Thunder Sandwich #26 - Rob Rosen fiction

The Beanstalk Revisited

Jake awoke with a start at the sound of pounding on his bedroom door. "Jake!" his father bellowed, repeatedly, until Jake flung his legs out of bed and lumbered over to the door.

"It's Saturday, dad. I don't have to get up early today," Jake said, groggily, as he opened the door.

"Yes, but I do and today is your mother's birthday."

"Step-mother," Jake corrected.

"Semantics," his dad replied. "In any case, I'm sure you've conveniently forgotten to get her anything, so here's fifty dollars. Go buy her something nice."

His dad handed him the bills and was off in a flash. Jake could think of a million other things that he'd rather do then go shopping for a present for his stepmother, like poking his eyes out with hot pokers, but he knew he had had no choice in the matter.

When his real mother was still alive, birthdays were more fun than Christmas. Now, very little excited Jake; especially anything that had to do with the woman his father married. Still, he did have fifty dollars, and that could buy a whole lot of things besides just a gift for his evil, old stepmonster, as he liked to call her when nobody was listening.

So Jake showered, dressed, and rode his bicycle down the street to the local pawnshop. Mr. Harrington kept a wicked, cool collection of comic books that normally Jake could never afford to buy. But normally he didn't have a wad of cash burning a hole through his jeans. And though Jake never did care for Mr. Harrington, he certainly liked his comics. He eyed them hungrily as soon as he entered the store. Mr. Harrington was on him in two seconds flat, as kids like Jake were forever trying to steal those particular items.

"No reading in the store, young man. You want it, you buy it," Mr. Harrington admonished.

"No sweat," Jake replied, and flashed him the money. Mr. Harrington eyed him suspiciously, but stepped a few feet back to let Jake explore the collection. Mr. Harrington liked cash more than he hated kids. It was merely a matter of priorities.

Fifteen minutes later Jake was at the counter with several hard-to-find issues. Each cost ten dollars. That was five comics: a boon for any twelve year old. But just before Jake paid for them, he remembered his stepmonster. She'd never believe the comics were for her; and, more importantly, neither would his father. So, with much thought, he dwindled the stack down to four and asked Mr. Harrington what he could buy with ten dollars for his stepmother's birthday.

Mr. Harrington looked around his store reverently and replied, "Son, you're lucky to get those comics for that price. You know, ten dollars doesn't go very far these days." Jake looked around the store as well, but all he saw was a bunch of junk. Who'd want this stuff, he thought, let alone pay ten dollars for any of it. But just before he started to return another comic to the rack, Mr. Harrington pulled out an item from beneath the counter.

It was dusty. It was banged up. It was on the small side. And it had a funky angel-like thing along the side. But, Jake noticed, it was marked for ten dollars.

"Bingo," Jake said, with glee. "What is it?"

"What is it?" Mr. Harrington said in mock surprise. "This, my little friend, is a harp. And a very special harp at that."

"Then why's it marked for only ten dollars?" Jake asked, already leery.

"Because it can only be sold to a very special young boy. An adult could only appreciate it for its beauty, but a child can make it truly sing."

"Sing? You mean play, right?"

"No, for the right person, this harp will sing. My lad, do you know the story of Jack and the beanstalk?"

"The fairytale? Sure, I know it. My mom used to tell it to me. When she was alive." Jake looked down at his sneakers. He hated talking about his mother like she wasn't there anymore.

Mr. Harrington nodded. "Yes, the fairytale. Though like many fairytales this one was rooted in truth. This, my boy, is the actual golden harp that Jack stole from the giant. And it will sing, but only for a child. Or a giant, but they're harder to come by these days."

"Oh come on now," Jake said. "You're pulling my leg. It's just an old brass harp. Fairytales are fairytales, nothing more."

"No siree. Lots of stories are based in some way or another on real people. Take, for instance, Dracula. You know Dracula right? Well, he's based on a real live person: Vladimir the Impaler. Ever heard of him?"

"Sure. I suppose so," Jake said, thinking that Mr. Harrington was even crazier than he first thought. "Still, Dracula ain't no giant beanstalk or a singing harp."

"Okay, how about Cinderella then? And her evil stepmother?"

Ah, Jake saw something concrete in that example. He knew they existed. "Fine," he finally said. "I'll give you fifty for these comics and that crazy old harp."

"You got a deal, my boy. But I'd be careful with that harp if I was you. No telling what'll happen if it ever starts to singing again."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just wrap it up so I can get home before my dad does."

