The Hanged Man: Part 7: Beltane
Post #70: In which we allow ourselves to be big ...
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The next morning she woke alone but felt the circle of the fox and herself drawing closer and closer around her and was satisfied to let it be. She’d made up her mind and sent out the call. The call was answered. There was nothing else she need do.
She was perched in a tree near the Well of Artemis when she heard a disturbance in the forest. Birds gave alarm calls and took nervous flight above the treetops. She closed her eyes and thought of bark, branch, leaf and twig, sinking into the living matter of the tree around her until the boundary between its life and hers grew thin. She opened her eyes and waited.
Something heavy moved through the trees. The sound wasn’t aggressive or dangerous, just large and rather clumsy.
“Drat! Oh, drat, again! I’m so sorry! Excuse me! Ouch! You’re tangled in my hair! Sorry!”
The voice was female, breathless and apologetic. It came from somewhere around Rose Red’s elevation.
“Oh, good! The path! That’s better! Here we are!”
Into the campsite stepped an immense young woman. No, thought Rose Red in wonder. A young giantess! Her hair was an unnatural but cheerful color of blue, nearly turquoise, and gathered into a messy bundle held precariously by a couple of small branches. Flowers randomly poked through the bundle and a thick lock fell down onto her shoulder, evidently snagged on her way through the forest. She wore a red dress like a tent and carried an immense wooden bottle with a cork crammed in the neck. She leaned the bottle against a tree and looked around at Rose Red’s camp.
“Oh, dear! Someone’s here. I suppose I frightened them.”
The giantess stood looking down at the fire ring and Rose Red’s neat pile of blankets and bedding, utterly disconsolate. Even the flowers in her hair drooped.
She sighed and ashes from the cold fire whirled in a miniature grey storm. The young giantess drew in her shoulders, hunched her back slightly, bent her knees a bit, pulled her elbows in tight against her sides, clasped her hands together and called in a strained voice that was nearly a whisper, “It’s all right! I won’t hurt you! Don’t be afraid of me, please! I came to get some water.”
Rose Red wasn’t afraid. Fascination had kept her hidden, but the poignancy of watching this lavish creature make herself small and quiet had her climbing down the tree in a moment.
“Hello! I’m Rosie. I’m not afraid of you. I was only surprised!”
“I know,” said the giantess humbly. “I’m rather large. But I’m harmless.”
Rose Red’s gaze traveled from dusty, scarred leather sandals on feet the size of wheelbarrows up thick ankles and brown legs. The dress encased a pair of bulging, generous hips, a round curving belly and a pair of luscious breasts. A web of scratches, some freshly oozing blood and some nearly healed, covered thick freckled arms.
Tipping her head back, Rose Red met eyes the precise shade of pine needles, large, vulnerable and thickly fringed. Freckles scattered across the giantess’s jutting nose and round cheeks. She smiled tentatively and her eyes were like a dog’s eyes, gentle and imploring. Rose Red had never seen anything like her, never imagined anything like her.
“You’re beautiful,” she said impulsively, not sure exactly what she meant but knowing beautiful was the right word.
The giantess’s eyes filled with tears and overflowed.
“You mustn’t say that,” she said. “I’m not beautiful. I’m just…me.”
“I think that’s what I mean,” said Rose Red slowly.
They smiled at one another.
The giantess wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m Gwelda.”
“My friends call me Rosie.”
“Pleased to meet you. I came to—Oh! Hee hee hee.”
As Gwelda giggled and squirmed, a squirrel poked its head out from the neck of her dress. It climbed onto her shoulder, frisking its tail, chattering, and examining Rose Red with bright eyes.
“They tickle,” said Gwelda apologetically. “What was I saying? Oh, yes, I came to get water from the well for my trees. They always enjoy Artemis’s well water the most, but it’s a long way to carry it so I don’t come more than three or four times a summer.
“I’m glad I was here. Are you in a hurry? Will you stay and talk? I want to hear about your trees.”
“You want to play with me?” The giantess looked absolutely delighted. “Truly?”
Rose Red laughed. “No one’s ever asked to play with me before. Yes. I want to play with you. Will you stay a while?”
They wedged the bottle into the bubbling spring so it could fill. Gwelda found a comfortable spot to sit, leaning back against an old tree with a wide girth. Rose Red climbed a few feet up another tree so they could talk on a level. A chickadee alighted on Gwelda’s untidy knot of hair and made determined efforts to dislodge one of the slender branches holding it.
Gwelda’s shyness and uncertainty made Rose Red feel unusually assertive and protective. They quickly discovered their mutual interest in the forest. Gwelda had long admired Artemis and listened breathlessly to every detail about her Rose Red could dredge out of her memory.
