They Love Two Things Above All Else

 

 

            Thaga, that wise and resourceful Neanderthal matron, had a wee cool pantry dug into the earth underneath the house. Ooog dug it there for her. There was a door and stairway, just as if it led down into a basement. The ancient earth, into which it was dug kept all her things cool, almost as nicely as a refrigerator.
            In addition to spuds, cabbages, onions, carrots, and garlic, she had a large earthenware crock full of brine in which she stored her rolls of butter that she traded with the cow woman down the street for. The butter was in exchange for garden stuff, and Thaga’s very good bread.
            Of course, she kept cheese and sausages down there too. Naturally.
            One day, having emptied the butter dish upstairs, Thaga descended into her little pantry, or more properly, her in-house cellar, to get a new roll of butter. Ooog would want butter with his bit of lunch when he came in from the garden.
            As she was going down the stairs, she shut the door carefully behind herself. When she came to the bench where the butter crock stood, she found the lid knocked off and on the floor. In addition to that, one roll of butter was laying out on the bench. It was covered with small prints like hand prints and there were several bites take from it. Thaga was astounded.
            “Now, who could have done this,” she asked herself. “I certainly did not! Ooog would never, and Harold the cat can’t get down here. I don’t believe Harold would raid my butter crock anyhow. He gets all he wants up in the kitchen,” she continued.
            With a little frown wrinkle on her forehead, Thaga looked all around the small cellar room. It didn’t seem as if any thing could hide there. But she searched anyhow.
            There was nothing hiding behind the boxes of vegetables, or the stacked cheeses, or among the bottled jams and sauces on their shelf. She moved the hanging sausages around and there was clearly no one there.
            She had several ropes of garlic, and dried peppers hanging from the overhead too. From the corner of her eye, as she was looking under cabbages, Thaga noticed movement in the garlic and peppers.
            “What have we here,” quoth Thaga to herself. And quick as a bunny she whipped those ropes of dried things to the side.
            Hanging there with his fingers looped through a couple of hooks in the ceiling was a small hairy creature similar in build to a human being. He was about 16 inches tall. He looked at Thaga with sharp black eyes and kicked at her face with his feet.
            Dodging the grubby little feet, Thaga grabbed those same feet and turned him upside down and shook him firmly, as if he were a dirty feather duster.
            “Who are you? Tell me your name, or I’ll plunge you in the sauerkraut!” said Thaga, though in truth, she would never do that to her sauerkraut!
            The little thing squirmed and screamed, but couldn’t get loose of Thaga’s terrific grip. Finally, he went limp and said, “Maug. I am Maug! Let me go!”
            “Maug, I confound thee!” said Thaga in a firm loud voice. Nothing happened. He was still there wriggling in her grip, spitting and hissing too.
            “You lied! You lied!” sang Thaga. “Tell me the truth, or I’ll boil you like a hen!” This was also highly unlikely. But, why tell the truth to a little black eyed forest grubber?
            It screamed horribly, until Thaga began to worry about Ooog possibly hearing the noise and becoming worried. She hung on, and shook him until he was quiet.
            “Tell me your name!” she demanded sternly. “Butter thief! Dirty thing in my cellar room!” He was silent, so she shook him some more. “How did you get in here?”
            “Ha! I’ll never tell! Fat old lady!” it spat.
            Obviously, he had dug his way in. Thaga had noticed a rabbit sized hole behind the garlic.
            “Tell me your name, gnome, elf, or whatever you think you are! Now!” yelled Thaga.
            “Into the pot with you then!” hollered Thaga. She shook him some more.
            “Verm! It’s Verm, fat old thing! My ma called me Vermmmmmm!” it sang in a high squeaky voice. As he cried out, he dropped something. It was a plain little golden ring. It was Thaga’s very own wedding ring!
            “Got it off my finger! Dirty little thief!” she said.
            Thaga grinned to herself, because Thaga knew a couple of things.
            “Very well, Verm. I confound thee. Banished you are to the forest earth. Dig there grimkin! Be gone!” said Thaga.
            Instantly, he was gone, as gone as if he had never been there. There wasn’t even a puff of smoke to remember him by.
            She bent down and retrieved her ring, and slipped it on her finger.
            “That worked pretty well,” said Thaga with satisfaction. “I never had to do that before!”
            She put the lid back on the butter crock, clean side down, promising herself to scrub it or get Ooog to cut another one. She picked up the befouled roll of butter to take upstairs and use for starting fires.
            Then she walked firmly up the twelve or so steps to the cellar door and passed into her kitchen. When she got up there, Harold the cat looked at her and said, “You should have left the door open, Ma’am. I would have taken care of that rat for you!”
            “Thank you, Harold! I appreciate the offer. My way was much less messy!” said she, giving Harold a nod and a wink.
            She wrapped the dirty butter in some old paper and put it in the kindling box.
            “Don’t eat this butter, Harold. It’s too dirty!” she told her cat, as he watched.
            “Meow!” said Harold. Then we he went outside to see what Ooog was doing. The front door was open, and sunlight was streaming in making bright squares on the stone floor.
            When Ooog came in for lunch, followed by Harold, Thaga told him the whole story, and asked him to close off the tunnel Verm had dug into her cellar room.

🐀