The Giant and the Beanstalk

A knock at the door interrupted supper. A feast of lamb’s leg and roast vegetables. I stood from my chair, my head crashed into a wooden beam that held up the old, thatched roof. Crouched, I walked to the door, dirt crunching under my boots. 

“Good evening, Giant,” said the bishop.

“Evening, Bishop,” I replied.

The parish priest and lord of the manor flanked the bishop. A group of knights - swords sheathed, shield across their chests - stood behind them. The bishop held up a large scroll of paper.

“Giant, by the order of the King of England, we are here to inform you that you must leave our town immediately.”

“Pardon?” I said, almost choking on a mouthful of lamb leg.

The bishop lowered the scroll revealing a pair of sunken eyes and creased face under a gold embroidered mitre.

“While we are forever in your debt for your civil and military accomplishments, the winter is approaching and our meat and grain reserves can no longer keep up with your, uh, needs.

“Accomplishments? The war against the Westphalians was won at the end of my sword, providing this town riches, the likes of which, had never been seen.”

“I am sorry, Giant. In this new era of peace, we can no longer justify your large food allocation. If we don’t starve, there’ll be a revolt.”

“There is no peace without me!”

I took a step forward and stood tall, towering over the bishop and his men. My fists tightened eyes narrowed, yellow teeth protruded from behind bent lips. The men closest to me stepped back, the knights reached for their swords

“To foster trade and further peace, I carried stones, as big as your houses, from the mountains to the stream, to build a bridge. To educate your children, I cut down half a forest, braving the snow and frost of the winter past, to build a library.”

The men looked at the dirt.

“I knew this day would come, it always does,” I thought to myself.

I walked inside and slammed the door. I looked around the main room of the hut. Shields and swords – treasures form past battles – hung on the wall, shimmering in the sunlight.

I sighed.

Later that night, lying awake in bed, there was a tap at the window. I sat on the edge of the bed and put on my shoes. I shuffled across the dirt bedroom floor, trying not to wake my wife. Merlo, the alchemist stood outside. Merlo was a strange looking man. He wore a top hat and coat and had a long, white beard that fell past his knees. He skipped when he walked and sung when he talked. We stood together on the cold grass under the moonlight.

“It breaks my heart, for you to part ,” started Merlo.

“Do you know the hour?” I whispered, looking down the empty street.

“They kicked you out, so sad, so swift. Before you go, I must, a gift.

“There isn’t a need, Merlo. I’m a giant. This isn’t the first time I’ve been run out of town.”

You won us battle and helped feed our cattle. Ploughed our field so we enjoyed a yield. It’s the right thing to do, a gift from me to you.

“Thank you, Merlo.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a pure white goose. Even in the darkness its feathers glowed white as the moon.

“I’ve not a house, where will I care for a goose?”

“A goose it is from beak to legs, but more than that, it lays gold eggs. If it’s well fed, no more need be said.

“Well, thank you. That is a tremendous gift.” I took the goose and turned to walk inside.

“One last gift, before, to sleep, you drift. These seeds I hold, you plant, no hassle. Atop the vine awaits a castle.

“Have you come from the tavern, Merlo?”

The funny little man smiled and stroked his beard.

“One last thing you need to hear, plant the seeds far from here.”

I did as the small, strange man said, then returned home to sleep.

In the morning, the townspeople arrived at my door and watched as my wife and I gathered our belongings and left. My wife followed me deep into the woods,  where I planted the seeds the night before. As we neared, I saw a twisting column of green erupted from the dirt, high into the sky, into the clouds. A beanstalk! We climbed, and at the top I pushed my head through the clouds. A giant castle in the sky.

“That alchemist wasn’t crazy, after all.”

Years passed and we made the castle our home. I spent the mornings wandering down the long, empty corridors. Past the ornate windows and fabulous artwork hanging from the grey, stone walls, making sure not a thing was out of place. In the afternoons, I sat alone in the courtyard and watched the sun set below the clouds. As time passed, I spent more of the day in bed. My wife started a small garden to encourage me outside, but in bed I remained. One afternoon she was especially forceful.

“Get out and enjoy the weather, darling, or I’ll take that chamber pot and turn it wrong way up over your bed.”