“And she chose you to serve her and watch over the forest,” breathed Gwelda. “How amazing!”
“Now you tell,” urged Rose Red. “Tell about your trees.” She’d noticed the giantess wore a ring, a wide gold band with a pattern of leaves etched around it. It would have made a heavy bracelet for Rose Red’s arm. “Is that a wedding ring? Are you married?”
Gwelda blushed, turning nearly the color of her dress. “I just married a wonderful man. He loves me!” She said this with such surprised satisfaction Rose Red laughed aloud.
“Tell me.”
“Really?”
“Yes! I want to hear everything!”
“I’ll make it a story. I love stories.” Gwelda thought for a moment, indenting her chin with a thick finger. “It really begins before I met Jan, though.”
“When I was a little girl I lived with my father. My mother was human, but she died when I was young. I don’t remember her. Dad’s a giant. He’s a Professor of Entomology.”
Gwelda looked at Rose Red apologetically. “I hope you don’t think I’m bragging. That means he loves insects.”
Rose Red assured Gwelda she didn’t think she was bragging.
“Dad spent his time collecting, preserving, and studying insects. I was a trial to him.”
Gwelda heaved a sigh.
“As giants go, I’m rather small. Even puny. But I’m far too big and clumsy for Dad. He hoped, at first, I’d be human-sized like my mother, but I grew and grew. I tried not to. I wore tight clothes but eventually they split apart. I slept in a small bed with a headboard and footboard so I couldn’t grow in my sleep, but I had to keep curling up smaller and smaller and it made my back hurt. One night I kicked out in a dream and broke the footboard, and after that I gave up.
What Dad loved best was the world of insects he saw through a magnifying lens. He was fascinated by mouth parts, antennae, wings, scales and eyes, all invisible without a lens. He said small things are like neat little miracles, little treasures waiting for someone to appreciate them.
I did the best I could to take care of him as I grew up. I tried to be quiet and step lightly, and keep everything tidy. I wasn’t good at it and he was often cross with me.
I started to spend more and more time outside. We lived in mountains and I loved to roam, playing with trees and rocks.
One day my father showed me a special kind of butterfly that flies in the tree canopy and said he wanted some specimens.
I was so happy to know a way to please him! I went right out and climbed the largest tree I knew, one I’d often visited before. It was so wide I couldn’t get my arms around it, and it was one of the tallest trees in the forest. I was sure butterflies would like to be flying around a tree like that.
I climbed higher than I ever had before. It was a strong tree, else it would’ve been dangerous, but I was determined to get the butterflies for Dad. I’d decided I couldn’t climb anymore and was looking around for the butterflies, when the tree spoke to me!!”
Gwelda said this in such a tone of childlike wonder Rose Red smiled. “What did it say?” she asked eagerly.
“It said, ‘Who is this in my arms?’”
“And then what did you say?” encouraged Rose Red.
“I’m stupid,” said Gwelda. “All I could think to say was, ‘I’m Gwelda.’” Her face looked so rueful Rose Red couldn’t help giggling. Gwelda grinned.
“That’s how I met Borobrum. The best friend I ever had.”
“Borobrum,” said Rose Red, letting it roll in her mouth. “Borobrum.”
“I found the butterflies, and I caught some in a net and took them right home to Dad, but I’d forgotten about pleasing him by then. I ran back out and spent the rest of the day with Borobrum. That was the beginning.”
“The beginning of what?” asked Rose Red.
“The beginning of making myself big,” said Gwelda.
“Borobrum was old, and he knew things. He said:
‘Make yourself big and life will find you!’”
Gwelda extended her arms wide, threw out her chest and lifted her chin. Her left hand was in a shaft of sun and a dragonfly came to inspect the gleam of her ring. A bird perched on a finger of her right hand, hopping busily up and down its length, exploring the fingernail for edibles.
“’Make yourself big and life will love you.’”
A cloud of butterflies came from among tree branches overhead. They floated around Gwelda’s red dress, weightless and fragile. They clustered together on her knee and clung to the sleeve of her dress, wings opening and closing. Gwelda closed her eyes, and one brushed against her cheek while another explored her eyelashes.
“’Make yourself big and life will play with you!’”
