The Rescue

               To His Majesty, the King:

               Sire, it's not like I don't have enough on my mind already, you know. Between the hobgoblins, the Giants' Guild, and the Turkish assassin ring, my hands are full to overflowing. Not that I'm complaining, your Majesty.

               Faithfully etc.

                Oz.

------------

               To Oswald, Baron of Little Much, Head of His Majesty's Secret Service:

               My dear Oz,

               It's just that she's so charming and I'm beginning to miss her rather dreadfully. Oh, be a sport, Ozzy! I'm sure that your Second (what's his name-Sir Rampant?) can take over your projects while you go out looking for her.

               I never should have invited that cad, Gregor to court. I should have known he would have fallen in love with my dear Prudence and spirited her away. These black magicians have no sense of decorum!

               Anyway, it's most likely that you'll find Prue on his island fortress. What's it called again? Death Island, or Skull Island. Something like that.  Good luck!

               Henry Rex.

               PS: Do kill the blackguard, if you can; there's a good fellow!

-------------------

               Your Majesty,

               I am leaving Rampant with clear instructions on dealing with the Hobgoblins, Giants, and Assassins, but knowing him, he'll try to engineer a coup in the Service before I'm gone an hour. I don't trust him and you shouldn't either, Henry. Honestly, why did you put Prudence's brother in such a position of responsibility? I don't trust anyone of the Queen's family as far as I can throw them.

               Oz

--------------

               Ozzy, old man,

               You worry too much. I quite realize that Rampant (what a ludicrous name!) is not to be trusted, but you know how persuasive my Queen can be! I need her, Oz. She is my Juliet, my East, my honey-tongued Scheherazade! You've got to rescue her. Take your fastest flying horse! I'm counting on you!

               H.R.

               PS: When you kill Gregor, don't forget to make it lingering and painful!

-------

               Henry:

               Has it occurred to you that this is the seventh time that your Queen has been in need of rescuing? Far be it from me to impinge a lady's honour, but.

               Oz

--------

               Oz:

               But what? But what? Exactly what are you driving at, my loyal Baron? Prue loves me! She says it to me every day. Except, of course, when she's feeling blue or out of sorts. Rescue her! Leave now! No more terse little notes.

               Henry Rex, Lawful Monarch and King by Divine Right.

               ------=-------

               Henry,

               I can't believe you're playing the Divine Right card with an old friend like me. That's cold, Your Majesty. Remember when I rescued you from the Black Knight when he ambushed you when you were only a callow prince. Remember how I uncovered the nest of baby thieving ghouls who had designs on you in the crib. Look, I'm not even going to mention your stag.

               Oz (your oldest and most faithful friend)

-----------

               Oz:

               You're killing me. I'm sorry for pulling my God-given status on you but you know how it is. I just want my angel back! Have a heart, oldest and truest friend! I beg you to go and bring her back.

               Hank.

----------

               Hank,

               I know this is going to sound like I'm just making excuses not to go after your Queen but my flying horse has a bad case of the shivering withers. I suspect the Hobgoblins have a hand in it. The horse witch that I'm consulting assures me that she should be flight worthy after a short course of medicinal herbs. "Give it a week or two but not three," were her exact words.

               Oz

========

               Oz,

               You're killing me! Why not just take the royal barge?

               Hank.

++++++

               Hank,

               I have an issue with sea-sickness. Really.

               Oz

++++++++++++

               Oz,

               She's back! Turns out that she stowed away on the magician's boat, "for a lark"! She was just feeling her oats and seeing if I still loved her! What a woman!

               Hank

____________

               Hank,

               What a woman, indeed.

               Oz.

              

              

Under the Stars

               Even though it was years and years ago, I remember the scene like it was yesterday.

               I was maybe three or four years old. Old enough not to need to be picked up and carried but young enough to enjoy it when I was. My father had me perched on his broad shoulders and he was pointing out the night sky to me.

               "There," he said, his finger outstretched, "Do you see that pinpoint of light, Stella? That's where you came from. You're not from here, do you understand?"

               I said that I did, because at that age, adults were always right. If my father had told me I was a cow, I would have agreed with him and believed it to be true.

               When I was older, I reasoned that my father was just yarning with me, as people are wont to do with the very young. That was before I turned thirteen.

               Nobody told me that turning thirteen would change everything.

===

               I woke up at the crack of noon like any self-respecting freshly minted teenager on a summer day. I crawled out of my bed into the bathroom. I turned on the water in the shower, stepped in and let the hot water pound my back. I stretched like the cat does, arching it until it felt supple and loose. I let out a moan of satisfaction and washed my hair.

               I stepped out of the shower and shook my hair out. I reached for my toothbrush and glanced at myself in the mirror. I froze. What was happening to my eyes? My irises were darkening and turning a dark purple with a metallic sheen. I wanted to cry out but I was, at the same time, fascinated. And then, just like that, they faded to their usual light blue. Was I dreaming? I left the bathroom with my head in a whirl.

               My mother called me into the kitchen to help with the chores. I said nothing about my eyes to her. If she noticed that I was unusually quiet, she did not remark upon it. She has never been one to speak a paragraph when a word will do and I'm sure she enjoyed the stillness. We chopped potatoes and shucked corn together while I pondered what had happened to me. Finally, when all of the kitchen work was done, I nerved myself to question her.

               "Mum?"

               "Mmm?"

               "I wasn't born on another world, was I?"

               "Why would you ask such a thing?" She looked at me like I was being very silly.

               "It's something Dad told me when I was little."

               She crossed herself, "Your father, God rest his soul,  was a great one for foolish talk."

               "Oh."

