CHAPTER 34

The kitchen stretched as far as the eye could see.

A woman with a shelf-like rump the size of two large pigs stood stirring a boiling cauldron. Her hair was pulled back beneath a dust rag. Her peasant smock covered her boulder-like bosoms. She turned, yellow teeth snarling, “What took you so long?”

The Giant threw the Woodcutter and a few tree trunks into the wood box.

“A mousy-like tree that was eatin’ at my clouds.”

The Giantess fixed the Woodcutter with her one good eye. “A little mousy tree?”

“Smells like a tree. Eats like a mouse. Figure it’s a new breed.”

She let out a wheezing, hacking laugh. “A new breed of tree? You’re a fool.”

She turned around and hit the Giant over the head with her wooden spoon. “He’s no such thing. He’s a twig of wood that got too close to that dust of yours. Now if you’ll set the table, I’ll finish getting supper ready.”

The Giant heaved a heavy sigh and turned to take the large saucers from the shelf.

The Woodcutter sat himself down upon a log as the Giant and his wife settled into dinner.

An uneasy silence fell upon the two as they slurped down their soup.

“Did you see the old Crone today?”

The Giant grunted. “I mwenft—”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. I said, did you see the Crone today? That dust field of yours is blowing into my petunias, and I swear to goodness, one of them bit my ankle and now it’s all swollen up.”

The Giant put down his bread and swallowed.

The Woodcutter leaned forward.

“I did just as you said. Over the hill. Into the woods. Left at the great tree. But I didn’t find no Crone.”

The Giantess threw her bread at his head. “You old fool. Over the hill?”

“Yes.”

“Into the woods?”

“Yes.”

“Left at the great tree?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you did something wrong.”

“I didn’t do nuthin’ wrong.”

“I swear to goodness, a body has to do everything herself around here. You worthless piece of…”

“Now don’t you go sayin’ anything ugly.”

“Are you calling me ugly?”

“Now that isn’t what I said…”

“I think you just did. I was sitting right here and I heard you.”

The Woodcutter carved the instructions into a scrap of bark and placed it in his pocket, but leapt to his feet at the Giant’s cry, “Fee! Fi! Fo! Fum! I smell the blood of a human!”

The Giantess whacked him in the side of the arm. “Sit down, you old fool. That’s just the roast.”

The Giant sat, but his eyes wandered around the kitchen.

“If you’re going to sit there jumping out of your skin, you can do it in the other room. This attitude of yours is souring my stomach.”

The Giant threw down his spoon. “Woman, I give you a good life.”

The Giantess threw down her spoon. “You give me no such thing.”

“Look at this house.”

“We live in a rat hole.”

“Look at your garden.”

“Weedy mess.”

“What more do you want?” he roared.

“You are a stingy old bastard, and I should have listened to my father.”

The Giant stood, knocking over his chair.

The Woodcutter’s eyes caught a flash of brown hair ducking behind a broom in the corner.

“My father was twice the man you’ll ever be!” said the Giantess.

The Giant walked over to the cupboard and threw open the door. “If it weren’t for me working my fingers to the bone to farm these dust fields for that Queen, we’d be living in the woods like that Crone.” He grabbed a heavy, jangling sack and threw it upon the table. Gold coins the size of watermelons spilled upon the floor. “Here. Take it. Take it all. If that will make you shut your claptrap for one blessed moment…”

“Claptrap? CLAPTRAP!”

Her eyes never left the Giant as she grabbed the broom from the corner, revealing the hiding place of a scrawny human boy with chestnut-colored curls. His face, down to his very freckles, drained of color as he stood, frozen in fear.

The Woodcutter, ever keeping an eye on the fighting couple, motioned for the boy to run to the woodpile.

The Giantess began raining blows upon the Giant’s head. “Don’t you darken my doorway again!”

“Your doorway? I built this house with my own two hands, woman!”

The Giant began throwing cups and saucers. Huge fragments rained down upon the ground as the Giantess broke them with her broom handle as fast as the Giant could hurl.

The boy dodged the debris as he ran toward the woodpile. He crouched beside the Woodcutter, shaking in fright.

A faint niggling sensation itched at the back of the Woodcutter.

The Woodcutter set down his pack.

His hands rested for a moment and then pulled out the gift of the peddler.

Carefully, he unwrapped it.

A harp.

It was a golden harp with a woman trapped upon the pillar. She looked at him, eyes full of trust and pleading.

The Woodcutter sat the harp upon his lap. He laid his fingers upon the strings.

And then plucked.

The voice of the woman of the harp rang out in accompaniment to the music.

At once, the Giant and Giantess stopped.

Their arms lowered and their eyes glazed over.

Their knees became weak, and soon they were upon the floor, snoring like bears.

The Woodcutter stopped playing and the Giants began to stir.

He placed his fingers upon the harp once more. He turned to the young boy and whispered, “What’s your name?”

The boy swallowed hard. “Jack.”

The Woodcutter smiled at the frightened boy. “Well, Jack, I am afraid that this beanstalk is my fault. I gave some beans to a peddler, and I believe he sold them to you.”

Jack nodded.

“It seems that, as long as someone plays this instrument, the harp will sing them to sleep. Do you know how to play the harp, Jack?” the Woodcutter asked.

Jack shook his head no. He was trying so hard to be brave.

The Woodcutter transferred the harp to Jack’s lap. “Well, Jack, now seems just as good a time as any for you to learn.”

Jack’s fingers were hard and discordant upon the strings, and the woman’s voice changed.

The Giants began to stir once more.

The Woodcutter could see the young boy begin to panic.

He took Jack’s hand in his. “Gentle, son. Gentle.”

Son.

The Woodcutter caught himself.

Jack’s fingers strummed more quietly, and the Giants settled back into snoring.

The Woodcutter turned to the lady of the harp. “Milady, this boy here has never had the pleasure of meeting one such as yourself. I would ask that you help him to keep the music sweet.”

She nodded, her voice not changing her tune.

The Woodcutter turned to Jack. “I have to leave.”

A horrible note came from the harp.

The Giants snorted before rolling over.

“But I will be back. You must play until I return. You must play no matter what. There is only so long that the Giant will believe your smell is just the pot roast. You know that, don’t you?”

Jack nodded seriously.

“I will not be long.”

The Woodcutter dashed across the floor and out to the path as fast as his legs would carry him.