folk tale: A Hot Stone
In a village, there was an old, lonely man. He was in very poor health and lived by weaving baskets, mending felt boots, and guarding the orchard to keep children out.
A long time ago, he came to this village from somewhere far away. It was clear to everyone that he had suffered greatly. He walked with a limp, his hair had prematurely turned white, and a deep, curved scar ran from his cheek across his lips. Because of this, even when he smiled, his face looked sad and fierce.
One day, a boy named little Ivan climbed into the orchard to steal apples and fill his stomach. Unexpectedly, his pants caught on a nail in the wall, and he fell into a thorny gooseberry bush, getting scratched all over and crying loudly. The old man caught him, of course. He could have whipped Ivan with nettles or taken him to school to report him, but he took pity on the boy. Ivan’s hands were scratched, his pants were torn, and a piece of fabric hung from his backside like a sheep’s tail. His tear-streaked cheeks were red.
The old man silently led the terrified Ivan out of the orchard and let him go without hitting him or saying a harsh word.
Ashamed and angry, Ivan sneaked into the woods and got lost near a swamp. Exhausted, he saw a light blue stone in the moss and sat on it, only to jump up with a yelp, feeling like he’d been stung by a wild bee. But when he looked back, there was no bee—just the stone, hot like a coal, with some writing partially covered in mud.
Ivan immediately guessed it was a magic stone. He took off a shoe and used its heel to wipe off the mud, revealing the inscription:
“Whoever moves this stone to the mountain and breaks it Will be rejuvenated and live anew.”
There was also a seal, much more complex than the ordinary round seals of the village Soviet or the triangular ones on cooperative receipts. It had two crosses, three tails, a circle with a vertical line, and four commas.
After reading the inscription, Ivan felt uneasy. He was only eight, almost nine. If he lived anew, he would have to repeat the first grade, a thought he couldn’t bear.
If the stone had the power to make him skip school and jump straight to the third grade, that would be a different matter! But everyone knew, even magic stones didn’t have such power.
Ivan, looking troubled, passed the orchard and saw the old man again. He was coughing, constantly stopping to catch his breath, carrying a bucket of lime wash and a brush made of tree bark on his shoulder.
Ivan, with a kind heart, thought, “Look at this man. He could have easily whipped me with nettles, but he took pity on me. Now let me take pity on him, so he can be rejuvenated and no longer cough, limp, or struggle to breathe.”
With good intentions, Ivan went to the old man and bluntly told him everything. The old man thanked him but refused to leave his post to go to the swamp, fearing people would steal all the fruit. He suggested Ivan dig out the stone, move it to the mountain, and he would come later to break it.
Ivan, though unhappy, did not refuse. He didn’t want to upset the old man.
The next morning, Ivan took a thick sack and a pair of coarse gloves to protect his hands from the hot stone and went to the swamp.
He got covered in mud, working hard to dig out the stone. Exhausted, he lay down at the foot of the mountain on the dry grass. He thought, “I’ll push this stone up the mountain, and when the old man comes, he’ll break it and be rejuvenated. Everyone says he’s suffered all his life. He’s old, alone, beaten, and scarred. Surely he’s never been happy, unlike others.” Ivan, though young, had experienced happiness three times: once when a stranger in a shiny car drove him to school, once when he caught a big pike in a ditch, and once when Uncle Mitrofan took him to the city for a fun May Day celebration.
Ivan, generous and determined, decided, “Alright, let this unfortunate old man have some happiness.”
With this in mind, he patiently pushed the stone up the mountain.
As the sun was setting, the old man came up the mountain. By then, Ivan was exhausted, trembling, curled up beside the hot stone, drying his wet, dirty clothes.
“Grandpa, why didn’t you bring a hammer, an axe, or a metal rod?” Ivan cried in surprise. “Do you plan to break the stone with your hands?”
“No, Ivan,” the old man replied. “I don’t plan to break the stone at all. I don’t want to live anew.”
The old man, seeing Ivan’s astonished face, touched his head with a trembling hand.
The old man said, “Of course, you think I’m old, limping, disabled, and unfortunate. But I’m the happiest person in the world.
“My leg was crushed by a log while we were tearing down a wall—we were inexperienced, clumsy—building barricades, staging an uprising to overthrow the tsar you only know from pictures.
“My teeth were knocked out when we were imprisoned, singing revolutionary songs. My face was slashed in a battle where the first people’s team defeated the Whites and routed them.
“I caught typhus, lying in a cold, low hut on hay, delirious. But worse than death was hearing our country was surrounded, the enemy’s army poised to defeat us. Yet, I woke to the first rays of the sun, learning the enemy had been defeated, and we were advancing again.
“We, the happy ones, reached out to each other from one sickbed to another, hoping that if not in our lifetime, then after our death, our country would be as strong as it is now. Silly Ivan, isn’t that happiness?! Why would I want another life, another youth? I’ve lived a hard life, but an honest one!”
The old man paused to light his pipe.
“You’re right, Grandpa,” Ivan said softly. “If that’s the case, the stone could have stayed quietly in the swamp. Why did I go to the trouble of moving it here?”
“Let it be visible to everyone, Ivan. Wait and see what happens.”
Many years passed, and the stone remained on the mountain, untouched. Many people passed by, looked at it, thought, shook their heads, and moved on.
I once climbed that mountain, feeling troubled. I thought, “Should I break the stone and live anew?”
But as I stood there, I changed my mind.
I thought, my neighbors will see me rejuvenated and say, “Ha, look at this fool! He couldn’t live his life properly and find happiness, so he wants to start over.”
I lit a cigarette from the hot stone to save a match, then continued on my own path.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
