The BFG (7 page)

‘Are you sure there’s nothing else to eat around here except those disgusting smelly snozzcumbers?’ she asked.

‘Not even a fizzwinkel,’ answered the Big Friendly Giant.

‘In that case, may I please have a little water?’ she said.

‘Water?’ said the BFG, frowning mightily. ‘What is water?’

‘We drink it,’ Sophie said. ‘What do you drink?’

‘Frobscottle,’ announced the BFG. ‘All giants is drinking frobscottle.’

‘Is it as nasty as your snozzcumbers?’ Sophie asked.

‘Nasty!’ cried the BFG. ‘Never is it nasty! Frobscottle is sweet and jumbly!’ He got up from his chair and went to a second huge cupboard. He opened it and took out a glass bottle that must have been six feet tall. The liquid inside it was pale green, and the bottle was half full.

‘Here is frobscottle!’ he cried, holding the bottle up proud and high, as though it contained some rare wine. ‘Delumptious fizzy frobscottle!’ he shouted. He gave it a shake and the green stuff began to fizz like mad.

‘But look! It’s fizzing the
wrong way
!’ Sophie cried. And indeed it was. The bubbles, instead of travelling upwards and bursting on the surface, were shooting downwards and bursting at the bottom. A pale green frothy fizz was forming at the bottom of the bottle.

‘What on earth is you meaning
the wrong way?
’ asked the BFG.

‘In our fizzy drinks,’ Sophie said, ‘the bubbles always go up and burst at the top.’

‘
Upwards
is the
wrong way
!’ cried the BFG. ‘You mustn’t ever be having the bubbles going upwards! That the most flushbunking rubbish I ever is hearing!’

‘Why do you say that?’ Sophie asked.

‘You is asking me
why?
’ cried the BFG, waving the enormous bottle around as though he were conducting an orchestra. ‘You is actually meaning to tell me you cannot see
why
it is a scrotty mistake to have the bubbles flying up instead of down?’

‘You said it was flushbunking. Now you say it’s scrotty. Which is it?’ Sophie asked politely.

‘Both!’ cried the BFG. ‘It is a flushbunking
and
a scrotty mistake to let the bubbles go upwards! If you can’t see why, you must be as quacky as a duckhound! By ringo, your head must be so full of frogsquinkers and buzz-wangles, I is frittered if I know how you can think at all!’

‘Why shouldn’t the bubbles go upward?’ Sophie asked.

‘I will explain,’ said the BFG. ‘But tell me first what name is you calling
your
frobscottle by?’

‘One is Coke,’ Sophie said. ‘Another is Pepsi. There are lots of them.’

‘And the bubbles is
all
going up?’

‘They all go up,’ Sophie said.

‘Catasterous!’ cried the BFG. ‘Upgoing bubbles is a catasterous disastrophe!’

‘Will you
please
tell me why?’ Sophie said.

‘If you will listen carefully I will try to explain,’ said the BFG. ‘But your brain is so full of bugwhiffles, I doubt you will ever understand.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Sophie said patiently.

‘Very well, then. When you is drinking this cokey drink of yours,’ said the BFG, ‘it is going straight down into your tummy. Is that right? Or is it left?’

‘It’s right,’ Sophie said.

‘And the
bubbles
is going also into your tummy. Right or left?’

‘Right again,’ Sophie said.

‘And the bubbles is fizzing upwards?’

‘Of course,’ Sophie said.

‘Which means,’ said the BFG, ‘that they will all come swishwiffling up your throat and out of your mouth and make a foulsome belchy burp!’

‘That is often true,’ Sophie said. ‘But what’s wrong with a little burp now and again? It’s sort of fun.’

‘Burping is filthsome,’ the BFG said. ‘Us giants is never doing it.’

‘But with
your
drink,’ Sophie said, ‘what was it you called it?’

‘Frobscottle,’ said the BFG.

‘With frobscottle,’ Sophie said, ‘the bubbles in your tummy will be going
downwards
and that could have a far nastier result.’

‘Why nasty?’ asked the BFG, frowning.

‘Because,’ Sophie said, blushing a little, ‘if they go down instead of up, they’ll be coming out somewhere else with an even louder and ruder noise.’

‘A whizzpopper!’ cried the BFG, beaming at her. ‘Us giants is making whizzpoppers all the time! Whizzpopping is a sign of happiness. It is music in our ears! You surely is not telling me that a little whizzpopping is forbidden among human beans?’

‘It is considered extremely rude,’ Sophie said.

‘But you is whizzpopping, is you not, now and again?’ asked the BFG.

‘Everyone is whizzpopping, if that’s what you call it,’ Sophie said. ‘Kings and Queens are whizzpopping. Presidents are whizzpopping. Glamorous film stars are whizzpopping. Little babies are whizzpopping. But where I come from, it is not polite to talk about it.’

‘Redunculous!’ said the BFG. ‘If everyone is making whizzpoppers, then why not talk about it? We is now having a swiggle of this delicious frobscottle and you will see the happy result.’ The BFG shook the bottle vigorously. The pale green stuff fizzed and bubbled. He removed the cork and took a tremendous gurgling swig.

‘It’s glummy!’ he cried. ‘I love it!’

For a few moments, the Big Friendly Giant stood quite still, and a look of absolute ecstasy began to spread over his long wrinkly face. Then suddenly the heavens opened and he let fly with a series of the loudest and rudest noises Sophie had ever heard in her life. They reverberated around the walls of the cave like thunder and the glass jars rattled on their shelves. But most astonishing of all, the force of the explosions actually lifted the enormous giant clear off his feet, like a rocket.

‘
Whoopee!
’ he cried, when he came down to earth again. ‘Now
that
is whizzpopping for you!’

