Cibere

Once, a long time ago, some simpletons went to make a visit somewhere in the region of Csík, and there they were offered many kinds of tasty foods. But what they found the most delicious was a kind of thick soup. They liked it so much that when it came time to say goodbye and leave for home, they asked their hosts what this tasty food was called, so that when they went back home, they could tell their wives to prepare it.

The hosts told them, “Oh, this soup is called cibere.” They said their farewells, and set off for home. But as they were walking, in order not to forget the name of this wonderful dish, all along the road they kept repeating the word: “cibere, cibere, cibere” at every step. It went very well until, eventually, they reached this huge ditch. The ditch was so wide they had to make a run for it in order to jump to the other side. So they took a go at it and whoosh, jumped. But ay, there was some trouble. When they reached the other side, lo and behold… they forgot the precious word, you know, the name of the soup. “Well”, they thought, “there can only be one reason for this. We must have dropped it into the ditch, when we were jumping over it.” So what was there left to do? They rolled up their shirts, pulled up their trousers, climbed into the ditch, got on their hands and knees and began looking for it. But the weather wasn’t that fine. It had been raining for three whole days, and the bottom of the ditch was filled with water and mud. As they were searching, a much-travelled soldier came walking by and stopped at the side of the ditch. As he looked down upon them, his eyes grew as big as two walnuts, and he asked, “What on earth are you doing there at the bottom of the ditch?” “Oh, don’t even ask! We are looking for a sweet, precious word that we accidentally dropped.” The soldier kept on looking at them, then he shouted: “Oh you can keep on looking for it till Doomsday! You have stirred up the mud so much, that it looks exactly like cibere!” “Oh, dear sir,” they exclaimed. “Oh, you’ve found it! You have found our precious word!” They all jumped up, and muddy as they were, they went up to embrace the soldier one after the other.

Then they set off again for home. As they walked, they kept on saying, “cibere, cibere cibere cibere,” you know, at every step. And believe it or not, they remembered it all the way. When they got home, they told their wives, who prepared it for them. They loved it. It was delicious, but never as delicious as the one they had in Csík.