Big Talk

“Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an . . . Englishwoman?”

I lumber forward, confident in my ignorance. I have strength. I need not listen to intellect. I am . . .

“What am I? I’m not me. I’m a giant! What is going on?”

I crest the rise of a hill. Below me is a fair damsel, gowned in purple velvet, seated on a dais. As she rises, raising her arms into the air, I recognize her.

“Giant, I put upon you a geis. I demand you tell me . . . “

“Melissa,” I say, my voice booming, “it’s me.”

“Oh, no.” She collapses back down onto her throne. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to transform you again.”

“Last time it was an owl. This time a giant. What are you doing?” I rumble.

I sit down on the ground, causing a tremor that nearly jolts Melissa from her throne.

“Well, taking my cue from Maria Louise von Franz when she said, ‘Fairy tales are the purest and simplest expression of the collective unconscious . . .’ or, in other words, our dreams, I decided to dream of fairy tales, consciously, to better understand them. The results have been variable.”

“What fairy tale is this?”

“Nix, Naught, Nothing.”

I probe my memory. “I have read this. Remind me.”

Melissa straightens herself on her throne and proceeds.

A queen gives birth to a son while the king is far away. She declares she will not name and christen the boy until his father returns. In the meantime, they will call him Nix Nought Nothing. Unfortunately, the king does not return for a number of years.

During his travels, when the king does return, a giant does him a favor, seemingly for no payment, saying he would take nix, naught, nothing. Upon arriving home, the king finds that is his son’s name.

The king and queen try to substitute the henwife’s son and then the gardener’s son, but in each case the giant discovers the ruse, kills the unfortunate lads in his rage, and returns for Nix Naught Nothing.

The giant raises the boy until he is a man. Then the giant gives Nix Naught Nothing the task of cleaning out the stable that is seven miles long, seven miles wide, and has not been cleaned in seven years. He is allowed only one day to accomplish the feat or become the giant’s supper that night. Our hero is helped by the giant’s daughter, who calls upon all the animals and birds to aid him.

The next task is to drain a lake that is seven miles wide, seven miles across, and seven miles deep. The daughter calls upon all the fish in the sea to drink up the water.

The third trial is to climb a tree seven miles tall with no branches until the top, where there is a nest with seven eggs. The daughter cuts off her fingers and toes to use the bones as pegs for him to climb the tree.

However, one of the eggs breaks, and they must flee with the giant in hot pursuit. They throw down her comb and hair dagger, which turn into briars and hedges to slow down the giant. They then throw down her flask, which turns into a wave that drowns the giant.

They arrive, unbeknownst to them, at Nix Naught Nothing’s father’s kingdom. He leaves his love, who is too tired to go on, to find shelter. He comes across the henwife, whose son was killed for his sake, and she puts him under a sleeping spell. She then contrives with the gardener’s daughter that only this girl can wake the sleeping stranger and will do so if she can marry him.

Through good fortune, the giant’s daughter shows up in time to reveal that the sleeping stranger is Nix Naught Nothing. The gardener’s daughter is forced to break the spell, the henwife is put to death, and the remainder live happily ever after.

“Rarely totally kind, these fairy-tale endings,” I muse, my comment echoing off of the hills.

Fairy Tale of the Month: March 2024 Nix Naught Nothing – Part Two

Big Thoughts

“If I recall,” I say, straining the capacity of giant thinking, “this version was concocted by Joseph Jacobs, borrowed from Andrew Lang, who collected it somewhere in Scotland, but it is pretty clear that much of the story leans on Greek mythology.”

“I agree,” Melissa nods. “What are your insights?”

“The name ‘Nix Naught Nothing’ reminds me of Odysseus and the Cyclops in that the name becomes a trick. Odysseus told Polyphemus his name was ‘Nobody.’ When Odysseus and his men put out Polyphemus’s lone eye, the screams of agony brought the cyclops’s neighbors. From beyond the stone that blocked Polyphemus’s cave entrance, they asked what the matter was. He answered that nobody had harmed him, so they went back to their homes.”

Melissa smiles and I continue. “But I think this tale mostly reflects Jason and the Argonauts. In that legend, Jason had tasks to perform in order to get the Golden Fleece from King Aeȅtes. He had to yoke the fire-breathing oxen and plow a field, sowing it with dragon’s teeth that sprang up as warriors and might have turned against him. With her sorcery, Medea, the king’s daughter, aided Jason just as the giant’s daughter aided Nix Naught Nothing.”

Melissa knits her brow. “But the tasks are different. The thing with the stable that was seven miles long and seven miles wide and had not been cleaned in seven years is similar to one of the Herculean tasks. Although all of them are imbued with the number seven, I am not sure where the other two tasks came from.”