               Should I mention what happened to my eyes? I wished that my father was still alive. I could have talked to him. He was my touchstone, my Merlin. Something in my mother's eyes made me doubt her. Like they were haunted or something. I asked to be excused and went back to my room to stare at myself in the mirror. My eyes stayed stubbornly blue. I told myself to snap out of it and went outside to get some fresh air.

               I walked into the woods behind our farm. At once, I could hear a whispering.

               "A human walks among us!"

               "Get the children into the tree!"

               "Does it have a dog with it?"

               "No!"

               "It comes this way!"

               "Hide!"

               What was I hearing? Were some children playing a joke on me? I spoke up. "Who is there?"

               "Don't answer her," came a hoarse whisper from a thicket circled by alders off to my left

               "Do you think I'm an idiot?" came the reply.

               "I can hear you whispering," I said angrily, afraid that I was being played for a fool.

               "Impossible!" cried the first voice.

               "You might as well come out!" I said, striding right to the thicket.

               Out tumbled a pair of squirrels looking extremely nervous. I gaped at them in astonishment.

               "You're not kids," I said stupidly.

               They shook their heads vigorously.

               "How is it that I understand your speech?" I asked.

               "Why do you ask us?" said the bigger of the two. "We've never known a human to speak the language of the Wood!"

               "But you're speaking English," I protested.

               "What's that?" asked the smaller squirrel.

               "It's the language that we're all speaking!" I said.

               "We're speaking Woodish!" said the bigger squirrel. "And so are you!"

               "But I don't know your language," I cried.

               "You're speaking it!" said the smaller squirrel pertly.

               "Oh."

               "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have nuts to hide!" said the bigger one. Off they went chittering into the branches.

               I walked deeper into the Woods. I picked my way over to the small stream that ran through the woods. I sat on the bank and let the water run over my feet. I pulled my hair out of the braid that I'd put it in and shook it. It always made me feel free to do that, like I'd let my hair out of cage or something. I pulled it to my eyes and inspected the ends for splits. It was doing something odd. It was moving like a living thing, pulling itself into serpentine bends and loops. My scalp tingled with electricity. And then the hair turned colour, darkening into a burnished ebony. Sparks fizzed slowly out of the ends of my hair, like the strings of bubbles in Grandfather's champagne glass on New Year's Eve.

               My brain began telling me things like a tiny computer link had just been connected.

               "Gaia-Rah-Non," said my brain. "Your report is due."

               I saw, in my mind's eye, a writing that reminded me of Sanskrit and hieroglyphics without being either of them.

               "What report?" I asked.

               There was no response. It felt like my connection had been dropped, like cell coverage in a tunnel.

               I sat down under a fir tree to think. I felt like a person stuck in a labyrinth who finally sees a way out. But out to where, and out to what? I remembered a dream where  I was lost and alone and suddenly my Dad came up to me and held out his hand to show me the way home. I cried in the dream and I cried now. Oh Daddy! How I need you now.

===

               She knows. Shit. And now I'm going to lose her.

               I remember the day she came to us so well. I was walking restlessly in the cool of the night; I simply could not sleep. Ever since the doctor had given me the negative prognosis, I'd felt like a stranger in my own skin. What was this body that I thought I knew so well? It was a traitor, refusing to give me what I wanted so much. Jamie told me to relax, to trust God but it was always so easy for him. He was not the one with the barren womb.

               I told him to divorce me and find a woman who could give him children but he had just looked at me with those big wounded eyes and said nothing. I burst into angry tears and then fell into his strong arms.

               Later, I wandered far afield like some woodland sylph, yearning for some kind of rest to come to my racing mind. I could see the stars through an opening in the canopy of the trees where a big fir had taken a lightning bolt. I lay down in the grass and looked into the heavens. I  prayed, if bitter questioning and  accusation counts as prayer.

               I saw a star change its color just for an instant. It was giving birth to another star, like a cedar fire spitting out a spark. The freshly born star was moving toward earth, streaking like a comet. It came toward me, slowed down, and then hovered in circles around me. You can believe that I was paralyzed with fear.

               It burned brightly and released a silver sphere which floated on the wind like a dandelion seed. I ran after it.

               The sphere set down gently in a meadow between the wood and the village. Its silver skin turned transparent and then began to open as though it was a germinating seed. I saw, nestled in a bed of textured fabric, a tiny baby. Her eyes were like grey pearls; her hair a waving mystery of dark, curling knots. Her skin was like glass, clear enough to see veins and capillaries just under the surface. I touched the baby and as I did, it began to change. I could see her eyes turn colour until they were the mirror image of my own. I gasped and snatched away my hand. Her eyes began to return to their original alien hue. I touched her again; her eyes transformed again and this time her hair did too until the baby was crowned with the lanky dirty- blond hair with which God saw fit to bless me. Her skin turned the colour of roses and cream and lost its glow. I beheld my child. For she was my child, given to me by the holy angels of God.

               I took her home and showed her to Jamie. I told him that she came from the heavens like Baby Jesus. I told him that we would call her Stella but that she was never to know that we weren't her natural parents. He was stupefied and called me presumptuous. I didn't care. I had my Stella and I would never give her up. She was my gift from God.

               I went to St. Patrick's next Sunday and had her baptized in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. I faithfully attended Mass every Sunday thereafter.

               What did we tell people? Nothing. It was none of their business.

+++++

               I decided that I had to have it out with my mother. At the very least, I needed to hear the truth from her own lips.

               She was in the kitchen drying dishes. She had a faraway look in her eyes. I picked up the other towel and started helping her.

               "Mum?"

               "I lied to you," she said abruptly. "Your father was telling you the truth." And then she slumped over the sink and started to shake. I could see tears run down her cheeks into the dishwater.

               I touched her shoulder but she wouldn't even look at me.

