The Merchant, the Magic Beans, and the Giant

The Merchant

Once upon a recent time (about two days ago), there were five magic beans. These weren't any old beans. They were–... Well, they were magic, like I said. But could they cast spells? Could they fly on a special beany broom?

No, they just talked. They talked and talked, and they wouldn't shut up!

The merchant had been scrolling on his phone, leaning against a tree to the side of the path, as he planned his weekly ambush on any sucker whom happened to stroll by – usually a poor, susceptible kid – but he had had enough of the incessant chatter in his pouch. The beans tried asking him questions, calling him the ugly witch’s offspring, and they kept poking fun of his personal hygiene. For his sanity, he gave up on the ambush.

He ran to the farmers’ market, traded his beans for a basket of carrots and soap, forgetting to ask which was which, and disappeared into a hermit lifestyle (some say he does online tutorials on how to scrub yourself with a carrot and how to cook a bar of soap).

*

The Magic Beans

Now, these beans, with their expertise in communications, were the talk of the farmers' market. And by that, I mean they were doing enough talking for everyone there. People ignored them as best as anyone could ignore random talking food. The poor farmer who traded for them thought they'd be a steal, but they drove away more business than her attempts to sell the individual ingredients for fertiliser (all fresh).

These beans had names. Fred, Ted, John, Joe, and Billy. It was an honour among the bean race to be given names, but they were only allowed one name each. Fred was the Bean King, if such a small and misshapen crown existed. The day hadn't been an ordinary bean day. The smelly merchant had plucked them from their living room and then stuffed them in a stinky, cramped bag. Now people weren't playing much attention to their once rich existence.

But there was one boy who Fred saw some hope in.

"Look there," said Fred. If he had fingers, he would have pointed. So, we'll have to assume he did. "I spy a funny-looking kid."

The kid wore a hoodie and baggy jeans sinking lower than his rear. When he pulled them up, they managed to sink even lower, the cuffs at his feet acting as shoes (it was a wonder why he wore shoes in the first place). He held onto a leash while giving his soul to his phone. On the end of the leash was a gaunt cow chewing endlessly on a piece of hay.

"The ugly kid must be a farmer," said Ted.

"Either that, or he picked up a cow from somewhere," said John.

"Mm," said Billy.

The boy heard these voices, but they were background chatter to his muted videos. He never thought the 'ugly kid' was him. Not until...

"Hey, kid with the pig-like nose!" yelled Fred.

The boy regained himself from his phone and searched for the source of the voice. His eyes sought a person, but only the farmers selling their produce were around, none of whom were calling to him.

"Down here, dimwit," said Fred.

The boy stared down at the open tin atop a straw basket. "Are you talking?" said the boy.

"We got an intelligent one here," said Joe. "Slap a medal on him and send him to the Olympics." Beans can't roll their eyes, but there was a strong sense of eye rolling going on in the tin.

"What's your name, rugrat?" said Fred.

"Jack." The boy tried pulling up his trousers again.

"Jack? Your parents really couldn't come up with anything better, could they? Never mind that. You're going to want to buy us. We're magic, you see."

"No, I'm just here to sell the cow, innit. My mum wants me to get something good for it."

"Well, we're better than anything else in this market," said Fred.

"Mm," agreed Billy. Billy was very persuasive.

Jack rubbed the cow's ear. "I need food, or something like another cow but younger. Can your magic make any of that happen?"

"We sure can, buddy," said Fred.

*

The Giant

Howard was a giant, but only in terms of the non-giants. Up in the clouds, he was a regularly sized person. Though they still referred to themselves as giants. It was just the way of things.

Howard owned a large house. It was more of a castle, really. And the mortgage on a castle was crazy! Keeping up on the payments had been a struggle.

His dream of being a musician wasn’t enough. His harp playing in Giant's Square only resulted in pity pennies. It was hard to play such a tiny harp with large fingers. Even his harp teacher had struggled - and that was more money wasted. Why had he taken twenty music lessons for something so useless?

He had cut down on meals, only eating bread for breakfast and lunch. But, for the first time since his wife had left him for the harp teacher, fortune found him. He had stumbled upon a special hen which could lay golden eggs. All he had to do was yell "lay" and voila! These eggs kept his bank balance healthy, and they were great to have on toast.

