that baby cry again neither. Years later he learned that the family who’d lived in his cabin caught the pox. It killed all of them. Folks said that the baby was the last one to die and he cried and cried all through the long night before he finally died.”
Before Olivia could finish absorbing the tragic story, Violetta began another. This one was called Jack and the Giant. As with the traditional fairy tale, Jack was poor and hungry. He and his mother scratched out a feeble existence from the land. Violetta described Jack’s constant obsession with food with the vividness of one who’s known poverty and the hollow ache of an empty belly. In contrast, the giant was rich and feasted like a king. He ate mutton stew, roast pork, brown bread dipped in gravy, and dozens of berry cobblers at a time. He didn’t live in a castle above the clouds, but in a cave deep in the hills. He smoked an enormous pipe and owned hundreds of hearty sheep and fat pigs. Jack, who played the banjo and was as foolish as he was brave, was a likable hero. Olivia laughed when he tricked the giant and sighed with relief when he was able to return to his simple cabin and present his mother with the giant’s treasure.
He’ll finally be able to eat,
she thought happily.
He can stuff himself until he’s good and full
.
But no sooner had Jack escaped the giant than he decided to take on the North Wind. Up until this point, Lowell’s task had been limited to adding sound effects by using a rain stick, tambourine, banjo, and fiddle. He’d remained outside of the circle of blue light. But now, he unfolded a stepladder downstage left, donned a short wig of white curls, and climbed to the topmost rung. Perched atop the ladder, he played a set of high, chilly notes on his fiddle. He plucked the same strings over and over again until Violetta, speaking in Jack’s voice, begged him to stop.
Having transformed into Jack, Violetta appeared to shrink to the size of a child. Hugging herself, she talked of how cold the mountain winters were. How there was a hole in the chinking between the logs next to Jack’s bed. The wind whistled in through this hole, making Jack shiver. Snow snuck in too, covering Jack’s quilts with a dusting of white. Onstage, Jack shuddered and rubbed his arms, and Olivia suddenly felt cold. Because most public places used too much air-conditioning for her taste, she always carried a cardigan in her bag. She hurriedly slipped it on and folded her arms over her chest. The air felt damp. It passed beneath her clothes and chilled her skin. The sensation increased as Lowell continued to play his shrill song and Jack, through chattering teeth, pleaded with him to stop blowing.
After that story, Violetta told a pair of folktales about how the turtle cracked his shell and why the wolf howls at the moon. She finished the show with another ghost story about a hermit who hid his treasure in the heart of a hollowed-out trunk and became so afraid that it would be found that he began to dress up in bearskins and scare off anyone who came near his cabin. Over time, he began to lose his mind. People said his eyes glittered like diamonds and he attached bear claws to his gloves. When he died one winter alone on the mountain, his ghost remained, walking on all fours like a bear. The legend was that anyone who came too near the treasure would hear the man’s growl and be forever cursed with bad luck, sickness, or death.
Her strange tale left the audience reeling in horrified delight. Violetta delivered the last sentence and then simply strode from the stage and into the darkness beyond.
“There’ll be a reception in the lobby when the lights come back up,” Lowell announced when she was gone. “We hope you’ve enjoyed our Appalachian tales.”
The crowd applauded timidly at first, still too stupefied by Violetta’s final story to make much noise. Olivia shook herself from the storyteller’s trance and clapped louder. Soon enough, the room
Before Olivia could finish absorbing the tragic story, Violetta began another. This one was called Jack and the Giant. As with the traditional fairy tale, Jack was poor and hungry. He and his mother scratched out a feeble existence from the land. Violetta described Jack’s constant obsession with food with the vividness of one who’s known poverty and the hollow ache of an empty belly. In contrast, the giant was rich and feasted like a king. He ate mutton stew, roast pork, brown bread dipped in gravy, and dozens of berry cobblers at a time. He didn’t live in a castle above the clouds, but in a cave deep in the hills. He smoked an enormous pipe and owned hundreds of hearty sheep and fat pigs. Jack, who played the banjo and was as foolish as he was brave, was a likable hero. Olivia laughed when he tricked the giant and sighed with relief when he was able to return to his simple cabin and present his mother with the giant’s treasure.
He’ll finally be able to eat,
she thought happily.
He can stuff himself until he’s good and full
.
But no sooner had Jack escaped the giant than he decided to take on the North Wind. Up until this point, Lowell’s task had been limited to adding sound effects by using a rain stick, tambourine, banjo, and fiddle. He’d remained outside of the circle of blue light. But now, he unfolded a stepladder downstage left, donned a short wig of white curls, and climbed to the topmost rung. Perched atop the ladder, he played a set of high, chilly notes on his fiddle. He plucked the same strings over and over again until Violetta, speaking in Jack’s voice, begged him to stop.
Having transformed into Jack, Violetta appeared to shrink to the size of a child. Hugging herself, she talked of how cold the mountain winters were. How there was a hole in the chinking between the logs next to Jack’s bed. The wind whistled in through this hole, making Jack shiver. Snow snuck in too, covering Jack’s quilts with a dusting of white. Onstage, Jack shuddered and rubbed his arms, and Olivia suddenly felt cold. Because most public places used too much air-conditioning for her taste, she always carried a cardigan in her bag. She hurriedly slipped it on and folded her arms over her chest. The air felt damp. It passed beneath her clothes and chilled her skin. The sensation increased as Lowell continued to play his shrill song and Jack, through chattering teeth, pleaded with him to stop blowing.
After that story, Violetta told a pair of folktales about how the turtle cracked his shell and why the wolf howls at the moon. She finished the show with another ghost story about a hermit who hid his treasure in the heart of a hollowed-out trunk and became so afraid that it would be found that he began to dress up in bearskins and scare off anyone who came near his cabin. Over time, he began to lose his mind. People said his eyes glittered like diamonds and he attached bear claws to his gloves. When he died one winter alone on the mountain, his ghost remained, walking on all fours like a bear. The legend was that anyone who came too near the treasure would hear the man’s growl and be forever cursed with bad luck, sickness, or death.
Her strange tale left the audience reeling in horrified delight. Violetta delivered the last sentence and then simply strode from the stage and into the darkness beyond.
“There’ll be a reception in the lobby when the lights come back up,” Lowell announced when she was gone. “We hope you’ve enjoyed our Appalachian tales.”
The crowd applauded timidly at first, still too stupefied by Violetta’s final story to make much noise. Olivia shook herself from the storyteller’s trance and clapped louder. Soon enough, the room
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