Gaston’s Story, Part I

By Tan M. Nguyen (5/9/05)

Gaston lay deathly still and silent at the edge of a hill. The deep brush of the forest enclosed around him like a dark tomb. His stomach began to itch from the chafing grass, but he ignored it. His eyes and his focus, were all concentrated through the scope of his hunting rifle. Just one shot…that’s all I need…He itched ever so slowly forward, as close as he dared to the singing brook below. Finally, he saw it: the male stag had stopped to drink. Its antlers were proud and mighty- a perfect trophy for the wall in his house. Gaston smiled. After 3 days of stealthy pursuit, he would now be rewarded. Suddenly the stag’s ears twitched. It looked up, sensing imminent danger…BANG!

The stag crumpled, its instincts too slow for Gaston’s patience and hunting prowess. He rose out of his hiding spot, muscles rippling after three hours in an extremely cramped position. He shouldered his rifle and bounded down to his kill. The stag probably weighed over 300 lbs, but that was not a problem for Gaston. He was extraordinarily strong, and the local girls loved him for it. At a fair he once picked up three blonde girls sitting on a bench, just to prove to them he could do it. In any case, he only needed to carry the stag to his wagon about 100 meters away.

Gaston’s wagon was made of sturdy oak, a product of his father’s amazing carpentry. His family all assumed he would take up the family craft, but he frequently neglected his apprenticeship to hunt rabbits with his friends. The carpentry guild eventually dismissed the uninspired boy, but by then Gaston had established himself as an excellent woodsman. In fact, his rudimentary carpentry skills supplemented his outdoor prowess. He knew how to construct the cleverest traps and the most efficient shelters with whatever materials nature gave him. A year after his dismissal, there was not a village within 100 kilometers that had not heard of Gaston the Hunter and his exploits.

“Gaston! Wow what a kill! That is some amazing work!” LeFou was his personal assistant and childhood friend. He had waited for Gaston at the wagon for the past 3 hours. “I was beginning to think that you ran into some trouble! I was just about to rush in and rescue you.”

“Haha, LeFou, how long have you known me? Did you really think a stag would get the best of me?”

“Well, you know, we are in the haunted Forest…”

“Don’t remind me,” Gaston bit sharply. Gaston’s reputation was built on the fact that he consistently killed larger than life beasts like the stag. However, both he and LeFou knew they found these larger beasts because they hunted in areas where no one dared to hunt. Without the presence of human hunters, the game naturally grew larger. Legend had it that the Forest contained an ancient Castle, haunted and cursed by a lone Beast. Documents from old government files suggested that there indeed might have been a castle maintained by a Prince Renard fifty years ago. The elder members of the village trembled at any mention of this Prince, and the topic had since become taboo. Casual gossip at the tavern held that the Prince fell under a magical spell, turning his form into that of a hideous Beast. With this form came extraordinary strength, and terrible magic at his disposal.

Given the close proximity of this terror, few people dared to talk about the legend openly, preferring instead to whisper about it behind locked doors. Even fewer dared to venture into the Forest to find this Castle. Those that did almost always came back profoundly disturbed, if they came back at all. It fueled the legend even more. Gaston himself thought he had seen the very top of the Castle on one of his hunts in the Forest, but when he tried to approach, he mysteriously lost consciousness. When he woke up, LeFou was fussing over him at the local hospital, scolding him for spending the previous night in a drunken debauchery with those three blonde girls from the fair. When Gaston claimed he had been hunting in the morning near the Castle, LeFou let up an exasperated cry, certain that the liquor had taken his friend’s senses. Gaston was never too sure what happened that morning, and he never figured out how he ended up at the hospital, but he did believe in the legend just a little more.

LeFou finished loading the stag onto the wagon, and they whipped their horse for the long ride home. The Forest had nearly reclaimed the dirt road they used to navigate the wilderness, but Gaston and LeFou frequented this area so much that they hardly needed it anymore. “So Gaston, did you see the Beast today?”

“You know, I really wish you would drop that subject. I admit, I MIGHT have been a little drunk the night before, but it doesn’t mean we have to keep reliving my hallucinations every time we hunt. Especially since it happened over a year ago.”

