The poof trees
Once upon a time, in a faraway wood, there was a witch called Rosalinda of
Riverwithno, but everyone knew her as Fiddlesticks, the witch. She gained that
nickname on her own, because of her many blunders and mistakes. For example,
once, a villager asked her for a potion against toothache and she gave him a
levitation potion. When the poor man drank it, he started rising in the air, and
he floated and floated crying for help. The whole village went out to try to
catch him with butterfly nets. It was a memorable event! Some villagers climbed
on trees, while others waited for him on their rooftops. Finally, it was so much
fun that, a long time later, children still chased him on the street and asked
him to float again.
Fiddlesticks, the witch, wasn't good nor bad; she was absent-minded, a bit
clumsy, and very short-sighted. She wasnt't bad tempered, but she wasn't very
sociable either. She was neither young nor old; neither fat nor thin; neither
tall nor short. Her hair was brown and her blue eyes sparkled happily through
her glasses. She loved riding her broom, cooking magical potions, and picking
berries, roots and mushrooms in the woods. When she was nervous, she usually sat
close to the fireplace on her favourite armchair or rocking chair and made soap
bubbles to relax herself.
Our witch lived in a wood house, with a straw roof, eye-shaped windows, a
mouth-like door and pillars shaped like two legs, which allowed the house to
turn when it felt like it, and to stretch and shrink at will, raising and
dropping the living. The witch's house had its own temper, so that, if someone
who it didn't like came to visit, the house closed its door and windows, and, if
that wasn't enough, it turned around, showing the visitor its behind and sending
out alarming noises. With these measures, almost everyone ran out in panic.
Fiddlesticks, the witch, lived with a cat and an owl. The cat was called
Milkifu. His hair was short and black, and his eyes, green and expresive. He was
lazy, sleepy and carefree. He used to blow off Fiddlesticks's assignments, and
pretend forgetfulness.
The owl's name was Luf. She was medium-sized and grey-feathered. She had
penetrating honey-coloured eyes, and she was vivacious, restless, happy, a bit
noisy, very lively and optimistic. She loved being part of everything, so much
so that, sometimes, she went ahead and acted out of time.
This adventure begins one sunny morning, when our witch woke up startled.
—Hello! Is anybody up?— she asked energetically.
—No. No-one.— Milkifu meowed with a lack of enthusiasm.
The black cat yawned slowly, half opened his green eyes, and closed them
again.
—There was no-one up. Why so much fuss?— he mumbled and continued dozing
happily.
—I'm nervous.— said Fiddlesticks. —Today I have to pick the
swell-swell-swell-poof fruit. I need it for some potions. It has to be today,
because the poof trees bear fruit only once a year, and the fruit stays on the
branches only during that day, and then it swells, swells, swells, and
explodes.
For those who don't know, the poof trees grow close to the River Withno,
called like that because it's a river of fresh water with no sugar.1 Fiddlesticks had to go there on her broom so as
not to be late.
1. Translator's note: In the original Spanish
“fresh water” is “agua dulce” which literally means “sweet water”, thus giving
place to a word game.
—Let's see if this time you arrive on time and make it.— Milkifu whispered half asleep.
—Let's see if this time you arrive on time and make it.— Milkifu whispered half asleep.
—Yes, last year was a complete disaster.— our witch sighed. —I got lost in
the woods, and by the time I arrived to where the poof trees grow, the fruits
were exploding one ofter another. The few I managed to pick burst in my hands
with a loud “poof”. They stained me and my broom so much with their sticky
purple juice!
The black cat laughed heartily and woke up once and for all.
—Yes, I remember it well.— he said amid laughs. —You were purple a whole
week. I wanted to lick you, to check what you tasted like. Could you do it
again? Pleaaaase...
—Don't be mean.— Fiddlesticks said. —This time I'm going to succeed. I know!
I'll take Luf as guide so I don't get lost in the way.
And our witch jumped out of bed, washed her face, combed her hair, and put on
some clothes quickly. Without her glasses on yet, she began speaking to the owl.
She talked and talked, and Luf was listening carefully, or at least that's what
Fiddlesticks thought.
—Did you hear everything, Luf?— the witch asked, while looking for her
glasses.
But no-one answered.
—Luf, are you asleep? Wake up already! I need you.
Silence.
—Bloody glasses, bloody memory of mine! Where can they be?— Fiddlesticks
whispered. —What a way to begin! Milkifu, do you know where they are?
The cat yawned without interest, stretched slowly, and wondered whether it
was worth it to give her the glasses, which were right there. He finally decided
to turn around and continue dozing, but then his tail touched the witch's elbow,
and when she moved her arm, she stumbled upon the glasses.
—Oh, thanks, dear Milkifu! You're so good!
The witch put on the glasses and realized that she had been talking to a
vase, instead of the owl.
—Luf, pretty, come quick!— Fiddlesticks, the witch, called leaning through
the window.
The grey owl with honey-coloured eyes came instantly, and the witch told her
her plans again.
They all had breakfast together. Later, the two friends prepared for the trip
and began the journey, leaving Milkifu to take care for the house.
Impatient Luf went out flying first, followed by the witch on her broom. They
overflew the woods where they lived. The owl went so fast that she had time to
greet her acquaintances and go back to Fiddlesticks. At one particular time,
Fiddlesticks, the witch, got distracted and lost sight of her friend.
—Luf, where are you?— she shouted scared —Oh, I see you now. There you are.