               "You'll always be my Mum," I told her. She turned to me and rubbed her eyes. Then she pulled me into her arms and hugged me fiercely. She told me about how I had come to her.

               "I always thought that God sent you to me," she said quietly.

               "But why am I here, Mum? I mean, what's my purpose here?"

               "I don't know Stella. You should ask God."

               "What if God isn't God from where I come?" I wanted to know.

               "Shame on you Stella! You know from your catechism that God is God of everywhere."

               I shrugged. It was all so confusing. I thanked her for telling me the truth and went back to the woods to think. Maybe I'd ask the squirrels for advice.

+=+

               What do I tell her? That she is Jesus to my Mary? A saint, sent down from Heaven to lead us in returning to you, Lord? Why else would you have sent her? And I've done my part, haven't I, Lord? Raised her in the fear and admonition of the Lord, I did. Took her to Mass every Sunday, even after you took my Jamie away from me. Made sure she attended parochial school from pre-school to the present.

               I turned to Holy Scripture and read the passages that I knew so well: the Magnificat of Mary, the baby Moses hidden in the rushes, and Eli's counsel to the young prophet Samuel. I pray and pray and pray. Are you listening, Lord?

===

               What would you do, Jesus? You were from somewhere else, weren't you? How did you handle walking with humans when you were Other? Did you want to just go back home? Something in me just wants to talk to my own kind, whatever we are. I feel so lonely.

               Well, this was getting too morose. I needed to walk; maybe I'd hike to the top of Cassiar Hill. The view from up there always gave me more of a perspective. I started up the trail stopping every now and again to pop a ripe blackberry in my mouth. I could see bear scat but it wasn't fresh so I didn't worry about it.

               The hike was helping. There's something about working my muscles that calms my anxious thoughts. I pushed aside the branches of a Douglas fir which hid my secret trail to the lookout. I came from the restful dimness of the trees into the bright sunshine and a great view of the flatland to the south. I could see all the farmers' fields spread out like a patchwork quilt. I breathed deeply.

               I saw a turkey vulture glide on a thermal just below me. I sighed.

               I sat down and let the sun warm me. I looked down at the traffic rolling along on the highway far down below. My brain started clicking again as though a connection was once again reached.

               "Are you there, Gaia-Rah-Non?"

               "I am," I said. I noticed that my hair was sparking again. I picked up the ends and I noticed that my skin was turning transparent again.

               "We have not had a report."

               "A report?"

               "Your progress on that little planet."

               "I really don't know what you're talking about," I protested. "I've received no instructions."

               "Nothing?" echoed the voice dully. "Your operating system should have given you ongoing instructions from the day you landed there."

               I assured the voice that I had not. Then, a silence, as though a conference was taking place that I was not privy to.

               "What have you been doing since your mission began?"

               "But what is my mission?"

               "You were sent as our eyes, Gaia-Rah-Non."

               He went on to lay out for me the plight of my people, clinging to life on a decaying world, desperate for a new start on a world that could sustain us. I was to learn all I could about Earth to enable an Exodus.

               "It was only today that I have heard from you," I said.

               "Then you have done nothing." The voice was flat and empty.

               "Nothing."

               "Please understand Gaia-Rah-Non, our time is extremely limited. You have the span of two moons to infiltrate the corridors of power on your planet."

               "This is not possible," I said. "I have the body of an immature female. On this planet, an  immature female generally has a very low status. Here, important decisions are the property of males who have reached middle age."

               "Then we must give you another body," said the voice decisively. "Prepare for transformation."

               I tensed myself. The skin on my hands were flickering so that they appeared now transparent, now pink but that was the extent of my transformation.

               I reported this to the voice.

               "This is not good Gaia-Rah-Non!" Another pause while my voice consulted with the others. "You must do what you can with the body of an immature female. All our hopes rest with you."

               "Understood," I said for want of a better word. I understood the problem but I had no solutions. I pictured myself addressing the United Nations and pleading for my dying race. They would laugh me to scorn, of that I was certain. How would humans react to our Diaspora? Would they revert instantly to the fear of the unknown and annihilate us? Of course they would. They have no problem slaughtering each other, choosing to see differences in ethnicity, religion or politics as more critical than shared humanity. What would they do with us, an alien people?

               One of us would be a curiosity, worthy of study, but several million of us would be perceived as an unacceptable drain on planetary resources.

               I needed some help. And then God sent me a mentor.

                A black bear came trundling through the fir trees and started in on the blackberries. He didn't notice me in his greed for the ripe fruit. I cleared my throat and he turned to me.

               "What are you doing there?" he mumbled, his nose a glossy purple.

               "I need advice," I said.

               "I don't have no truck with humans," he said.

               "Ah, but I am not a human. I'm from one of those little fires in the sky."

               "Little fires? Do you mean another planet?"

               "Um, well, yes."

               "Planets aren't fires, you know. Good thing. Otherwise our feet would get pretty hot," he chuckled.

               "I need advice." I was desperate.

               "Tell me everything," he mumbled, continuing to chew berries from the canes.

               I told him everything. He stopped eating and peered at me long and hard.

               "That is quite a tale," he said.

               "It's true!" I cried, my voice high and stretched.

               "I'm not calling you a liar," he said.

               "Can you advise me?"

               "Nobody looking at you would think that you were anything less than completely human," he noted. "You might tell your people to blend in, instead of appealing to human mercy. Go in camouflage. That's how lots of we animals survive."

               "But there are so many of us!" I protested.

               "You must choose places to come which are away from the cities and towns. Tell your people to come to the forests and deserts, the rocky places and tundras, the high plateaus and the steppes. Once you have garbed yourselves appropriately, what is there to prevent you from filtering into the more promising areas?"

               "We only have two months."

               "Then you had better get started," said the bear tartly.

