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On top of meeting the daily and most urgent needs of private and corporate customers, it is a challenging pleasure to delve into the realm of something that brings about the joy of reading though produces less perceptible value.

Find yourself introduced to some fragments from The Spring of Make-Believe, a selection of fifteen fairy tales in rhyme originally written in Lithuanian by Kostas Kubilinskas and rendered into English by Jolanta Luneckaitė. Should you be interested in reading the book in its entirety, visit Kindle or Amazon online store and enter the title of the book in its search field.

Your reading starts here.

The Penny-Bun Mushroom the Vainglorious (originally “Pagyrūnas baravykas”)

An oak was growing with a rambling crown,

Cushioned with moss, one hundred years to count.

A penny-bun mushroom sprang up at his side –

Pompous like some bigwig, arrogant alike.

As he uplifted his cap,

The fluffy moss was ripped apart…

— What a mighty man I am! —

The penny-bun mushroom bragged. —

A couple of days will lapse

And I’ll strike at the roots of those around…

As the little ant heard the prattle,

She rushed to the snail with the message.

— Who is swelling? Who is puffing? —

Asked the horn-headed snail.

— It’s me – the forest steward,

The penny-bun mushroom with a grand cap!

You better slither into your green fern bushes,

Otherwise your little horns will be snapped…

The little ant bustled up

Finding a hiding behind a peppery milk-cap,

While the snail slipped in beneath a leaf:

— Oh dear, what a horrible thing!

Plip-plip-ploop! – some rain drops fell,

The penny-bun mushroom bounced back to life.

Having quenched his thirst to his heart’s content,

The penny-bun mushroom started railing again:

— Hey you, the green-maned,

Enough for you to suck the rain:

A couple of days will lapse

And I’ll strike at the roots of those around…

The green fern conceals his flower,

Little tears run down his leaves…

Plip-plip-ploop! – some rain drops fell,

The penny-bun mushroom bounced back to life again.

Having fidgeted for a while in his domain,

The penny-bun mushroom assailed the thick-trunked oak:

— Step aside, you thick-legged tree,

Stop shielding away the sun for me!

A couple of days will lapse

And I’ll strike at the roots of those around…

Still stands the oak with a rambling crown,

Cushioned with moss, one hundred years to count.

The penny-bun mushroom is stroking his belly –

Pompous like some bigwig, arrogant alike.

Next day, near the penny-bun mushroom’s domain,

The snail ran into the little ant once again.

Wonderingly the snail beholds

That the penny-bun mushroom’s cap

Is no longer grand,

But rather limp and slushy.

The penny-bun mushroom is sobbing tearfully:

— My vision is shimmering and rippling,

My head is aching…

Two midget slugs are slithering up my stem,

Little worms are gnawing at my heart…

When the third day dawned,

What was left of the penny-bun mushroom,

Was nothing more, but a complete nothing…

— That’s how the vainglorious end their life! —

Uttered the mighty old oak.

While the little ant comforted the snail:

— It’s what the vainglorious deserve!

The Frosticle (originally “Ledinukas”)

Once upon a time,
There was the Old Frostman

Dwelling in the edifice of ice.

And a grandson did he have –

The Cold-Nosed Frosticle.

A good boy was that grandson of his –

That Cold-Nosed Frosticle:

Not too sour, not too numb,

But… wherever he was heading,

He continued bragging:

— I can build a bridge of ice,

I can make flour out of ice…

I can deluge a hare with snow,

I can put a hedgehog down to sleep.

Frogs with puffed cheeks are asleep –

The stiff-necked badger’s snoozing too.

What a badger! Take a bear –

When I clamp down – all sides crackle…

If I only wished, I could

Bring the Earth in whole

Into the ice of frost and cold!

<…>

As white as a dandelion fluff,

The Frosticle was brooding.

The Frostman took his grandson’s hand

And steered him through the snowstorm –

Immersed in pure silence.

The Frog Queen (originally “Varlė karalienė”)

All the frogs are croaking,
All the frogs are croaking
That our froggy spawnny
Is going to marry the king…

Frogs, don’t you cry,
Frogs, don’t you croak –
Our froggy spawnny
Will be the queen of swamps.

