A Child's Story

 Stories about the Child archetype often incorporate one or more of the aspects like the Orphan Child, the Wounded Child, the Magical/Innocent Child, the Divine Child, the Nature Child, or the Eternal Child. As we identify with the child protagonist featured in the story, we gain insight into what the state of our own Child archetype might be. Have we experienced not belonging to a family (Orphan)? Did we go through a traumatic childhood experience of some type – fright, physical or emotional abuse, or other powerless states (Wounded)? DO I still see al the positive aspects of life (Magical/Innocent)? How strong is my bond with nature and animals (Nature)? Am I determined to remain forever young and playful (Eternal)? Is my childlike innocence and belief tied to a deep-rooted desire to bring redemption the others (Divine)?

A mother in a village became terribly ill. No doctor could cure her, and she finally neared death late one evening. At her bedside, her toddler, a little girl, and her husband watched and waited. The mother’s pale face turned weakly toward her daughter. She raised a trembling hand from beneath the covers and drew out a small cloth doll with hair that matched the little girl’s blonde curls.

“Vasalisa…” the mother strained to whisper the child’s name. “Vasalisa, come here, sweetheart.”

Vasalisa climbed onto the quilt, fascinated with the doll her mother held out toward her. The father knelt and held the child’s waist, making sure the little sprite didn’t accidentally cause her mother more pain.

“Take this doll,” the mother sighed, “I won’t be here to guide you anymore, my sweet girl, but remember me and my love for you whenever you play with this doll. Keep it close……”

The woman closed her eyes as she breathed the last words the father and daughter would hear from their beloved. The father’s head fell to the top of the bed as his tears moistened the coverlet beneath which his wife has passed. The girl child clutched the doll to her chest and sucked her thumb uncertainly.

Several years later, the village has encouraged the father to re-marry. “Your daughter needs a mother!” they said. “She shouldn’t be alone while you are away on your business trips. She is at an age now where she is vulnerable to the advances of men who would take advantage of your absence!”

The father thought on the villagers’ comments. In truth, he hadn’t thought of Vasalisa as anything other than a tiny child for a long time. He looked at his daughter through new eyes. She was lithe and tall, with wavy hair the color of sun-kissed wheat, and her eyes were a deep shade of evergreen, like the pines in the woods near his house. For the first time, Vasalisa’s father realized that he had done a poor job guiding his daughter in the ways of the world. She was an innocent. She played in the fields and the woods, the fashioned headbands and jewelry out of flowers and other forest offerings, and she carried that small cloth doll with her wherever she went. Her father sighed deeply, pushing away the thoughts of how he might have failed his daughter until now, and cleared his throat. Vasalisa looked toward him, slightly startled. Her father seldom had any health issues, and she wondered if he were catching a cold. “Father, are you all right?”

“Yes,” he replied, “But, my dear, the time has come for me to marry again. You are at an age now where you need a mother’s guiding hand to help you transition into your role as a lady of the village.”

Vasalisa looked puzzled, “Father, you know I hear Mother talking to me all the time through my doll. Anytime I have a question, I think very hard on it, and I touch or squeeze my little doll. Soon after, the answer to my question just pops into my head!  I don’t need another mother!”

Her father looked at her, realizing that his parenting lacked a steadying influence on a girl who had lost her mother so young. The poor thing, he thought, her mother’s death unhinged her, and I’m only now noticing it! Aloud, he simply said, “The matter has been decided. I will marry the widow Lilliane, and she and her daughters will come to live with us in our house.”

Vasalisa noticed how her father’s jaw set solidly in his face after his statement, and his eyes had narrowed. Touching the doll in her pocket, she wondered if it would be prudent to argue with him. In her heart, the doll seemed to whisper, “Do not argue, child. This man has made up his mid, and you will only further hurt your relationship by contradicting him.”