               +++

               Her eyes were troubled; her body taunt with a secret she had no strength to bear alone. Mothers know. I patted the seat beside me on the couch. She was able to say nothing for a few minutes. I contented myself with marveling over her porcelain skin and expressive eyes. How could she not be my child, when she modeled her human body and face after mine? Every mother should have such a daughter.

               "Mum?"

               "Honey?"

               "It's beyond terrible!"

               "Tell me..."

               She poured out her story. So my little Moses in the Bulrushes was all grown-up and being called to lead her people in an Exodus.

               "How can I help?"

               "Help me research places that I can direct them to," she said. "I need to know latitude and longitude."

               "You'll also need to explain to them how we reckon latitude and longitude," I said.

               "How do I do that?" she squeaked.

               "Show them your atlas," I said. "They'll understand quick enough."

              

               ===

               There is a simple way to say it, but of course it is terribly misleading by its very simplicity. We did it. We infiltrated the planet even as the bear said we must.

               And now we walk among you. We are your hairdressers and traffic cops, your professors and architects. We have won no Nobel prizes, for we must maintain our masks.

The Invisible Giant

                                           

 

               Tommy was sitting on the floor in a patch of sunlight playing with his train set. He was talking to his friend, the Invisible Giant. They were talking about school and how Tommy hated going there. The Giant was quietly sympathetic.

               "Anyway," said Tommy. "What can I do if she calls on me?" The Giant shrugged: nobody had ever required him to go to the board and write out multiplication tables.

               "You could tell her that you were playing road hockey instead of studying your math," he suggested. Tommy ignored the Giant's insane suggestion.

               "She hates little kids," said Tommy. "I don't know why she ever became a teacher."

               "Why do you think she hates you?" asked the Giant.

               "'Cuz she always asks me to do the 6's even though they're the hardest and she knows that I don't know them!" said Tommy.

               The Giant hemmed a little. He might even have hawed.

               "Don't you think she hates me?"

               "Nope."

               "Are you sure?"

               "Yup, but sometimes she gets impatient with you because she knows you're smart."

               "I'm not smart at Math!" protested Tommy.

               The Giant hemmed a bit more.

               "Well, I don't like Math and I hate the Times Tables!"

               "I know," said the Giant, mildly.

               "Let's talk about something else," said Tommy. "Tell me about Saturn again!"

               The Giant smiled. Saturn was one of his favorite things. "Long, long, long ago, I was travelling through space and time, when I saw a cloud of cosmic dust. I took my arm and swirled it in a circling motion so that all the dust would gather together and I said 'Live!'"  He went on to describe the rings of ice and the dance of motion. Tommy sat raptly, listening to the familiar story.

===

               "He's doing it again," said the man.

               "His imaginary friend," said the woman, smiling.

               "Do you think it's normal?" asked the man, putting away his laptop and pouring himself a glass of wine. He sniffed it and swirled it around the glass again.

               "You never had an imaginary friend?"

               "I had lots of real ones," he said, taking a blissful sip and stretching out on the couch. She came and sat beside him and planted a kiss on his balding scalp.

               "Mr. Popular," she teased.

               "Mr. Normal," said her husband. His tone was light but she could perceive an undercurrent of almost anxiety.

               "Tommy's normal," she said.

               "He could use a sibling," he said. "Only children are lonely, June. That's why they make up imaginary friends."

               "He's creative," she argued. She would not let him drag her into another family planning session. One pregnancy had been plenty for her.

               They continued to talk in hushed tones.

===

               "They're doing it again," whispered Tommy to the Giant.

               "Yup," said the Giant.

               "They think I'm nuts."

               "Are you?" said the Giant with mock horror.

               "Nope." Tommy pushed his train around the Giant who seemed content to play the part of the mountain that the train had to get around. "Why can't they see you?"

               "They never look in the right place," said the Giant carelessly. "They're always on their devices, or balancing their chequebook or planning for their future."

               "You could just appear to them, like a pop-up on their computers," suggested the boy. "That would give them a shock!" He crashed the train into the Giant's huge leg.

               "I prefer it when people look for me," said the Giant. "Otherwise I feel like just another entertainment device."

               "You're funny," said Tommy, putting the train together again.

               "I'm different," said the Giant.

               "Tell me about adaptations," said Tommy leaning up against the Giant.

               "Well, sometimes birds like a particular type of food, but they don't have the right kind of beak to get at it."

               "Why don't you just get them to settle for what they can already get?"

               "Not everybody likes to eat the same food day after day," said the Giant.

               "I don't see why not," said Tommy. "If I could have blueberry Pop Tarts for every meal, I would."

               "You should try that some time," said the Giant. "I'll bet you'd get tired of them eventually."

               "Anyway," said Tommy. "You were saying..."

               "So the bird needs a longer beak to get into a deeper place to get the food, right?"

               "Right."

               "A little mutation in the DNA and alaka-zam, adaptation!" said the Giant grandly. "The bird's beak is long enough to get the food. Everyone's happy."

               "I'd like a long beak," said Tommy dreamily.

               "You don't like your cute little nose?" said the Giant fondly.

               "It's okay, but with a long beak, I'd never need to use a straw again."

               "What if you suddenly developed a taste for worms?"

               "Would that happen?" Tommy was suspicious of the Giant's tone.

               "You never know," said the Giant. "Better not risk it."

===

               "I had another call from Ms. Klein again today," said the woman as she was stirring the pasta.

               "Refresh my memory," said the man, absently,  as he was scrolling through his emails.

               "His teacher, Brian!"

               "Oh, that old bat," said Brian. "What's he done now?"

               "He's not learning his multiplication tables."

               "I don't blame him," he said. "I always hated them!"

