Carefully she tipped one of the beans into my outstretched palm. “That’s a rather fanciful notion for you, Gen.”
I gave a quick laugh that didn’t sound all that convincing, even to my own ears. “Maybe I’m practicing for the World Above.”
I closed my hand around the bean. I could feel it, pressing into the center of my palm. “I think I’d like to go to the cornfield by myself, if that’s all right.”
“Of course it is, sweetheart,” said my mother. “Just don’t think about it too much. Trust the magic.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try.”
“But you’re not a tryer, are you?” my mother said. “You’re a doer, Gen. I think you have been from the day you were born. I used to think it was your affinity to the World Below, but now I’m not so sure. I think it’s just the way you are, and I am glad for it.”
“Thank you, Mama,” I said, surprised.
My mother bent to kiss my cheek. “Go along now. And remember—don’t stop to think too much along the way.”
I did my best. Honestly, I did. But all the way to the cornfield, with the bean clutched tightly in my palm, I wondered. If, in my innermost heart of hearts, I still harbored a tiny seed of doubt, would the magic work? Could my attachment to the World Below, which I’d secretly always been so proud of, doom my brother to destruction in the World Above?
You’re failing already
,
Gen
, I thought as I reached the cornfield. Since Jack had grown the last beanstalk, our neighbors had come to help us harvest the corn. Jack’s absence had been noticed, but not spoken of. I had seen the worry, and the judgment, in the other men’s eyes. My mother needed all the help she could get. Where was her son? There was no way to explain. I wondered what the neighbors would think when our family disappeared entirely. If we did. If we didn’t, we would face hard times.
I gazed at the cornfield. It looked as bleak as my sudden turn of thought. Where before tall stalks had stood, now there was nothing but stubble. My beanstalk, assuming I could actually get one to grow, would have no camouflage.
There’s a lesson in here somewhere
, I thought. It was time to see if I could find it. Turning my back to the field, I planted my feet and whispered a quick prayer to whoever might be listening.
Please
, I thought
. Let me succeed in spite of myself
.
I let the bean fly. I did not turn to try and see where it landed. I tried to trust the magic, to let it take its course.
Now there was only one thing I could do: wait for morning.
“Well,” my mother said the following day. “So much for your concerns.”
I had grown a beanstalk all right, a sinewy column of green reaching into the sky. It swayed despite there being no breeze, and looked as if a puff of air might knock it down.
But when I set my hand on the trunk, I felt the beanstalk’s inner core of strength. Felt that it possessed a single desire: to carry me and only me from the World Below to the World Above. The fluttering leaves reminded me of waving hands, beckoning me upward.
“You take good care now, Gen,” my mother said.
“I will. Don’t forget to chop down the beanstalk.”
“I’ll remember,” she said quietly, and I realized that for the first time in sixteen years my mother would be all alone. Alone in the place that had been both her sanctuary and her exile. I opened my mouth to say something, but Mama spoke first.
“I’m proud of you, Gen.” At her words I let go of the beanstalk. “I’ve always been proud of you. I probably haven’t said that as much as I should.”
My eyes filled with tears, but I did not let them fall. In this, at least, I was my mother’s daughter.
“I understand, Mama,” I said quietly. Now that I was about to embark on an adventure of my own, a great peace seemed to come over me. “You and Jack are so much more alike. And he’s so . . . charming. Don’t you dare tell him I said that. If you do, I’ll just deny it.”
“I
I gave a quick laugh that didn’t sound all that convincing, even to my own ears. “Maybe I’m practicing for the World Above.”
I closed my hand around the bean. I could feel it, pressing into the center of my palm. “I think I’d like to go to the cornfield by myself, if that’s all right.”
“Of course it is, sweetheart,” said my mother. “Just don’t think about it too much. Trust the magic.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try.”
“But you’re not a tryer, are you?” my mother said. “You’re a doer, Gen. I think you have been from the day you were born. I used to think it was your affinity to the World Below, but now I’m not so sure. I think it’s just the way you are, and I am glad for it.”
“Thank you, Mama,” I said, surprised.
My mother bent to kiss my cheek. “Go along now. And remember—don’t stop to think too much along the way.”
I did my best. Honestly, I did. But all the way to the cornfield, with the bean clutched tightly in my palm, I wondered. If, in my innermost heart of hearts, I still harbored a tiny seed of doubt, would the magic work? Could my attachment to the World Below, which I’d secretly always been so proud of, doom my brother to destruction in the World Above?
You’re failing already
,
Gen
, I thought as I reached the cornfield. Since Jack had grown the last beanstalk, our neighbors had come to help us harvest the corn. Jack’s absence had been noticed, but not spoken of. I had seen the worry, and the judgment, in the other men’s eyes. My mother needed all the help she could get. Where was her son? There was no way to explain. I wondered what the neighbors would think when our family disappeared entirely. If we did. If we didn’t, we would face hard times.
I gazed at the cornfield. It looked as bleak as my sudden turn of thought. Where before tall stalks had stood, now there was nothing but stubble. My beanstalk, assuming I could actually get one to grow, would have no camouflage.
There’s a lesson in here somewhere
, I thought. It was time to see if I could find it. Turning my back to the field, I planted my feet and whispered a quick prayer to whoever might be listening.
Please
, I thought
. Let me succeed in spite of myself
.
I let the bean fly. I did not turn to try and see where it landed. I tried to trust the magic, to let it take its course.
Now there was only one thing I could do: wait for morning.
“Well,” my mother said the following day. “So much for your concerns.”
I had grown a beanstalk all right, a sinewy column of green reaching into the sky. It swayed despite there being no breeze, and looked as if a puff of air might knock it down.
But when I set my hand on the trunk, I felt the beanstalk’s inner core of strength. Felt that it possessed a single desire: to carry me and only me from the World Below to the World Above. The fluttering leaves reminded me of waving hands, beckoning me upward.
“You take good care now, Gen,” my mother said.
“I will. Don’t forget to chop down the beanstalk.”
“I’ll remember,” she said quietly, and I realized that for the first time in sixteen years my mother would be all alone. Alone in the place that had been both her sanctuary and her exile. I opened my mouth to say something, but Mama spoke first.
“I’m proud of you, Gen.” At her words I let go of the beanstalk. “I’ve always been proud of you. I probably haven’t said that as much as I should.”
My eyes filled with tears, but I did not let them fall. In this, at least, I was my mother’s daughter.
“I understand, Mama,” I said quietly. Now that I was about to embark on an adventure of my own, a great peace seemed to come over me. “You and Jack are so much more alike. And he’s so . . . charming. Don’t you dare tell him I said that. If you do, I’ll just deny it.”
“I
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