A giant comes to supper unexpectedly

Long, long ago and far far away in a kingdom inhabited by magical people and mythical beasts, where dragons still roamed and life remained magical, there lived a bent and frail old man called Dalian.

He lived alone in the forest where the great oak trees grew and the ground was covered with hawthorn and ferns. In summer it was hot and sunny, in winter it could be very cold. The ground would disappear under a deep carpet of snow. All but the very biggest rivers would freeze up and the villagers would skate upon their frozen pond whilst the cows breathed steam in the windy barn nearby.

It was during just such a winter that Dalian had an unexpected visitor to his isolated and lonely cottage.  

Dalian sat by a small and meagre fire in the living room, reading one of his precious books. It was all about herbs and herblore and was one of those crusty old tomes bound in deep red leather that smelt dusty and ancient in a comfortable sort of a way. Scattered around the rather small living room were a number of other books and a veritable assortment of miscellaneous junk. There were baskets of firewood and kindling, pots, pans and kettles of every shape and size. Large earthenware jars and jugs sat gloomily amid the cobwebs on the high shelf running just below the beams all around the room. There were two deep armchairs, one for Dalian and one for a friend, a tatty footstool, some pokers and ash shovels on the hearth and smaller items such as pipes and pots on the mantelpiece.

He stood perhaps four feet high, and even though bent and twisted with age, could not have been over five feet tall at the peak of his youth. His hair was fairly roughly cut and short, but mostly hidden by a red hood-like hat. Grey whiskers and a long scraggly beard framed his weathered and wrinkled face.

The villagers claimed he was a goblin or fairy and told their children silly, frightening stories about him. In reality Dalian is really quite a nice fellow, more likely to smile at a butterfly than do anything nasty to the creatures and beasts of the forest. The villagers were more than a little frightened of him, but this was really due to ignorance and overactive imaginations than to any things he had actually done or been.

Some claimed he was a magician, and the more daring children sometimes demanded an exhibition of magic when he went into the village to collect supplies. He would always laugh at this and ruffle their hair in an affectionate way. Instead of dispelling his reputation for mystery, this only tended to enhance it and frighten the children away. They would run back to their mothers and fathers telling tall tales of Dalian and get scolded for foolishly talking to strangers.

There was a loud thud on the door, followed almost immediately by a scraping sound and a low groan. Dalian’s eyes went to the door and then to the poke, who could this be? No person with any sense would be out in this weather; the snow had been falling fitfully for weeks and was a fair few feet thick. It was obviously not a wolf or other wild beast, could it be a rogue or outlaw? Or possibly one of the mysterious goblins that occupied the very darkest parts of the forest?  Dalian stood up and, pulling his jacket close about him as if pulling his resolve and determination together, stomped towards the door with a scowl.  

There were further thumps upon the door but these were muffled and weaker sounding now. Indicating that the visitor could be wounded or exhausted. Dalian pulled back the wooden bar with an effort and hauled the heavy rough-hewn door open. One the threshold a fur-clad figure filled the porch, it seemed to be a huge man on his knees, yet his head was level with the lintel, a good six feet from the ground. The stranger lifted his hand in a pleading gesture and grunted inaudibly, obviously desperate for some respite from the billowing clouds of freezing snow outside.  

Before he knew what he was doing Dalian mumble an invitation to come in and attempted to help the stranger in. the giant crawled into the room on all fours, with Dalian feebly trying to support one enormous arm, having markedly little success. As soon as he was near the tiny fire the giant slumped down and seemed to pass out with exhaustion, blocking almost the entire floor with his huge body.

Dalian was wondering what on earth to do next when he heard a chilling howl pierce the night air. Wolves in the forest! Not for twenty years had that noise been heard hereabouts, bad news indeed. He shivered at the thought of packs of mean grey wolves charging round and round his tiny unprotected cottage. Slavering from their long red tongues and baring their sharp, grisly yellow fangs in anticipation of feasting on juicy man-flesh. The goats in their stable set up a fearful bleating, sounding almost like terrified children. The giant stirred fitfully and began to snore extremely loudly, oblivious to the threat of being eaten by the wolves.

Dalian stood rooted to the spot by the still half-open door. He kept turning his head this way and that, all a-fluster as to what to do. After what seemed like hours of indecision (it was really only a few seconds) he rushed out into the night still wearing his woollen slippers.  

Outside it was deadly chill and the wind was blowing fitfully, throwing heavy flakes of snow in all directions, even back up into the sky. Dalian stumbled across to the barn and dragged open the small door, pushing aside a fair sized heap of snow in the process.

