Cold
and wet, you shiver amongst the leaves.
Poor
thing. These grey rains offer no respite.
You
are so small, so easily missed
By
a casual glance. Mere scenery.
The
weather is merciless to small things.
With
the damp comes toadstools, fruiting, sporing.
The
brimmed cap provides some paltry shelter.
So
you huddle, wrapped in flannel rags
Discarded
wrappers, washers, buttons, pins
Against
a thick stipe, golden and ridged.
You
are lost. You woke one morning to find
Your
burrow empty, abandoned, quiet.
The
entrance open to the elements.
In
the soft earth outside, marks of talons.
You
knew then that the birds had taken them.
Why
did they spare you? Those scavenging beaks
Which
prey on little folk, tiny inchlings;
People
who go unseen in the great wood.
Do
they mistake you for insects? Alas:
The
cruelty of the crop still remains.
That
was summer. And though the grief was great
You
still had the sunshine and abundance.
Now
it is getting into the dark winter.
You
must secure refuge before the frosts
Strip
bare the trees and shrivel ev'ry stem.
Now
the rain pours, and there you sit, huddled
Beneath
the shallow cap of a fungus
Whose
name is unknown to you, but yellow
As
summer sun at the dawn; reminder
That
the forest, despite the cold, still lives.
Your
bent legs are drawn up under your chin
And
both your eyes, frosted with tears, behold
The
colour of your bare feet: dull blue
And
grey as death. You lost your shoes last night.
So
you sigh, bunching up, conserving heat.
So
cold are you that at first, you don't hear
The
sound that comes billowing through the trees.
A
soft, rhythmic booming, musical thunder.
It
is quiet, distant, but you know
How
quickly it can be upon you.
Despite
the painful stiffness of your limbs,
You
force yourself to shift, pushing yourself
To
t'other side of the yellow stipe
And
try to remain there, out of sight.
You
close your eyes. You hope. You wait. Breathless.
The
sound grows louder and louder, closer, closer.
Then
it stops. And there is a great silence.
You
know not of Persephone, but still
Despite
yourself, you cannot help but
Look
back, in just a momentary glance.
There
stand two black boots, vaster than any
That
you have ever seen. And now you know:
You
have encountered a human.
You
stifle a cry, and, turning away,
Cover
your head, trying to hide yourself.
You
have only encountered humans once.
You
were a child, then, and you recall
How
large they were. Like trees that walk--and think!
Of
course, those you saw were but babes themselves.
This
is an adult human, towering.
There
is a sound like storm wind, and you feel
The
air, buffeted by a creature
Of
unimaginable size and weight.
You
recall how fast they move, despite
How
heavy they are. So nimble and deft.
The
great boot falls not far from your refuge.
You
hear a wooden log snapping like bones.
The
other children did not believe you
When
you told them of how big humans are.
How
fast. And how carelessly destructive.
Some
distance away stands another 'shroom.
It
would take you perhaps a minute.
You
watch, helpless, as a hand, ten thousand
Of
your own, emerges from above
And
plucks it from the soil of the earth.
Your
guts are in knots with dread. For you know
What
will happen next. Yet you cannot scream.
Your
world goes dark, then fills with a strange scent.
And
you are hoisted at so great a speed,
Up
higher than you ever dared venture.
You
cling to the ridges under the cap
And
the fingers seem not to notice you.
You
dare not move, dare not breathe, dare not stir.
You
play at being fungus, become scarce.
Then,
carelessly, the huge fingers drop you.
You
land with a bump, in what looks to you
Like
a vast boat, woven from long, stiff stems.
You
imagine the strength it would take
To
construct such a thing. You are afraid.
Beside
you lies the corpse of your shelter.
You
dare not look up, and meet the gaze
Of
the one that has taken you pris'ner.
You
crouch, lie flat, and scuttle beneath
The
dead fungi around you. You are lost.
Now
you have entered the realm of giants.
You
remain out of sight as you watch
Mushrooms,
which would take ten strong men to fell
Be
lifted as though they are nothing
And
tossed into the belly of the boat.
What
awesome strength the humans possess.
