Korean Children's Favorite Stories Read online

  Retold by Kim So-un

  Illustrated by Jeong Kyoung-Sim

  TUTTLE Publishing

  Tokyo Rutland, Vermont Singapore

  As seen in the first story in this collection of stories for children, "The Story Bag," stories do not like to be hoarded, but want to be told and told again, passing always from lip to lip. I have chosen and retold here a number of Korean folk tales that have been handed down by word of mouth from one generation to the next. There are stories that have been told by grandparents to their grandchildren, huddled on the heated floors of Korean homes in the dead of winter, with the cold snow-laden winds raging outside. There are stories repeated in the yards of Korean homes to children seated on straw mats in the cool of a summer evening, smoke from mosquito coils whirling about their faces. These are short tales recounted in great merriment by farming folk, as they rest from their work in the fields in the shade of a nearby tree. These are stories which the Korean children of countless generations have wept and laughed over. They reveal the inevitable foibles of people everywhere and expose the human-like qualities of animals and the animal-like qualities of humans. In these stories ants talk, a baby rabbit outwits a tiger, a tree fathers a child, and a toad saves a whole village. They reflect the serenity of the men and women nurtured by the ancient land of Korea. Here may be found stories which echo those told in many countries throughout the world. Here are also stories that are peculiar to Korea. These stories were first heard in my childhood in Korea. I hope they will use their magic powers to rise above all language barriers and speak directly to the hearts of all "children" between the ages of eight and eighty in other lands.

  Author—Kim So-un

  The Tuttle Story: "Books to Span the East and West"

  Most people are very surprised to learn that the world's largest publisher of books on Asia had its beginnings in the tiny American state of Vermont. The company's founder, Charles E. Tuttle, belonged to a New England family steeped in publishing. And his first love was naturally books—especially old and rare editions.

  Immediately after WW II, serving in Tokyo under General Douglas MacArthur, Tuttle was tasked with reviving the Japanese publishing industry, and founded the Charles E. Tuttle Publishing Company, which still thrives today as one of the world's leading independent publishers.

  Though a westerner, Charles was hugely instrumental in bringing knowledge of Japan and Asia to a world hungry for information about the East. By the time of his death in 1993, Tuttle had published over 6,000 titles on Asian culture, history and art—a legacy honored by the Japanese emperor with the "Order of the Sacred Treasure," the highest tribute Japan can bestow upon a non-Japanese.

  With a backlist of 1,500 books, Tuttle Publishing is as active today as at any time in its past—inspired by Charles' core mission to publish fine books to span the East and West and provide a greater understanding of each.

  Published by Tuttle Publishing, an imprint of Periplus Editions (HK) Ltd.

  www.tuttlepublishing.com

  First Edition, January 1955 Illustrations © 2004 Jeong Kyoung-Sim Originally Published in The Story Bag.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  LCC Card No. 2003112851

  ISBN: 978-1-4629-0816-5 (ebook)

  Printed in Malaysia

  15 14 13 12 11

  12 11 10 9 8 7 6

  1109TW

  Distributed by:

  North America, Latin America and Europe

  Tuttle Publishing, 364 Innovation Drive,

  North Clarendon, VT 05759-9436.

  Tel: 1 (802) 773 8930 Fax: 1 (802) 773 6993

  [email protected]

  www.tuttlepublishing.com

  Asia Pacific

  Berkeley Books Pte Ltd, 61 Tai Seng Avenue,

  #02-12 Singapore 534167.

  Tel: (65) 6280 1330 Fax: (65) 6280 6290

  [email protected]

  www.periplus.com

  Japan

  Tuttle Publishing, Yaekari Building, 3F 5-4-12, Osaki,

  Shinagawa-ku, Tokyo, Japan 141-0032

  Tel: (81) 3 5437 0171 Fax: (81) 3 5437 0755

  [email protected]

  www.tuttle.co.jp

  Indonesia

  PT Java Books Indonesia, Jl Rawa Gelam IV No. 9

  Kawasan Industri Pulogadung, Jakarta 13930, Indonesia

  Tel: (62) 21 4682 1088 Fax: (62) 21 461 0206

  [email protected]

  www.periplus.co.id

  TUTTLE PUBLISHING® is a registered trademark of Tuttle Publishing, a division of Periplus Editions (HK) Ltd.

  Contents

  The Story Bag

  9

  The Pheasant, the Dove, and the Magpie

  16

  The Bridegroom Shopping

  20

  The Bad Tiger

  27

  The Great Flood

  32

  The PumpKin Seeds

  40

  The Tiger and the Rabbit

  48

  The Green Leaf

  54

  The Three Little Girls

  60

  The Snake and the Toad

  66

  The Grateful Tiger

  72

  The Three Princesses

  78

  The Disowned Student

  90

  There once lived a very rich family. They had only one child, a boy, who loved to have stories told to him. Whenever he met a new person, he would say, 'Tell me another different story' And each time he would store away the story he heard in a small bag he carried at his belt. So many stories did he hear that soon the bag was packed tight and he had to push hard to get each new story in. Then, to make sure that none of the stories escaped, he kept the bag tied tightly at the mouth.