               "This is about Tommy's academic progress, not your unresolved childhood issues," she said tartly. "Anyway, she wants us to come in and talk about it!"

               "I very much do not want to meet with that woman."

               "I told her that we could make it in by 4 on Monday."

               Brian made a strangling noise, like she'd just killed him. She smiled. He was given to melodrama but she knew that he would go with her. She wondered what it was about Ms. Klein that made him act like such a whiny little boy. Probably, he'd had a tough teacher himself when he was about Tommy's age. She prided herself on her skills as an armchair psychologist.

===

               "What's the deal with mountains?" asked Tommy.

               "They're pretty big," shrugged the Giant.

               "No, I mean, how did you do it?"

               "I told you about bowling the continents into each other, right?"

               "At school, we learned about plate tectonics.'

               "Plate tectonics is really just ve-e-e-ry slow bowling," said the Giant carelessly.

               "Oh." Tommy considered this and then his face lit up. "I think fast bowling would be more exciting."

               "You have no idea," shuddered the Giant, grateful that Tommy wasn't directing the creation of the Alps or the Rockies.

               "Why do trees go up instead of crawling along the ground?" asked Tommy abruptly. (He may have been blessed with A.D.D, or on the other hand, he could just be a typical ten year old boy.)

               "Most trees are trying to get into the light so they can change it into sugar. We talked about photosynthesis yesterday, remember?"

               "Oh yeah. But why do vines grow on the ground?"

               "Vines are more humble than trees," smiled the Giant, getting ready to spin a juicy yarn for his young friend.

               "They are?" Tommy never considered the possibility that plants had personalities.

               "Oh yes," said the Giant. "It's obvious isn't it?"

               "How do you mean?"

               "The beings that stay close to the earth are the humble ones. Consider the humility of ants and worms. Now contrast them with the overweening pride of upright creatures."

               "I'm an upright creature!" said Tommy, who suddenly caught the Giant's point. "You're saying that humans are proud!"

               "Am I?" said the Giant, his every feature radiating innocence.

               "Anyway, I like being close to the ground and digging in it."

               "You must be one of the humble ones," said the Giant.

               "I should go rolling around in the mud right now," said Tommy brightly.

               "That's a great idea," said the Giant. "That'll make your Mum happy."

               "She hates when I get dirty," Tommy reminded his absent-minded friend.

               "She hates when your clothes get dirty because guess who gets to wash them?"

               "So I should roll around naked?"

               "It worked for Adam," said the Giant fondly, remembering the good old days.

               "I think you're trying to get me in trouble," said Tommy.

               The Giant just grinned at him and tousled his hair.

=====

               "That wasn't so bad was it?" said Tommy's mother as she stirred his chopped cherry tomatoes into the frying pan.

               "Yeah, Klein was a real ray of light," snorted Brian as he slashed at the basil which he would soon add to the tomatoes that popped in the pan.

               "So, you're good with helping him with his homework tonight?"

               "Not if it's the stupid Times Tables," he said grinding fresh pepper on top of the basil.

               "What a sucky baby," she said fondly, pretending to burp him.

               "I mean it, June! I still need a calculator when I need to multiply the 6's, 7's and 8's. It's embarrassing!"

               "How old are you, Brian? I thought Tommy was the ten year old?"

               Brian just muttered and grated cheese over the pepper. He wasn't sure what he was making, but his plan was to combine at least ten of his favorite ingredients and redefine the word "awesome."

===

               "Dad told me that he's going to help me with my Times Tables," said Tommy mournfully. So much for a nice lazy evening. Oddly that was the last thing his father had said to his mother.

               "He's a good sport," murmured the Giant full of empathy for Brian. This would tax his patience not a little.

               "A good sport would just say, 'Forget stupid Math, son. Let's play cards!'"

               "A good sport that wants to see you repeat Grade 5," said the Giant. "With Ms. Klein," he added unnecessarily.

               Tommy moaned. Sometimes, he wished the Giant would sugar-coat  truth a little. He lay his head on the Giants long lap and whimpered a bit while the Giant rubbed his back.

               "Did I ever tell you how I got the idea for blue whales?" asked the Giant. Tommy sat up expectantly and waited.

               "I thought it would be good to make something so big that people would swallow their tongues just thinking about it," smiled the Giant. "Imagine a fish that weighs 200 tons!"

               "Actually, they're mammals," said Tommy.

               "Actually, they're Behemoths mixed with Godzillas," said the Giant, "and crossed with aircraft carriers."

               "Whales are still mammals," said Tommy, who liked to get things that he cared about right.

               "Just like you," said the Giant with a broad grin on his face.

               "I wonder what it would be like to be able to swim underwater for so long," said Tommy, with a faraway look in his eyes.

               "How long can you hold your breath?" asked the Giant conversationally.

               "Once for almost thirty seconds," said Tommy.

               "Tommy, the whale," joked the Giant.

               "Tommy, the blue whale," said Tommy back in dreamland.

               The Giant stretched lazily, pushing the walls of the house back a few micrometers.

========

               Brian sighed; this was exceedingly heavy going. "Just try it one more time, okay, buddy?"

               Tommy moaned, "Why don't we just give up Dad. I'm never gonna know my sevens!"

               "Sure you will, Tommy. It's as easy as pie!" Making pie not eating it,

Brian thought to himself as his teeth began to grit just a little.

               Tommy sighed and recited: "Seven times one is seven, seven times two is fourteen, seven times three is..." Tommy began to flick his fingers as he counted to himself. Brian sighed as he also counted mentally.