With a sigh, Vasalisa drooped her head slightly and agreed, “Yes, Father. Your mind sound determined, and you have provided good reasons to marry again. I understand. Besides,” she added, “The widow and her girls will have much more room here than in their current house. It will be nice to have sisters my age!”

With a bright smile, Vasalisa crossed the room to her father, knelt on the floor in front of his chair, and put head on his knee. He absently stroked the golden curls that reminded so much of his first wife. Finally, Vasalisa spoke, “You know what is best, Father. Just remember how much I love you.”

Vasalisa’s father married Liliane, and the women had moved into the house within a few weeks. There was awkwardness between the girls in the beginning, as there often is when young people are forced into closeness with strangers. Yet, the stepsisters continued to give Vasalisa strange looks as the days passed, and she thought she caught them snickering behind her back a few times as she sat and talked privately to her doll. In truth, the stepsisters, Elena and Irina, thought their new sister the strangest young woman they had ever encountered. Vasilisa never worried with her hair or clothing, preferring to let her curls bounce free, and wearing the same green shirt, brown skirt, and apron everyday. Vasilisa was always clean, so the sisters assumed she had multiple editions of the same bland clothes in her closet. Vasilisa often walked barefoot in the field and forests, and her new sisters shuddered at the thought of all the stickers, and tough shoots of grass, and sticks that could poke their tender feet if they did the same. While Irina and Elena thought Vasilisa was strange and unworldly, they also burned with envy at her natural beauty, her bright smile, and her easy ways that immediately put people at ease. That is, Vasilisa’s manners put everyone at ease except her stepmother and stepsisters.

The two young ladies approached their mother soon after moving in with the father and Vasilisa. They complained to their mother about how strange and wild they found Vasilisa. They pointed out her bizarre behavior could affect their reputations in the village, and their chances to make advantageous matches when the time came for them to be married. Liliane considered her daughters’ observations, agreeing that she had privately thought the same thing about her unusual stepdaughter.

“My husband leaves tomorrow for an extended business trip. He will be gone over a month, and we will be left here with Vasilisa,” she told her girls. “While he is away, we will find a way to make Vasilisa’s behavior more… seemly.  Yes.  Seemly, I believe that is the exact word.”

Liliane despised the way she saw her new husband dote on his daughter. She wasn’t forced to do much around the house, although Vasilisa would happily cook simple dishes as a surprise for the rest of her family. The young girl also made sure the fires were always tended so her new family wouldn’t become cold and frightened in their strange new house. At nights, the stepmother and stepsisters always found warming blocks in their beds, put there by Vasilisa to chase away the chill and damp of the nighttime. Somehow, the floors were always swept, and the kitchen always seemed to sparkle. The stepfamily never observed Vasilisa actually DOING any of the work, but they knew they had not, so it only stood to reason that Vasilisa must be the culprit. Liliane thought of ways to make Vasilisa more “seemly” in the household. The child was entirely too happy and carefree, clean and industrious, and had never experienced any censure before. No, Liliane thought, the girl needs to be taken down a peg or two, so she understands what her status and behavior should be in the future.

The first day after Vasilisa’s departure, the other women found many items to spill on the floor. After the spills, they would sweetly ask their young stepsister to clean up the mess. She did the cleaning without complaint, and surprised her new relatives by cleaning right in front of them. Over the course of a week, Liliane and her daughters tried to test Vasilisa’s patience by creating messes, complaining about the food, and sneaking into her room to rip her plain clothing while it hung in the closet.  At the end of the week, Vasilisa still smiled sweetly at them, and simply nodded her head when she was confronted with the extra work.

“It just isn’t fair!” Irinia complained. “Vasilisa stays sweet and beautiful no matter how much we make her do! She doesn’t complain… she just makes me sick!!!!”

Liliane looked at her oldest daughter. “Don’t worry, Iri. Tonight I have a plan that will take care of Vasilisa once and for all. If we can’t wear her down, then we’ll send her into the forest on an errand from which she will never return!”