I wandered up and down the rows of vegetables and came upon our golden goose, foraging in the grass. It had been some time since I’d thought about the goose. My wife takes care of gathering its golden eggs each morning and a courier comes by the house in the afternoon to collect them. He then delivers coins in exchange for the previous day’s eggs.

The goose rubbed its orange beak on my legs as it weaved between them. It followed me for hours while I wandered, then returned to the castle with me in the evening. It jumped up on my lap as I sat, and I scratched it under the wing. I started to spend more time with the goose, and less time in bed. Each morning, I walked with Fortuna through the field as we ploughed and watered. On summer days we sat together, while I enjoyed a cold drink. I met the courier, each afternoon, with Fortuna under my arm. The three of us would talk for a while.

Our lives in the clouds, and that of the town were happy and prosperous in the ensuing years. The town enjoyed a time of peace and trade was good. People came from across the countryside and the town and fields expanded. Eventually, the houses made of thatch and mud were replaced with houses made of tiny red rectangles. They grew taller, multiplied. The once-empty streets were now bustling with horse and cart and people zig-zagging this way and that. Women in long dresses and men in top hats with smooth wooden canes. Tall grey pipes, like stone tree trunks dotted the horizon and filled the skies with acrid black smoke. On the land below the castle, where once there was only forest, villagers ploughed soil and harvested fields.

One morning, after my shower, I entered the kitchen for breakfast. Like every morning, my wife was at the sink and Fortuna was in her nest. But something wasn’t right. A strange smell came from the table.

“Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum,” I said. “I smell the blood of an Englishman!”

“You’ve gone batty,” said my wife.

“How on earth could a villager make it all the way up ‘ere?”

The thought of a townsperson in my castle made the hairs stand on the back of my neck. I searched the kitchen and when I lifted an upturned teacup from the table, I found a small boy.

“How dare you come into my castle,” I roared.

I held him, trembling, by the collar between my thumb and forefinger. He wore a cap and a vest, and the soles of his shoes were worn away, exposing black feet. His face was dark with soot, like he hadn’t showered in weeks.

“I’m, I’m just a boy looking for something to eat, sir. Me dad died a few months ago and me mother and me don’t have nothing to eat.

“How did you get up here then?”

“Traded me cow for some magic beans. A silly old man who skips when he walks and sings when he talks gave ‘em to me in the town.”

I let the boy go with a wash and a full belly.

“Listen to me, boy. Don’t be back here again, you hear? And don’t tell a soul about this place.”

He nodded and raced away towards the beanstalk.

A week later, while dipping a slice of buttered toast into a cup of tea, I smelt the small, dirty boy again.

“Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman!” I shouted. Out from behind the leg of the table shot the little boy, carrying an apple that he stole from the pantry. I caught him in a teacup and looked at my wife.

“What’s he to do then, love? He don’t have any food to eat,” she said.

I sat back in my chair and looked out the kitchen window.

“He can work. Cleaning and looking after Fortuna. We’ll pay the lad in food. For him and his family.”

“That’s a marvellous idea, love,” she said.

I took a knife from the table to cut up the apple and my wife lifted the teacup to free the boy.

When he saw me, knife in hand, he looked scared to death. He leapt from the table and raced down the hall. I called for him, to explain my offer, but he was at the door before I could speak. Just as he got to the great wooden doors of the castle, he lunged for the golden goose, took her under the arm and disappeared into the clouds.

“Fortuna?” I shouted. “Get back here with our goose!”

I chased him, but my boots sunk into the clouds as I ran, and the bony child pulled further and further away from me.

I climbed down the stalk, through the clouds, and into the open blue sky. The boy climbed as fast as he ran, and by the time I could see the green fields below he was at the bottom. I kept climbing, but the stalk shook. Then fell still. Shook again. I stopped climbing and looked down. The boy’s mother had fetched an axe started chopping down the vine! Realising I’d never make it all the way down, I climbed back up to the clouds. I pulled myself up as fast as I could but was still quite a way from the clouds when I started to fall. I let go of the stalk and the clouds floated away from me, like a kite on a windy day.

With a thud, I hit the dirt. In a potato field on the edge of town. My arms and legs felt cold, and my vision darkened. I had the sensation I was floating and felt an overwhelming tiredness. As I lay in the mud dying, the last thing I saw was the boy and his mother, and my dear old golden goose.

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