  The boy eventually grew into a handsome young man. The time came for him to take a wife. A bride was chosen for him, and the whole house was preparing to greet the young master's new wife. Everything was in an uproar.

  Now, there happened to be in this rich home a faithful old servant who had been with the family ever since the time when the story-loving boy was still very young. As the household was preparing for the young master's wedding, this servant was tending a fire on the kitchen hearth. Suddenly his ears caught faint whispering sounds coming from somewhere. He listened carefully and soon discovered that the voices were coming from a bag hanging on the wall. It was the bag of stories which the young master had kept in his childhood. Now it hung forgotten on an old nail on the kitchen wall. The old servant listened carefully.

  "Listen everyone' said a voice, "the boy's wedding is to take place tomorrow. He has kept us this long while stuffed in this bag, packed so closely and uncomfortably together. We have suffered for a long time. We must make him pay for this some way or another."

  "Yes," said another voice, "I have been thinking the same thing. Tomorrow the young man will leave by horse to bring home his bride. I shall change into bright red berries, ripening by the roadside. There I shall wait for him. I shall be poisonous but shall look so beautiful that he will want to eat me. If he does, I shall kill him."

  "And, if he doesn't die after eating the berries," piped up a third voice, "I shall become a clear, bubbling spring by the roadside. I shall have a beautiful gourd dipper floating in me. When he sees me he will feel thirsty and will drink me. When I get inside him, I shall make him suffer terribly."

  A fourth voice then broke in. "If you fail, then I shall become a
n iron skewer, heated red-hot, and I shall hide in the bag of chaff that will be placed by his horse for him to dismount on when he reaches his bride's home. And when he steps on me, I shall burn his feet badly." Because, you see, according to the custom of the land in those days, a bag of chaff was always placed by the bridegroom's horse so that he would not have to step directly on the ground.

  Then a fifth voice whispered, "If that fails too, I shall become those poisonous string snakes, thin as threads. Then I shall hide in the bridal chamber. When the bride and the bridegroom have gone to sleep, I shall come out and bite them."

  The servant was filled with alarm by what he heard. "This is terrible," he told himself "I must not let any harm come to the young master. When he leaves the house tomorrow, I must take the bridle and lead his horse myself,"

  Early next morning, the final preparations were completed, and the wedding procession was ready to set forth. The groom, dressed in his best, came out of the house and mounted his horse. Suddenly the faithful servant came running out and grabbed the horse's bridle. He then asked to be allowed to lead the horse.

  The old master of the house said, "You have other work to do. You had better stay behind."

  "But I must lead the horse today," the servant said. "I don't care what happens, but I insist that I take the bridle."

  He refused to listen to anyone and finally the master, surprised at the old man's obstinacy, allowed him to lead the horse to the bride's home.

  As the procession wound along its way, the bridegroom came to an open field. There by the roadside many bright berries were growing. They looked temptingly delicious.

  "Wait!" the bridegroom called out. "Stop the horse and pick me some of those big juicy berries."

  However, the servant would not stop. In fact, he purposely made the horse hurry on and said, "Oh, those berries. You can find them anywhere. Just be a little patient. I shall pick some for you later." And he gave the horse a good crack of the whip.

  After a while, they came to a bubbling spring. Its clear waters seemed cool and tempting. There was even a small gourd dipper floating on the water, as if to invite the passerby to have a drink.

  "Bring me some of that water," the bridegroom said to the servant. "I have been thirsty for some time."

  But again the servant prodded the horse and hurried by. "Once we get into the shade of those trees, your thirst will soon disappear," he said, and he gave the horse another crack of the whip, a blow much harder than the first one.

  The bridegroom grumbled and mumbled from atop his horse. He was in a very bad mood, but the servant took no notice. He only made the horse go faster.

  Soon they reached the bride's home. There, already gathered in the yard, was a large crowd of people. The servant led the horse into the compound and stopped it beside the waiting bag of chaff. As the bridegroom put down his foot to dismount, the servant pretended to stumble and shoved the bridegroom to keep him from stepping on the bag.

  The bridegroom fell to the straw mats laid out on the ground. He blushed in shame at his clumsy fall. However, he could not scold the servant in front of all the people. So he kept silent and entered the bride's home.

  There, the wed-ding ceremony was held without untoward incident, and the newly married couple returned to the groom's home.

  Soon night fell, and the bride and bridegroom retired to their room. The faithful servant armed himself with a sword and hid himself under the veranda outside the bridal chamber. As soon as the bride and bridegroom turned out the lights and went to bed, the servant opened the door of the room and leapt inside.

  The newly wed couple were startled beyond description. "Who's there?" they both shouted, jumping out of bed.

  "Young master," The servant said," I Shall explain later. Right now, just hurry and get out of the way."

  The servant kicked the bedding aside and lifted the mattress. A terrible sight greeted their eyes. There hundreds of string snakes coiled and writhed in a single ball. The servant slashed at the snakes with the sword in his hand.