===

               In the kitchen, June smiled as she finished rewashing Brian's "clean" dishes. "Twenty-one," she whispered to the universe. She remembered doing the multiplication tables with her mother before she was sent to the living room to practice her scales on the upright piano. She had had a fairly regimented childhood and this stood her in good stead for school. She imagined that Brian had been raised by unregenerate hippies, insisting that he only do those tasks that "spoke" to him.  What a way to ruin a child, she thought primly.

               She was glad that Brian had agreed to help Tommy. She doubted that she had the patience for such an undertaking. Tommy's lack of application would make her cranky to say the least; at least Brian would (no doubt) feel empathy with the ugly task of force-feeding the unattractive to the unwilling.

               The timer on the oven (signifying that the herculean twenty minutes of math was now over) chimed its liberation to Tommy and his exhausted father. Tommy was off like a shot while Brian crawled to his sofa and his glass of Sauvignon Blanc.

===

               "You survived!" said the Giant, shock plainly registered on his face.             

               "I thought seven times eight would kill me, but then Dad didn't know either so we used a calculator. Turns out it's fifty-something."

               "You'll be wanting a story?" The Giant knew his little friend.

               "Yeah, let's go for the Unlikely File."

               "My favorite!" beamed the Giant. "Platypus?"

               "Nah, you did that last week."

               " How about the Corpse Lily?"

               "A flower? I don't know..."

               "It's wider than you are and it smells like a dead body!"

               "Wow! Why would you make something like that?"

               "It's fun," said the Giant. "Anybody can make something cute and pleasant smelling. It takes genuine talent to make something huge and stinky."

               "Show me!"

               "Shut your eyes and I'll start the movie."

               Tommy leaned up against the Giant, transfixed and making appreciative sounds of disguise.

+++

               "What do you think he's thinking about?" asked Brian.

               "Probably nothing mathematical," said June, gently twisting the back of his hair in her fingers.

               "His face looks like he's sucking a lemon."

               "I stand corrected," said June.

               "Why do kids even need to learn the times tables?" whined Brian. "Everyone has a calculator on his cell phone these days!"

               "I wondered how you were going to get through your lesson," smiled June.

               "I mean it, June!"

               "Willful ignorance is intolerable," said June. "Why learn anything difficult?"

               And then they had a long, boring and ultimately pointless philosophical discussion.

===

               "Corpse Lilies only bloom for a week?"

               "The best things only last for a short while," said the Giant. "That's why they stand out."

               "Also cause they stink," added Tommy.

               "Like your breath when you forget to brush your teeth for a week," said the Giant.

               "I hate brushing my teeth; it's so boring!"

               "Try practicing your times tables while brushing, then you can be so bored that you might fall asleep!" said the Giant brightly.

               "You're full of helpful advice," snorted Tommy with maximum scorn.

===

               "Good morning," said the Giant happily. He was definitely a morning person. Tommy? Not so much. He grunted at the Giant and laid himself down in the Giant's capacious lap.

               "Comfy?" asked the Giant.

               "Grnph," said Tommy, feeling much better. Mornings were so cold.

               "Don't fall asleep again," warned the Giant. "The school bus will be here in less than an hour."

               "Blff," said Tommy unimpressed.

               "Don't make me tickle you." That did it. Tommy began to squirm in the Giant's lap just thinking about being tickled. He opened his eyes and yawned.

               "Tell me a story so I can get through another day in school," said Tommy stretching.

               "First stop yawning," said the Giant. "You're making me yawn!" When the Giant yawned, all the air was sucked out of the room and then blown back so that the house expanded like a marshmallow in the microwave. June could never figure out why the walls were always developing cracks but Brian assured her that the house was still settling or something like that.

               "Tell me about oxygen!" pleaded Tommy.

               "That was a good day," smiled the Giant. "The trick was to create just enough to sustain life but not too much to kill it."

               "My science book says that oxygen was created by cyanobacteria..."

               "And who do you think thought of cyanobacteria? Blue and green are my favorite colours," nodded the Giant, remembering how he had shaken the surface of the angry waves that day in a prodigal release of creative power.

+++++++

               "He's going to miss his bus if he falls asleep on the floor again," said Brian on his way out.

               "Don't forget to get the garbage out to the curb," she said as he slammed the door.

               "I won't," came the cry from the other side of the door.

               "Now for you..." June muttered as she went to give Tommy a quick shake.

----

               "How was school?" asked the Giant.

               "The usual," said Tommy with a grimace. "How come you're never at school?"

               "I doubt if you would concentrate on Ms. Klein if I was there," said the Giant.

               "You could feed me answers," said Tommy.

               "I'm not a cheater, you know," said the Giant, primly.

               "I thought you were my friend," said Tommy.

               "Friends are not for enabling bad behavior," said the Giant.

               "Ok, ok," said Tommy.

               "Fortunately, friends are for sympathy and stories," said the Giant enfolding Tommy in a fairly huge hug.

               "We learned about the Ren-sance today in History," said Tommy.

               "Was it interesting?" asked the Giant.

               "I liked the Middle Ages better, because of all the castles and knights. I think it would have been cool to live then!"

               "Sir Thomas, the knight," said the Giant.

               "That would make a great story," said Tommy leaning against the Giant's side.

               "Once upon a time, in the golden years of the past there lived a knight..." began the Giant.

               "Ah," sighed Tommy, letting the story flow over him and inspire him.

               "This knight, Sir Thomas, feared nothing. Indeed, it was said of him that he was the bravest knight in all Christendom. Now you would have thought such great praise would have gone to his head and you would be correct, for Sir Thomas was also exceedingly proud."

               "Wait a sec!" cried Tommy. "How come Sir Thomas has to be proud?"

               "Who's telling the story?"

               "You are, but-"

               "Be a good listener," chided the Giant, "Besides, by the end of the story, Sir Thomas might learn a valuable life lesson."

               "Humph," humphed Tommy, who was not enamoured of life lessons, valuable or not.