The two stepsisters looked at each other for a moment, then turned to their mother, slow smiles creeping across their faces.

The next morning, the house was dark and cold. The fires were all out, in every room. Liliane rushed into Vasilisa’s room. “Vasilisa!  Vasilisa!  Wake up!  The fires are all out!!  How will we stay warm? How will we cook?”

Vasilisa leaped out of bed. “How did they go out? I just checked them two hours ago! Where will we get fire? I don’t know how to start a fire, I can only keep them going!”

“Stupid girl! What would I know about starting a fire? I don’t do such work!”

“What will we do now?” Vasilisa asked.

Liliane paused. Her brow furrowed as she tried to think of a solution. She walked to the window and looked out into the grey, early morning light. After a moment, she turned to her stepdaughter and said, “Well, Vasilisa, the only thing I can think of is going to Baba Yaga to get a new source of fire…”

Vasilisa stared at her new mother. Although Vasilisa enjoyed trips to the forest, she had never gone in deep enough to be found by Baba Yaga.  She swallowed to wet her dry mouth, and said, “But Stepmother, you know Baba Yaga would just as soon kill you and eat you as help you.”

Liliane stared at Vasilisa. She didn’t respond. Vasilisa finally dropped her head. “It will be as you suggest, Liliane.”

Vasilisa left the house a little later, and headed for the woods.  She had no idea how to actually find Baba Yaga’s cottage. It was rumored that Baba Yaga’s cottage never stayed in the same place, and that it moved on giant chicken legs. Baba Yaga rode through the air in a giant black cauldron, the same cauldron she put on the fire in her kitchen to cook the people she wanted to eat. Worst of all, Baba Yaga had a ferocious temper and could not abide foolish questions.  She had a broom made of the hair from those long dead, her own hair was bristly and black, and her face curved in the most unnatural ways.

As Vasilisa walked through the woods, she held the doll to her chest, instead of keeping it in her pocket. She stroked the doll’s hair and thought to herself, How am I ever going to find this Baba Yaga? And how will I get the fire from her if she prefers to eat people? From nowhere a voice echoed, “Just keep walking this path. The house of Baba Yaga will find you…”

Vasilisa trembled as the trees grew closer together, turning the shady glow of the outer forest to a pitchy gloom. The wind didn’t stir here and, though it was cool, the air was thick with peaty, earthy smells of rot and waste, damp and mildew. Keep walking on the path, Vasilisa thought to herself. Keep going forward. Her heart pounded and her pulse thrummed in her neck and the sides of her head. She felt dizzy for a moment, but she pushed herself to continue. Soon, she glanced a dim light in the distance. She heard fire crackling before she could see it, and rounding a crook in the path, she found Baba Yaga’s cottage. The witch stood in the front yard, smiling, cackling, and waved her twisted fingers toward the night sky. Night had settled, and Vasilisa could see the cottage had nestled in a clearning deep in the forest. Surrounding the yard of the cottage, many torches blazed on the ends of long wooden sticks. No, she thought, not torches… Human skulls!  Human skulls full of fire leaping from their eye sockets, their nose holes, and their slack jaws…

Baba Yaga stopped her swaying and shrieking when she heard Vasilisa’s footsteps come through the gate. The old woman fixed a knowing eye on the young girl, and she waited. Vasilisa halted suddenly, paralyzed by the intense glare from the old woman’s eye. She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. Clearing her throat, Vasilisa finally managed to make her request. “Oh, magic and wondrous Baba Yaga, I come seeking a source of fire for my home. It is cold and my people will die if I can’t start the fires again.”

A slow, whiny wheeze of a laugh came from between Baba Yaga’s lips. “Yes, yes, I know your people. I know of your stepmother, Liliane, and her brats. Why did you let the fire go out, girl? Don’t you know that’s dangerous? Besides, why should I give you fire anway?”

“Because I asked for it,” Vasilisa replied.

