the clearing and tilted her nose to the wind. Vasilisa could hear her breathe in deep and short like a dog on the scent and the woman said, “I smell Russian blood. Who is there?”
Vasilisa took a deep breath of cool, night air and said as confidently as she should, “It is I, Grannie. My stepsisters have sent me to you for light. I have walked a long way and I am very tired.”
The witch was silent for a short time, staring at the girl by the strange light from the skulls. Vasilisa was nervous, but too tired to to be truly afraid, so she waited patiently for the witch to respond. Finally, the old woman peeled back her lips and said, “Yes. I am a relative of your stepmother. Well, come in then.” She turned and walked toward the little shack surrounded by a fence of skulls and bones. A breeze blew Vasilisa’s hair as she walked toward the gate behind the stopped witch. The gate was made of bones with iron hinges and as they walked up to it, the witch said, “Poweful bolts, my gate, open for me!” Immediately, they unfastened themselves and the gate swung open. As it did so, it made a loud whine, the strain on the rusted hinges was so great.
Vasilisa followed the old woman through the tall bone fence. In the small courtyard surrounding the shack, a birch tree grew tall and wild. As they passed, the trees branches reached out to Vasilisa, though there was no wind. The branches stung Vasilisa’s arms and face. “Do not whip the girl with your branches, birch tree,” said the woman with a sly smile. “She comes with me.” Vasilisa kept walking behind the old witch, but stared back in amazement at the tree, now still in the darkness. Farther on, near the door, an old haggard dog lay stretched out on the stoop. It growled as she neared, it’s yellowed fangs bared in the skull-light. She slowed, cowering slightly behind the witch, but the woman said to the dog, “Do not bite her, dog. She comes with me.” And so, the dog lay back down, licking his chops and closing his eyes. He rested his head on his paws and began to snore slightly. Vasilisa walked over the threshold easily. Just beyond the open door, a thin, ferocious cat arched its back, bristling its fur and letting out a slow hiss. Its claws began to protrude out of its small paws. “Do not scratch the girl,” the witch said to the cat. “She comes with me.” And the cat relaxed its back, its fur falling flat and its claws retreating. Vasilisa walked pat the cat as it licked its paws and swished its tail back and forth, contemplatively. “You see,” said the witch to Vasilisa, her eyes menacing, “it is not easy to leave this place. The cat will scratch you, the dog will bite you, the birch tree will whip you with its branches, and the gate will not open for you.”
Vasilisa looked away. The room was small and dark and somewhat cold. Vasilisa looked around at the bare wood floors and the unlit fireplace. A figure crouched near the far wall, hugging her knees in the darkness. “Girl!” barked the witch, “I am hungry! Bring me food and light the fire.” The figure stood and turned to place logs on the fire. When the logs caught, and light engulfed the small room, Vasilisa began to feel her hunger. The servant girl turned away from the firelight toward the stove and Vasilisa drew a breath in alarm. The girl’s skin was pitch black, even in the glow of the fire, and though her eyes shone and twinkled, her face was devoid of any other features. The skin where a mouth and nose should have been was smooth and taught against her bones.
Vasilisa stared in amazement at the girl’s face, but the girl went about her work as she had been told to do and eventually brought the old witch a steaming bowl of soup, a heaping plate of roasted chickens, four ducks, two jugs of milk, a dozen boiled eggs, a rack of beef ribs, steamed vegetables of all sorts, three pies, six loaves of fresh bread, and endless beer. The old woman ate sloppily and vigorously, slirping the soup and letting the juices from the meat fall on her clothing and cling to the hairs around her mouth. She ate everything, and when she was done, she patted her stomach and tossed Vasilisa the last crust of her bread. “You may stay with me and work, Vasilisa, but if you fail me, I will eat you. Take this bag and sort the millet by color, separating the black seeds from the light.” At that, the woman curled up on her mattress and promptly fell asleep. The servant girl followed along, sitting against the far wall, next to the dying fire. Vasilisa sat on the floor, staring at the crust of bread and the dark room around her. Sitting there, she began to cry softly and hugged her dollie to her. As the smoldering embers began to die, she put the crust of bread to the dollie’s mouth, hoping for help.
