Part 4 (1/2)
Jack and Jill and the Beanstalk Marie had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb.
Marie had a little lamb whose fleece was black as coal.
”Stop following me!” shouted Marie.
Everywhere that Marie went, Marie went, Marie went, Everywhere that Marie went the lamb was sure to go.
”Get away from me!”
It made the children laugh and play, laugh and play, laugh and play, It made the children laugh and play to see the lamb follow.
”n.o.body wants you here!”
In a little village on the outskirts of the kingdom of Marchen, the boys had invented this song. They sang it every time they saw the little lamb. And every time they sang it, everyone would laugh.
Everyone, that is, except a little boy named Jack.
Jack, you see, was the lamb.
Once upon a time, many years before, a prince left the Castle Marchen, left his kind father the king and his bratty little sister the princess, and went out to live among the poor folk.
He did not want to live a soft life, with servants and bedspreads and tiny spoons for tea. He wanted to live a vigorous life, a hard life: to milk his own cows, chop his own wood, buy and sell like a peasant-man does. And so he did. And he lived like that for many years, until his hands grew hard as his life.
He married a fine woman, and she had a child-with big dark eyes and curly hair as black as coal. But then the woman pa.s.sed away, and the man was left all alone with the little boy. He tried to raise that boy with all the vigor and hards.h.i.+p that a peasant's life required.
He tried, and tried, and tried, but it didn't quite work.
The boy, you see, was a dreamer.
”Where are the chickens?” his father bellowed one day. ”Where are all the chickens?”
”I wanted to see them fly, Papa!” the little boy said. ”But they don't fly too good. And then a fox ate them, 'cause he was hungry.” The boy smiled up at his big, strong father. His father felt little veins popping all over his forehead.
Another time, the boy put on his father's finest clothes and went swimming in the lake. Without knowing how to swim. The boy, luckily, was saved. The clothes, on the other hand, were not.
Yet another time, the boy invented a song. It went, ”Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jump over the candlestick.” Because the boy's name was Jack. Then he actually tried to jump over a candlestick. He knocked it over. The house burned down. Completely.
As the years went by, Jack remained a dreamer. But he became something else, too. He became a follower.
A few years after the candlestick incident, the little boy walked into his (new) house weeping. ”Jack!” his father cried, ”Jack! What's happened?” Jack's eyes were red and swollen, and his cheeks and arms and neck and ears were all red and b.u.mpy and swollen, too. Jack, still crying, told his father that the boys from the village had given him a plant that would make him strong as an ox and brave as a lion. All he had to do was rub it all over himself. So he did. But it hurt and itched and he didn't want to be strong as an ox and brave as a lion if it hurt this much. Jack's father put Jack in a tub of ice water. ”Before you rub a plant all over yourself, boy,” his father told him, ”make sure it isn't poison ivy.”
It was after this incident that the famous song was invented: Marie had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb.
Marie had a little lamb whose fleece was black as coal.
”Stop following me!” shouted Marie.
Everywhere that Marie went, Marie went, Marie went, Everywhere that Marie went the lamb was sure to go.
”Get away from me!”
It made the children laugh and play, laugh and play, laugh and play, It made the children laugh and play to see the lamb follow.
”n.o.body wants you here!”
Marie was a tall boy, with a sharp face and bright eyes, and he was the bravest, strongest, funniest boy in the village. If Jack could have been anyone in the world, he would not have been king of the kingdom of Marchen. He would have been king of the boys in the village. He would have been Marie.
Wait, you're telling me that ”Marie” is a boy?
Yes. You see, in German countries, like the kingdom of Marchen was, boys are often given two names. And sometimes, the second name is Marie, or Maria. There is a famous poet named Rainer Maria Rilke. He is a boy. Well, he was a boy. Now he is dead.
Anyway, yes, I'm telling you that ”Marie” is a boy.
One day, Jack's father called Jack to his side. ”Do you know what tomorrow is?”
Jack nodded. ”My birthday.”
His father asked, ”Would you like your gift now?”
Jack clapped his hands and jumped into his father's lap. But his father gently pushed him away. ”Boy,” he said, ”it's going to be your birthday. I think it's time you started acting like a man.”
Jack nodded and slowly crawled down off his father's lap.
”Not just a man, Jack. I think it's time you started acting like your own man. Taking more responsibility. And not following those boys around so much.”
”I don't follow them around,” said Jack. ”They're my friends.”
Jack's father sighed. ”Anyway, money is tight. Perhaps you've noticed. You see, the cow-”
”Milky!” said Jack.
”Yes, you call her Milky,” his father conceded. ”Money is tight because the cow is not giving milk anymore. We have to sell her.”
”No!” cried Jack.
”And I've decided that your birthday present is the opportunity to be your own man: to take her to market all by yourself, and to sell the cow.”
”I don't want to sell Milky!”
Jack's father's face grew dark. ”You'll sell her,” Jack's father said, ”for no less than five gold pieces. You'll do it all by yourself. It'll prove that you're a man-your own man.”