“Humph,” the old woman closed her mouth for a second. An eyebrow rose higher on her forehead, and she considered the young woman in front of her. “Very well, you are lucky. That is the right answer.”

Vasilisa raised a silent prayer and squeezed her doll tightly to her.

“What is that in your hands, girl?”

“This?” Vasilisa asked, “It is simply a doll my dead mother gave me many years ago. She asked me to keep it near me always, and it is the only thing I have left of her. Even my memories of her are gone.”

“Humph,” Baba Yaga grunted again and closed her eyes. “You understand I can’t just GIVE you fire for getting a single question right. You must prove your worth by doing three tasks for me. When those tasks are completed, then I will consider you worthy of carrying fire.”

Secretly, Baba Yaga desired to consume the tender flesh of the trembling girl, but she was wise enough not to let her greed show. “Tonight,” she declared, “You will separate the poppy seeds from dirt in that pile there by the front gate. Come morning, it will be done, or you will get no fire.”

With that, the wise woman disappeared in a great clap of thunder. Vasilisa was alone in the yard, alone with her doll. She sank to the ground, weeping in frustration, knowing that the task would be near impossible to complete in one night, in the dimness, with nothing to help distinguish the black poppy seeds from the black dirt. She knew Baba Yaga would find her in the morning, task incomplete, and the old witch would devour her. Never had Vasilisa been so frightened in her life. Until her father had remarried, she had never known the hint of a harsh word although she was certainly no stranger to hard work. Somewhere from inside or outside her, a voice whispered, “You can do this. I will help you. Close your eyes.”

A warmth and glow spread through Vasilisa’s body as she obeyed the almost silent command. Behind her eyelids, she could see the dirt pile as plain as any sunny midday. She saw her doll approach the pile and begin separating tiny specks of black, one from the other. The tiny cloth thing moved with unnatural speed. Round black seeds began to accumulate on the left, angular black objects piled up on the right. How long Vasilisa stood with her eyes shut, she didn’t know.  Minutes, hours, days? It seemed as if no time passed, but when the doll had finished the task, Vasilisa opened her eyes and saw dawn break through a gap in the forest trees. In front of her, lay two piles of what had once been a mixed pile of poppy seeds and dirt.  Thunder split the silence of the morning, and there stood Baba Yaga, eagerly rubbing her gnarled hands as she approached the girl. “Well, I see you have failed my sweet—“

“I have not failed!” Vasilisa’s voice rang in sharp contrast to the gloomy peal of thunder that had just disturbed the morning. “Look for yourself before you assume I couldn’t do the impossible!”

The hag turned and spied the two piles of black. Dumbfounded, she withdrew an enormous magnifying glass from within the folds of her tattered robe and inspected the piles. And she inspected. And she circled and inspected some more. Her jaw worked opened and closed for a moment, then she snapped her head up toward Vasilisa and shouted, “Fine! You’ve done it! I can’t find fault with this work. The seeds and dirt are perfectly separated.”

Vasilisa’s knees almost buckled in relief. She had escaped the crone’s cauldron!

“But you aren’t done yet,” Baba Yaga sneered. “You have two tasks yet. Today, you will sweep my yard, wash my clothes, separate the moldy corn from the good corn, and prepare my dinner.” With that, the old woman screeched with amusement and disappeared with another clap of thunder. In front of Vasilisa, lay a huge pile of black, tattered clothing, and the large broom made from the hair of dead people. The young woman’s skin prickled and her stomach lurched in a most uncomfortable manner. The stench from the clothes was… was… well, worse that any decaying animal corpse she had even happened across. Vasilisa stood, eyes locked on the work in front of her. Sometime during the night, she had put the doll in her front pocket. To ease her fear, she reached her hand to touch the doll. As she did so, she closed her eyes. Again, she felt as if she had entered a warm dream, a daydream, and the doll leapt from her pocket to the broom. As before, Vasilisa stood, eyes closed, entranced, while the doll finished the required tasks with astonishing speed. When she opened her eyes, the doll was still in her pocket, and the work in the yard was completed. Dusk approached.

