OOWUNGALAYMA
by Richard Thompson

There was a very tall tree in the village square that each year bore wonderful fruit amongst its lofty branches. And each year, the villagers watched as the fruit ripened and rotted on the tree, for the tree was too tall to climb and too stout to shake.

"There must be a way to get the fruit!" declared the Mayor. "I will go to the mountains and as Old Anton for his advice."

The mayor walked for two days and came to the wise man's house.

When Old Anton heard the story, he nodded.

"I will tell you a magic word," he said. "When the fruit is ripe, say the word and the fruit will fall into your hands. The word is... listen carefully... oowungalayma."

"Oowungalayma!" said the Mayor. "I will not forget!! Oowungalayma!"

He started down the mountain repeating the word over and over again: "Oowungalayma. Oowungalayma. Oowungalayma...."

Where the mountain path meets the high road, the Mayor met the King's coach. The Mayor bowed low and said in a loud voice: "Long live the King!"

Then he walked on saying over and over to himself: "Okingalayma. Ookingalayma. Ookingalayma..."

A short distance farther along, he met a merchant from the village.

"Good day, Your Worship!" called the merchant. "It is a fine thing you are doing for the people of the village."

"It is no more than can be expected," protested the Mayor. "But you might remember me on The Day." The day he referred to was, of course, Election Day.

And the Mayor walked on saying over and over to himself: "Ookingthedayma. Ookingthedayma. Ookingthedayma..."

When he arrived in the village, the Mayor called a meeting beneath the tree.

"I, Mayor of the Village and friend to all, have brought to you from Old Anton the magic word that will cause the fruit to fall into our hands! The word is..." The Mayor held out his hand to catch the first piece of fruit as it fell. "...ookingthedayma!"

Of course, no fruit fell.

"Oodingthedangma! Oobingdabingla!" The Mayor was getting very red in the face. "Oosingthesongma!"

"He forgot!" some in the crowd yelled out. "Let's send someone who can remember a simple magic word!"

"Send Mother Mullens!" someone else called. "She has ten children, twenty-nine grandchildren and forty-three great grandchildren, and she never forgets a single name or face."

So Mother Mullens walked for four days - she was a great grandmother after all - and came to Old Anton's house. And Old Anton told her the magic word.

"Oowungalayma..." whispered Mother Mullens.

And as she walked down the mountain, she said the word over and over to herself so that she would not forget it: "Oowungalayma. Oowungalayma. Oowungalayma..."

As she neared the village a young boy called out to her, "Good afternoon, Gramma!"

"Good afternoon, John! Say hello for me to your sister, Sue, and your brother, Bill!" And she walked on saying: "Oojohngalayma. Oosuegalayma. Oobillgalayma..."

"Good afternoon, Mother!"

"Tom, my son! Come for tea soon! And bring Anna and Sally... "

And she walked on saying: "Ootomgalayma. Tomtomsalayma. Tomtomsalanna..."

By the time she reached the village square, the magic word was so mixed up with the names of her ten children, her twenty-nine grandchildren and her forty-three great grandchildren that even Old Anton would not have been able to untangle it.

"I will go," said the Schoolmaster. "Memory is my stock in trade, after all."

The Schoolmaster was well respected for his clever brain.

"We should have sent him in the first place!" declared the villagers.

The Schoolmaster walked for two days until he came to Old Anton's house. When Old Anton told him the word, he turned around immediately and headed down the mountain saying the word over and over to himself so that he wouldn't forget it: "Oowungalayma. Oowungalayma. Oowungalayma..."

Near the place where the stream joins the river, he saw a man fishing.

The man hailed him as he passed: "Schoolmaster! Schoolmaster!"

"Stop a moment! I want to show you something!"

The Schoolmaster stopped, but he kept saying the word over and over: "Oowungalayma. Oowungalayma..."

"Look at the trout I caught, Schoolmaster!" said the man. "See! It must weigh ten pounds!"

The Schoolmaster looked at the fish.

"That is not a trout, you idiot. It is a pike, also known as a northern pike, or - more properly - Esox Lucius."

And he walked on saying to himself: "Oowungalayfish. Oowungalayfish. Oowungalayfish..."

Near the village, he came upon two boys wrestling in the road. He picked them up by their ears and scowled at them.

"Bobby has my marbles, sir, and he won't give them back!" complained one of the boys.

"They're not his! They're mine!" cried the other.

"Let's see," said the Schoolmaster. "Four marbles divided by two boys makes two for you and two for you. Simple mathematics."

He walked away saying over and over to himself: "Ootwogalayfish. Ootwogalayfish. Ootwogalayfish..."

Of course, when he stood beneath the tree - with the whole village watching - and said solemnly, "Ootwogalayfish!" - nothing happened.

When he cleared his throat and said very sternly: "OOTWOGALAYFISH!" - nothing happened.

And when he threatened to cane the tree if it didn't pay attention, and said, "OOTWOGALAYFISH!" - nothing happened again.

The villagers laughed and jeered.

Suddenly, a small voice spoke up: "Let me go to the mountains. Perhaps I can bring back the magic word that will cause the fruit to fall." It was a young girl - the baker's daughter - who had spoken.

The villagers looked at her and shook their heads and laughed some more.

"You sent a very important person, and he was not able to bring back the word. You sent a very old person and a very clever person. I am none of those things. Please, let me try."

In fact, no one else wanted to go and risk looking like a fool, so they agreed to send the girl. She walked for three days and came to Old Anton's house.

"The word is oowungalayma," Old Anton told her.

The girl rummaged in her satchel and took out a slate and a piece of chalk.

"Tell me how to write it down, please," she said.

Old Anton told her the letters that made the sounds of the word: "O. O. W. U. N. G. A. L. A. Y. M. A." The girl drew the letters on her slate, and, thanking the old man, headed back down the mountain.

She met her father in the square when she returned home.

"Father," she said, handing him the slate, "please tell me what this says."

Her father slowly formed the sounds - "Oowungalayma..."

And as soon as he said them, the fruit began to rain down around them.

The villagers gathered the fruit, and it was good!

The Schoolmaster wrote the word on a piece of paper that was locked away in a safe place, and each year since then, the girl, who is now a grown woman, of course, goes to the tree when the fruit is ripe and reads the magic word: "OOWUNGALAYMA!"