The dollie ate the hard bread crust that Baba-Yaga had tossed to Vasilisa. As it ate, Vasilisa whispered to it, “Dollie, I am frightened. The witch Baba-Yaga has charged me to sort this bag of millet, grain by grain into two piles, one for seeds of light color, and the other for black colored seeds. She said that if I do not finish by morning, that she will eat me. Oh, dollie, I am so tired, and I do not think that I can finish this task by morning.
“Do not worry, dear Vasilisa. The seeds will be sorted by morning. Now, sleep, for you are tired.”
Vasilisa thanked the little doll and curled up in front of the fireplace, backing herself up to feel the faint warmth that the stones around the fire had retained even after the fire and its embers had died. As she drifted off the sleep, Vasilisa heard the dollie whistle, high and sweet, like a bird. The dollie called out softly, “Little birds, little birds, Vasilisa is in need of your help. Come sort this millet, grain by grain. We have only until the morning!”
Hundreds of birds arrived at the little shack that belonged to Baba-Yaga, and although the witch and her servant and Vasilisa slept soundly in the dark house, the birds sorted the millet seeds into two piles, one for the light seeds and one for the dark, so that by morning, there were no unsorted seeds.
At dawn, the dollie woke Vasilisa while the others slept and showed her the two piles of millet. Vasilisa hugged her dollie tightly, rocking it in her arms. When Baba-Yaga awoke, she shouted, “Now girl, let us prepare Vasilisa to be eaten!”
“But, Grannie,” Vasilisa said, hiding her smile, “You see, I have sorted the millet as you asked. The light seeds I have put here in this basket to be cooked. I have cleansed them of weed seeds and dust, for you. The dark ones are here to be sewn into the soil.”
Baba-Yaga’s eyes became narrow and her lips curled back against her gums. She stomped and yelled in rage about the house, but there was nothing she could do. “Very well,” she said, at last. “I will be going out. You see that basket over there? The mustard seeds have gotten mixed with the poppy seeds. Sort them out into two piles before I return in the evening, or I am going to eat you. Her smile was like a menacing stray dog’s as she wobbled out of the house and into the woods. Vasilisa began to cry. The mute servant girl sat against the far wall with her deep shining eyes that saw everything, but did only as the witch Baba-Yaga commanded.
Again, Vasilisa reached into her pocket and brought the small crust of bread from the night before to the dollie’s mouth, saying, “Oh dollie, what can I do? The witch Baba-Yaga will eat me if I do not sort this basket of seeds, separating the mustard from the poppy seeds by the time she returns this evening!” She wept into her hands, but the little dollie comforted her, saying, “Do not worry, the seeds shall be sorted before Baba-Yaga returns.” Then the little dollie made a small clicking noise and called out, “Little mice, little mice, Vasilisa needs your help! You must come sort these seeds. We have only until this evening!”
Vasilisa watched and waited in amazement as swarms of little mice filled the house. All sorts of mice of different colors and sizes raced around the floor and toward the basket that was full to the brim of the mixed seeds. They scurried about, over and under one another, carrying the little seeds back and forth, and in no time at all, there were two neat piles. Once the mustard seeds were separated from the poppy seeds, the little mice ran off again, into the little cracks in the walls and under the door. And once again, the house was empty but for the two girls and Vasilisa’s magic doll.
Evening came, and Vasilisa heard the rusty gate swing open, signaling Baba-Yaga’s return. The door flew open and the hunched woman stood in the doorway and yelled to her servant girl, “Girl, ready the fire, for I shall eat Vasilisa tonight!”
Once again, Vasilisa hid her smile from the old woman and said softly to her, “But Grannie, I have finished the task you gave me this morning before you left. You see, the mustard seed is separated from the poppy seed, just as you asked.”
Baba-Yaga was furious. She had been sure that the girl would never be able to finish the sorting task in time. She kicked her feet and wailed at the ceiling, but there was nothing she could do. “Very well,” she said to the girl, when she had finally quieted her tantrum, “I guess then that you may rest this night.”
