Chapter 5- A Baaaaa-d Day
The girls didn't know what to do, other than remain in the house and hide under a table. As it turned out, all of Gilles Moreau's sheep and goats were now grown to twenty times their normal size. One of the goats stuck its head in Monsieur Desjardin's bakery window and gobbled up all of the fresh pastries and baguettes. Andre tried to whack its nose with his rolling pin, but came dangerously close to getting his hand bitten off. Marie put her apron over her face and screamed in terror near the ovens.
Outside in the main street of Molyneux, vegetable and fruit displays were toppled over and the giant creatures were eating to their hearts' content. People ran screaming and yelling, trying to get away from the sheep and goats' stomping, gigantic feet. Doors slammed as people took shelter inside their cottages.
"GILLES, WHAT IN THE HOLY BLAZES HAVE YOU DONE?"
Stanley Moreau, furious and terrified, raced on his stout legs as fast as he could toward his brother's farm, looking for him. He found Gilles at home, sitting in an easy chair, and dragged him out of it.
"Stanley, what's wrong?"
"You don't know what's wrong? I'll show you what is wrong, you clueless idiot! What kind of witch doctor did you buy your sheep feed from?"
"What are you talking about?" Gilles was confused as Stanley dragged him outside and pointed in the direction of the village. In a split second, he saw the backside of an immense sheep and heard the hullabaloo in the village square.
"Mon Dieu!"
Gilles' wife, Mathilde, saw it as well, and fainted. Stanley and Gilles worked to pick the heavyset lady up and drag her back inside. They managed to get her into the chair. The children woke up; the one-year-old triplet boys started squalling.
"Mathilde, cherie- wake up and keep all the children inside!"
Madame Moreau opened one dazed brown eye and nodded.
The brothers, both short, squat men in their late thirties, rushed as fast as they could back to the village square, chests heaving with the effort.
"We need to slaughter them!" shouted Stanley. "Hey, where is that fool cousin of ours?"
"Which cousin?" The brothers were related to about a third of Molyneux.
"Lefou! We have to find him- he knows where Gaston kept his weapons!"
"That big gun of his, oh, oh…Gaston- I wish he was still alive!" Gilles whimpered in fear. This would have been a job for Gaston, but now all the villagers had to handle this wooly problem on their own.
CRASH! A goat butted someone's upstairs window, breaking it. Two gargantuan sheep were eating Madame Fortier's lovely apple trees.
Gilles and Stanley were joined by Andre the baker as they all pounded on the tavern door. "I saw him go in this morning," said Andre. "He's probably still in there, crying in his beer." The three men wrenched the unlocked door open and looked around.
"Lefou, are you here?"
Stanley spotted him, still passed out on the bear rug on the floor, face down. They flipped him over, and slapped him on the cheeks.
"WAKE UP!"
"Huh…?"
"You have to tell us where Gaston kept his big blunderbuss gun! We are being attacked by giant…beasts!" shouted Stanley.
The word 'beast' penetrated itself into Lefou's addled mind and he snapped to attention, sitting up on the floor. He opened his bloodshot brown eyes widely to see nine… or six… or was it just three? men leaning over him.
"We need Gaston's gun to kill all the beasts outside! You need to find that gun, Lefou! Right now!"
The short but strong Moreau brothers each grabbed their even shorter cousin's hands and hauled him to a standing position. Andre threw a beer stein full of cold water on Lefou's head, jolting him wide awake. He tried to hide under a table, but the men grabbed him by each arm and they all ran out of the tavern, straight to the de Soleil family home at the edge of town, at near-rocket speed.
Lefou fumbled with the keys and unlocked the door. It was hard to fathom, but this was his house now, according to the will. He rushed past a half-dozen elk mounts to the master bedroom, in which the blunderbuss was displayed proudly on an antler-rack opposite Gaston's late parents' old bed. He jumped up to grab it, missed, jumped again, knocked it out of the gun rack, and caught it as it fell. He then joined the group of men and they nervously went back to the village's main street.
