The Greedy Peasant Woman

     Once upon a time, there was a journeyman named Radomír wandering the world. He was a lively and cheerful young man. One day, his feet carried him to a lonely roadside inn. Tired from a day’s journey, he stepped inside. The innkeeper greeted him at the threshold:
     “Come in, lad! You must be hungry, right?”
     “I’d be lying, innkeeper, if I said otherwise. After such a long journey, I’m as hungry as a wolf. I could eat nails!”
     “I’ll offer you something much better,” whispered the innkeeper.
     It wasn’t long before a roast chicken appeared on the table. Its aroma filled the entire room. Radomír’s mouth watered at the sight. He didn’t need to be asked twice and dug into the meal.
     The innkeeper eyed the newcomer curiously. When Radomír finished eating, he asked:
     “Judging by your clothes, you’re not from around here. You must be coming from far away.”
     “That’s right. I’m just returning from a mighty kingdom.”
     “And how is it out in the world?” the innkeeper inquired.
     “Well, it’s this way and that. Everywhere you find not only good people, but also bad ones. Among them are rich and poor, hardworking and lazy, wise and foolish.”
     “And greedy ones?”
     “Of course. Why do you ask?”
     The man leaned in closer: “On the outskirts of our village lives perhaps the greediest woman under the wide sky. No one really remembers her name anymore. People call her Grubby Rézi. She lives up to her name, too. She goes about uncombed and unwashed. In autumn, she gathers all the acorns and chestnuts in the forest and lives off them all year. Yet she keeps a dozen fat hens. Every morning she drives them out to the communal fields so they can peck there. She won’t give them a single poppy seed from her own stores. In the evening, she counts her chickens three times, just to be sure. I don’t know what she’d do if even one went missing.”
     Radomír shook his head at that.
     “That miser would let Lucifer pull out all her hair if she could get money for it. And she has a chest full of gold coins, as many as there are potato peels. It’s hard to believe.”
     “You say, sir, that she loves those coins more than herself?”
     “As I said, lad, she coddles them like her own children.”
     Radomír thought for a moment and then said:
     “Well, I’ll just have to get those coins from her!”
     “Are you crazy? You’d have to steal them, boy! I wouldn’t recommend it. Day and night, a black tomcat sits on the chest and guards her treasure. Woe to anyone who comes near-it’ll scratch with its sharp claws,” warned the innkeeper.
     “No need to steal. She’ll willingly give me the money herself.”
     “I don’t believe that,” said the man.
     “Let’s make a bet, then,” said Radomír. “If I lose, I’ll serve you for a whole year for free. But if I win, I’ll be your guest for a month.”
     “Deal,” said the innkeeper. The two men shook on it.
     The next day, Radomír set out for the lonely place at dawn. In less than half an hour, he stood before a thatched cottage. He pulled a big cowbell from his bag and started ringing it so loudly it made ears ring. Before you could count to three, a dirty, disheveled old woman ran out of the house.
     “Heavens, she’s a real witch,” thought the young man.
     “What are you doing here, you scoundrel!” the old woman shouted. “Do you want to make me deaf?”
     Radomír stopped ringing and said in the sweetest voice:
     “Don’t be angry, granny, about the noise. I’m calling together all the poor and needy to give them gifts.”
     The peasant woman grew uneasy. Then she moaned:
     “It’s good you’ve come. I live in utter poverty. I’m as poor as a church mouse. I have nothing but the roof over my head.”
     “Mother, don’t despair. I’ll help you.”
     With these words, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a copper coin. He handed it to the old woman. She snatched it quickly, lest he change his mind.
     “The coin I gave you is no ordinary one. It’s been blessed by an Abyssinian bishop himself. Whoever plants this coin at noon, ten paces from the nearest oak, and digs it up the next day, will be richly rewarded.”
     The old woman listened with her mouth open. She had never heard of such a thing in her life.
     “I must go now. It’s high time. I have to visit other poor souls. I’ll come again tomorrow.”
     With that, he left. Radomír knew that the only oak in the area stood by a field at a nearby crossroads. He hurried there, climbed the tree, and hid among the branches. No sooner had he done so than the peasant woman shuffled over. She looked around carefully. Not a soul in sight. She measured ten paces from the trunk, dug a small hole, and placed the coin inside. She covered it with loose earth and marked the spot with a stone. When she was done, she hobbled back home. Radomír climbed down from the tree. To the lone copper coin, he added nine more.
     The next day, the peasant woman was unrecognizable. She was beaming with joy.
     “Sonny, great fortune has come to me. Just imagine, I planted one copper coin and dug up ten!”
     “You see with your own eyes, mother, I wasn’t just talking nonsense. I have another surprise for you. I’ll tell you another secret. If someone were to plant gold coins in that spot, trees would grow from them. In time, they’d be covered in ducats.”
     The peasant woman hung on his every word. The desire for wealth blinded her.
     “It’s a pity we don’t have such money,” Radomír said, pretending to be sad.
     The old woman agreed:
     “How could a poor person ever get that much money?”
     Radomír looked up at the sky.
     “The sun is already high. I must go, I have a long journey ahead. Take care, and don’t think badly of me.”
     “Oh no, how could I, lad, you’ve helped me.”
     With that, they said goodbye. As soon as noon struck, the old woman set off for the oak with a full purse. Radomír watched her from the tree, smiling as he saw her plant her round coins in the earth. The peasant woman was satisfied with her work and cheerfully walked home. When she was out of sight, Radomír gathered up all the ducats. In their place, he planted acorns from the oak. Then he returned to the inn.
     When he poured the gold coins onto the table, the innkeeper could hardly believe it.
     “How did you manage to trick that old witch, lad?”
     Radomír told him everything. The innkeeper smiled contentedly.
     “At last, someone got the better of her. Who ever heard of money growing on trees! She deserved such a punishment for her greed.”
     The innkeeper scratched his head and said:
     “You’ve won the bet, and you’ll get your reward.”
     For a whole month, Radomír ate and drank as much as he pleased. He had never had it so good. The days flew by like water in a stream. Radomír packed his things and set out into the world once more.
     And what happened to Grubby Rézi? She went every day to water her coins. In time, slender saplings grew from the ground. She never lived to see their fruits. Two years later, she died. The only thing left as her legacy was a beautiful oak alley. Every autumn, the yellow leaves of the oaks recall the gleam of the precious metal that the greedy woman so desired.

Translated into English by artificial intelligence.