Vasilisa curled up on the floor and prepared to sleep, but just before she dozed off, she heard the witch whisper to the servant girl, “Stoke the fire, girl. Make it as hot as you can, for no matter what, I will eat Vasilisa in the morning.” Then she laid down on her mattress and began to snore.
Fear crept into Vasilisa as she lay in the dark, believing that at last her time had finally come. How could she possibly escape? Vasilisa had kept a tiny piece of bread crust in her pocket and she took this last bit out and fed it to the dollie. Vasilisa sobbed and sobbed, finding it hard to keep quiet enough to not wake the old witch who slept soundly in her bed. Vasilisa held her dollie to her and said, “Oh, my dear dollie, what can I possibly do? The witch Baba-Yaga has said she will eat me, and did not give me any task at all to perform. In the morning, she will roast me over the fire and then eat me.”
She cried and cried, but the dollie said to her, “Do not worry, Vasilisa. There is a way.” The dollie told Vasilisa the plan of escape and as the night went on, though Vasilisa was scared, she began to have hope, knowing that the little dollie must be right.
The first thing that Vasilisa did, was to go over to the servant girl. She knelt by her as she stoked the fire meant to cook Vasilisa and said to her, “I am sorry that you must live here like this, with this curse placed on you by the witch Baba-Yaga so you may never speak. But I will die in the morning if you do not help me. Please, keep the old witch asleep as long as you can?” Then she took the girl’s pitch-colored hand in her own, squeezed it tight and kissed the dark cheek under those well-deep eyes. The girl was so shocked by Vasilisa’s kindness toward her that she nodded in agreement, slowed the fire, and went to Baba-Yaga’s bedside to stroke her hair, that she might sleep more soundly through the night.
Then Vasilisa raced around the little cottage in search of all the things she would need. Near the foot of Baba-Yaga’s mattress, she found a ball of yarn, which she picked up. In the kitchen, she found lamb shank, stripped of its meat. She picked up the bone, also. A small can of oil sat in one corner and she scooped it up along with the other things she had found, and then, she made for the door, her little dollie stuffed soundly in her pocket. As she approached the door, the cat appeared, arching its back and hissing with its ears back and its tail pointed to the sky. But Vasilisa dropped the ball of yarn at her feet. The cat softened immediately, batting at the ball of yarn and letting Vasilisa walk unharmed through the cottage door.
Once she stepped out, however, the old, mangy dog began to growl, baring his yellowed teeth behind trembling gums. Vasilisa dropped the lamb bone at her feet for the dog. The mutt began to salivate, his eyes locked on the bone. Then he took it in his mouth and trotted off like a much younger puppy to gnaw on it and burry it somewhere in the yard. Vasilisa walked down the path, unharmed by the bite of Baba-Yaga’s dog.
Night had fallen and the sky was a thick black veil. Light shone, however, at the end of the yard, where the skulls atop the bone fence glowed magically from their eye sockets, casting that strange glow into the meadow and toward the trees that surrounded it.
Vasilisa walked down the path toward the gate and saw the birch tree begin to sway as if in the wind, though the air was still around her. She took the ribbon from her own hair and tied it onto a branch of the tree. The tree, magnetized by its own beauty, let itself fall still and Vasilisa ran past, unharmed by the stinging branches. When she got to the gate with its huge locks and rusted hinges, she took the oil can and greased the old hinges so that they no longer screamed when used. In appreciation for her kindness, the gate swung open, unlocking itself for her. As she stood in the eerie glow of the skull lights, Vasilisa remembered why she had ventured into the woods at all. She grabbed one of the bone spokes that made up the fence, and carried a bright-glowing skull with her as she bolted into the thick darkness of the woods.
Vasilisa stared at the smiling faces of the dried skulls on posts, each creating its own light from the two empty eye sockets. She had been walking for two days and she was tired and cold and hungry. Her hands were tense and cramping, so tightly did she hold her dollie between them. Though the night was raven black, the moon had not yet risen and the fact that the only light shone from so near the ground made the scene all the more eerie.
