The Catfish and the Toad

On the surface of a pond, a school of tadpoles as small as strokes of black ink was flicking its tails in the sun. They belonged either to the Catfish family or to the Toad family. At that moment, no one could have said which just by looking.

The Vietnamese of long ago told a tale about that very question. It began when Mother Toad was about to have her babies. The Toad family lived on the bank, but newborn young had to live in the water. So Mother Toad went down to a pond near the home of Catfish. There she gave birth to a school of tadpoles, then went back to her home on dry land to rest.

The tadpoles stayed behind in the warm water. Each had a round, glossy black head and a little tail that never stopped flicking. The school would gather beside a clump of water grass, then scatter like a handful of seeds tossed into the pond.

Just then, Catfish swam by.

Catfish stopped and looked for a long time. The black heads, the soft tails and the way the school slipped through the duckweed all seemed so familiar. Catfish decided these must be Catfish children. So Catfish led the tadpoles to a quiet corner of the pond and cared for them just as if they were its own children.

Some time later, Mother Toad came back to see her children.

The clump of water grass was deserted. Toad waited a while. Not one little tail flicked up. She waded along the bank, searched the patches of duckweed and called and called. But the water only rippled into rings and went still.

Hearing the noise, Catfish swam out to ask. Toad said she was looking for her newborn tadpoles. At once Catfish declared that those tadpoles belonged to the Catfish family, because they lived in the water, had black heads and had tails like fish.

Toad would not accept it. She said she herself had given birth to them right here by the water grass, before going home to rest. Catfish would not give way either. Catfish had taken the young ones home and watched them flick their tails in the pond day after day, and so felt all the more certain.

The longer they argued, the hotter it got. Catfish pointed at the water. Toad pointed at the old spot by the bank. One said their shape was the proof. The other said she clearly remembered where she had given birth. Neither would let the other finish.

Toad went home to talk it over with her family. The more she thought of her tiny children, the less she could rest. In the end, she wrote a petition and took it to the magistrate's court, asking for a ruling on whose children the tadpoles really were.

The magistrate called Catfish and Toad in to be questioned.

Toad said she had gone down to the pond to give birth, then returned to her home on the bank. When she came back, her children had vanished. Catfish told of finding the tadpoles with no one to look after them. They had black heads and tails and swam in the water, so Catfish took them for its own and brought them home.

The magistrate questioned the fish that often swam around the pond. Carp, Silver Carp, Grass Carp and a fish called Măng all said they had not seen the tadpoles being born. They only knew that afterward, the young had been with Catfish.

So people were sent down to the pond to take a close look.

They bent low over the water. Before them was a school of glossy black young, tails flicking fast. They swam together, sometimes hiding under the duckweed, sometimes rising to the surface. Judging by that shape, the inspectors decided the young looked more like Catfish than Toad.

The news was carried back to the court. Toad heard it, and her heart burned like fire. She knew the children were hers. But those tails flicking in the water made her words hard to believe.

Toad left the court to find someone who could tell her what to do. She passed through the land of Chẫu Chuộc, then on to the land of Ễnh Ương. In places the road was boggy, in places tall grass covered it, but Toad kept going.

Along the way, Toad met Frog. Frog heard the whole story, then sent Toad to find Tree Frog, who understood how young creatures that live in the water change shape as they grow.

Tree Frog was resting in a patch of cool shade. Toad told everything from beginning to end: the clump of water grass, the day Catfish claimed the children, and the moment the inspectors said the tadpoles looked like fish.

When the tale was done, Tree Frog did not tell Toad to argue any more. Tree Frog only said, "Go back to the pond and wait. The children are in the water for now. Once their tails fall off, they will find their own way back to their mother."

Toad took Tree Frog's advice and left. Some time later, she came back to the pond to look for her children.

Tree Frog's words had come true. The tadpoles had grown all their legs, and their long tails had dropped away. They came hopping, pit-a-pat, up onto the bank and gathered around Mother Toad.

Toad led her children back to the magistrate's court.

This time, no one had to go down to the pond and guess through the water. The little toads hopped right in the middle of the courtyard. Their small feet gripped the ground. The tails that had fooled everyone were gone.

Catfish was called in too. Facing the little toads crowding around their mother, Catfish could no longer claim them as baby fish. Catfish had to admit to judging by their first shape and guessing wrong. The children went back to Toad.

Toad led her children out of the court. The whole brood hopped after their mother, sometimes close, sometimes far behind, stirring the dust of the road into tiny specks. Catfish went back to the pond, where the duckweed still drifted and the water still held the sky.

At first, the children had been nothing but black strokes flicking their tails, and anyone who looked in a hurry could have been mistaken. By now, the whole brood of little toads had hopped, pit-a-pat, after their mother up onto the bank.

Behind them, the pond closed over in small rings of water that grew rounder and wider, then lay still.