A pair of squirrels scampered down the tree Gwelda leaned against. One ran down the neck of her dress, sending her into a gale of giggles. The other missed the opening and scampered down her chest and belly, darting to and fro in search of its mate. Rose Red could see movement under Gwelda’s dress as the squirrel inside flicked his tail and ran about. It pushed itself into a sleeve, making Gwelda shriek with laughter as its sharp feet scrabbled in her armpit, flowed down her arm and poked its head out, chattering. The squirrel chasing it, with a nearly human look of surprise, began to scold upon seeing it emerge. They circled around Gwelda, running up and down her arms and chest, and then climbed the tree, spiraling up, chattering madly.
“I understood what he meant because he was full of life. Hundreds of insects crawled on his bark and flew among his branches. He held seven bird nests. One day we counted up all the eggs. There were nineteen! A squirrel family lived in his top half and a chipmunk family in his bottom half. Way up high, a bat colony lived in a cavity where a branch had died and been torn away.
Then there were visitors. Sometimes a hawk or an owl perched on his arms. Now and then a pine marten came hunting.
Generations of trees grew around him, his family and others, and they shaded a whole world of plants and fungi.”
Gwelda paused.
“He sounds wonderful!” said Rose Red. “I’d like to meet him.”
“You can’t,” said Gwelda sadly. “He’s dead.”
“One day a terrific storm came with lightning and thunder. When it passed I ran to Borobrum. When I got close to where he grew, I began to see chunks of wood and bark. The wood was wet and smooth, like some strange kind of fruit. I found big pieces of wood, too, pieces of his body…”
Gwelda was crying. Rose Red sat in silent sympathy while the giantess wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
“He’d been hit by lightning, Borobrum,” she resumed sadly. “He was one of the tallest trees, you see. It was just like he’d said. The smaller lives were protected because he took the lightning instead of them. He just…exploded. I still keep a piece of him at home.”
She paused again, looking so sad that Rose Red groped for a distraction.
“So how did you meet your husband?” she prodded.
Gwelda’s aspect lightened. “Oh, Jan!” she said. “That’s where I was going, wasn’t it?”
“After Borobrum was gone I decided it was time for me to leave Dad. To tell you the truth, I think he was relieved. I was such a problem for him.
Before I left, I gathered up some of Borobrum’s children. I went out in the world to look for places to plant them.
I traveled around, seeing the world and settling the children, thinking about what I wanted to do. I always felt happiest in the company of trees, so I decided I’d take care of them, plant new ones and do what I could to keep them healthy. I’ve had some fine teachers, but mostly the trees themselves tell me what they need.”
Gwelda looked at Rose Red. “They don’t actually tell me,” she said apologetically. “I mean, I just know somehow.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” said Rose Red.
“Well, one day I heard of a woodsman who wanted a partner to replace trees he cut. Some woodsmen just cut and cut, thinking only of the money they get and caring nothing about the forest, but others love trees and cut carefully, planting a new tree for every one they take.
The woodsman was Jan. I liked him right away and we decided to work together. He told me once I have a great heart.”
Gwelda paused and looked and Rose Red anxiously. “Am I talking too much? Is this silly and boring?”
“No. You’re helping me. I need to hear. I want to hear! What happened next?”
“Well, one night Jan arrived with this hidden under his shirt.” She held up her finger with the wedding ring around it.
That night we sat on a log under the stars and Jan asked me to marry him and wear the ring. I wanted to, but I kept thinking about my father. I told Jan I was worried we weren’t well matched after all, him being human and me being a giantess. He said he’d always felt frustrated by how small other people were, not outside but inside. He said at last he’d found someone with a heart big enough, a joy deep enough and a passion rich enough to satisfy him. He said we’d spend our lives together learning how to be bigger.”
“He climbed up a tree next to us — fast as a squirrel! — and kissed me. On the lips!”
Rose Red laughed.
“So, we married. I wove flowers into a canopy for our bed.”
Gwelda looked away and blushed deeply, her freckles disappearing momentarily.
“We play and we laugh and he says, ‘Make yourself big, Gwelda! Make yourself big!’ And I do.”
***
Later, Gwelda left with reluctance, corked bottle in hand.
“If I’m late, Jan worries,” she explained. “Come with me?”
“No,” said Rose Red regretfully. “I’m meeting someone here.”
“Maybe we’ll see each other again?” Gwelda sounded like a disappointed child.
“Maybe. I hope so.”
Gently, Gwelda tipped an inquisitive chipmunk out of her palm and offered her hand to Rose Red. Rose Red stepped onto it and Gwelda lifted her up so Rose Red could kiss her on the cheek.
The chipmunk scolded, sounding like an irritated metronome.
“You are beautiful,” said Rose Red, and a tear fell down Gwelda’s freckled humid cheek. She set Rose Red down, wiped her face, squared her shoulders resolutely and left. For a long time, Rose Red could hear her moving through the trees. The sun set and the short summer night enclosed the Well of Artemis.