“I’ll drop it when you do something more crazy and weird.” LeFou was smiling broadly. His demeanor then grew serious. “You know, I wasn’t joking when I said I would have come in and rescued you.”

Gaston turned to his friend, and looked at him with the same serious tone. “I know. Thanks.” LeFou’s dedication to his friend touched Gaston, especially since both of them knew that there was little LeFou could do to rescue Gaston. LeFou was a dwarf, and his physical stature was the source of many jokes when they were younger. The bullies also teased Gaston for his abnormally large size. They called him all sorts of names, the worst one being “Nasty Bear,” for his unusual chest hair at age 14. Naturally, Gaston and LeFou became the best of friends. They were an odd pair, one ridiculously large, and the other ridiculously small. As their friendship grew, the taunting diminished. They began to find courage in each other, both sticking up for their friend and for themselves with devastating tenacity. Casual observers remarked that LeFou seemed to benefit the most from the friendship, but that was because they never realized that LeFou was Gaston’s source of inspiration and charisma. In fact, Gaston would have never ventured back into the Forest without the insistence of LeFou to face his fears. Gaston attributed his fame as much to his skill as to LeFou’s unwavering confidence in him.

“Where to now?” LeFou asked.

“We’re going to drop the stag off at Jean Paul’s home. They haven’t had food to eat in a couple of days now.” As his fame grew, Gaston never had to worry about expenses again. Every tavern and inn insisted on giving complimentary room and board to France’s greatest hunter. Gaston therefore hunted to help the hungry, charging nothing for his services. The generosity of Gaston the Kind was almost as well-known as his kills. Gaston never kept the antlers of his kills, but they nearly always ended up at the local tavern, hanging as if they were Gaston’s personal trophy room. Gaston privately thought it was another ploy the taverns developed to attract more customers.

“Ah, Gaston, ever the soft hearted one.” LeFou began to chat about nothing in particular, drifting from one topic to the next. He never asked Gaston to give input, only to listen. Gaston himself kept his eyes on the road. They were nearing the area where he felt the Castle lay. He only relaxed when they were back on the main road. When they passed by a field of daffodils, something caught his eye. No, it was not something. It was someone.

“LeFou, who is that?”

“Oh her? That’s Belle, the daughter of the village idiot. I wouldn’t pursue her.”

“The Village Idiot?” Gaston asked. She’s beautiful. Belle seemed be enjoying the sunshine, singing brightly to herself. She took no notice of the onlookers.

“Crazy old loon who thinks he is an inventor. Usually spends the entire night in his basement, though we never see anything productive except loud explosions and louder curses.”

Gaston laughed. “But what about her?”

“Oh, no. I hear she is just as odd. She reads. Reading in a woman is dangerous. I don’t care how pretty she is. If she doesn’t know her place, I’m not giving her any of my space. Ohhh no. It’s not that smile again, is it?”

“Well you know how I like them, LeFou.” Gaston craned over the side of the wagon for one last glimpse of the girl before the road turned away from her. Her beauty had already been ingrained in his memory.

“I just don’t understand why you have to love the oddest women, especially when you can have any girl you want.”

“Ha! Lefou, I do love all women. They just don’t love me.” Lefou made an incredulous face.

“No, really. Girls don’t love me. They love the legend of me. They love Gaston the Hunter, Gaston the Handsome Benefactor. They do not love the real me. Most of them are blinded by my fame, and it’s horrible.”

“Oh, poor Gaston. Why is he cursed with beauty and fame?” LeFou laughed.

“I’m serious, LeFou! I don’t resent my situation in life. I just…wish there was someone who could see past my situation in life. I wish there was someone who could see me for who I really am.”

LeFou blinked, not quite understanding. He opened his mouth to tease his friend more, but changed his mind. Gaston was too lost in his own thoughts, and would not have heard a word LeFou said. LeFou turned toward the setting sun, perplexed by his friend’s attitude. They were silent for the rest of the ride home, one contemplating his friend, the other contemplating Belle.

Part II

Home