Continued: Fidelity

(A continuation of the post Rough Draft: Fidelity)

“You see it?” cried the younger sister. “There,” she pointed, “the two eyes, and there, the nose. You must see it. That cave, look at that mouth.”

“Careful,” said the older sister, “giants eat pretty little girls like you.”

This had an effect on the younger sister, and having at first fled this place when suddenly seeing that face hungrily staring out at her, she now strode forward in a huff, her well-practiced, less-than-subtle walk serving her little as the only boy nearby was distracted by the mountain’s face. And just to prove her sister wrong, she walked right into the giant’s mouth. The earth shook, and the mouth closed around the virgin.

The young sister found herself in a dark hole. The other sister found the world sinking around her. Screaming her sister’s name, she came running at the mountain’s face, but the mouth had closed. Now, the tears in her eyes were such that she could hardly see, and the wails escaping her drowned out any sound of the boyfriend as he desperately dug at the collapsed cave entrance. And so, as she approached, and he was already there, she tripped over him.

Of the heated moment, let us not remember the precise diction which then spewed from her. It would be just as well to say—the two being rather high strung—that the boy’s reaction was somewhat mitigated, though not excused, by her choice of words. It was upon standing that she found herself again knocked over, and this time by his blow. She sat upon the dried sand, too shaken to cry.

He was not sophisticated, not eloquent in words, but he spoke his mind, “Of the two of us, which one is helping your sister? Go get help.”

It was in his passion that the last phrase, “go get help,” was spoken, or shouted, and that passion overruled perfect elocution. The effect was three syllables which were vague enough to relate a meaning the boy did not intend, nor could have intended, as he had never bothered to read the plaque that the older sister had. In that last command, the sister thought he said the name of the virgin whom the mountain had devoured, and the whole myth relived itself in her mind.

She remembered how the braves were all destroyed by the giant, and how the chiefs soon forbade further rescue. But now she cared to recall the rest, how one brave still went to the mountain. He took with him his love’s dress, for the virgin was his love, and filled it impractically. It was said he dressed his dog in it. And leading the dog before the mountain, he talked to it as if it were the virgin. The mountain saw this and was vexed; he knew he’d eaten this girl, and how was it then she should be with her lover?

But the lover was crafty, and in his conversation joked, “How wonderful to fool that mountain there,” he said, “feeding to it a dog in your dress. There’s but one thing giants fear to eat, and that’s a dog. How we have laughed at him!”

At this the giant was enraged to be made a fool of, and quickly revealed himself to the man. “Man,” he said, “I’ve played your game long enough. Here is your dog,” And here he coughed up the virgin, “And I’ll take the lovely virgin.” And he ate the dog.

Now, swallowing the dog, the giant died, becoming the mountain, or so the fable went. And remembering this, the sister did return to the camp. She found her sister’s clothes and arrayed herself in them. She did not fill out those places her sister filled, but instead found that where her sister lacked, namely about the middle, she liberally expounded upon.