Pig in a poke
Mar. 18th, 2013 05:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
talonkarrde"A penny to entertain you for a while, marm? Just a penny for a long story — y'don't have to pay, yet. Not until it's done, an' only if you think it right. I know I don't look like much, but I have a story to tell, I do."
The pitch has been changed so many times now, I don't even remember what the first form was. You gotta catch them with something to spark their interest, something to stand out from all the other beggars out there. And after some time, you start getting to know who might indulge you, who might be more likely to toss you that penny. You learn to judge people and tweak what you say, depending on what you think they're open to. A woman by herself is probably fifty-fifty, but she's usually more likely to give you a coin if you tell her a tragic story. A man with a woman might give you a coin just to go away, but another might ask you to tell them something funny.
This is my talent: I can do both. I can tell a sad story, or a funny story, or both, so as long as it gets me the coin. After all, this is what I do to stay alive.
-
My story starts years ago, before the famine, before the plague. It starts with happiness, as most stories do.
My family had always lived humbly and modestly, without wanting much or needing much, and we had been making do for as long as I could remember. Mum was a seamstress, good enough that the villagers paid her for many a small fix, and pop worked as an apprentice to the blacksmith. We were not as well off as the mayor or the priest, but we lived in our own thatched-roof cottage, and my baby brother was born to much celebration of the village. I remember the joy and the wild dancing of the Midsummer's Eve celebrations, the bonfires, and most of all father coming home with a newly slaughtered pig — an entire hog, just for the family!
An entire hog — when I mention that part, I see the looks on their faces, as they remember the days of plenty, when the winters were mild and the harvests grand. I see the nostalgia and I know they're thinking of the times before the taxes, before the starvation, before the death.
-
The famine started with the rains — the slow flood, we called it, as it rained for most of spring and summer. The hay for the animals could not be cured and so they starved with us, as the crops failed from the rain. At first, we thought it would be just one season, but it was not to be. Our family, our village, we all made do with what we could, but what we had was less and less with every week. First we ate the dying cows and pigs, and then the draft horses, and then we foraged in the forests for roots and and grasses.
Eventually, even the roots and grasses were scarse. I remember that father gave us everything he could, often starving himself so that we had the petty mouthfuls he had scavenged, and was less of a man every day. After one day, his body simply wasted away in bed — and by then his death was already one among many, enough that we barely got a good grave. At least our family stayed together through it; we heard of parents that had abandoned children in the woods, and I was glad mum and pop did not do so with us.
Even so, though, it did us little good in the end. My little brother survived the famines, but not the plague.
-
My mother and I stayed alive by the grace of an old cow that had not fallen to the disease that had swept through the village, spoiling their meat. The cow was too lean to be butchered and would not sustain us for more than a few days, but still gave a mouthful of sour milk every day on the roots that it somehow found, and we lived on that. But it was not enough — mum had been touched by the plague, and I knew that without more food, she would not see the spring.
So when the peddler came to me, I was skeptical, but what choice did I have? The peddler came to me and promised me the sun and the stars and the moon for the cow, and I said yes. The peddler promised me vegetables that would grow again, no matter the weather, and melons and cucumbers and grains that would grow year upon year, and not just that, but overnight.
I know what you're thinking: do I not deserve your coin, now, for you think that I am so foolish as to waste it?
Maybe. But do you know what it's like to watch as members of your family die right in front of you, as you are helpless to do anything for them?
Do you know what it's like to know that nothing you do is worth anything to anyone, that you have no skills to be used and nothing to offer that would glean a penny off anyone that had one?
Do you know what it's like to see a miracle, to see the peddler take a seed out of his bag, casually toss it over his shoulder, and see as it grows instantly into a long stemmed plant, before your own eyes? I didn't get to touch it before he took it away, but was blossoming, and the melons would have been next, the peddler said.
I was desperate and I took the deal, and the peddler led away the cow and left me with five seeds. And I am here begging, it's true, so perhaps the peddler sold me dead seeds, or even worse, painted rocks.
But maybe I planted one of them, and it led to the heavens — with gorgeous marble castles and giants and food that we could never hope to eat. Or maybe it simply grew into a plant that produced ripe, juicy melons, and I think that would be enough for both of us. For a penny, I can throw this seed behind me, and we can both see if it will grow.
"Just a penny, marm — don't you think it's worth a penny to find out?"
---
A/N: This was a hard (but fun) one. After I found out what the last topic would be, I started researching and spent a few hours diving into the background of the phrase, which refers to a caveat emptor situation where in the late middle ages, cats and dogs were sometimes sold as pigs, concealed in a bag (or poke). Thus, buying a pig in a poke would be falling victim to a con where the seller has replaced it with something less valuable (more fur and less meat). I wanted to get a bit away from the scifi that I've been pretty regularly writing, so I figured I might as well drop it into history — hence this setting of England, circa 1310, right before the famines and black plague. Halfway into writing it, I realized whose story this could be and that actually changed the tone dramatically; it was originally it was much darker than it is now. I ended up framing it with Jack telling it, creating a story within a story (both about tricking someone), and thought it better to leave the ending open, as befitting the knave who's telling it. Aside from that, there are offhand references to Hansel and Gretel, John Scalzi's 'Being Poor', Heinlein's Citizen of the Galaxy, and Shakespeare in Love. Criticism is welcome, as always!
