I walk down the hill real slow, and I head for the far corner of the house, away from the visitors, to give them a little more time to get used to my size.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see that the horses are upset; they're snorting, jerking their heads, straining at their tethers. One of the men has drawn his sword, but he's edging away from me, back toward the barn. I don't think he's going to attack me, or anything like that. He's just scared, that's all.
The other soldier has been talking to Father, but now he turns to the man who drew the sword. "Put that away, Lieutenant," he says. "You won't be needing it." He doesn't say it very loud, but it sure sounds like he's used to people doing what he tells them to do. And sure enough, the man with the sword slides it back into its sheath, although I get the feeling that he really doesn't want to.
Since the order-giver doesn't seem to be afraid of me, I figure that it's okay to walk over to where he's standing with Father. He's tall for a "normal" man; taller than Father, at any rate, but not nearly as big around the middle. He's wearing some kind of light armor, brass plates with shiny joints that sparkle in the sun when he moves. He still doesn't seem to be scared, although by this time I can't be more than twenty cubits away from him and he has to tilt his head pretty far back just to look into my eyes.
"So," he says. The tiniest hint of a smile forms on his lips. "So, you do exist after all. There are so many stories..." He shakes his head and turns to Father. "Nobody believes in giants anymore," he explains. "Most people say that there are no real giants, only in tales that parents tell their children at night."
"Oh, he's real, General," Father says, scowling. "If you knew what it takes to feed the boy, you'd know he's real, all right."
"I can imagine," the General says. "I can just imagine."
So we stand there in front of the barn for a while, Father and the General and me. Father and the General do all of the talking, just small talk, not about much of anything. The Lieutenant hasn't moved a muscle; he's still pressed up against the barn, staring up at me. Even in this heat, he's trembling. I guess I shook him up pretty bad.
"You don't know how difficult it was to find this place," the General is saying. Even though he's talking to Father, he keeps glancing in my direction, like he can't take his eyes off me. "The people of Gath acted like they didn't know what we were talking about. 'No giants around here,' that kind of thing. Surely, they must know..."
"They know how to keep their mouths shut, is what they know," Mother interrupts. She's come up behind me; I didn't even hear her come out of the house. "Goliath helps them when they have trees to uproot and boulders to move. And they help us by keeping strangers away from our door."
This kind of talk would be rude even from a man, but the General doesn't seem to mind. "You're fortunate to have such good neighbors," he says. "But still, it must be difficult to keep a secret this... well, this big."
And then, of course, they all look up at me. Mother crosses her arms and starts tapping her foot, like she's mad about something, but her eyes tell me that she's more worried than angry. I wonder what happened to upset her. I hope it wasn't something I did.
"And just how big are you, son?" the General asks.
Son. I like that. When Father calls me 'boy' it's like an insult. Even though I'm well past my sixteenth birthday, he still talks to me like I'm a dumb kid. But when the General calls me 'son' he says it with fondness, like I really was his son.
"Almost six cubits," I say. "Last time we checked."
"Well, we'll tell them you're even bigger than that," the General says with a twinkle in his eye. "Say, six cubits and a span. I don't think anybody's going to get close enough to know the difference, do you?"
Them? Who is he talking about? Did I miss something? I don't want the General to think I'm stupid, so I keep my mouth shut and just smile down at him.
"As I was saying," Father says, clearing his throat, "we'd be pleased if you'd join us for dinner, General."
But just when the General starts to say something, Mother interrupts. Again. "We barely have enough food for ourselves," she hisses, supposedly in a whisper to Father, but if I can hear it from all the way up here, surely the General can hear it too. "Why should we feed the army?"
The General holds up his hands, a gesture of peace. "We travel with our own provisions," he says. "In fact, we have more than enough for everyone. So, if you'll allow me, I'd like to invite all of you to join us for dinner."
"It's an honor, General," Father says, glaring at Mother. "We'd be delighted. We'd all be delighted."
I half expect Mother to say something. I can see that she wants to. But Father's stare is hard, and Mother lowers her eyes in silence.
| Next |  |
[ Goliath Speaks Home Page | Selected Writings ]
©1996 Henry Charles Mishkoff