               "Where was I? Oh yes, Sir Thomas was so proud of his excellent reputation that he suffered no one to say anything less than glowing praise of him. That was before he met the Golden Knight."

               Sir Thomas was riding his fine black charger in the woods near his castle when he came upon a large crowd of villeins who were cheering lustily. At the center of the crowd was a knight who wore armor all of glittering gold. It was truly a remarkable sight.

               Sir Thomas was quite frankly amazed. Who was this knight that he wore such costly armor? It would cost a king's ransom for the golden shield alone.

               "Hail, good sir knight!" said Sir Thomas.

               "Hail, good sir knight Thomas," responded the glorious knight.

               "You know my name?"

               "It is you that I have come to enlist in a quest of great glory," said the golden knight grandly.

               Sir Thomas was greatly flattered to think that such a wondrous knight would seek him out. "I am at your disposal, sir knight," he said.

               "There is a great dragon who encroaches on the lands far to the West," said the Golden Knight. "Together we shall drive him from this green earth though it cost us our lives."

               "Well said!" said Sir Thomas, but, in the pit of his stomach, he felt queasy at the thought of taking on a dragon. It is true that he was exceedingly brave but he had never gone head to head with a dragon and the though gave him butterflies in the pit of his stomach.

               Together they rode for many days over green field, around the Great Forest, and fording many rivers until at last they came to the Outermost West. They could see as they rode, signs of the Great Dragon's depredations: trees and fields blackened with soot, bones of sheep, horses and men scattered haphazardly in every direction. It was a gloomy sight. And Sir Thomas was regretting his impulsiveness.

               "Think you that we two have a chance 'gainst such an evil beast?" asked the Golden Knight.

               Sir Thomas could not answer; he didn't trust his voice not to break. His body shook in his armour.

               "No? No matter, I warrant that we will give the vile worm a good accounting of ourselves, come what may!"

               Sir Thomas just wanted to smack the Golden Knight upside his gallant head and ride for home but he nodded instead.

===

               "You're making me out to be a great big chicken!" protested Tommy.

               "Hush," said the Giant. "You're disrupting my flow. Anyway...

===

               "Look you, Sir Thomas, on that hill to our left," said the Golden Knight. "Do you mark the bright cloud?"

               Sir Thomas nodded and his heart raced like a greyhound coursing for a stag. The Dragon!

               "Let us confront the wicked worm," shouted the Golden Knight. "I will approach it from the left and you take him from the right. We will burst on him like twin breakers of fury!"

               "Aye," squeaked Sir Thomas. He saw the great knight thunder away up the hill and considered just racing for home, but he couldn't let the Golden Knight die alone whatever his heart might urge. He spurred his charger and raced after him.

               The Golden Knight was circling the hill to the left, so Sir Thomas rode to the right. With any luck the dragon would be facing away from them. But luck was not with them, for it blew out a great gout of liquid fire at them and took to the skies with his powerful batwings thrashing. Sir Thomas, veered away from the fire and headed for the safety of a stand of birch trees. He hoped that the dragon would have missed his little detour.

               He leaped off of his charger and scanned the battlefield to see what had happened to the Golden Knight. To his shock, he saw the dragon looming over the fallen figure of the Golden Knight. The fool! thought Sir Thomas, why had he not tried to escape such a one-sided battle? And then he was filled with disgust at his own attempt at self-preservation. Was he not a true knight? The answer filled him with shame. He was no true knight.

               "I can still be true!" he cried out and with that he leapt onto his charger's back and rode toward the hideous dragon.

====

               "Can we just forget the story?" whispered Tommy. "It's stressing me out..."

               "It does have a sort of happy ending," said the Giant gently.

               "A sort of happy ending?"

               "A mostly happy ending..."

               "OK..."

===

               The dragon saw the knight come thundering up the slope and chuckled evilly to himself. What sort of folly was this? He had already killed the bright, shiny knight and now here was a much smaller one to do battle with him. Hot steamy tears of mirth streamed out of his eyes as the hideous beast considered how to squeeze the maximum enjoyment out of killing this pipsqueak. He raised himself  to his fullest height with his massive wings outstretched on either side. He would frighten this knight to death!

               Sir Thomas saw the dragon raise itself up until it towered over him like a mighty oak. He knew that he would never reach the dragon through its blasts of fire to use his sword  so he turned his charger abruptly to the left and reached for his ebony lance. He trusted that the dragon would pursue him and in this he was correct. He could hear the wings thundering behind him and he urged his horse into a stand of alders. That would deflect the dragon and give him time to prepare for a life and death throw. He dismounted and hide himself behind the biggest tree.

               The dragon landed with a clattering of wings and began to pursue the irritating knight into the trees. Sir Thomas leaped out from behind his tree and flung his ebony lance into the breast of the unsuspecting dragon. It bounced off as though it was made of balsa wood. Sir Thomas fell to his knees and prepared himself for a deadly blast of fire.

               "That's the best you've got for me?" hissed the dragon. "A tiny lance that wouldn't pierce an egg?"

               The dragon paced around the shivering knight, and as he paced, he complained:

               "Knights today are pathetic, not like the great knights of my youth! Galahad, Richard the Lion-Hearted, El Cid! They were real men not dandies like you and the sad remains of Goldie over there!" sneered the dragon.

               "Aren't you going to kill me?" whimpered Sir Thomas.

               "Oh, what's the point?" said the dragon throwing himself to the forest floor. "Where's the challenge? At least you were cunning enough to try to lead me into an ambush. Not like Sir Charge-a-Lot. Not a single stratagem from him, just a headlong frontal assault. What a huge bore! I mean, where are the knights that would push a poor dragon to excel and thus achieve a true victory?"