Emily the cow set up a deep lowing as if to harmonise with the terrified goats but she quietened down once Dalian came into the gloom of her manger. He hurriedly undid her tether, grabbed a half-bale of hay and dragged her back towards the cottage. She seemed as indecisive as he, first starting forward eagerly, then stopping stubbornly in the knee-deep snow. Finally, she almost leapt towards the open cottage door. She must have realised that that was the destination and was certainly impelled further by the sudden outcry of howls nearby. There were obviously a number of wolves in the woods and Dalian was convinced that they were in his little clearing and made a dash for the door, fighting with the now eager cow to be first in.  

Dalian slammed the door to and hurriedly pulled the bar across. There were no more howls and the wind appeared to have died down. Yet the uncanny silence felt even worse. After a couple of minutes of shivering at the door, whether from cold or fright it is hard to say, Dalian turned to see if the giant had awoken with the fuss. The room was now very cramped, what with a massive man recumbent on the floor between the armchairs and a large cow trying to lick his face. Perhaps instinctively Emily knew that he was injured and wanted to help. Dalian struggled across to the kitchen; he had to slap Emily’s rump to get her to move and give him enough room to pass.

The tiny kitchen was filled with steam from the kettle he had forgotten in all the excitement. Dalian grabbed it from atop the hot stove and then shrieked as the iron handle scorched his hand! He dropped the heavy kettle back onto the stove with a clang.

He grabbed a rag and, cussing as he did so, pulled the kettle away from the heat before plunging his painful hand into the water barrel in the corner. The water was clear and clean but absolutely freezing – turning out to be just as painful as the hot iron kettle! Again poor old Dalian yelped and leapt back. This time he fell to the floor in a heap and slumped back against the kitchen shelves, thoroughly miserable and out of sorts. As he sat nursing the quickly blistering burn on his palm he noted that the back door was properly barred, which was what he came out into the kitchen for in the first place.

Outside the wind whistled and howled, snow alternately brushed and thudded against the tiny kitchen window, the trees could be heard chattering and swishing about in the disturbed night. Far off a wolf howled the sound more one of anguish than a threat of attack; this bought Dalian away from his miserable reverie. He sighed part sadly and part in relief since it would seem the wolves had moved off to harass some other poor souls. Slowly he rose and went over tot he now luke-warm kettle. He put it back on the heat, stoked the fire within the cheery stove and began searching about for things to make supper with.

 ‘Ham, hmm, bit stringy, onions, no. Soup, yes, that would be good, with some thick slabs of black bread and plenty of butter, do the giant the power of good to, I should say.’ Dalian chattered to himself, muttering and mumbling to himself as he often did, whilst he pottered around the kitchen.

Soon the kettle was boiling again; merrily piping steam up to the ceiling and the broth was thickening nicely in the smallest of Dalian’s black cauldrons. He sliced four chunky pieces of the local crusty black bread and spread fresh butter liberally on them. Then he ladled out two large bowls full of the mouth-watering broth and lastly he made two big mugs of delicious herb tea. This drink was to Dalian’s own recipe using herbs he had collected from the forest floor the previous autumn. With a tray thus heavily laden Dalian returned to the parlour, the giant was still asleep, snoring incredibly loudly. In the dim light he could just make out the cow, chewing the cud by the door and taking up the half of the room not filled by the recumbent giant. There was a strong smell of cow dung in the air and the fire had died down low. Dalian set about stoking the fire, shifting furniture about to make more room. Then he patted the cow and shook the giant in an effort to bring the enormous person back to life.

Eventually the giant groaned and after some coaxing sat up feebly, his head only a foot below the ceiling whilst he was sitting on the floor! He looked dazed and confused, unsure of his whereabouts. But he was quick to see the food and tuck in. Perhaps half of his problem was cold and hunger rather than anything more sinister.

Dalian watched dumbly as the enormous man consumed not only his own supper but Dalian’s also. When the giant had finished his meal with gusto and was settling down, wiping his great lips and beard on his sleeve as he did so, Dalian returned to the kitchen to get some more. There was just enough left in the pot to make a small bowl of broth but there was tea and bread a-plenty, so he would not go entirely hungry. He ate in the kitchen, partly so as not to disturb the weary giant and partly to make sure he got to eat something! After eating his more meagre meal, Dalian sat down on the old rocking chair (pulled in from the porch with the inclement weather) and filled his favourite clay pipe.

‘Ah! Just what the good witch ordered.’ Dalian chirped in a self-satisfied way as he settled back to concentrate on doing nought except perhaps blowing smoke rings amongst the plethora of hanging pots, pans and other kitchen paraphernalia hanging from the low ceiling. After a while he nodded off in the comfortable chair and set about out doing the giant’s muffled snore coming from the next room.