THE DEVIL AND AUNTIE by Priscilla Cogan

The following story tells of a wonderful old woman who protected children from the devil. Each child in the story is given a special gift by "Auntie", and each gift provides not only a means of survival but also a way to victory over the devil. This story is meant to be read aloud.

Once upon a time, long, long ago in Middle Europe, there was a large forest. It was called the Black Forest, for the trees were so thick, so tall, that the sunlight oft would stop at the dense canopy of foliage and leave the mossy ground below dark and unilluminated. Being so dark and unilluminated, the Black Forest naturally became the place of myth and fantasy, of swirling images and half-forgotten dreams, of ill-begotten memories, of wish and wisdom, and of time lost amidst the shadows.

In this nethershadow world, there dwelled a group of people who made their living as woodcutters -- each owning a tiny part of the forest where they cut the trees in the ancient tradition of coppicing.

Like their grandfathers, and their grandfathers before them, the woodcutters would seek to clear a patch of woods by cutting down selected hardwood, making sure the tree stumps measured two inches off the ground, and in this cleared space could attract the sunlight, so that each stump could give birth each year to shoots of new trees emerging out of the original tree. In this way the woodcutters brought the sun into the clearing and watched the new offshoots grow from within the beginning tree. For life begets life, and always we are reaching for the sun's warmth whether in a straight manner or through offshoots. The sun nurtures us, as love nurtures us. Thus is the tree of life.

In this netherworld of deep, dense shadow and sparse, dappled clearings, or misty images and hollow sounds, there dwelled the families of the woodcutters, who grew used to the darkness and infrequent sun, who looked inside themselves for warmth to gladden the heart, who knew the silence of aloneness and the good company of the imagination too cover hurt and heal, in part, the lonely wound.

These were rough families, given to much suffering in pursuit of their labors. It was a hard, hard life in the Black Forest, and the man's and women's faces bore the marks and scars of roughness and learned hardness. In their hearts they knew of the Creator, Father of Sun, but the Devil of the cloven hoof was equally known as Master of the Darkness. Like all children in all ages, the children of the woodcutters trusted in the power of their parents' friends to protect them in their innocence from the wiles of the Devil of the cloven hoof, whose footprints could be seen, now and then on the mossy damp underground. It was said there, amongst the rough and tough woodcutters, the Devil had many friends.

Now the Devil of the cloven hoof likes to hurt people and hurt them real bad, so bad they will shun the sun and turn to His Darkness for solace, so bad they will hide from the light of truth, shamed into silence. Hurt can do that to you . . . or me. It can turn a person to hate his creation and wish for the gentle seduction of forgetting. Hurt can cut as deep as the woodcutter's axe to the center core, so that life must run through offshoots, a coppicing a coping, a way to keep curling up toward the diminishing sun.

Best of all, the Devil likes to prey upon the children whose faith and trust swell him up and make him High and Mighty in the lowly underworld.

And so the Devil of the cloven hoof decided one day to traipse through the Black Forest, stirring up trouble between parents and partners, brothers and sisters. He built himself a lowly hut and settled there a while. Years!

For it was the children he was after. A terrible spell he put them through -- causing parents to beat their children, throw trust and honor out the window, drink to drunkenness, feign serious illness, make men of little heart prey on children of good heart, misusing, abusing the innocent ones. And the forest grew darker with the Devil's dwelling.

The children wept and stormed and pleaded with their deaf parents to protect them from this darkness, and the Devil laughed at their hurt, as their innocence was brutally ripped away and the darkness grew and grew, the trees blotting out the sun, until no one could see what was being done to the children.

That is, except for one old woman called Auntie by the children. She watched the drunken debaucheries and the beatings of the children, how parents and friends abused the innocent trust of the little ones.

She knew it was the Devil's doing, and that there was little she could do, for she was old and at the end of her life. Yet her heart wept at their suffering and anger grew in her.

This old Auntie called the children of all ages to come to her humble home, deep in the woods, to give them each a gift, to hold them in this time of pain and the Devil's doing.

To the youngest child amongst the related group Auntie gave white, shimmering waterwings, saying, "These waterwings, My little one, will keep you bouyant, allow you to play and swim as a little girl in the stream of life and keep that trust that there are some good people out there who will not hurt you, who will rescue you in times of need, but like all gifts, this gift has a price; if you hold it too dear, you will never learn to swim under your own power; if you keep this gift too close, you will always have the fear the water of the forest streams and the water of the storm will drown you." Although she didn't understand the warning, the little girl was very appreciative of the gift of white waterwings, for now in all the darkness she had found a place to play.