"Oh, gosh- th-those aren't Beasts, they're giant sheep!" Lefou exclaimed, terrified.
One of the cottages' roofs was caved in, as a goat had demolished it. The village square smelled horribly of sheep droppings. Now, only two of the sheep were still in the village square; all of the other giant animals had taken off to the forest in search of more edibles.
One of the two sheep stomped away toward the others in the forest, with a "baaaa" that shook the cottages' windows. The few men who still remained outside- the Moreaus, Lefou, Andre, Jacques, Tom, and Dick- covered their ears at the amplified bleating. Now only one enormous sheep remained; standing still near the fountain, happily drinking it dry.
"Get 'em! Now's your chance!" whispered Stanley to Lefou.
"What…me? I can't shoot it! I never could aim very well; Gaston never let me shoot any-"
"Fine, I'll do it!" Stanley reached to yank the gun out of his hands.
"No- wait…I'll try!" Lefou decided, changing his mind and hugging the blunderbuss. Maybe…just maybe, he could prove to the village that he could be brave. He was the official hunter's assistant for years, after all. He had gone into the dark creepy woods with Gaston often enough, and sometimes, they came closer to large wild creatures than he cared to.
He crept up behind the tremendous sheep, which had its head bent over the fountain, still drinking. A large yellowish fountain sprayed from its back end into the street. Lefou jumped back. "Yeesh…" he said, avoiding the spray.
After the sheep was done relieving itself, Lefou crept up between the animal's back legs. He would have been terrified before, but in his grief stricken state, he didn't really care what happened to him. Besides, physical injury was something that had never fazed him much.
"Oh…don't get too close…" whispered Gilles, trembling and wringing his hands.
I can get a good aim now, Lefou thought, standing directly underneath it. He aimed the gun straight up, right at its heart. His own heart was pounding. Suddenly, one of the sheep's massive legs moved, knocking him over.
BOOM!
The gun discharged. The enormous animal flopped to the ground with a thud, dead.
"You did it, Lefou! Uh…oh no, we've got to get him out of there!" said Gilles, worried.
The remaining men gathered around the beastly sheep's carcass. Lefou was pinned underneath. If they didn't get him out, there would be a second death in the village that very week.
"Right there!" shouted Andre.
Two brown shoes were seen sticking out from under the mountain of white wool, right in front of the animal's back leg. The Moreaus grabbed each of Lefou's feet and pulled; while burly Dick, with the help of Andre, Tom, and Jacques- pushed, grunting and groaning, and managed to roll the creature slightly off to one side. Finally, they pulled the small man free.
"Are you all right?" asked Richard-Louis Revelle.
"I'm fine, Dick. Just like always." Lefou replied, slightly dazed and spitting out fluffy white wool. He managed a weak smile. "Thanks, guys."
By then, a crowd of villagers had come out of their homes and gathered around the dead sheep, with the small group of men standing near it. They broke out into a cheer.
"Hey- I know! Here's what we should do!" announced Stanley happily. "Gentlemen, go in my shop and gather all of my carving knives and cleavers. Gilles, get your shearer. We are going to cook this fine kill up and have us a feast tonight!"
"Hurrah!" cheered the entire village.
Gilles was probably the happiest of all. The wool from the behemoth would be worth at least five hundred francs. He'd be able to afford not only six eggs for his children, but gourmet omelets at Madame Jauquet's café for a year. And new dresses for Mathilde, or even a new carriage. And from now on, he would contribute to those hungry or less fortunate. He wondered if the old lady he'd seen yesterday was still around.
All through the day the villagers sheared the giant sheep and butchered it into pounds and pounds of meat. All night they held a feast, feeling a little bittersweet that Gaston was not there to laugh his loud guffaw and brag and boast. The man who did slay the animal, Lefou, was modest about the day's events and his part; he was a little quiet and withdrawn, even though his cousins and the rest kept trying to congratulate him. They didn't even mind that he'd consumed all of the tavern's beer that morning, so everyone had to drink milk.