               "So, you're not going to kill me?" asked Sir Thomas, hopefully.

               "Not today," snorted the dragon as he took to the air.

====

               "What kind of a happy ending is that?" roared Tommy.

               "Well, Sir Thomas didn't get killed, so that's pretty happy," said the Giant diffidently.

               "But the evil dragon didn't get killed either! You can't have the bad guy get away!"

               "You said you wanted a happy ending. The only way that the dragon dies is if Sir Thomas kills him."

               "Of course, Sir Thomas needs to kill him!" said Tommy.

               "But then Thomas might have to die as well," said the Giant.

               "Why?"

               "Because then it's a great tragic story, worthy of telling and re-telling!"

               "Kids don't want tragedies! We want the hero winning and the bad guy losing!"

               "But the dragon is clearly stronger than Sir Thomas," pointed out the Dragon.

               "Maybe you could have had the Golden Knight wound the dragon before he died so Sir Thomas could have finished him off," said Tommy.

               "Well..." The Giant was seemed unsure of this plot development.

               "Then everyone would be happy!" said Tommy, his arms describing a wide circuit around him.

               "Where is the deeper meaning?" pondered the Giant. "I mean, how will that change Sir Thomas' pride?"

               "Who needs deeper meaning?" asked Tommy.

               "All my stories have meaning, my little friend," said the Giant. "That's why some must be sad."

               "Ok," said Tommy, glumly. "Have it your way..."

               The Giant cleared his throat and went back to his story.

===

               The dragon sniffed at Sir Thomas, "What do you have to say for yourself, you tin can clod?"

               "I say, 'Prepare to defend yourself, you foul and benighted slug!'" said Sir Thomas with a show of bravado.

               "Oh? The pipsqueak has a sharp tongue? Perhaps you are worthy of an unpleasant death...what shall it be, a charge with your sword against my fire?"

               "Hardly," said Sir Thomas. "The Golden Knight proved that that is a doomed strategy."

               "He did indeed!" chuckled the dragon, who was enjoying himself quite a bit. Dragons love skillful debate. It is one of their failings.

               "May I suggest a game of wits?" said Sir Thomas.

               "What is this game?" asked the dragon, intensely interested.

               "I will ask you a question and you shall ask me one, until one of us fails to answer. Should I fail, you may kill me, but if you fail, you must leave this land. Is it a bargain?"

               The dragon rolled the young knight's suggestion around his quick and fertile mind like a wine snob trying to decide if a certain Puligny-Montrachet was good enough for his palate or not.

               "You have a bargain, Sir Tinned Fish!" said the dragon brightly. "Who shall begin?"

               "Please, take the prime position," bowed Sir Thomas.

               "Very well," said the dragon, searching his mind for the most abstruse riddles he could remember. His eyes glowed, as he recited: "Once black as night, in crushing darkness shall you become radiant light."

               Sir Thomas was unfazed, "It's a diamond!"

               "Well, I was starting easy because knights are hardly known for their scholarship," said the dragon with little grace. "Perhaps you have a better riddle?"

               "It's not a riddle, it's more of an 'Explanation Please.'"

               "What's that?" asked the dragon.

               "It's a conundrum," said Sir Thomas.

               "I don't like the sound of that," said the dragon nervously.

               "Here it is," said Sir Thomas. "If all things material are the result of a huge explosion; from whence came the explosion?"

               "Simple," snorted the dragon. "From the Immaterial. Lesser always flows from Greater."

               "I say, that's rather clever of you," nodded Sir Thomas. Clearly the dragon was more than muscle, scales and fire.

               "Here's a more challenging riddle," sneered the dragon. "White and slender to round and silver in familiar embrace did say, 'What makes me liquid made you solid after making you liquid in bygone day.'"

               The poor knight pondered and pondered. Something white and slender could be anything! So ignore it and concentrate on the second part. Liquid to solid, solid to liquid. States of matter depended on temperature or power. Temperature was the most likely, wasn't it?

               The dragon snorted delightedly to see the knight in such confusion. His snort puffed out a tiny flame.  

               "A flame!" shouted Sir Thomas. "It's a white candle in  a silver candle-holder! The flame melts the wax, even as fire transformed the silver from ore to molten silver which hardens out of the fire!"

               "Very clever!" said the dragon, cursing himself for the illuminating snort. "It's your turn."

               A brilliant thought occurred to Sir Thomas: "What's six sevens?"

               "What do you mean?" asked the thoroughly confused beast.

               "You heard me; what is the sum of six sevens?"

               "Nobody knows such things!" complained the dragon. "It's completely unfair to ask questions that would make the wise tremble."

               "Nonetheless, you will keep your word, and leave this fair countryside."

               "I will keep my word, but first tell me the answer to your question, so that I may know that there is an answer."

               "Well..." stumbled Sir Thomas. "It's more than thirty-five because that's five groups of seven."

               "Obviously!" snorted the dragon, who had always found the five times table easy to recite. Fives had a certain rhythmic music. Not like sixes.

               "So you would just have to add another six to thirty-five..."

               "Making  the sum, um... er... forty-one!"

               "Forty-two," said the brilliant knight humbly. "But you were awfully close."

               "Right!" said the dragon. "Off I go!"

               "Good luck," said the knight, glad that he'd practiced his times tables so much when he was younger.

===

               "Well, what did you think?" asked the Giant.

               "I think your moral was heavy-handed," said Tommy. "But at least Sir Thomas didn't die."

               "Did you notice how handy the times tables were?"

               "Puh-lease!" groaned the boy. "As if that would ever happen in real life!"

               "Fiction is stranger than truth," smiled the Giant agreeably.

               And then they went to the park so that the Giant could tell Tommy the names of all the trees: their real names.