So far?— and she added —Get lost this year, like the last? No! No way!
Our witch waved her magic wand and solemnly pronounced a spell directed
towards her flying broom:
—Goobble-dee-doo, goobble-dee-dee, until the flying ends, I will follow
thee.
What Fiddlesticks didn't know was that she had the wrong bird. The one she
thought was the owl was actually a kingfisher who took her directly to the
river, dived searching for fish, and, to the witch's amazement, was followed by
her broom. Fiddlesticks lost her balance, and, so as not to fall completely into
the water, she grabbed the broom with one hand and with the other she pulled up
her skirt, while she slowed down with her feet on the water surface, to end up
doing a sloppy water skiing on the river.
—Yipee! Yipee! This is so much fun!— she exclaimed happily —Thank you, Luf.—
she continued, talking to the kingfisher whom she couldn't see well through her
water-splashed glasses. —But we don't have time to lose. Remember, I have to
pick the swell-swell-swell-poof fruit.
At that exact moment, the bird she was following dived into the river to
catch a fish. Of course, our witch's broom followed suit, and Fiddlesticks
plunged into the water.
Everyone who saw it, frogs, birds, fish and insects, couldn't stop laughing.
Fiddlesticks, the witch, emerged from the river soaking wet and she letting out
a jet of water through her mouth. She immediately undid the spell on the flying
broom, and continued a while longer sliding on the surface of the river, just
like on an ice rink.
Meanwhile, Luf, the owl, had found her again. She observed the scene, stopped
on a tree branch and laughed heartily along with the frogs.
—You look very funny, Fiddlesticks, but we have to go on. Let's go!— she said
laughing.
After a moment's rest, they restarted their journey upstream, and, at noon,
they arrived where the poof trees were.
—Look, Luf!— the witch pointed. —How much swell-swell-swell-poof fruit, and
how pretty it is! It's ready to be picked.
—Can I help you?— the owl asked solicitous.
—No, better don't. You know that the trick to pick the fruit without it
exploding is to hold it with both hands and shake it energetically from one side
to the other so it gets dizzy, and then, tear it. And you can't do it. They are
too big for you, almost your size!
Fiddlesticks took a tiny bag from a pocket and whispered some magic words,
which changed it into a big sack where many swell-swell-swell-poof fruits could
be placed.
Fiddlesticks, the witch, began working; she shook the fruits with decision
and energy, while the owl overflew the scene with curiosity.
—One, two, three, to the sack with thee— our witch chanted happily to set the
rhythm.
Luf, the owl, perched herself on a poof tree branch to watch calmly what was
happening. The witch picked more and more fruits, and, without realizing it, she
took the owl and started shaking her from one side to the other. Poor Luf,
scared speechless, couldn't say a word; very dizzy, she fell off the tree, and
Fiddlesticks picked the closest fruit without shaking it. The fruit began to
swell and swell, more and more, and it burst right in her face with a loud
“poof”, covering her in purple juice.
—Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!— laughed the birds who were watching from some close-by
trees.
—Cousin, have you seen that loser over there? She's purple and sticky.— one
of them said.
—She's so dumb!— the other answered. —Even little chicks know that when the
poof tree fruit begins to swell and swell, you have to run away.
Luf didn't feel like laughing, nor did she understand what was going on,
because she was still dizzy and stumbling on the ground. She was mumbling
confused:
—This is too much! I can't stand it any more, I can't.
Meanwhile, Fiddlesticks was trying to clean her hair and face, whispering
wonderingly:
—I don't understand... I had shaken it so well! The fruit should have been
very dizzy. I had made an effort...
—I can tell... — the owl sighed wobblyingly.
A bit later, Fiddlesticks, the witch, continued picking
swell-swell-swell-poof fruit. Purple but happy, she finished the job at
mid-afternoon. She tied the sack with the fruit in it to the broom and, along
with the now recovered Luf, she began the journey back home.
When they arrived, the house didn't recognise the witch. It turned on its
legs and showed her its behind, giving out a loud raspberry.
—But it's me, your Fiddlesticks!— our witch said.
—Yes, yes... fiddlesticks and phooey.— the house answered proudly. —My
Fiddlesticks is not purple. You must be her double from another planet. But
you're not her!
—Yes, I am!— insisted our witch. —A swell-swell-swell-poof fruit exploded on
me.
—That's the dumbest excuse I have ever heard. I'm sure you're saying that to
confuse me, so that I let you in.— the house replied.
—House, listen, she's coming with me.— the owl said patiently. —You do
recognize me, don't you?
—I can't hear. I can't hear anything at all.—answered the house.
—House, let me in!— Fiddlesticks repeated.
—La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la— the house chanted quickly so as not to hear the
witch.
—Ok, either you let me in or I turn you into a giant igloo.— said
Fiddlesticks very seriously, tired of waiting.
—Oh, so cold! Now that I hear, I do think that your voice is familiar.
The house turned around again and opened its door. Finally, Fiddlesticks, the
witch, and Luf were able to come in. They found Milkifu dozing very comfortably
on the armchair. The black cat opened his green eyes and started laughing:
—I see you took my advice and did it again.— he meowed happily —Let me see,
let me see, what do you taste like?— and he licked her leg. —Yuck! You don't
taste like blackberry.
Luf, the owl, retired to her favourite corner and didn't move until dinner.
Fiddlesticks, the witch, was feeling tired but satisfied: she had enough
swell-swell-swell-poof fruit to prepare her magic potions.
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