A woodcutter and his husband lived in a very poor village beside a forest. Nothing grew in the gritty, unforgiving soil, and the rise in automation was really hurting the local job market. Many of the people were afraid they would go hungry, and so a town meeting was called.

“Go save the town,” said the woodcutter’s husband impatiently. 

“Why me?” he asked, dumbfounded. His husband shrugged.

“Someone ought to,” he said, “and remember one time you fixed the stove.” So the woodcutter attended the meeting in the town square. People holding aching bellies stood in a crowd around the mayor. He took a long sip from a cozied mug before speaking.

“We are going to die,” said the mayor. Expecting more, the townspeople leaned in eagerly. More did not come. Upon realizing, everyone began to panic. 

“We should raid another town!” said the constable, already arming nearby children with pistols and torches.

“We can try a new religion! There are at least two more!” said the priest, preemptively swearing allegiance to a new god.

“We can survive if we eat the oldest first!” said the baker, tackling the elderly tailor, and soon a violent squabble had broken out that eclipsed all productivity. The woodcutter looked on, resigned. He would have to do it. So, packing a lunch for himself, he set off into the woods with his axe to find an answer. 

After walking a while through the maze of trees, the woodcutter found himself hungry. He opened his lunch and pulled out a sandwich: a chicken-tomato half sub, no cheese (he was trying to lose weight). No sooner had he unpacked this morsel than a crooked little dwarf came up behind him.

“Hello weary traveler! Could you spare —” was all the gnarled fairy could get out. The woodcutter was so surprised that he immediately swung his axe around, cutting the dwarf’s head clean off. It rolled to the ground with a thunk. The woodcutter stared in disbelief.

“Oh no,” he said. The dwarf’s head grumbled angrily.

“Oh no!” it said, mocking him. “Put me back on my body!” The woodcutter nodded and started toward the dwarf’s head, but a glint of something in the creature’s pocket caught his eye. He stopped, his gaze moving between the body and the head. 

“Hey!” the head shouted, “Hey, look at me! Don’t go snooping over there!” But the woodcutter didn’t listen. In a moment his hand searched the dwarf’s pocket and came up with a handful of golden magic beans, recognizable to any poor townsperson worth their salt. This, he realized, would be the answer to all of his town’s problems. Avoiding eye contact with the dwarf, he began to walk away. 

“Hey!” shouted the dwarf’s head, “Hey come on! Ok, look, look, you can have the beans, I don’t even really care, but could you put my head back?” The woodcutter stopped and thought a moment before giving an awkward, apologetic look. 

“I would, but uh, I kind of feel like you’re gonna curse me or, or eat me or something if I do, so … ” he said, and continued walking home. 

“Come on man!” yelled the dwarf. 

“It’s nothing personal!” the woodcutter yelled back. And so, the woodcutter brought the magic beans back to his town and used them to grow a money tree, or maybe they granted wishes, I don’t know. In any case, he saved the town, and for all anyone knows everyone had a happy ending. Except the dwarf.

Graphic by Patrick Higgins | The Oswegonian