A noise broke through the woods beyond and although Vasilisa was frightened, she did not have the energy to run. She saved her strength for courage and stood up where she had collapsed. An old, hoary woman entered the glade. She was stooped and ugly, her eyes like black wells in an angry face. She stopped suddenly upon reaching the clearing and tilted her nose to the wind. Vasilisa could hear her breathe in deep and short like a dog on the scent and the woman said, “I smell Russian blood. Who is there?”
Vasilisa took a deep breath of cool, night air and said as confidently as she should, “It is I, Grannie. My stepsisters have sent me to you for light. I have walked a long way and I am very tired.”
The witch was silent for a short time, staring at the girl by the strange light from the skulls. Vasilisa was nervous, but too tired to to be truly afraid, so she waited patiently for the witch to respond. Finally, the old woman peeled back her lips and said, “Yes. I am a relative of your stepmother. Well, come in then.” She turned and walked toward the little shack surrounded by a fence of skulls and bones. A breeze blew Vasilisa’s hair as she walked toward the gate behind the stopped witch. The gate was made of bones with iron hinges and as they walked up to it, the witch said, “Poweful bolts, my gate, open for me!” Immediately, they unfastened themselves and the gate swung open. As it did so, it made a loud whine, the strain on the rusted hinges was so great.
Vasilisa followed the old woman through the tall bone fence. In the small courtyard surrounding the shack, a birch tree grew tall and wild. As they passed, the trees branches reached out to Vasilisa, though there was no wind. The branches stung Vasilisa’s arms and face. “Do not whip the girl with your branches, birch tree,” said the woman with a sly smile. “She comes with me.” Vasilisa kept walking behind the old witch, but stared back in amazement at the tree, now still in the darkness. Farther on, near the door, an old haggard dog lay stretched out on the stoop. It growled as she neared, it’s yellowed fangs bared in the skull-light. She slowed, cowering slightly behind the witch, but the woman said to the dog, “Do not bite her, dog. She comes with me.” And so, the dog lay back down, licking his chops and closing his eyes. He rested his head on his paws and began to snore slightly. Vasilisa walked over the threshold easily. Just beyond the open door, a thin, ferocious cat arched its back, bristling its fur and letting out a slow hiss. Its claws began to protrude out of its small paws. “Do not scratch the girl,” the witch said to the cat. “She comes with me.” And the cat relaxed its back, its fur falling flat and its claws retreating. Vasilisa walked pat the cat as it licked its paws and swished its tail back and forth, contemplatively. “You see,” said the witch to Vasilisa, her eyes menacing, “it is not easy to leave this place. The cat will scratch you, the dog will bite you, the birch tree will whip you with its branches, and the gate will not open for you.”
Vasilisa looked away. The room was small and dark and somewhat cold. Vasilisa looked around at the bare wood floors and the unlit fireplace. A figure crouched near the far wall, hugging her knees in the darkness. “Girl!” barked the witch, “I am hungry! Bring me food and light the fire.” The figure stood and turned to place logs on the fire. When the logs caught, and light engulfed the small room, Vasilisa began to feel her hunger. The servant girl turned away from the firelight toward the stove and Vasilisa drew a breath in alarm. The girl’s skin was pitch black, even in the glow of the fire, and though her eyes shone and twinkled, her face was devoid of any other features. The skin where a mouth and nose should have been was smooth and taught against her bones.
Vasilisa stared in amazement at the girl’s face, but the girl went about her work as she had been told to do and eventually brought the old witch a steaming bowl of soup, a heaping plate of roasted chickens, four ducks, two jugs of milk, a dozen boiled eggs, a rack of beef ribs, steamed vegetables of all sorts, three pies, six loaves of fresh bread, and endless beer. The old woman ate sloppily and vigorously, slirping the soup and letting the juices from the meat fall on her clothing and cling to the hairs around her mouth. She ate everything, and when she was done, she patted her stomach and tossed Vasilisa the last crust of her bread. “You may stay with me and work, Vasilisa, but if you fail me, I will eat you. Take this bag and sort the millet by color, separating the black seeds from the light.” At that, the woman curled up on her mattress and promptly fell asleep. The servant girl followed along, sitting against the far wall, next to the dying fire. Vasilisa sat on the floor, staring at the crust of bread and the dark room around her. Sitting there, she began to cry softly and hugged her dollie to her. As the smoldering embers began to die, she put the crust of bread to the dollie’s mouth, hoping for help.
