Part 8 (2/2)

At this, Brod, the very fat giant, pushed back from the table and chuckled. ”Well, Bucky, that sounds like a challenge to Brod.”

And, because no giant-hero can turn down a challenge when offered, Bucky replied, ”If it's a test you want, it's a test you'll have. Can you eat more than me?”

Brod laughed and grabbed his huge stomach.

”Your belly's big,” replied Bucky, ”but that just means I have more room to grow!”

The other giants huzzahed the brave words and banged on the table. But King Aitheantas said, ”Bucky, you're a whelp, and Brod, you're a coward to challenge such a whelp. If you can outeat me, then I'll be impressed.”

”Or me!” shouted another giant.

”Or me!” bellowed another. Soon all the hall was a cacophony of giant voices, all crying to partic.i.p.ate in the challenge. Meas went off to get something called the Bowl of Never Ending, for the tableful of fowl would have been no more than an appetizer to a challenge such as this.

Jill gazed at the giants howling for the commencement of the challenge. Then she took the frog out of her pocket and handed him to Jack.

”Give me your belt,” she said.

”What?”

”Now.”

He looked at her like she was crazy. But Jill was still staring at the giants. As he took off his belt, Jill wrapped her ratty brown blanket all the way around her, and then she took Jack's belt and cinched it so tight she could barely breathe. Jack watched her, befuddled. Jill stuck out her chin and walked to the giants' table.

”Excuse me,” she announced. ”Can I accept the challenge?”

All the giants turned and looked at her.

The only sound in the sudden silence was Jack whispering, ”Uh . . . Jill?”

King Aitheantas's face slowly broke into a wide grin. ”Well, look at that! Why didn't you say she was the brave one, Jack?” Jack's face went red.

The giants roared with approval and pulled up a chair for the little girl.

”What's she doing?” the frog hissed frantically. Jack shook his head.

”Eat till you burst,” Brod said to Jill.

”Or until you do,” she answered, and all the giants shouted and banged the table and pointed their thick sausage fingers approvingly at her.

”She's the courageous one!”

”She's a winner!”

”Let's see what the pygmy can do!”

Meas came back with the Bowl of Never Ending. It was an enormous wooden bowl that was never empty. Unfortunately it was always full of porridge, and the porridge generally had a sickening, burned taste, so the giants avoided eating from it when they could. But only the Bowl of Never Ending would suffice for such a challenge as this. Whoever ate the most platefuls without throwing up won. Meas heaped each plate with bird meat, until no fowl was left on the table. Then, with an enormous spoon, he poured a sickeningly large dollop of porridge on top of the fowl. The porridge steamed and stank like something burning. Brod licked his lips. Jill felt like she might gag.

What follows is the most disgusting thing I have ever heard in any tale I have ever come across.

I considered cutting it completely from this record. I feel sick just thinking about it. Writing it down for you was, shall we say, a harrowing experience.

But, as I promised to tell you the true story of Jack and Jill, I must include what follows.

You, though, have no obligation to actually read it.

”A haon!” shouted Aitheantas, and the giants all picked up their spoons. ”A do!” he cried, and all the giants put down their spoons and gripped the sides of their plates. ”A tri!” he bellowed, and all the giants poured their meat and porridge straight down their gullets. They slammed their plates down, and Meas filled them all in the blink of an eye. The giants lifted their plates to their mouths and poured another helping down their throats.

Jack turned to look at Jill. She, too, had a second plateful before her. She picked it up and began pouring it over her open mouth. But, Jack noticed, most of the porridge did not go into her mouth. In fact, none of it did. She seemed to be licking it up with her tongue, but as Jack watched he saw that she was actually pus.h.i.+ng it out onto her face. From there, it slid, hot and terrible smelling, down her neck and into the ratty brown blanket. She slammed her plate down like the rest of them and started again.

Jill poured another plateful over her face and down her s.h.i.+rt. Around the table, giants gobbled the revolting stuff down. Only Brod seemed to be enjoying it.

Slam! More porridge pouring down the giants' gullets, more porridge sliding down Jill's neck.

Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! The porridge was now visibly collecting in the brown blanket, hanging over Jill's belt in what looked for all the world like a jiggling belly.

Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam!

Jill smiled as she poured more of the sickening glop over her face and down her neck. The giants, on the other hand, started to look ill.

Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam!

Twenty servings in, Bucky had begun to slow down. Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! After twenty-four, he looked positively green. Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! After twenty-eight, Bucky turned and threw up all over the floor. The smooth, velvety vomit spread over the flagstones. Its odor suffused the hall and made Jack gag.

”Bucky is out!” cried Meas. The other giants let out a m.u.f.fled cheer and continued pouring the sludge-like porridge down their throats.

Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam!

After forty helpings, two giants turned and threw up at exactly the same time, their chunky vomit mingling on the floor. ”Goleor and Barraoicht are out!” Meas bellowed.

Bucky was staring at Jill. ”How is she still eating?” he asked. But no one was listening.

Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam!

Now giants were throwing up all over the place. Chunks, globs, nuggets of b.l.o.o.d.y, fatty vomit coated the flagstones, the table legs, the giants' legs.

”Leithleach out!” Meas bellowed. ”Feall out!” ”Aitheantas out!” One by one, each giant erupted like a volcano of half-digested pink meat and gray porridge.

The upchuck began collecting in a large pool under the table, and then began to spread out over the floor, like some gooey, primordial lake. The giants were slouching in their chairs, covered with silky brown sludge, groaning. But Jill kept pouring the porridge over her face and letting it slide down her neck. Brod was still eating, too. But he had begun to slow.

Slam . . . Slam . . .

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