Again, the sound of thunder revealed Baba Yaga’s presence. The witch gazed around the yard at the completed work, her jaw slack with amazement. “How….?” The woman began, then clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. “It matters not how. It is done. Come my young dear, ask me any questions you would have answered.”

With a questioning glance, Vasilisa observed the old woman, waiting to see if the concession was a trick. Baba Yaga stood, arms across her ample chest, and waited.

“Well,” Vasilisa searched for a question to begin.

“Out with it, girl! We haven’t got all night, and there still remains one more task!”

Vasilisa tried again, more strongly. “There are three colors people say belong to you, Old Mother. They are white, red, and black. Why are those colors associated with you?”

Baba Yaga snorted. “White stands for my Day, red is my Rising Sun, and black? Black is my Night.”

Vasilisa considered the answers carefully, not fully grasping their meaning, but storing away the knowledge to riddle out at a later time. She remained silent.

“Come, girl!” the witch demanded. “You must have more questions that that!”

Vasilisa carefully considered the crone one more time, then raised her chin. Her answer seemed to come from the very air around here. “People also say you have stated that to know too much too young can make one too old too soon.”

The old harpy shrieked in anger. “You dare to use my own words against me! You are wiser and braver than your years, my little sprite. How have you come by such knowledge and such skill at completing tasks?”

The doll felt warm in Vasilisa’s pocket. Between her eyebrows, two lines appeared as she tried to answer Baba Yaga’s question. “I… don’t know, Old Mother. IF I had to say, I would name it ask my mother’s blessing to me.”

“Blessings!  Blessings!!! Aiiiieeeeeee!” the witch clasped her head and stamped her feet as if to put out fire. “We will have no blessings here! I’m in no need of them, and they burn!  They burn!!!!  Girl, take your fire and leave at once!”

“But, the third task—“ Vasilisa began.

Baba Yaga thrust a skeleton head on a stick, alive with fire, into the girl’s hands. “Just go now, before I change my mind and kill you anyway! And never, ever seek me out again. You have no need of me anymore.”

Not willing to let her chance to escape go, Vasilisa turned and scampered out of the yard, down the forest path, and into the darkness. The skeleton’s fire lit the way as she moved her feet quickly toward the direction of her home. The heat from the flame was intense. As she paused to rest for a moment, she thought to throw away the skull and just keep running until she found the village and someone kind enough to take her in until her father’s return.

“No!” a voice bellowed inside her head. “You have need of me still!”

Looking at the skeleton’s burning face, she knew it couldn’t have just spoken. She ran.

The return trip seemed to be a quarter of the length of her venture into the woods. Before she knew it, her father’s house loomed before her in the moonlight, its windows dark without the benefit of fire inside the house. She strode toward the front door and yanked it open.

“I have returned!” she announced with strength. The pairs of footsteps pounded toward her from the darkened house’s interior. The three women shielded their eyes from the intense gleam of the fiery skull as the neared Vasilisa.

Liliane spoke first. “You… you got the fire?  From Baba Yaga??!!!”

“I have retrieved the fire from the depths of the forest, from the mouth of fear, and from the wisdom of witches and hags,” Vasilisa announced to her stepfamily. “I have retrieved it without your help, and with your ill feelings blowing strongly against my back as I left on my impossible task. A task, you were quite confident, that would remove me from your lives. I have returned.”

And with that, the fire in the skull streamed forth toward Liliane and her two daughters, Irina and Elena. In a matter of moments, they were consumed in the flame, and three great piles of cinders were all that remained on the floor. Vasilisa shuddered at the horrid sight, but she propelled herself forward and lit the first fire in the heart of her home. Her father would return soon, and she needed to prepare a warm welcome for his weary feet. With a sigh of satisfaction, the young woman bent and touched the flaming torch to the tinder in the fireplace. The hearth blazed into life.