The dollie ate the hard bread crust that Baba-Yaga had tossed to Vasilisa. As it ate, Vasilisa whispered to it, “Dollie, I am frightened. The witch Baba-Yaga has charged me to sort this bag of millet, grain by grain into two piles, one for seeds of light color, and the other for black colored seeds. She said that if I do not finish by morning, that she will eat me. Oh, dollie, I am so tired, and I do not think that I can finish this task by morning.
“Do not worry, dear Vasilisa. The seeds will be sorted by morning. Now, sleep, for you are tired.”
Vasilisa thanked the little doll and curled up in front of the fireplace, backing herself up to feel the faint warmth that the stones around the fire had retained even after the fire and its embers had died. As she drifted off the sleep, Vasilisa heard the dollie whistle, high and sweet, like a bird. The dollie called out softly, “Little birds, little birds, Vasilisa is in need of your help. Come sort this millet, grain by grain. We have only until the morning!”
Hundreds of birds arrived at the little shack that belonged to Baba-Yaga, and although the witch and her servant and Vasilisa slept soundly in the dark house, the birds sorted the millet seeds into two piles, one for the light seeds and one for the dark, so that by morning, there were no unsorted seeds.
At dawn, the dollie woke Vasilisa while the others slept and showed her the two piles of millet. Vasilisa hugged her dollie tightly, rocking it in her arms. When Baba-Yaga awoke, she shouted, “Now girl, let us prepare Vasilisa to be eaten!”
“But, Grannie,” Vasilisa said, hiding her smile, “You see, I have sorted the millet as you asked. The light seeds I have put here in this basket to be cooked. I have cleansed them of weed seeds and dust, for you. The dark ones are here to be sewn into the soil.”
Baba-Yaga’s eyes became narrow and her lips curled back against her gums. She stomped and yelled in rage about the house, but there was nothing she could do. “Very well,” she said, at last. “I will be going out. You see that basket over there? The mustard seeds have gotten mixed with the poppy seeds. Sort them out into two piles before I return in the evening, or I am going to eat you. Her smile was like a menacing stray dog’s as she wobbled out of the house and into the woods. Vasilisa began to cry. The mute servant girl sat against the far wall with her deep shining eyes that saw everything, but did only as the witch Baba-Yaga commanded.
Again, Vasilisa reached into her pocket and brought the small crust of bread from the night before to the dollie’s mouth, saying, “Oh dollie, what can I do? The witch Baba-Yaga will eat me if I do not sort this basket of seeds, separating the mustard from the poppy seeds by the time she returns this evening!” She wept into her hands, but the little dollie comforted her, saying, “Do not worry, the seeds shall be sorted before Baba-Yaga returns.” Then the little dollie made a small clicking noise and called out, “Little mice, little mice, Vasilisa needs your help! You must come sort these seeds. We have only until this evening!”
Vasilisa watched and waited in amazement as swarms of little mice filled the house. All sorts of mice of different colors and sizes raced around the floor and toward the basket that was full to the brim of the mixed seeds. They scurried about, over and under one another, carrying the little seeds back and forth, and in no time at all, there were two neat piles. Once the mustard seeds were separated from the poppy seeds, the little mice ran off again, into the little cracks in the walls and under the door. And once again, the house was empty but for the two girls and Vasilisa’s magic doll.
Evening came, and Vasilisa heard the rusty gate swing open, signaling Baba-Yaga’s return. The door flew open and the hunched woman stood in the doorway and yelled to her servant girl, “Girl, ready the fire, for I shall eat Vasilisa tonight!”
