The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag

My head was buzzing with questions. How could Rupert operate lights, sound effects, music, and stage settings at the same time he was manipulating several marionettes and providing all the voices? How had he made the beanstalk grow? How could Jack and the giant run such a merry chase without their strings becoming entangled? How did the sun come up? And the moon?

Mother Goose was right: The beans had been magic, and they had entranced us all.

And now the end was near. Jack was scrambling down the beanstalk, bags of gold and silver at his waist. The giant wasn't far behind.

"Stop!" roared the voice of the giant. "Stop, thief, stop!"

Even before Jack reached the ground, he was calling down to his mother:

"Mother! Mother! Fetch the axe!" he cried, and taking it from her hands as he jumped to the ground, he began chopping furiously at the beanstalk, which seemed to recoil as if in pain from the sharp blade.

The music swelled to a crescendo, and there was a strange instant during which time seemed frozen. Then the beanstalk collapsed and a moment later the giant came crashing down to earth.

He landed in the front yard of the cottage, his huge torso dwarfing the dwelling, his glassy eyes staring blankly out over our heads. The giant was stone-cold dead.

The children shrieked--even some of the parents leapt to their feet.

It was, of course, Galligantus, the hinged monster I had seen before the show. But I'd had no idea how terrifying his fall and his death would be when seen from this point of view.

My heart was pounding at my ribcage. It was glorious!

"And so died Galligantus," said Mother Goose, "the cruel giant. After a time, his wife grew lonely in the sky, and found another giant to marry. Jack and his mother, now rich beyond their wildest dreams, lived, as all good people do, happily ever after.

"And we know that all of you will, too--each and every one of you."

Jack dusted off his hands, carelessly, as if killing a giant was an everyday affair.

The red curtains swept slowly closed, and as they did, all hell broke loose in the parish hall.

"It's the Devil!" shrieked a woman's voice at the back of the hall. "The Devil's took the little boy and shrinked him up! God help us! It's the Devil!"

I turned and saw someone flapping about in the open doorway. It was Mad Meg. She was pointing, jabbing her finger at the stage, but then she threw her hands up to cover her face. At that moment, the house lights came on.

The vicar was quickly at her side.

"No! No!" she shrieked. "Don't take old Meg! Leave her be!"

He somehow managed to get an arm around her shoulder, and led her gently but firmly off into the hall's kitchen where, for a minute or so, her poor cracked voice could be heard whimpering, "The Devil! The Devil! The Devil got poor Robin!"

A hush fell on the place. Parents began shepherding their children--all of them now subdued--towards the exits.

The women from the Ladies' Auxiliary did a bit of aimless tidying, then scurried away--probably to gossip, hands over mouths, I thought.

I found myself alone.

Nialla seemed to have vanished, although I had not seen her leave. Since I could hear the soft murmur of voices backstage, Rupert was presumably still up on the bridge of his puppet stage.

It was then that I thought of putting physics to work. As I have said, the hall's Victorian designers had made a perfect sound reflector of its interior. The vast expanses of the room's dark varnished paneling picked up the slightest sounds, and focused them wonderfully. By standing at the very center of the room, I found that, with my acute hearing, I could easily make out every word. One of the voices I had heard was Rupert's.

"Bloody hell!" he was saying, in a loud whisper. "Bloody hell, Nialla!"

Nialla said nothing, although I thought I heard a sob.

"Well, we shall have to put a stop to it. That's plain."

Put a stop to what? Had she told him she was pregnant? Or was he talking about his quarrel with Mutt Wilmott? Or with Gordon Ingleby?

Before I could overhear another word, the door to the kitchen opened, and the vicar came out into the hall with Mad Meg leaning on his arm, followed by Cynthia and two members of the Ladies' Auxiliary.

"It's out of the question," Cynthia was saying, "quite out of the question. The place is simply reeking with paint fumes. Furthermore, we don't have--"

"I'm afraid I must overrule you on this occasion, my dear. This poor woman needs somewhere to rest, and we can hardly send her packing back to--"

"A hovel in the woods?" Cynthia asked, a red flush rising in her cheeks.

"Flavia, dear girl," the vicar said as he spotted me. "Would you mind running ahead to the vicarage? The door is open. If you'll be kind enough to clear the books off the couch in my study ... it doesn't much matter where you put them. We shall be along directly."

Nialla appeared suddenly from behind the curtains. "Just a moment, Vicar," she said. "I'm coming with you."

I could see that she was holding herself together, but only just.