Beans

The sales game fuelled him, gave him a reason to get out of bed in the morning, but it was a hard slog. Manning his stall was only part of it - there was the set up, the breakdown, not to mention sourcing the products, keeping good relations with stockists. The physical side sometimes paled in comparison to the mental, between the arithmetic and the negotiation. At the end of all that, it was no wonder Gary Ollsop needed a drink.

He entered the Crown & Feather with a grin. His wife may not like it when he talked like this, but he’d stand by it: there was nothing better than that first pint of the night. And when you’d really, truly earned it? Forget about it. As he entered the pub, though, there was just the tiniest sense of a shift in energy, a few regular punters turning to look at him as though caught in the act. Gary wasn’t a paranoid fellow; he was content that he’d done nothing untoward. He thought little of it, assuming he’d simply walked in during a particularly ripe conversation that was, ultimately, none of his concern. He strolled to the bar and caught the eye of Sharon, long time member of staff.

   “Alright, Sharon?” he said. She barely grunted, but then she’d never been the friendliest of sorts. “Pint of Terrier, please.” He proffered exact change with a practised hand.

   “You’ll be lucky,” Sharon said. 

   “What’s that?”

   “You’ve some nerve coming in here. Tricking that boy like that.”

   “What - who?” Gary asked to a departing Sharon.

   “Ought to be ashamed of yourself.” Gary looked towards the voice - it was a chap he believed was called Pete, a long term wethead with whom he’d exchanged only small talk - weather, footy, and the like. Pete’s eyes were fixed on his pint as per, but his cheeks were even more flushed than usual.

   “Are you talking to me?” Gary asked, indignant. The last thing he needed after a gruelling shift was an earful from some layabout. To his surprise, Pete turned ninety degrees and fixed him with a piercing glare.

   “I said, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

   “What have I done?”

   “Tricking that boy out of his last cow.”

   “I - what?”

   “That Spriggins boy.”

   “Jack? No, no, I didn’t trick anyone!” Gary said, relieved - positive, at last, that he could clear everything up. “No, I traded with him for-”

   “Magic beans,” Sharon said derisively. “We’ve heard all about your magic beans.”

Gary was flabbergasted. The facts were all accurate - he’d swapped some magic beans with Jack, a local young farmhand, getting the boy’s last cow in the exchange. The heifer was a fine specimen, and Gary did feel the deal had been a little unfair - but not in his favour, by any stretch. Jack had walked away with some magic beans, beans with actual magical properties. Were Gary twenty years younger, he’d have planted the beans himself, scaled the beanstalk and found out what’s what above the clouds. But his adventuring days were behind him; anyway, he’d felt sorry for the young lad, who seemed to have it tough.

   “Have you not seen the beanstalk?” Gary said, maintaining his cool as best he could. He pointed out of the window with aplomb, jabbing an increasingly desperate finger toward the beanstalk that had come juddering out of the ground just a few days earlier. Even a gaggle as thick as this couldn’t help be compelled by actual, empirical, physical evidence as to the efficacy of his beans. But they wouldn’t look! No matter how desperately Gary gesticulated, the mob - and it was well on its way to mob territory - didn’t budge. Their eyes were stuck on Gary.  “He came to town with the express purpose of trading his cow, and I traded. I gave him some bonafide magical beans. That worked, you can see they-” Gary pointed, now with a nervous energy, out the window once more, but he knew this was a non-starter. “Who do you think got the better end of that deal? How am I the bad guy here?”

   ““Magic beans” indeed,” Sharon said, air quoting.

   “I don’t know what this is all about” Gary said, aggressively miming air quotes of his own. The bartender smirked. She’d gotten her rise. Silence descended over the pub. The customers wanted a big reaction out of the new public enemy number one, he could tell. Well, fat chance of that happening. 

   “You’re not going to serve me? Fine.” He turned and left the pub, dozens of pairs of eyes following him all the way. Off in a corner, someone even booed him. As the door shut behind him, Gary heard music and merriment return to the Crown & Feather.

As he mooched home, he saw a familiar figure. It was the boy, the farmhand with whom he’d conducted business. It had only been a couple of days, but the lad looked completely different. In place of his tattered labourer’s gear, he was bedecked in furs and fineries. His hair was styled beautifully, and on each arm a gorgeous, glamorous woman. Jack saw Gary staring. He smirked and looked away, then realised just who it was. The smirk deepened, and he approached.

   “Jack?” Gary said. 

   “Alright, mate?”

   “Look at you. Wow!”

   “Yeah, drink it all in, mate.”

   “Did you-” Gary motioned upwards.

   “Oh yes. Up I went, met some horrible old bastard up there, massive so he was. He tried to get handsy with me, I gave him a bit back, and-” he nodded at the women, the jewellery, the aura of luxury. “To the victor, the spoils.”

   “Well that’s fantastic, mate, I’m really happy for you” said Gary. And he meant it, too - at least some good could come of this whole ugly situation.

Jack, though, scoffed.

   “Yeah. Right” he said. Gary frowned, confused. “You think I don’t know what you were up to?” Jack turned to his consorts. “This spiv here tries to do me over the other morning. Thinks he’s going to get my last cow off me for a handful of beans.”

   “What? No, they-”

   “Tells me they’re magic beans, tells me to plant them in the garden and something splendiferous will happen.” He made an exaggerated magician-like hand gesture. “Thinks I’ll take ‘em home, my mum’ll clout me for being so stupid, and he’ll hear no more about it.”

   “No, it’s not like that!”

   “Only I plant ‘em. And out of the ground comes this whopping big beanstalk - and the rest is history!”

   “So… so I was as good as my word! You see that, Jack, don’t you? I didn’t lie-”

   “You took advantage of me.”

   “No!” Gary wilted as the boy and the women glared at him in triplicate. Jack eventually seemed to soften.

   “At the end of the day, mate,” he said. “I suppose there’s winners and losers. Here, for your troubles.” He produced from his coat pocket a golden egg, which he bowled underarm without warning. It bounced off Gary’s stomach as his unprepared paws struggled to catch it and smashed on the stone of the road. Jack and his women walked off, their high, cruel laughter peeling into the night.

The life of a salesman was a lonely one indeed.