Once again, Vasilisa hid her smile from the old woman and said softly to her, “But Grannie, I have finished the task you gave me this morning before you left. You see, the mustard seed is separated from the poppy seed, just as you asked.”
Baba-Yaga was furious. She had been sure that the girl would never be able to finish the sorting task in time. She kicked her feet and wailed at the ceiling, but there was nothing she could do. “Very well,” she said to the girl, when she had finally quieted her tantrum, “I guess then that you may rest this night.”
Vasilisa curled up on the floor and prepared to sleep, but just before she dozed off, she heard the witch whisper to the servant girl, “Stoke the fire, girl. Make it as hot as you can, for no matter what, I will eat Vasilisa in the morning.” Then she laid down on her mattress and began to snore.
Fear crept into Vasilisa as she lay in the dark, believing that at last her time had finally come. How could she possibly escape? Vasilisa had kept a tiny piece of bread crust in her pocket and she took this last bit out and fed it to the dollie. Vasilisa sobbed and sobbed, finding it hard to keep quiet enough to not wake the old witch who slept soundly in her bed. Vasilisa held her dollie to her and said, “Oh, my dear dollie, what can I possibly do? The witch Baba-Yaga has said she will eat me, and did not give me any task at all to perform. In the morning, she will roast me over the fire and then eat me.”
She cried and cried, but the dollie said to her, “Do not worry, Vasilisa. There is a way.” The dollie told Vasilisa the plan of escape and as the night went on, though Vasilisa was scared, she began to have hope, knowing that the little dollie must be right.
The first thing that Vasilisa did, was to go over to the servant girl. She knelt by her as she stoked the fire meant to cook Vasilisa and said to her, “I am sorry that you must live here like this, with this curse placed on you by the witch Baba-Yaga so you may never speak. But I will die in the morning if you do not help me. Please, keep the old witch asleep as long as you can?” Then she took the girl’s pitch-colored hand in her own, squeezed it tight and kissed the dark cheek under those well-deep eyes. The girl was so shocked by Vasilisa’s kindness toward her that she nodded in agreement, slowed the fire, and went to Baba-Yaga’s bedside to stroke her hair, that she might sleep more soundly through the night.
Then Vasilisa raced around the little cottage in search of all the things she would need. Near the foot of Baba-Yaga’s mattress, she found a ball of yarn, which she picked up. In the kitchen, she found lamb shank, stripped of its meat. She picked up the bone, also. A small can of oil sat in one corner and she scooped it up along with the other things she had found, and then, she made for the door, her little dollie stuffed soundly in her pocket. As she approached the door, the cat appeared, arching its back and hissing with its ears back and its tail pointed to the sky. But Vasilisa dropped the ball of yarn at her feet. The cat softened immediately, batting at the ball of yarn and letting Vasilisa walk unharmed through the cottage door.
Once she stepped out, however, the old, mangy dog began to growl, baring his yellowed teeth behind trembling gums. Vasilisa dropped the lamb bone at her feet for the dog. The mutt began to salivate, his eyes locked on the bone. Then he took it in his mouth and trotted off like a much younger puppy to gnaw on it and burry it somewhere in the yard. Vasilisa walked down the path, unharmed by the bite of Baba-Yaga’s dog.
Night had fallen and the sky was a thick black veil. Light shone, however, at the end of the yard, where the skulls atop the bone fence glowed magically from their eye sockets, casting that strange glow into the meadow and toward the trees that surrounded it.
Vasilisa walked down the path toward the gate and saw the birch tree begin to sway as if in the wind, though the air was still around her. She took the ribbon from her own hair and tied it onto a branch of the tree. The tree, magnetized by its own beauty, let itself fall still and Vasilisa ran past, unharmed by the stinging branches. When she got to the gate with its huge locks and rusted hinges, she took the oil can and greased the old hinges so that they no longer screamed when used. In appreciation for her kindness, the gate swung open, unlocking itself for her. As she stood in the eerie glow of the skull lights, Vasilisa remembered why she had ventured into the woods at all. She grabbed one of the bone spokes that made up the fence, and carried a bright-glowing skull with her as she bolted into the thick darkness of the woods.