You
suppose they must have stolen it
From
the gods. Perhaps, once, they were like you.
Tiny,
unseen, scampering in the woods.
Then
one day, they learned the secret of strength
And
grew to their current size, kings of all.
The
human's footsteps rattle your bones.
You
feel your teeth shudder with ev'ry stride.
Below,
the breaking of wood beneath
That
great boot reminds you of the danger
That
you find yourself in. You are frightened.
What
use would a human have for fungus?
Your
people use them for many reasons
But
mostly as a food source. One mushroom
Can
feed half a village for a week.
Humans
are much larger. They must eat more.
Humans
must eat mushrooms! But is that all?
What
else do humans eat? You've never seen
A
human feeding itself before.
Only
the babes, who ate strange, salty foods
Kept
in large sacks, printed with strange symbols.
Do
humans eat little folk? Like the birds?
What
if you are mistaken for a 'shroom?
For
a moment, you consider shouting
But
stop yourself. Discovery means death!
And
then, without warning, all goes dark.
You
peer out of the pile of mushrooms
And
see that the open top of the boat
Has
been covered by a wide cloth roof.
The
human must be protecting its food
From
the cold and damp, just as you do.
Now
there is a long time in darkness.
Only
the sounds of the forest outside
And
the light shining in through holes
In
the weave. The sun must be setting.
And
the rhythm of the giant's footsteps.
Along
the way, you hear the sounds outside
Begin
to change, diminish, transform.
Birdsong
gives way to babbling streams
And
rustling leaves to stones underfoot.
A
strange relief to be out of the rain.
Then
there comes one more, another new sound.
It
is loud, clear, and resonant. A voice.
You
have never heard a human speak
Let
alone sing. But this human sings,
Softly
humming a sweet idle tune.
You
listen a moment, and wonder
If
this may be the last music you hear.
Oh,
how cruel -- to be gently lullabied
Before
you are devoured. How cruel
That
the boot did not make short work of you.
And
as you sit, contemplating your doom,
You
come to a stop. You have arrived.
From
betwixt the weave you see a great door,
Perhaps
a hundred times as tall as you.
Wooden,
painted blue. The human's abode.
There
comes a rattling sound, and the door
Heavier
than a thousand mushrooms
Creaks
open, and you enter a world
Of
warmth, new smells, metal tools, pots and pans
And
furniture, all wrought of wood.
So
this is how the bigfolk live their lives.
In
enormous caverns, filled with riches,
Warm
and dry. No wonder they dared steal height
From
the gods themselves. This is Paradise.
For
a moment, you forget your peril.
The
cloth roof is drawn back, and the hand,
Probing
for toadstools, grabs a handful.
You
flatten yourself against the wall,
Arms
spread wide. You dare not move. The hand seeks.
In
the dim light, you hold your breath and wait.
For
the first time, you get to take a look
At
the hand that holds you captive here.
The
fingers are long and thick, like branches.
They
are dexterous, nimble. And the long nails
On
each finger are painted midnight black.
One
by one the mushrooms disappear
From
the prison ship. It is a marvel.
How
a multitude of heavy objects
Can
be spirited away with such ease.
You
would struggle to lift but one of them.
And
now there are only two left in here.
That
is you, and your former umbrella.
The
hand reaches in, and the fingers clutch
At
the stipe. Silently, you bid farewell
And
it is taken away to the unknown.
The
human turns away from you. You breathe.
You
hear a melody again, that song
That
makes a dirge for your fungal comrades.
You
take a step towards the melody--
And
yelp! At the hand now fast approaching!
You
attempt to escape, but where to run?
The
small opportunity goes to waste.
For
the human's hand is now upon you
And
it closes around you, eclipsing
All
light. All is darkness. And that strange scent.
You
feel a hard throbbing all around you
Just
for a moment, and you understand
That
the big people, just like you, have hearts.
Held
in the giant's grip, you cannot scream.
Only
wait for whatever comes next.
The
light returns, and as sight avails you
You
find yourself looking into two eyes.
You
flinch at once. Their gaze is absolute.
Each
of them just as wide as you are tall.
