54rd Thread: The three spinsters

They are old, bent, and bitter. The first has a lip that hangs down to her navel: she uses it to moisten the wool. The second’s thumb is so thick it is wider than her palm: it flattens the thread. And the foot of the third, which works the pedal of the spinning wheel, is long and broad like an Easter bread. They promised her to spin the three rooms full of gold wool, but in exchange, she would have to give them her first night with the prince.
The first to enter the bed under cover of darkness would kiss the prince for her mouth to get back its shape. The second would caress the prince for her thumb to resume its form, and the third would ride him for her foot to shrink back. But when the bride woke up the day after her wedding, three beautiful young women frolicked in bed with the prince, whereas she had become an old woman, all bent, all scrawny, with a hanging lip, and a thick thumb and a flat foot. She ran to her mother, who knew a whole lot about sorcery:
– Mother, look at me!
– Ah, why did you not come to me before compromising yourself with these witches? Do not despair. We will reverse time. In the current direction, plants draw their substance from the earth, and children suck strength and beauty from their parents. At the end of a swing that lasts the lives of a hundred women, from mother to daughter, the time reverses. The sun rises to the west, the old become young again, plants return into the soil, and water rises up the mountains. To bring this return more quickly, we will slice twelve onions at Christmas. Every time you hear the angelus, you will eat a sliver as thin as the present moment. Every morning, dressed in your nightgown, you will take to the street holding up your lantern and your brother’s sword. You will mock the bishop, and bow low to kiss the church’s beggar on the knee. At last, Three Kings’ Day, the twelfth, will return your youth, and we will let time resume its direction. You will slip into the Prince’s bed where you belong, while the old harpies, back to their decrepitude, croak at their defeat.

This is the 54th woman of 100 mothers talking to their daughters, over 2500 years.

The 53rd woman, having climbed up socially, rejects her own mother. The 52nd woman‘s sister, a smart and lucky business woman, betters the fate of the daughter.  The 51st woman leads the hard life of a hunchback.  The 50th woman’s  mind is as feeble as her back. The 49th mother explains why women should not fish. The 48th woman finds refuge in a fishing village. The 47th mother lulls her baby with an optimistic song. The 46th mother rebells against the wealthy. The 45th mother explains the swing of time, back and forth. The 44th mother resorts to the ultimate sacrifice. The 43rd woman‘s grandmother fights with the priest for a proper burial. The 42nd woman cringes at her mother’s ease at killing. The 41st woman explains the mysteries of incarnations. 

Times of chaos:

The 40th mother lived in the woods. The 39th woman hears her grandmother’s confession. The 38th woman left the cave where she grew up. The 37th woman recommends thinking of an animal during labor. The 36th woman finds refuge in a cave. The 35th woman remembers her easy life in the city. The 34th woman’s life as a courtesan upsets her zealous mother. 

It all starts here: first thread, and the last stories will take place in … present day America.