Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, lived a boy
named Ten Towes. Ten was the tenth of eleventh brothers, and as you may have
guessed, his parents did not possess much imagination, though they did love
their children and each other. They lived together in a small home on a bean farm
they tended for Mr. Giant.
It was a busy life for Ten, planting the beans with his
brothers, watching the sky for rain, daydreaming, weeding and harvesting. And
he was happy. That is, until an odd growth spurt in his thirteenth year. He
went to bed one night a normally proportioned boy, but woke to find his feet
had grown four sizes. His brothers found this quite amusing and teased him
mercilessly.
“Hey, here comes big foot,” they would yell. Or, “Ten will
never be able to step close enough to kiss a girl. His feet will always be in
the way.”
Ten would just smile and continue his work, but inside he
was hurt, just a little.
By his sixteenth birthday, Ten was still five foot seven
inches tall, with a shoe size of 20. In short, his feet were huge. But there
were bigger problems afoot. There had been no rain since April, and now, in the
heat of the summer, the sky still showed no sign of rainclouds and the beans
were struggling. No beans meant Mr. Giant would kick them off the land and
worse, the people in the village would go hungry.
Ten struggled to think of something he could do to help. He
thought and thought and thought. Finally, he came up with an idea. (For while
his parents may have been devoid of imagination, Ten was gifted with a flair
for whimsy.) He decided to do a rain dance, and that’s exactly what he did.
During the night, while his parents, One through Nine and
Eleven slept in their cozy little beds, Ten went out to the bean field. He’d
never danced before. Fear of stepping on his partner’s toes had held him back.
But he would not be put off.
He listened to the wind rattling the dry and nearly leafless
branches of the trees bordering the field until he caught a rhythm. First he
tapped his big toes. Then he wiggled his bottom. Then his knees got in the game
and he started to move around the field. He went around once, then twice. The
breeze grew stronger. He danced up and down the rows, more animated with each
step. Soon his arms were waving and a cloud sashayed across the moon. He
continued to dance, perspiring and waving, weaving and bobbing. The starlight
was gone but slashes of white lit the sky. Still he danced dances that he
didn’t even know how to dance, up and down and around, his enormous feet
kicking up dust and making ruts around the parched little plants. And then it
happened. The stubborn sky let loose a few drops of rain, warm and welcome on
Ten’s sweaty face. But he didn’t stop until the rain came down in sheets and
began to fill the ruts his dancing had made throughout the field.
When he finally stopped moving and stood still in gratitude,
he realized his family was there at the edge of the plot, watching him and
smiling. Their faces were wet with more than rain. They hugged him and thanked
him, and would forever tell the story of their hero’s feet, and how he saved
them all.