The
eyes blink. The pupils dilate. Seeing.
You
are known, and too petrified to speak.
All
you can do is stare across the gulf.
The
human's face is ringed by long black hair
And
the curious eyes are painted black
Like
the abducting nails. The human smiles.
"Looks
like I've got a stowaway," she says
For
she is a human woman. She says
"Now,
how on Earth did you get in there?"
You
cannot speak. Would she understand you
Even
if you could? Your lips move. No sound.
"I'm
not going to hurt you," she says.
"My,
you must be a long long way from home."
"I
have no home," you say. Can she hear you?
The
human blinks in surprise. It seems
That
your speaking confirms that you are real.
"Were
you hiding in the mushrooms?" she asks.
You
are uncertain of how to answer.
"Yes,"
you reply. "I'm sorry, I didn't--"
The
giant reaches, holds up a mushroom.
"This
one?" she asks. It's brown, with a white stalk.
"No,"
you say, though afraid to correct her. "It was--"
"Oh,
this chanterelle?" She lifts the carcass
Of
your comrade, the one who sheltered you.
"Yes,"
you say. "I was hiding from the rain."
The
human frowns. "I am sorry," she says.
"It
wasn't my home," you say. "It was just
Shelter,
so I could stay out of the rain."
"My
goodness, you're filthy," she interjects.
"It's
just as well I was about to wash
These
mushrooms. It's for my supper, you see."
All
these for one meal? That's impossible.
Humans
must all have very large stomachs.
"You
can eat that much?" you say, uncertain.
"Well,
they cook down." The human pauses.
"Wow,
you really are small." She smiles again.
You
cast your gaze downward, at her stomach
Then
back up to her face, your eyes wide.
She
must see your fear. "Hey, hey. It's okay.
I'm
not going to eat you. I promise."
You
could almost cry for sheer relief.
She
sets you down on a wooden table
Then
crouches, peering at you wide-eyed
From
just above the edge. "So small," she says.
"I
think I'll keep you. If you want me to."
You
look back at her. She means you no harm.
"I'm
Mae, by the way. And how about you?"
The
only ones who knew your name are gone.
"I
don't know," you say, telling her the truth.
"You
don't know what your name is?" she asks.
"I
have no home. I guess I have no name."
"That's
okay." She scoops you up in her palm.
"You're
safe now, here with me. I'll keep you warm.
Now,
let's get you cleaned up, as good as new."
She
undresses you, washing you gently
In
a large basin filled with warm water.
As
you clean off, she walks across the room.
There
is a metal thing at the far end.
She
takes a long tool, pokes around inside
Then
grabs a box, all filled with wooden sticks.
She
takes a stick and strikes it on the box.
Fire!
Mae, for now you know that is her name
Has
conjured fire at her fingertips!
She
throws the stick into the metal thing
And
soon, it emits a reddish glow.
"Let's
get you warm," she says, wrapping you up.
Then
she sets you down by the fire.
You
have only ever seen fire
In
the wake of storms. How strange to see it
As
comfort, safety and security.
The
rain patters softly on the window.
In
another room, Mae removes her boots.
She
pads, barefoot, into the kitchen.
Her
footfalls still sound like distant thunder.
Still,
you feel quite safe in her company.
Nobody
else has ever been so kind.
Warm
and dry, you bask in radiant heat.
Tiny
thing. At last, some respite.
You
are so small, kept safe and secure
In
the capable hands of a giant
Who
is ever merciful to small things.
Mae
does not keep you here against your will.
You
could leave whenever you would wish to.
But
out there are the birds, and other things;
Carnivorous
mammals who crave your flesh.
Why
would you ever want to leave this place?
Here,
there is plenty. No need to struggle.
All
protection, doting, and affection.
Three
meals a day, and curious prodding.
Yes,
perhaps Mae owns you. That's a fair trade
To
be able to live in Paradise.
And
so it is here where your tale closes.
By
fluke, spirited from the cold and damp.
You
once thought humans cruel, but now you see
That
they are, like you, trying to survive.
You
close your eyes, and drift off into sleep.