To the next child, Auntie donated a translucent magnifying glass, saying, "My dear, your curiosity bubbles up inside and seeks to explore the world around you. Cherish that curiosity, but beware this, too; When you look so close, make sure you can handle what you feel, for this glass can magnify not just the world outside you, but also your feelings inside, until all you feel is a child's rage. Look closer still to the hurt inside where truth resides." Oh, the curious child was so happy with her new toy and set off exploring.

Next, before her stood a quiet, studious youngster to whom Auntie gave a gilded book, saying, "Take this book and enter a world of sunlight and order and reason's reign, where things make sense, unlike the current chaos here. But remember, too, the mind can choke off the chaotic feeling, and the tight collar can inhibit the voice. Do not forget to dance, my dear. Do not forget to sing." And very properly, the youngster thanked Auntie and went on her way.

The next young person strolled forcefully into Auntie's house, and Auntie smiled as she handed over the gift of a bejeweled sword, saying, "Keep this close to remind you of your anger. Use it to cut through to the heart of the matter. With this sword you will feel strong and have the fortitude to do what needs to be done. But," she cautioned, "Don't use it to cut off hope and run away. Honor your anger. Don't let the blade grow dull and benumbed by the evil brew and dark potions, lest you become like those who hurt you. Be strong. For this is the sword of justice." And the young person heard these words and held the sword proudly by her side.

The next person at her door looked wounded and tired and could not speak for all the pain welling up inside. Gently, Auntie reached out and handed her a silver pen, saying, "In your hand, my dear, this pen will script your dreams and hurts and inner song. With this pen give life to the image. In drawing, in the music of poetry, give birth to the artist who can fashion another world from this netherworld you're in. But don't let this pen rob your voice of the anger inside. For that anger inside, for that anger some day will give voice to you." So smiling, the young lady departed.

Next came a young woman of stately presence upon whom Auntie bestowed the gift of a black coat of armor, saying, "Nothing can hurt you now inside or outside. There is no more pain, as this coat of armor will protect you. But remember this when all feels dull and empty in a world of no pain but also no joy, take off that armor briefly to feel once again." And so this young person took the gift, the warning, and went her way.

Next came an even older young woman to whom Auntie gave the gift of a strong horse, saying, "Cherish this animal that is here but to serve a function, to watch over you and carry you where you dare not tread. It is a shy, retiring horse that will serve you well as long as it has meaning, for its value is in its service. There is wisdom in this horse, because it knows its place in this creation.

Finally came the last young person, the oldest of them all. Auntie took pity on her and gave her a dark blindfold and a large yellow ball of wax, explaining, "To you, my dear, I give the gift of forgetting. The blindfold will help you in the time of pain so as not to see the hurt; The wax you must put in your ears, so as not to hear the cry of suffering inside. In this way you will not witness in this hour as a child the loss of innocence. But be prepared, my dear, that over the years this gift will make you blind and deaf to your innermost self -- it's treasures and it's hidden pain. And there will come a time to take off the blindfold and unplug your ears, to remember that which you forgot, to redeem those parts of yourself that are offshoots from the time of darkness and old pain." And so she, too, gladly accepted her gift and went on her way.

The Devil of the cloven hoof was not at all pleased with how the old woman, "That Auntie," was interfering with his sport, and so he sent the Scourge of Old Age to close her eyes in everlasting peace. It is said that Auntie died with a smile on her lips, having outfoxed the Devil of his due.

For much to the Devil's surprise, the children did not come flocking to him, seeking the darkness; Rather they held strong to their gifts, which gave them protection in the time of great pain. So the Devil soon tired after several years and decided to move on, looking for less fortunate children who didn't have such special gifts.

You might think that his departure would have brought the people out in joy and celebration. But, as a tree that has been deeply axed by the woodcutter, and then surprisingly spared, wears forever the wounded flesh, so too the children felt their scars and held close to their material gifts, not yet knowing that the True gifts were the words of the old, kind Auntie.

A long, long time ago, in the land of the Black Forest and the time of the Devil's doing, the children learned about coping from the coppicing of the trees, how life can circumvent the deep cut to bring forth new life, offshoots, so that the tree of life can grow in many forms.

The End