Honey Cakes for the Lazy Bohatyr

Terentiy the chumak, last year over a mug of my beer, told of an old cooper named Semen from near Kaniv. He was a quiet man, with eyes full of warm wisdom, and he couldn't abide pointless arguments. And he had a neighbour, Klym - a lad strong as iron but lazy as a well-fed cat at harvest time.

Klym could lie in the sun the whole day long, but the moment he caught the smell of the honey cakes Semen's sister baked, there he was, sitting on the workshop threshold waiting for a treat. Now Semen badly needed to split a huge, twisted oak log that had lain in the middle of his yard for two years. The oak's heart was so gnarled that an ordinary axe bounced off it with a ring.

Semen himself no longer had the old strength in his shoulders, and lazy Klym answered every plea for help by stretching and saying: "Uncle Semen, work's not a wolf, it won't run off into the woods." So the old cooper decided to come at it from another side. One Sunday, when the air smelled of fresh baking and dry thyme, Semen carried a whole plate of hot honey cakes out into the yard. Klym came running at once and sat down on the bench, swallowing his spit.

The cooper turned one cake over in his hands and said sadly: "Eh, Klym, you'd eat them all, but I can see you've gone weak. That oak log there - you couldn't even budge it, let alone lift it." The lad fairly jumped, and his face went red with the insult. "Me, weak? - Klym shouted. - I'll carry it round the yard on my shoulders!" The cooper only smiled slyly into his grey moustache: "Not a chance. It's solid through, heavy - no man alive could lift it.

Now, if you split it in half and then lifted both halves at once - then I'd believe you were stronger than that oak, and I'd hand over all the cakes." Klym, burning with the challenge, grabbed the heavy iron wedges and the sledgehammer and set about the log. The sun rolled down toward evening, sweat poured off the lad in rivers, and loud blows rang through the yard. Klym growled, drove the wedges deeper, and at last, with a great crack, split the oak hulk in two.

Breathing hard, he seized both halves, hoisted them over his head and roared: "Look, uncle!" Semen laughed warmly, clapped him on the shoulder and brought out the plate: "I see, son! A true bohatyr. Here's your reward - you earned it fair and square." Klym sat on the wood chips, happily wolfing down the sweet honey cakes and glowing with pride at his own incredible strength. He never even noticed how perfectly each half suited old Semen's future barrels.

And so it goes: sometimes the best way to shift a heavy job off the spot is to let somebody prove how strong and unstoppable they are. And a sweet tale at the end only adds savour to good work.