narrated by leopoldo uichanco, a tagalog from calamba, la laguna. he says, “this tradition is a favorite one among tagalog children. i have often heard the story told by old men while i was waiting my turn at barber-shops in my province.”
the culeto is a fine singer, but it is bald-headed. the natives often capture it and train it to talk. formerly this little black bird was not so bald as it is to-day: its head, in fact, was covered with a thick growth of feathers. and the crow, too: it was not black once, but its feathers were as white as starch.
once upon a time, shortly after the deluge, the crow was merrily crowing on the branch of a tree when the culeto came by. the voice of the crow was so harsh, that the culeto made fun of it. “good-morning, mr. crow!” said the culeto, “i am very glad to hear you sing. your voice is so fine, that i cannot help closing my ears.”
[408]“pray, think first of yourself!” answered the crow. “what do i care for a good voice, so long as i have a strong body? why don’t you laugh at yourself? see how weak and tiny you are!”
“weak!” said the culeto. “do you call me weak? i would fly a race even with an eagle.”
“ha, ha, ha!” laughed the crow. “the idea of racing the eagle when you do not even dare race me!”
“race with you! why, you would only disgrace yourself,” retorted the culeto.
“wait!” answered the crow. “eat some more rice, drink some more water, fill your body with more air! and wait till you grow bigger before you venture to race with me!”
“the strength of a person,” said the culeto, nettled, “is not to be judged by his size. don’t you know that it is the smallest pepper that is the hottest?”
“well, then,” replied the crow, “if you wish to race me now at your own risk, let us begin!”
“one, two, three!” counted the culeto, and up they flew. during their flight the two birds became separated from each other by a dense cloud. the culeto flew at full speed so high upward, that he knocked his head very hard against the door of the sky,—so hard, in fact, that a large piece of skin was scraped from his scalp. the crow, having lost his way, flew so near the sun, that his feathers were burned black.
it is on account of this bet between the culeto and the crow that all the descendants of the former have been bald-headed, while all the descendants of the crow have black feathers to-day.