Life was finally going his way these past few days. He had just been to town to sell his eggs (you had to hit the markets early to find the best buyer). Now, he was back home and he fancied a nap. When you're partially rich, you could afford a nap or two.

His nose twitched through his snoring, like a bee with its stinger. There was a smell... A weird smell... A small smell... An English smell.

Howard woke up, sniffing. He ran to the window, his hands stopping him from running straight through the glass. On the curving path leading away from his front door, he saw the boy. But he wasn't a giant. He was... a little giant.

The boy had Howard's harp. Well, that’s not so bad, thought Howard. There wasn't much need of it anyway, and it came with some awful memories.

"Wait a minute!" he said, taking another gander out the window. "He's had me hen. No, not that! Anything but that."

Howard grabbed his house phone and dialled. He had never purchased a mobile - his old neighbours used to make fun of him for it, which was why he moved somewhere secluded, quiet, and what should have been peaceful and theft-proof.

"Hello, giant police?" he said, struggling with the cord. "There's a... a little giant stealing my stuff."

"We’ll send an officer over,” the constable on the other side said. “They’ll be there in five hours."

"Unbelievable," muttered Howard. "What am I paying my taxes for?"

The little giant boy had such small legs, he wasn't going very far. Howard could easily catch up to him, but they had outlawed fee-fi-fo-fumming in the giant eighties.

Howard took another look at the boy. There was something else he was carrying, something big and flat. He couldn't make it out, not until the light caught it at the perfect angle.

"He's had my debit card, too?!" he yelled. "That's it!"

He charged for the door, not realising he was still holding the phone. The cord pulled him back, and his castle rumbled with his fall. The pantry door above him creaked open and he saw he was out of bread.

He groaned. "How can this day get any worse?"

He threw the phone aside and ran after the little giant. It would only take a few steps to catch up, what with the boy’s laughably small legs. There wouldn't be any way for him to get away from someone so big and musically talented (he assumed, if he were to have a bigger harp).

But what's this? thought the giant. A plant extended through the floor with a bed resting on top. A bed?! The vines had wrapped around the mattress and they extended far down below to a place where giants had never been.

Howard sniffed. The boy had descended underground. He had no choice but to follow to get his hen and debit card back.

After struggling with his footing, Howard managed to climb. His eyes widened at the landscape once he was under the clouds. How long had this been underneath his house? he thought. More than that, his arms and legs started to shake. The height twisted his stomach, and his progress slowed.

When he searched for the boy, he saw him atop a roof holding an axe. Not just holding it, but he was swinging it.

Howard panicked as the beanstalk shook. Go up, or go down? Up or down? Sometimes, the choice is made for us.

The giant fell with the beanstalk and crashed into the earth. His final thought was: the ground here isn't as soft as the one back home.

His penultimate thought was: ow!

*

Jack

Jack had had an awful time over the last twenty-four hours. Sure, he robbed a castle, and chopped down a beanstalk with someone still on it, but it had still been awful.

He stomped over to the recumbent and groaning form of Howard. The giant had landed atop the barn, squashing it like a marshmallow under a car crusher.

"Great," said Jack, pulling up his pyjama trousers. "Who are you and why are you so big? Are you one of those French people my mum keeps complaining about?"

"I'm..." the giant staggered. "You stole my stuff."

Jack waved his arms in an irritated manner. "Who cares? Do you know what happened to me? The beans – they talk, by the way – told me to buy them. I gave away our cow to have them. My mum calls me stupid as soon as I get home. That's nothing new; she’s always calling me that. But the beans laughed when they heard it. And they kept calling me ugly. My mum tried throwing them out the window, but the window wasn't open, so they went down the sink hole. I could still hear them talking while they were down there! And then - and then when I went to bed, I was woken up by this ridiculous beanstalk which decided to grow inside our house. Do you know why it woke me up? Because it grew straight through my bedroom and took my bed up with it." Jack stomped his foot. "Just my luck. But I remembered my mum complaining that I had wasted our cow and how we were short of cash and food, so I found a random hen we could cook, a harp we can probably sell, and someone's card. The debit card was huge, so there’s bound to be a lot money on it. But I wasn't going to let the beanstalk beat me, so I chopped it down. That will show those annoying beans. Who's laughing now, huh?"

Howard had been listening calmly. The pain forced sweat to drop from his forehead. "I think my leg is broken," he said.

"This isn't about you," said Jack. "This is about me and the stupid beanstalk."