And a few minutes later he was back on his bicycle and heading home. "Crazy old man," he said with a laugh as he peddled down the street. Still, far back in his mind he couldn't help but think about the story of Jack. You never do hear what happens to that harp of his, he thought. The goose that laid the golden eggs was surely dead by now, but what about the golden harp? It looked old enough, didn't it? "Oh man, Jake, now you're as crazy as that old coot," he said to himself as he pulled up to his house.

Still, to be on the safe side, he polished it up so that it practically glowed. Made it appear like it really could be made of gold. It did look, anyway, that it was worth fifty bucks. His father would never be the wiser about that one. And when they'd finished with the cake that night and it was time to give the gifts, Jake was sure she'd love it. Not that he cared, but he did like to make his dad happy.

Their reactions to his gift, however, were mixed. Jake didn't think that either really knew what to make of it. And he relayed Mr. Harrington's story word for word.

"But your mother doesn't know how to play the harp," his dad said.

"Well, it is pretty," his stepmother interjected. "Thank you, Jake. It's a very thoughtful gift."

"And it made Jack rich, so there's no telling what it will do for us."

"Yes, well, okay, time for bed," his father said, placing the harp on the mantelpiece. "I think the only things rich around here is the cake we just ate and that story Mr. Harrington told you."

Jake laughed even though he was hurt by his father's remarks. His stepmonster, at least, seemed to like the thing, and it was her birthday after all. And yet, there was something nagging at Jake; so once the house was silent he tiptoed back into the living room and brought the harp back with him to his room. "Mr. Harrington said that an adult could admire the harp, but only a child could make it sing," he said to himself as he sat with it on the floor. "But how do I make it sing?" That's when he remembered the story his mother had told him so many years earlier. The giant had commanded the harp to sing. "Maybe that's all it takes. Okay then harp, sing! Sing, harp, sing."

Jake waited. And waited. And waited some more, all the while commanding the harp to sing. But nothing happened. Not a peep. "Maybe she's been asleep too long. Maybe it'll take awhile for her to wake up. And maybe the whole thing is just a fairytale after all." Jake moped back to his bed and drifted sadly to sleep. He slept a deep sleep, filled with dreams of giants and golden eggs. He slept a sleep so deep, in fact, that he didn't hear, sometime in the middle of the night, the tiniest little voice coming from the floor.

"Master?" the voice said. "Master are you there?"

Nothing. No one was there, the harp thought. So she sang, knowing that her master always came to that. But she had been asleep for so many countless years, that all she could muster was the smallest of pitch-perfect peeps. And still nothing. No one came for her, not her master or anyone else. So she shut her eyes and waited.

And that's how Jake found her in the morning. Just as he had left her, with her eyes closed and her voice silent. But something was different, all right. For there, outside his window, in full, lush greenery, was a massive beanstalk. Jake rushed to his window and opened it, and then stuck his head out. He looked the giant thing up and down. It stretched as far as his eyes could see, all the way up and into the clouds.

"Holy cow!" he shouted. "Look, harp. The beanstalk! You must have sung while I was sleeping, harp. Sing again. Sing, harp, sing!"

And, lo and behold, the harp once again opened her eyes and this time she let out a painful shriek. She screamed as loud as her little frame allowed her, "Master! Master, help!" Well, that simply would not do. Jake didn't pay ten dollars for a shrieking harp. So he ran from the window, scooped her up, and climbed outside so as not to wake his parents, who surely wouldn't understand a screeching harp and a giant beanstalk.

When he was outside he closed the window behind him and looked sharply at the harp, which he could still hear screaming even behind his muffling hand. "Okay, listen here harp. You have to shut up before you wake up the whole darn neighborhood." But she kept right on screaming behind Jake's hand. "Okay, okay. How about I take you back to your master? Then will you shut up?"

The harp stopped screaming and looked up at Jake and blinked. "I'll take that as a yes," he said. He removed his hand from her. "Okay, I guess we're going up the beanstalk then." He knew his parents would never have allowed that, so that's why he didn't ask them for their permission first. Besides, he reasoned, the giant was already dead, or so the story went, so how could there be any danger? And maybe there'd be more golden, egg-laying geese up there. Then he could buy as many comics as his heart desired.

So he climbed. And climbed. And climbed. Until at last he was at the tippy top of the beanstalk and high above the clouds. Miraculously, when he finally hopped off, he was standing on solid ground. "Thank goodness for that," he said, and then made his way towards the castle that sat a mere few hundred yards away. He figured he could leave the harp on the doorstep and go searching for any animals that laid golden eggs, geese or otherwise.

But before he could leave the harp by the door, she once again shouted out, "Master! Help, master, help!" And from behind the door Jake could hear the great lumbering sound of feet fast approaching.