How not to weep,
How not to sing –
When our froggy spawnny
Is the most beautiful of all…

Eyes, glinting dark green,
Fully wide and round,
Like two round bulky dumplings,
Blink and wink with grace and love…
<…>
The one who would hunt it out,
Would be wedded to the king himself,
But, to their regret and dismay,
The frogs enjoy no success
In finding this crown
In the quagmires of the swamps.

The Tomcat and the Rooster (originally “Katinėlis ir gaidelis”)

The tomcat and the rooster,
Underneath a tree,
Were building a dwelling
For themselves to live.
As they had built it,
They lived there happily.

Knock-knock-knock! — someone was knocking.
Up from his warm bed,
The tabby tomcat asked:
— Who is knocking on the door,
A kind animal or a brute creature?

— It’s me, the vixen, knocking on the door!
Let me inside.
Along the banks of the lake
I was watching out for ducks,
Snooping and nuzzling all day long,
But with no luck on at least one duck…

<…>

By now those fox youngsters
Live safe in the zoo,
Secured in the pen!
Ask your daddy for a tour
To have a look at them.

About the Valiant Thrush (originally “Apie narsųjį strazdą”)

The fir tree was sighing and swinging.
The thrush was sitting and singing:

— In the fir wood,
I will hew,
I will hew a green fir tree –
Tall, straight, and thick.
I will make
A bulky club,
And will lambaste the beasts
All across this woodland.

The hare was hopping pretty near
And heard the thrush’s song clear.
The hare grabbed at his ears:
— How terrible, indeed!
What should I do? What should I do?
I’ll go and tell the vixen.
<…>
Once in the thicket I heard it sharp
How the beasts were singing fitfully as one.
I kindly asked them for a repeat
And inscribed the song on a white birch bark.

Sure It Happened – No Make-Believe (originally “Buvo buvo – kaip nebuvo”)

Sure it happened – no make-believe:
Plonk into a deep well
There tumbled down
A vixen, a tomcat, a goat,
A boar, a wolf, and a bear.
The vixen was stalking,
The boar was oinking…
There’s no way out,
There’s no escape…

The bear was sucking his paw,
The goat was poking the tomcat…
All shrunken and hungry,
The beasts were clamouring
In the well in uncertainty:
There’s nowhere to lie down,
There’s nowhere to sit down…
Whom to tear to pieces,
Whom to gobble down?

<…>
I came, too, in their wake, to see the foolish bear,
And once a rooster’s quill was handed in,
I chronicled this marvel for the future,
As a read for our children
As well as for bear cubs,
To deter them from deep wells,
To spare them from bear claws,
To make their singing sound good –
Neither too high nor too low.

The Lazy Azy Layabout (originally “Tingis ingis dykaduonis”)

The lazy azy layabout
Asked the doddery sorceress:
Where can I find
The land of gold
To fill my bag with it,
To make up a bed in gold
To nibble on a pastry
And to slumber in?

Where roasted pigeons fly,
Where kings splurge on bagels,
Where rivers of milk meander through the meadows,
And milk is swilled by lazy azies…
Once their stomachs are full with meals and drinks,
With their hands locked on their bellies,
Lazy azy layabouts are wallowing frivolously
In their bed sheets like roundish seals.
What’s the way to the kingdom of the lazybones?

<…>

When I come back from that feast of treats,
I will bring you a cake too,
While the sorceress says
She will give a dog-fox’s pie for you…
Yam-yam-yam! Pure yumminess, indeed!
But here the story ends.

The Wolf-Skin Fur Coat (originally “Vilko skrebučiai”)

Along the path, out from the hut,

Past the green willow,

The old man was off

To tend to his sheep.

The old man was clumping –

Clumpy-clump! Clumpy-clump!

The sabots on his feet echoed –

Cloppy-clop! Cloppy-clop!

There upon the path

His eye stumbled over a stone.

— Where are you clumping, dear? —

He asked the old man.

<…>

Today the old man

Is resting on the stone alike…

If you haven’t seen it yet,

Then it’s worthwhile to come

And see it for yourself!

The Wayward Long-Whiskered Bunny Hare (originally “Ilgaūsis neklusnusis”)

Early in the morning, brisk and fresh,

The hare family are rising out of their beds.