I am thinking I do know. Something is tickling my memory, and I scratch my massive head with a thick finger. Melissa goes on. “And you’re right about the similarity to Jason and Medea, right to the end of the story. In both cases, there was a pursuit of the lovers by the father, at whom they threw obstacles in his path to slow him down. In Medea’s case, pieces of her brother, whom she had killed, which the king stopped to retrieve for proper burial.

“But, ah!” I see realization in her eyes. “The marriages at the conclusions are very different; in fact, opposites.”

My sluggish giant brain is almost remembering something, but not quite as Melissa continues. “In Nix Naught Nothing, he ‘forgets’ his bride for a time, until she is restored to him, and then they live happily ever after. With Jason and Medea, they were married, but after ten years he left her for another woman. Medea had her revenge, ending the legend in tragedy. That may be the difference between legends and fairy tales. Fairy tales end well for the main characters, and legends do not.”

“Talking about endings, in Nix’s story, the giant was drowned. I think I heard that before.” There is that tickling again. “But isn’t the usual death we giants get is having our heads cut off and our tongues taken as a receipt?”

Melissa smiles benignly. “You giants don’t get to be the heroes, do you?”

I am starting to feel sorry for myself.

Fairy Tale of the Month: March 2024 Nix Naught Nothing – Part Three

Big Deal

“Battle of the Birds!” I hear myself bellow. Melissa startles. “That’s what’s been tickling my brain. It’s the Celtic version of Nix Naught Nothing.

“Oh, the story starts out very differently. The beasts and birds have a battle, over a trivial matter between a wren and a mouse. The prince of Tethertown aids a raven during its fight with a snake. The raven rewards the prince, after a long journey, with a mysterious bundle that the prince is not to open until he is at the place he wishes to dwell.

“Of course, he peeps into the bag far too soon, and a castle, surrounded by gardens and an orchard, pops out. A giant offers to stuff them all back in if the prince gives him his firstborn son. The prince, not having a son, agrees.

“Returning home, the prince unpacks the castle, which comes with a maiden, whom he marries. Seven years later, the giant appears to collect his due. The prince and his wife substitute the cook’s son and then the butler’s son, with the same disastrous results as in Nix. The giant raises the lad until manhood, then offers him his choice of one of his two eldest daughters. The youngest daughter is pledged to the son of the king of the Green City, but the prince and the youngest daughter, Auburn Mary, have already fallen in love.”

“Wait,” says Melissa. “Auburn Mary? She has a name?”

“Yes. Nobody else does. The prince of Tethertown is invariably called ‘king’s son,’ even by Auburn Mary.

“King’s son’s choice of Auburn Mary angers the giant. He puts upon him the tasks of cleaning the stable, thatching its roof with down feathers, and climbing a tree for magpie eggs. Auburn Mary aids him. Extreme is having the king’s son kill her, strip her flesh, and use her bones as pegs to climb the tree for the eggs. He then reassembles her by her instructions but loses her little-finger bone. That becomes useful when the giant again tries to deceive him by having him choose between the three identically clothed sisters. His bride is the one with nine fingers.

“Auburn Mary realizes her father plans to kill them, and they flee, aided by a hoodie. The talismans that become barriers come out of the ear of the blue-grey filly they ride. The last is a water bladder that turns into a lough in which the giant drowns.

“Returning to his father’s kingdom, Auburn Mary sends king’s son on ahead to reunite with his parents and let them know about her. She warns him to let no one kiss him, or he will forget all about her. His old greyhound greets him with a lick on the face, and forgetfulness falls upon him.

“A shoemaker finds her and gives her shelter until the day he is to deliver the shoes for the royal wedding about to take place. Auburn Mary follows him, ending up at the wedding feast, where she is given a glass of wine.

“Flames spring up from the wine, out of which flutter a golden pigeon and a silver pigeon. Three times, three grains of barley fall to the floor. Each time the silver pigeon devours them, the golden pigeon admonishes him for not sharing and reminds him of when she cleaned the stable, thatched the roof, and sacrificed her little finger for him. The king’s son remembers his true bride, and they are married.”

Melissa blinks. “There are certainly a lot of birds in this version: a wren, raven, hoodie, and pigeons, not to mention down feathers and magpie eggs.”

I am about to comment when a mounted, armored knight with drawn sword comes to sally forth.

“Oh dear,” Melissa regrets. “It’s my Prince Charming come to rescue me.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be drowned in this story?”

“He’s following the wrong script. I’d better dismiss you from my dream.” She raises a hand in the air and mutters what must be a spell.

“Well, hurry,” I say.

Prince Charming’s horse has leapt into my lap and starts up my belly as if it were a steep hill. I see the sun glinting off the edge of the blade as it reaches its zenith and descends toward my throat.

I sit straight up in bed, clutching my neck.

Nope. Still there. Melissa cut that awfully close.

Your thoughts?