That evening Rose Red sat long by the fire. Her mind was a kaleidoscope. She again saw Gwelda’s face suffused with a tide of embarrassed joy, the white tip of the fox’s tail. She remembered the stubby finger of a dwarve stirring through a pile of stones. Her mother’s face in the mirror said, “You hate me.” “Smell but not touch,” the fox whispered. When she lay down to sleep, she took the kaleidoscope with her and turned it around and around in her dreams.
After her midday meal the next day, she felt sleepy. She sat on a fallen trunk that made a bench against the base of a standing tree. She quieted her mind and sank into vivid green moss, lacy fern, web of earth and roots. She imagined traveling slowly up the quiet halls within the trunk of the tree, moving toward far-off green surfaces of leaves absorbing sunlight. The spring bubbled to itself. The sun laid warm fingers on her eyelids.
Something stirred nearby. She opened her eyes. A man wearing deerskin leggings and nothing else approached her with catlike silent grace. He dropped to his knees on the cushion of moss over rotten wood at her feet and laid his head in her lap.
Her whole body flamed into vivid life. She put her hands on his head and his hair felt rough and thick under them. She pushed her fingers through it, seeking the shape of the hard skull beneath. He pressed against her thighs. She wore the tunic and pants Vasilisa and Jenny had made for her so long ago. The clothing was well worn now, molded to the shape of her body and smelling of her and the forest. She opened her thighs beneath the sculpture of his jaw, cheek and temple. She wet her index finger between her lips and traced the curves of his small, neat ear. He quivered and pressed his face further between her thighs, hiding the ear from view. His arms came up and clasped the top of her legs.
She was always the most sensitive and responsive in the week following her menses. Her sex opened like a flower for the bee, oozing moisture and scent. Nothing lay between him and the center of her except a layer of linen and a layer of buckskin leggings.
Smell but not touch.
She laid her head back against the tree trunk and took a deep breath. The sun glowed against her closed eyelids. The weight of his head in her lap anchored her. She relaxed and felt him do the same in response. Her fingers moved dreamily in his hair.
“What’s your name?” She smiled because the question seemed ridiculous.
“Rowan.”
“Rowan,” she repeated. “The tree of protection.”
“Protection for portals and thresholds,” he said, voice slightly muffled against her lap. Then, “You called me.”
“Yes. I’m sorry for…before.”
He raised his head and settled himself on the ground with the log she sat on at his back. Dappled shade touched his head, his left ear and cheek. She could see the curve of his mouth, the sharp, fine cheekbone covered with red stubble. In sunlight his hair looked tawny, a combination of gold, cinnamon and copper. Coarse, curly hairs on his chest were deep red, like the stubble on his face.
“Do you know what I fear, Rose?”
“No.” She was surprised.
“The hounds. The gun. The trap.”
Of course, she thought, he would fear those. She groped for words.
“I fear… It’s hard to feel so much. I’m afraid I’ll be torn apart.”
“And if you’re not torn apart?”
“Then there’ll be too much to lose.”
“Ah,” he said, understanding.
Rose Red closed her eyes again. The spring bubbled peacefully to itself.
“I don’t really think I’ll be torn apart,” she said after a time.
“No?”
“No. I can learn how to be with what I feel. But learning can be…”
“Messy?” he suggested with a smile.
She laughed. “Yes. I want…I want to be better than that for you. For us.”
She opened her eyes and found his gaze on her face. “Let’s say we get good at being with what we feel,” he said. “Then there’ll be a great deal to lose, won’t there?”
“We’d lose more if we didn’t try at all,” she said with decision.
“Ah,” he said again. He wriggled down until his shoulders and head rested against the log, lying nearly full length in the fern and moss, and looked up into the tree canopy overhead.
“Rowan?” she said when a few more moments had passed.
“Mmmm?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to be free in the forest, fox or man, and I want to be with you.”
“Oh.” She was filled with pleasure.
“What do you want to do, Rose?”
She imitated his direct simplicity. “My apprenticeship to Artemis is over. She’s given me a part of the forest to take care of. I want to go there and begin my work.” She thought of Gwelda. “I want to find out how big I can be. How big we can be together.”
“It appears,” he said lazily, eyes shut and hands laced together over his stomach, “we’re traveling in the same direction.”
She laughed then. He reached up and pulled her down beside him. She laid her check against the skin of his chest and heard the steady thud of his heart, inhaled his familiar musky scent and felt his hand move through her tangled black curls.
(This post was published with Edition #70 of Weaving Webs and Turning Over Stones.)