The Pea – Part II

 I’m trying out a little game I thought up. The game is to retell a fairy tale or children’s story while omitting one of the major characters.

This is the Princess and the Pea… so long as you don’t count the princess (Part II). Part I Next Monday… Part III!

In his travels, the beggar had suffered many hardships and insults. They had been painful; at times he had felt utterly worthless and wretched.

But there was no pain to compare with what he felt as he watched the peasant girl walk away. His heart was being torn away from him with every footstep fading in the distance. She was a true princess, but what was he? He looked at his rags, at the ditch where he sat. A beggar. There was no chance of love, of marriage…

Who would marry a beggar?

Certainly no father in the world who would give the hand of a true princess away to a beggar.

He had been given the grace of a drink of water, certainly. He had found a princess, it was true. But the delight was being washed away with dread. He turned his pain into anger and poured it out upon the pea.

“Where is my fortune?” he cried. “What fortune have you brought me? You have brought me to the greatest treasure, my only joy… and it is beyond my grasp! It would be better if you had left me to die at my brother’s hand, than to live the phantom life of a beggar, seeing everything, having nothing!”

The pea was silent, and eventually the beggar’s tirade broke down into a quiet sobbing.

“Ah, my poor friend,” said the pea at last, “I see it has not been easy for you. But consider this – there once was a day where you wore different clothes: a day before you put on these rags and made yourself a beggar. Perhaps there will come a day when you will take off these rags, and you will no longer be a beggar.”
“Only one thing is certain…” continued the pea, “if you do not get out of that ditch and find out which village she comes from, you really *will* lose your princess.”

So the beggar got up from the ditch and so he followed the road that the girl had taken.

When he arrived at the girl’s village, he found it in turmoil. Every man, woman and child was gathered in the village square; men were shouting; the confusion was deafening.

“We’d better go.” said the beggar. “It seems there is trouble, and that is the last thing we need.”

“No,” said the pea, “we should at least find out what is going on. There may be a chance here to find yourself some new clothes, I think.”

So the beggar eased his way into the throng, and began to ask questions about what was going on. Piece by piece he put together the story of the uproar.

It turned out that it was time for the village to present its annual tribute to the king. They had gathered together enough gold for the smith to create a single golden ball – the wealth of the village.

But… the ball was lost! Some believed it had been stolen. The entire village had been searched, but no trace of the ball could be found.

Tomorrow the King’s man was to arrive, and if he were to find the village without its tribute, they would be taken as rebellious, and the King would be certain to exact a terrible reprisal.

“I am sure,” said the pea, “that the people of these village would offer a proper reward to someone who could restore their treasure to them.”

“Well,” said the beggar, “if they can’t find it, I don’t know how I would ever. And if it is stolen, how could I recover it?”

“Be that as it may,” said the pea, “it cannot hurt to ask. At least find out what is at stake before giving up.”

So the beggar looked over the throng, trying to find someone who looked an authority. He picked upon a barrel-chested man in the centre of the crowd. Making his way through to him, he asked him what would be given if someone could recover the treasure.

The man looked at him and began to laugh. Loudly. So loudly that people around them stopped shouting and started staring. Before long the entire group had fallen quiet and the only sound was the laughter of the barrel-chested man.

“This beggar asks,” bellowed the man to the crowd, “what we would give to the man who recovered this treasure.”

The beggar shifted awkwardly. He was acutely aware that every eye was upon him. He wished he could disappear, run back into the crowd. But then… he saw her face among the others. She was there too, watching him. He couldn’t run.

“Yes, sir,” he said loudly. “I do ask.”

“Well,” mocked the man, “what did you have in mind?’

The question stunned him. He hadn’t thought about what he actually wanted. He looked down at his pocket.

“Don’t look at me.” whispered the pea. “What *do* you want?”

“A house and land” the beggar blurted. He hadn’t thought; the words had just come out. As soon as they did, he was afraid. It was too much.

But the beggar had no way of knowing that Jameson had died last week – that he had been an old man, and childless -  that his plot, if unoccupied when the King’s man came, was forfeit to the crown.

It was to his shock that, after a brief consultation, the people of the village agreed. If he could recover the golden ball, he would be given a house and a plot of land.

Once this was agreed, the beggar lost no time in seeking an out of the way spot where he could consult with his friend the pea. To his chagrin, however, the pea had no better advice for finding the golden ball than to sit under a tree and rest for a bit.

Being himself completely lost as to how to begin, the beggar condescended to follow the pea’s advice, and, finding an elm at the edge of the village, he sat.

After a time, the pea spoke up.
“My friend the elm,” he said, “says it saw a very small child playing with a golden ball in the field over there. It says that it did not see what became of the ball, but that it is certain the child did not come back to the village with it.”

The beggar sprang up. “Then let us search the field at once!” he cried.

And so he did, but he found no trace of it in the field. He did find, however, an abandoned well in one corner of the field. He peered down into its black depths.

“Do you think…” he murmured.

“What are you willing to risk?” challenged the pea.

The beggar looked at his rags. “What do I have to lose?” he said.

The village awoke the next morning to see, in the middle of its square, a creature of the pit. It was filth and slime from head to toe. It stank – to a village accustomed to all the smells of life it stank – but resting in its palm… was a golden ball.

The barrel chested man approached it. He was followed by his daughter and the rest of the village.

“We are much indebted…” he began, but he stopped as he saw a flash of white appeared from out of the the grime – a broad grin was spreading across the creature’s face.

The beggar, for his part, was happy just to sit and hold that golden ball and smile at his princess. He knew that there was no way she could see through the filth to know it was her that he was smiling at… but… she was smiling too, standing behind her father and smiling at the creature of mud.

There was no way for her to see, and yet she knew, and so the beggar just sat there with a big, foolish grin on his face. “There’s a princess for you,” he whispered to the pea.

“No, my friend.” whispered the pea. “There’s a princess for *you*.”

And indeed it proved to be the case, for the beggar was no more a beggar. With his new home and land, he became a farmer, and if it was not a princely occupation, it was an honest and respectable one. He settled in the village. He courted and married his princess.

He introduced his wife to his friend the pea; they gave it a seat of honor on top of their mantleplace. They were happy; they had a son, who brought them much joy.

And they grew peas.