  As he cut some into pieces, they opened their red mouths and darted their black forked tongues at him. Other snakes slithered here and there, trying to escape the servant's flashing sword. The servant whirled here and there like a madman and finally killed every one of the snakes in the room.

  Then he let out a great sigh of relief and began to say, "Young master, this is the story...." And the old servant recounted all the whispers that he had heard coming from the old bag on the kitchen wall.

  That is why when stories are heard they must never be stored away to become mean and spiteful, but must always be shared with other people. In this way, they are passed from one person to another so that as many people as possible can enjoy them.

  There once lived in the same forest a pheasant, a dove, and a magpie. One year the crops failed, and there was nothing for the three of them to eat. "What shall we do? How can we live through this cold winter?" The three talked over their problems and finally decided to call on a mouse who also lived in the same forest. "Surely," they said, "the mouse will have some rice and will share it with us." They decided that the pheasant would go first to see the mouse.

  The pheasant was always a proud bird and till then had looked down on the lowly mouse. So, when he came to the home of the mouse, he spoke rudely out of habit.

  "Hey there!" the pheasant said haughtily, "where are you? This is the great pheasant. Bring me some food."

  Mrs. Mouse was in the kitchen at the back of the house, feeding fuel to her kitchen stove. When she heard the disdainful words of the pheasant, she became very angry. She flew out of the kitchen, a red-hot poker in her hand, and began hitting the pheasant on both his cheeks.

  "What's the idea of speaking in such a manner when you have come begging for food. Even if we had rice to throw away, we wouldn't give you any."

  Rubbing his red and swollen cheeks, the pheasant ran home in great shame. That is why, to this day, the pheasant's cheeks are red.

  Next the dove went to the mouse's home. He, too, was a very proud bird and looked down on the mouse.

  "Say, you rice thief! I've come for a bit of food," he said in a rude and haughty manner.

  Mrs. Mouse became angry again when she heard the dove speak so rudely. She ran out of her kitchen with a poker in her hand and hit the dove a good blow on the top of his head.

  Ever since then, the top of a dove's head has always been blue. It is the bruise that was caused by Mrs. Mouse and her poker.

  Lastly, the magpie went to get some food. The magpie knew too well what had happened to his two friends, the pheasant and the dove. He did not want to repeat their mistakes, so he decided to be very, very careful how he spoke.

  As soon as he reached the front door of Mr. Mouse's home, he bowed humbly and spoke as politely as possible. "My dear Mr. Mouse," he said, "we have had an extremely poor harvest and I am hungry. Can you not spare me a little food?"

  Mr. Mouse came to the front door. "Well, Mr. Magpie, I won't say I shan't give you anything. But aren't you a crony of the pheasant and the dove? If you are, I will certainly have nothing to do with you."

  "Oh no, Mr. Mouse," said the magpie, "absolutely not. I've never even heard of them. "In that case, come in," the mouse said, believing what the magpie told him. The mouse then gave the magpie some rice to take home.

  On top of all this, Mrs. Mouse, her good mood restored, said, "Mr. Magpie, you certainly are a refined gentleman. Even your language is different from the rest. You must have had a very good upbringing."

  And so, to this day, the magpie is known for his cunning and slyness.

  Away in the country there once lived a long-established family of farmers. There was an only daughter in the family, who had just married. As is the custom in such cases, the bridegroom came to live with his in-laws, for he was to continue the family name.

  A few days after the marriage it so happened that the bridegroom had to go to town on some business. As he prepared to lea
ve, his bride asked him, "Will you please buy me a comb in town?"

  "Why, of course," he answered, all eager to please his pretty bride.

  However, his wife knew that her husband was a very forgetful man. Hadn't both her mother-in-law and father-in-law told her so?

  As she was wondering how he could be made to remember, she chanced to look at the sky. There was a new moon, a thin crescent of pale light, shining softly in the sky. It was only three days old, and it looked just like the moon-shaped comb she wanted.

  "There," she called to her husband, "look at the moon. Doesn't it look just like a comb? If you forget what you must buy, just remember to look into the sky. The moon will remind you that I want a comb. You will remember, won't you?"

  This she repeated again and again, and after she was sure he would remember, she said goodbye to him.

  The bridegroom was soon in town. He was so taken up with his business that he completely forgot about his wife's comb. Several days later, his work finished, he packed his belongings and prepared to return home. As he looked around to see if he had forgotten anything, he happened to look out the window, and there he saw a big, round moon shining in the sky. Ten days had passed since he had left home. The moon was no longer a small sliver of light but a round, laughing globe of silver.

  The moon suddenly reminded him of his wife's parting words. "Oh, I almost forgot," he told himself. "There was something like the moon I had to buy for my wife. Now, I wonder what it was?"

  Try as he might, he could not remember. He knew that it had something to do with the moon—but what? His memory was a blank. "Was it something round like the moon?" he asked himself, "or was it something that shone like the moon?" But not for the life of him could he recall what it was.