He stood frozen in place as the door flung open, and there standing before him was a giantess. She huffed and puffed from her great height. Jake could smell the foul stench of her breath from down below. But it was her massive, booming voice that actually knocked him over.

"Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive, or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to make my bread!" she roared. And then she spotted the little boy and the long-lost golden harp at her feet. "Harp? Is that you harp? Sing to me harp!" she commanded.

Oh and how that harp sang. Like a choir of angels. She sang so beautifully that the giantess cried a tear the size of a large watermelon. Even Jake, who hadn't cried since his mother died, shed a few tears of his own.

The giantess heard his sobbing and reached down to pick the two of them up. "Okay, both of you stop it at once." Upon hearing her command, the harp stop singing and Jake stopped crying. But though the harp now looked contented, Jake trembled in terror.

"You fear me?" the giantess asked in her mountain-shaking voice.

Jack whimpered and nodded a yes.

"Well, you have a right to fear me little boy. If you are the one who stole my goose and my harp, then you are also the one who killed my husband and left me in this castle all alone for these many centuries. And for that I will surely eat you up, skinny and scrawny though you might be."

"But I'm not the one who stole your goose or your harp. That was Jack. I'm Jake. And I'm returning the harp, not stealing it."

"Jake, Jack. Sounds the same to me," she said and started to lift Jake to her ample mouth. But just before she popped him in they both heard a small shout from far the distance. Jake looked down and spotted his stepmother running from the top of the beanstalk.

"Put my son down this instant," she shouted up at the giantess.

The giantess was surprised at the gall of this little woman. But Jake was doubly as surprised. In the years that they'd been together, he'd never heard her refer to him as her son. And he'd never expect her to risk her life for his, that was for sure. Especially considering the way he normally treated her, which was with indifference at best.

"Your son killed my husband," the giantess roared. "And for that he must die. I'll eat you when I'm done with him."

"Wait!" Jake's stepmother shouted, just before he was eaten whole. "Tell me this, before you eat him: how long has your husband been dead?"

The giantess stopped and thought. "Oh, too many years to count. But many centuries, I suppose."

"Then Jake couldn't have killed your husband. How could he still be a little boy after all that time? And humans don't live that long. The little boy who killed your husband has been gone for centuries as well. My son simply wanted to return the harp to its rightful owner. He's a good boy, so please let him down. His father and I love him, like you loved your husband."

Well, as it turned out, the giantess's heart was just as huge as she was, and upon hearing this plea, she immediately put Jake and the harp back down on the ground. Jake ran to his stepmother and hugged her as tight as he could. The hug was returned in full.

"Are you okay, Jake?" his stepmother finally asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. But where's dad?"

"Last I saw he was still sleeping. I thought I heard something, so I got up. Then I spotted the beanstalk, saw that you were missing, and came climbing up here to find you." Just then, Jake saw his father climbing up and off the beanstalk, and then he was running over to the two of them. He grabbed them both and hugged and kissed them on the top of their heads. He didn't even notice the giant woman standing high above them.

"Um, dad, your embarrassing us in front of this nice lady," Jake said, and then he pointed upwards.

"What lady?" his father asked, and then finally noticed her.

"See, dad, I told you the harp was magic. And you should hear her sing. Just like an angel."

"Sing, harp," the giantess commanded, as she watched the happy family from up high.

And the harp did sing. And she did indeed sound like an angel, just as Jake had promised. And all four of them stood and watched and cried as she sang her beautiful song, until there were no tears left and it was time to go. But not before they promised the giantess that they'd visit her as often as possible so she'd never have to be lonely again.

Oh, the giantess loved hearing that, for she was truly tired of being alone. "But wait," she said to the happy family before they started their descent down the beanstalk. "I have a gift for you."

She ran around to the back of the castle and came around the other side in no time flat. In her hands she held a goose.

"Wow, a goose!" Jake shouted. "I wonder how many comic books I can buy with a golden egg?"

"Oh," said the giantess, "sorry, but there was only one goose that could do that. This one lays plane old goose eggs. But they do make the richest cakes in the land."

Jake frowned, but his parents got a big laugh out of that one.

"Okay, real funny," Jake said. "Let's get home then and start baking. I'm starved. Dad, you go first. Then me. Then mom."

"You mean stepmom, right."

"Semantics," Jake said, with a grin.

And the three of them climbed down the beanstalk and they all lived happily ever after. Especially once they started baking cakes professionally. That goose really did lay some rich eggs. Now Jake and the Beanstalk bakeries can be found far and wide. And that ain't no fairytale.

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