Jane Smiley - Some Luck

Papa showed them what to do — he rolled the dice one, two, three times, and on the third time, he put the pot lid down on the table over the corks. The lid came down fast and made a startling noise, and then Papa picked it up again. Frankie’s cork was still there, so he had to give Papa a bean. Martin’s cork was not there, so Papa gave Martin a bean. Henrietta gave Papa a bean, and Opa gave Papa a bean, and so on around the table. Frank now had nine beans.

Frank did not like giving up beans, but at first he could not see how to avoid it. Each person rolled the dice, and everyone sitting around the table read the dice without saying a word, and while Frank was in the middle of understanding the numbers, the lid came down or didn’t. The bad thing was when he pulled his cork just to be safe. He had to give up three beans that way. Frank felt himself getting mad. But Martin was laughing, Tom was laughing, and even Henrietta was laughing, though she had given away lots of beans. Frank knew that if he cried or yelled or had a tantrum, he would be carried up to bed, so he pressed his lips together and stared at the dice. The lid came down. The lid went up. He had to pay a bean to Granny Mary. It was then that Martin whispered in his ear, “It’s always seven, Frankie. Just watch for seven.”

Seven, as Frank well knew, was six and one, or five and two, or three and four. The next time he saw a seven, he pulled his string, and his cork fell into his lap. He looked up. Papa gave him a bean. He had had three beans. Now he had four beans. He laughed. A moment later, the dice and the lid came to him. Papa said, “Can you drop the lid, Frankie? I can do it for you.”

Frank put his hand out for the lid. Then he knelt up on his chair and leaned over the table. All the corks were in the middle, in a circle, with their strings sticking out of them. Frank gripped the dice in his hand and dropped them on the table. They were wide apart from one another. Six and two. Not seven. He picked up the dice. This time he opened his hand a little, the way Martin had done, and let the dice roll back and forth on his palm. Then he dropped them again. One bounced. Four and three. He brought the lid down on the corks. There was a loud clang.

“Not so hard, Frankie,” said Papa. Frank lifted the lid. There were five corks under the lid. Five people gave him beans. He gave three beans away. He did this without being told what to do.

“Ja, ja,” said Opa, “he’s a natural, this boy. Someday, we will tell him about Uncle Hans.”

“There is no Uncle Hans,” said Granny Mary. “It took me years to figure that out.”

“Who is Uncle Hans?” said Papa, who was standing behind Frank.

“Uncle Hans was the lucky one,” said Opa.

“There is no Uncle Hans,” said Granny Mary.

“True enough,” said Opa, and they all laughed.

There was a Hans, though; Opa had told Frank the story.

One day, Hans left the village and walked toward the dark mountains. As he was walking along, a hedgehog came out of the forest and said to Hans, “Would you like to come with me into the forest? I will give you an enormous fir tree to live in, all your own.” But Hans said no. He walked along. A little while later, a fox came out of the ground and said to Hans, “Good morning! Would you like to come with me? I will show you a wonderful cavern all hung with icicles, clear and shining and beautiful.” But Hans looked at the foxhole and said, “No, thank you.” He kept walking, and a bluebird flew down from a tall tree and said, “I will give you a magic feather, and if you hold it in your hand, you can fly way up in the sky and look down on a beautiful lake with many boats.” This tempted Hans, but, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed too good to be true, so he turned away and went on. And then a wolf came up to him, and he had big teeth and long, rough hair, and Hans was very afraid. And the wolf growled, “I have nothing for you! Do you have something for me?” Hans said, in a very small voice, “I have a penny. That is all I have to make my way in the city.”

The wolf’s eyes glared at Hans with a yellow glow, and he growled, “May I have your penny? I do not have even a penny.” So Hans gave him the penny, not so much out of fear, after all, as out of pity. Of all the animals, he thought, the wolf was the only one who had nothing. Once the wolf had taken Hans’s penny he said, “Would you care for a ride?”

Hans nodded, and the wolf knelt down, and Hans climbed upon his back. And then the wolf stood up and galloped away down the road. Hans nestled into his fur and held on tight around his neck, and before he knew it, the wolf had turned into a great prince who lived in a palace. As they galloped up to the palace gate, the wolf said, “Of all my subjects, you are the only one who was willing to give me a penny, and so I give you the name Lord Hans, Lucky Hans, and you will live with me in my castle for the rest of your life.” And the gate opened. Frank knew that, whatever Granny Mary might say, for him and Opa, Lucky Hans did exist.

At the end of the game, Mama picked him up. He had eleven beans, which was four more than Henrietta and one more than Tom. Mama carried him up to bed. He was awake enough to push his beans under his pillow.

FROM WHERE Mary Elizabeth was sitting, she could see several new and interesting items in the front room. The nearest of these were her own feet, stuck out in front of her, as they often were, pointing upward, and not appearing to wiggle, even though they felt like they were wiggling. The most she could get them to do was shift slightly, back and forth, but she was able to connect this odd immobility with the fact that Mama had slid them into her shoes sometime before. What was new and interesting about her shoes was that they were bright and eye-catching. She watched them. And then, helpfully, Joey squatted down and said, “May Liz red shoes. May Liz red shoes.”

Beyond the shoes, and beyond Joey, was Frankie. Frankie had another of the new and interesting items — it stuck out behind him and dragged against the floor, and it stuck out in front of him. It had eyes and ears and it moved, but it didn’t seem to be alive. Frankie capered about the room and it went with him. Frankie waved one of his arms. Mary Elizabeth turned her head and her body first one way and then the other way, just to watch Frankie. Then Joey ran over to him and grabbed the lower end and jerked it upward, and Frankie fell down, and Joey said, “It’s mine!” Then the two boys did something that Mary Elizabeth found eternally fascinating — they jerked and pulled, back and forth, until Frankie stuck out his arms and pushed Joey, and Joey tumbled backward and started screaming. Frankie kicked him and said, “Stop whining or I will give you something to whine about!”

Now Mary Elizabeth had pulled herself up, using the same chair she always did — it was the easiest thing in the world, especially with shoes on — and in her excitement, she sidestepped around the chair and laughed and took her hand off the chair and waved it. Joey turned toward her, crying less now, and he lay there and sighed, then sat up. Frankie and the new thing ran into the dining room, and Mary Elizabeth heard Mama call, “What are you boys up to now? If I hear any more screaming, I will tie you together like I did last week, and you can learn to cooperate all over again! Your fighting is driving me out of my mind!”

Mary Elizabeth sidestepped two more steps, but her feet and her shoes weren’t working very well, and though her one hand was still on the chair, her other was still waving in the air, and, what with one thing and another, she was beginning to lose confidence in her ability to get all the way around the chair to the table. Yes, she was confused, no doubt about it. She stopped moving and looked at Joey.