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Main > South African folktales > Fairy tale "How Jakhals Fed Oom Leeuw"

How Jakhals Fed Oom Leeuw

“‘Hm, hm, hm,’ said Jakhals, pretending to read. ‘Tante says Oom must kill a nice fat Boer hamel and send it home at once by me. She and the children are hungry.’

“‘Well, that’s all right. Here is the very thing. Tante is not very well. The Jew smouse’s donkey she ate the other day disagreed with her, so we must coax her a little. I don’t want to say anything, but you know a vrouwmens is a dangerous thing when she is in a temper. So you had better take this hamel to her at once, and then you can have the offal for your trouble.”

“‘Thank you, noble Oom, King of Beasts,’ said Jakhals in a fawning voice, promising himself at the same time that he would have something more than the offal. ‘How fortunate am I, poor humble creature, to have the King for my uncle,’ and off he trotted with the sheep.

“Leeuw prowled further up the kloof, waving his tail from side to side.” Had Outa had a tail he would have wagged it, but, as he had not, his right arm was slowly flourished to and fro to give point to his description. “Here comes a little Steenbokje on its way to a veld dam for water. Ach! but it is pretty! It looks here, it looks there, with its large soft eyes. One little front foot is in the air; now it is down; the other goes up; down again. On it comes, slowly, slowly”—Outa’s hands, bunched up to resemble the buck’s feet, illustrated each step, the children following his movements with breathless interest. “Now it stops to listen.” Outa was rigid as he bent forward to catch the least sound. Suddenly he started violently, and the children involuntarily did the same. “Hark! what was that? What is coming? Ach! how Steenbokje skriks and shivers! A terrible form blocks the way! Great eyes—cruel eyes burn him with their fire. Now he knows. It is Leeuw!—Leeuw who stands in the path! He growls and glares at Steenbokje. Steenbokje cannot turn away. They stare at each other—so—just so—” Outa glares at each fascinated child in turn. “Steenbokje cannot look away, cannot move. He is stiff with fright.

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