Ivasyk-Telesyk

Ivasyk-Telesyk

Once there lived an old man and an old woman. Dearer to them than anything in the world was their little boy Ivasyk, whom they lovingly called Telesyk. Telesyk was lively, clever, and hardworking. One day he came to his father. “Father, please make me a golden boat and a silver oar. I'll sail along the river, catch fish, and help you and Mother.” The old man smiled. “If you want them for work as well as play, we'll make them.” Before long, a little golden boat shone beside the bank, and a silver oar gleamed in Telesyk's hands. Every morning he pushed away from shore and rowed into the light mist, where reeds whispered to the wind and fish brushed the surface with their tails. He caught fish, took some home, and then returned to the river. His mother brought his lunch. She would stand on the bank and call in a singsong voice: “Telesyk, Telesyk, come to the shore! Come to the bank, my dear! I've brought you food and drink today. Your mother is waiting here!” Telesyk heard that familiar voice and said: “Closer, closer to the bank, little boat. My mother has come.” He would row in, eat his lunch, listen to her advice, and set off to fish again. “Remember, my son,” she always told him. “Come ashore for my voice, but not for a stranger's.” “I'll remember,” said Telesyk. But a cunning serpent lived nearby. One day she hid among the reeds and heard his mother calling. So that's how he knows when to come in, she thought. After his mother left, the serpent stood by the water and shouted in her rough voice: “Telesyk, Telesyk! Come to the bank! I've brought you food and drink!” Telesyk was suspicious at once. “No, little boat. Go farther out. That isn't Mother's voice.” He quickly rowed to the middle of the river. The serpent grew angry. “Clever boy! But I won't give up.” She went to a blacksmith. “Make my voice soft and gentle, like Telesyk's mother's.” The smith worked a little magic on her voice, and she really did sound quite different. The next day she returned to the bank. “Telesyk, Telesyk, come to the shore! Come to the bank, my dear! I've brought you food and drink today. Your mother is waiting here!” The boy listened. It sounded very much like his mother. “Closer, little boat,” he said. “That must be Mother.” As soon as the boat touched the bank, the serpent seized him and carried him to her forest cottage. Telesyk was frightened, but he did not cry. He knew that when trouble came, fear might come too—but he still needed to think. The serpent's daughter, Olenka, lived in the cottage. “Watch the boy,” the serpent ordered. “I'll go and invite some guests.” And she left. Olenka lit the old oven and set a wooden baking paddle before it. “Sit here,” she told Telesyk. The boy understood at once that she meant him harm, but he did not show it. “How do I sit on it?” he asked innocently. “Like this?” He put one hand on the paddle. “No!” “Then like this?” He put one foot on it. “Not like that!” Telesyk scratched his head. “I've never seen it done. Please show me, and I'll copy you.” Impatiently, Olenka sat on the paddle to demonstrate. That was what Telesyk had been waiting for. He quickly pushed the paddle toward the oven and shut the door, giving himself a few precious minutes. “I'm sorry, but I won't let you hurt me!” he said, and ran outside. He ran until he found a tall, tall sycamore. He climbed to the very top and hid among its leaves. Soon the serpent returned. Finding Telesyk gone, she rushed out to search. She prowled around the tree, but could not reach him. Just then, geese flew above the forest. Telesyk lifted his head and called: “Geese, dear geese, please hear my cry! Take me on your wings so high. Carry me home, across the sky, To Father and Mother waiting nearby!” The first flock was too far away to hear. The second hurried past as well. Telesyk grew anxious. He began to think he might be stuck in the tree until dark. Then a young goose appeared. It had fallen behind the others and was flying lower. “Little goose, help me!” he begged. “Please take me home.” The goose circled the tree. “Climb on. Hold tight.” Telesyk carefully settled on its back. The goose beat its wings once, twice, and the tree fell away beneath them. They flew over woods, meadows, and the shining river. Telesyk saw his golden boat beside the bank, and soon recognized his own house. The goose set him down just outside the yard. Inside, his parents were grieving for him. His mother was baking little pies, trying to keep busy. She took one from the oven. “This one's for you, dear.” She put another on a plate. “And this one's for me.” Then a small voice came from outside the window. “And what about me?” The old woman stood still. “Did you hear that?” “Perhaps we imagined it,” said the old man, though he was already listening. She took out two more pies. “This one's for you, and this one's for me.” “And what about me?” the voice asked again. They hurried to the door. There stood Telesyk, tired and tousled, but alive and smiling. “Our son!” His mother hugged him so tightly that he could barely say: “Mother, is there a pie left for me after all?” His father laughed through his tears. “Today you can have the whole bowl!” Telesyk told them everything. After that, he listened even more carefully for his mother's voice and never came ashore if he had the slightest doubt. The old woman fed the young goose grain, gave it clean water, and thanked it for bringing their boy home. The goose spread its wings and flew off to catch its flock. For a long time, the golden boat continued to sail on the river. And whenever Telesyk pushed away with his silver oar, he remembered that a quick mind can help in trouble—and that a beloved voice is known with the heart as well as the ears.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