Only the Long-Whiskered Bunny Hare,

Wayward as he is,

With his ears drooping,

Flinches from rising out of his bed…

<…>

The Long-Whiskered Bunny Hare,

Having dropped a sigh,

Now mingles with his family.

The Long-Whiskered Bunny Hare,

Wayward as he was,

Now listens to the parents of his own.

The Dog-Wolf Got His Tail Frozen (originally “Vilkas uodegą prišalo”)

An old man was driving on his sledge,

While at the edge of the woodland

A vixen was hovering around

Sniffing the air on her two hind legs:

“It’s fish that the old man

Is carrying on his sledge!”

Once the smell of the fish hit her nostrils,

She skulked forth as if a serpent

A couple of steps ahead of the sledge,

And beneath a juniper shrub

She dropped down as if dead –

Head and tail motionless.

<…>

It will make warm caps for my children

And a collar for my fur coat!..

As the caps will rest on my children’s heads,

All the vixens will be gaping astounded!

The Kinglet (originally “Karaliukas”)

An oak was standing in the pinewood,
A raven was sitting in the oak.
Inflating his craw, crooking his neck,
The raven was croaking to the hoopoe:
— The king will be elected!
The king will be elected!
From the fold of the owls, from the sleepyheads…

While the hoopoe with a crest on his head
Hooted at the raven: — Hoop-hoop-hoop…
Don’t you croak, don’t you croak,
You silly raven with black feathers!
From the fold of the owls, from the sleepyheads,
No king will be elected…

<…>
The oak is standing in the pinewood,
The raven is sitting in the oak.
Inflating his craw, crooking his neck,
The raven is croaking to the hoopoe:
— Khar-r-r-kahhy! Khar-r-r-kahhy! What happened?!
The birds are left with no king!

Only the goldcrest contradicts:
— I am still the kinglet!

The Nine Brothers (originally “Devyni broliai”)

The nine brothers
Are saddling up their steeds,
The nine brothers
Are riding to the war…

Their sister is crying over them,
Tears running down her cheeks –
Elena is seeing off her nine brothers,
With her heart in sorrow through the courtyard…

<…>
The grey mare
Neighed out gallantly,
Galloped out of the courtyard
And vanished beyond the silver mountain…

They say that to the present day,
As the wind blows sending the ripples,
The thin threads of the hag-like pixie
Drift over the expanse of the stubble field.

We’ll Live With No Kings (originally “Mes gyvensim be karalių”)

A crow caught a crawdad
And, safe on the riverbank,
Blurted out to him:

— Oh, my dear, ain’t you a goof,
You crawl backwards to move forward…
I’ll find a branch in quietude
To peck you up in full.

<…>
But the crawdad, with one eye half-lidded,
Retorted with the vixen’s words:

— Take a bath in the swan’s milk –
You’ll be the queen of birds!
You’ll gnaw at white haunches,
You’ll wallow on the grass…
While you sit on the throne,
There’ll be no need for you to allure crawdads.
Farewell! Bon voyage!
We’ll live with no kings…

The Hare’s Lip (originally “Kiškio lūpos”)

A grey-furred bunny hare
Was sitting under a shrub,
With tears of sorrow
Running down his whiskers:

— There’s no animal in this woodland
Who would be scared of me…
Even mice today
Drove me away out of my den.

Neither to assail
Nor to defend…
What a misery!
I’ll better go
And drown myself
In a deep rivulet!

<…>
That’s why to the present day
The hare’s lip is cleft,
But the hare entertains
No thought on his mind
Of immersing himself
Into a deep and cold rivulet.

Agnes the Liaress (originally “Agė melagė”)

There lived Agnes

The butter-fingered lazybones,

The loudmouth liaress.

She idled about

In her room

Too indolent

To be lazy, even.

Lying in her bed,

Agnes concocted

That she was driven off her legs

To extreme exhaustion…

Immersed in her soft bedding,

Out of her bed

She made no move

For many days to come.

<…>

Meanwhile, the old grannie

Was ruefully blinking:

“It’s enough for you

To play sick and ill.

Your grannie is upset

And you’ll find no toys

Placed within your reach.”

I will end

This story here

Since I have no itch

To meet this Agnes –

The butter-fingered lazybones,

The loudmouth liaress.

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