Sophie burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it.

‘Have some yourself!’ cried the BFG, tipping the neck of the enormous bottle towards her.

‘Don’t you have a cup?’ Sophie said.

‘No cups. Only bottle.’

Sophie opened her mouth, and very gently the BFG tipped the bottle forward and poured some of the fabulous frobscottle down her throat.

And oh gosh, how delicious it was! It was sweet and refreshing. It tasted of vanilla and cream, with just the faintest trace of raspberries on the edge of the flavour. And the bubbles were wonderful. Sophie could actually feel them bouncing and bursting all around her tummy. It was an amazing sensation. It felt as though hundreds of tiny people were dancing a jig inside her and tickling her with their toes. It was lovely.

‘It’s lovely!’ she cried.

‘Just wait,’ said the BFG, flapping his ears.

Sophie could feel the bubbles travelling lower and lower down her tummy, and then suddenly, inevitably… the explosion came. The trumpets sounded and she too made the walls of the cavern ring with the sound of music and thunder.

‘Bravo!’ shouted the BFG, waving the bottle. ‘You is very good for a beginner! Let’s have some more!’

After the mad frobscottle party was over, Sophie settled herself again on top of the enormous table.

‘You is feeling better now?’ asked the Big Friendly Giant.

‘Much better, thank you,’ Sophie said.

‘Whenever I is feeling a bit scrotty,’ the BFG said, ‘a few gollops of frobscottle is always making me hopscotchy again.’

‘I must say it’s quite an experience,’ Sophie said.

‘It’s a razztwizzler,’ the BFG said. ‘It’s gloriumptious.’ He turned away and strode across the cave and picked up his dream-catching net. ‘I is galloping off now,’ he said, ‘to catch some more whoppsy-whiffling dreams for my collection. I is doing this every day without missing. Is you wishing to come with me?’

‘Not me, thank you very much!’ Sophie said. ‘Not with those other giants lurking outside!’

‘I is snuggling you very cosy into the pocket of my waistcoat,’ the BFG said. ‘Then no one is seeing you.’

Before Sophie could protest, he had picked her up off the table and popped her into the waistcoat pocket. There was plenty of room in there. ‘Is you wishing for a little hole to peep out from?’ he asked her.

‘There’s one here already’ she said. She had found a small hole in the pocket, and when she put one eye close to it, she could see out very well indeed. She watched the BFG as he bent down and filled his suitcase with empty glass jars. He closed the lid, picked up the suitcase in one hand, took the pole with the net on the end in the other hand, and marched towards the entrance of the cave.

As soon as he was outside, the BFG set off across the great hot yellow wasteland where the blue rocks lay and the dead trees stood and where all the other giants were skulking about.

Sophie, squatting low on her heels in the pocket of the leather waistcoat, had one eye glued to the little hole. She saw the group of enormous giants about three hundred yards ahead.

‘Hold your breaths!’ the BFG whispered down to her. ‘Cross your figglers! Here we go! We is going right past all these other giants! Is you seeing that whopping great one, the one nearest to us?’

‘I see him,’ Sophie whispered back, quivering.

‘That is the horriblest of them all. And the biggest of them all. He is called the Fleshlumpeating Giant.’

‘I don’t want to hear about him,’ Sophie said.

‘He is fifty-four feet high,’ the BFG said softly as he jogged along. ‘And he is swolloping human beans like they is sugar-lumps, two or three at a time.’

‘You’re making me nervous,’ Sophie said.

‘I is nervous myself,’ the BFG whispered. ‘I always gets as jumpsy as a joghopper when the Fleshlumpeating Giant is around.’

‘Keep away from him,’ Sophie pleaded.

‘Not possible,’ the BFG answered. ‘He is galloping easily two times as quicksy as me.’

‘Shall we turn back?’ Sophie said.

‘Turning back is worse,’ the BFG said. ‘If they is seeing me running away, they is all giving chase and throwing rocks.’

‘They would never
eat
you though, would they?’ Sophie asked.

‘Giants is never guzzling other giants,’ the BFG said. ‘They is fighting and squarreling a lot with each other, but never guzzling. Human beans is more tasty to them.’

The giants had already spotted the BFG and all heads were turned, watching him as he jogged forward. He was aiming to pass well to the right of the group.

Through her little peep-hole, Sophie saw the Fleshlumpeating Giant moving over to intercept them. He didn’t hurry. He just loped over casually to a point where the BFG would have to pass. The others loped after him. Sophie counted nine of them altogether and she recognized the Bloodbottler in the middle of them. They were bored. They had nothing to do until nightfall. There was an air of menace about them as they loped slowly across the plain with long lolloping strides, heading for the BFG.

‘Here comes the runty one!’ boomed the Fleshlumpeater. ‘Ho-ho there, runty one! Where is you splatch-winkling away to in such a hefty hurry?’ He shot out an enormous arm and grabbed the BFG by the hair. The BFG didn’t struggle. He simply stopped and stood quite still and said, ‘Be so kind as to be letting go of my hair, Fleshlumpeater.’

The Fleshlumpeater released him and stepped back a pace. The other giants stood around, waiting for the fun to start.

‘Now then, you little grobsquiffler!’ boomed the Fleshlumpeater. ‘We is all of us wanting to know where you is galloping off to every day in the daytime. Nobody ought to be galloping off to anywhere until it is getting dark. The human beans could easily be spotting you and starting a giant hunt and we is not wanting that to happen, is we not?’

‘We is not!’ shouted the other giants. ‘Go back to your cave, runty one!’

‘I is not galloping to any human bean country,’ the BFG said. ‘I is going to other places.’