"So, your old man tells me you own the tavern now, is that true?" asked Stanley, at one of the outdoor picnic tables.
"Yeah, it's true. I own all of Gaston's property now, I guess," Lefou said, flatly.
"Well, congratulations! You are one lucky guy. So... when are you going to get some more beer for us? You are going to reopen the tavern soon, right? And replenish all our beer- right?"
"Uh-huh," said Lefou, slumping down on the table sleepily. "I've been thinking..."
"Dangerous past-" Stanley started to say.
"No, really. I want to do something. Something that I kinda wanted to do that... Gaston never really let me. We could only serve his favorite kind of beer, y'know? And...well, his grandfather kept these old ale recipes in the back cabinet of the tavern. I'm gonna try to make some. It'll be cheaper than traveling to Thionville and Metz all the time to buy beer."
"Good idea," his older cousin remarked, while reaching for another piece of lamb-chop.
"Thanks." Amazingly, Lefou had thought of something other than the agonizing void of grief that day.
Stanley looked concerned again, his brow furrowed. "This whole crazy day with the sheep...do you think it has anything to do with that demon-possessed castle or... the Beast?"
"What do you mean?" asked Lefou. Tom, Dick, and Gilles had joined them at the table, and their ears perked up at the mention of the dreadful castle and the Beast. Gilles' face was turning a pasty color; his hands started to tremble a bit.
"I mean, how do we know whether the Beast is dead or not? He-it... might be still alive out there." Stanley's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "And the demonic magic or whatever the blazes you call it that made it cause the furniture and all that stuff to come to life..." Stanley unconciously rubbed his still-sore backside which bore second-degree burns- "might still be around- and it has come here! And it bewitched your sheep, Gilles!"
Gilles could only let out a squeak; he clutched his fists over his mouth, then quickly made the gesture of the sign of the cross.
Lefou was looking uncomfortable as well. That stab wound on his own backside was still sore, but had numbed greatly from his beer-binge. He shook his head and his eyes started to get misty as he stammered a protest.
"N-no. Gaston killed him. He had to! He was Gaston. He-he was the greatest hun-"
"But how do we know? He plummeted to the ground from a tower! The priest heard the details from those guys who brought his body back. My guess is that monster pushed him off!" boomed Stanley. A few people in the picnic table nearest them started to turn and stare at them. He went back to an angry whisper.
"There is no proof that it's dead. Lefou, you need proof and I propose we go back to that castle and search for its body."
"Stanley's right," agreed Dick, nibbling meat from an enormous bone. "We need closure. We need to know whether or not Gaston succeeded."
Lefou sighed and blinked his misty eyes quickly to gain composure. "Guys...we should. I wanna know, too. More than anything, because then we can honor...hey, if you guys can find its body, we could get its head and we could hang it up in the tavern as a trophy. It will always be there...to remember the last great victory of Gaston."
"Hear, hear!" agreed both Tom and Dick, solemnly, clanking their mugs together.
"Let's do it tomorrow." said Stanley. "Who's in?"
"I can't, guys. I need to get the tavern back in business and I'm gonna go buy some hops to brew ale. Sorry," said Lefou in a breaking voice. He put his head down on the table, hiding his face in his sleeves so the guys couldn't see him cry like a kid.
"Well the rest of us are going. Gilles- you too. No excuses. And I'll ask Andre and Jacques too."
Gilles gulped.
The sun was setting, and a biting chill- the death throes of winter as spring defeated it every March- settled into the air as the men each rose from the table and headed home. Lefou was the last to leave. When spring finally arrives in its full bloom, he thought, it will be especially hard to take. After autumn, spring was Gaston's second favorite hunting season.