The pitch has been changed so many times now, I don't even remember what the first form was. You gotta catch them with something to spark their interest, something to stand out from all the other beggars out there. And after some time, you start getting to know who might indulge you, who might be more likely to toss you that penny. You learn to judge people and tweak what you say, depending on what you think they're open to. A woman by herself is probably fifty-fifty, but she's usually more likely to give you a coin if you tell her a tragic story. A man with a woman might give you a coin just to go away, but another might ask you to tell them something funny.
This is my talent: I can do both. I can tell a sad story, or a funny story, or both, so as long as it gets me the coin. After all, this is what I do to stay alive.
-
My story starts years ago, before the famine, before the plague. It starts with happiness, as most stories do.
My family had always lived humbly and modestly, without wanting much or needing much, and we had been making do for as long as I could remember. Mum was a seamstress, good enough that the villagers paid her for many a small fix, and pop worked as an apprentice to the blacksmith. We were not as well off as the mayor or the priest, but we lived in our own thatched-roof cottage, and my baby brother was born to much celebration of the village. I remember the joy and the wild dancing of the Midsummer's Eve celebrations, the bonfires, and most of all father coming home with a newly slaughtered pig — an entire hog, just for the family!
An entire hog — when I mention that part, I see the looks on their faces, as they remember the days of plenty, when the winters were mild and the harvests grand. I see the nostalgia and I know they're thinking of the times before the taxes, before the starvation, before the death.
-
The famine started with the rains — the slow flood, we called it, as it rained for most of spring and summer. The hay for the animals could not be cured and so they starved with us, as the crops failed from the rain. At first, we thought it would be just one season, but it was not to be. Our family, our village, we all made do with what we could, but what we had was less and less with every week. First we ate the dying cows and pigs, and then the draft horses, and then we foraged in the forests for roots and and grasses.
Eventually, even the roots and grasses were scarse. I remember that father gave us everything he could, often starving himself so that we had the petty mouthfuls he had scavenged, and was less of a man every day. After one day, his body simply wasted away in bed — and by then his death was already one among many, enough that we barely got a good grave. At least our family stayed together through it; we heard of parents that had abandoned children in the woods, and I was glad mum and pop did not do so with us.
Even so, though, it did us little good in the end. My little brother survived the famines, but not the plague.
-
My mother and I stayed alive by the grace of an old cow that had not fallen to the disease that had swept through the village, spoiling their meat. The cow was too lean to be butchered and would not sustain us for more than a few days, but still gave a mouthful of sour milk every day on the roots that it somehow found, and we lived on that. But it was not enough — mum had been touched by the plague, and I knew that without more food, she would not see the spring.
So when the peddler came to me, I was skeptical, but what choice did I have? The peddler came to me and promised me the sun and the stars and the moon for the cow, and I said yes. The peddler promised me vegetables that would grow again, no matter the weather, and melons and cucumbers and grains that would grow year upon year, and not just that, but overnight.
I know what you're thinking: do I not deserve your coin, now, for you think that I am so foolish as to waste it?
Maybe. But do you know what it's like to watch as members of your family die right in front of you, as you are helpless to do anything for them?
Do you know what it's like to know that nothing you do is worth anything to anyone, that you have no skills to be used and nothing to offer that would glean a penny off anyone that had one?
Do you know what it's like to see a miracle, to see the peddler take a seed out of his bag, casually toss it over his shoulder, and see as it grows instantly into a long stemmed plant, before your own eyes? I didn't get to touch it before he took it away, but was blossoming, and the melons would have been next, the peddler said.
I was desperate and I took the deal, and the peddler led away the cow and left me with five seeds. And I am here begging, it's true, so perhaps the peddler sold me dead seeds, or even worse, painted rocks.
But maybe I planted one of them, and it led to the heavens — with gorgeous marble castles and giants and food that we could never hope to eat. Or maybe it simply grew into a plant that produced ripe, juicy melons, and I think that would be enough for both of us. For a penny, I can throw this seed behind me, and we can both see if it will grow.
"Just a penny, marm — don't you think it's worth a penny to find out?"
---
A/N: This was a hard (but fun) one. After I found out what the last topic would be, I started researching and spent a few hours diving into the background of the phrase, which refers to a caveat emptor situation where in the late middle ages, cats and dogs were sometimes sold as pigs, concealed in a bag (or poke). Thus, buying a pig in a poke would be falling victim to a con where the seller has replaced it with something less valuable (more fur and less meat). I wanted to get a bit away from the scifi that I've been pretty regularly writing, so I figured I might as well drop it into history — hence this setting of England, circa 1310, right before the famines and black plague. Halfway into writing it, I realized whose story this could be and that actually changed the tone dramatically; it was originally it was much darker than it is now. I ended up framing it with Jack telling it, creating a story within a story (both about tricking someone), and thought it better to leave the ending open, as befitting the knave who's telling it. Aside from that, there are offhand references to Hansel and Gretel, John Scalzi's 'Being Poor', Heinlein's Citizen of the Galaxy, and Shakespeare in Love. Criticism is welcome, as always!
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Date: 2013-03-20 08:41 pm (UTC)