Mrs. Beast Page 7

  "How could my life be perfect with Vanita stalking me? It didn't take long for her to learn I was living with the dwarfs. She didn't try to kill me though; perhaps due to her age or because she wished to prolong my agony. Every week, she'd pull some rotten stunt, leaving me nervous and desolate as a rain-soaked cat. Lars soothed me with compassion and tender words. He's that way with everyone, but I took it personally at the time. I couldn't resist those enormous grey eyes, gold-flecked hair, and his direct and unassuming manner. In short, I fell in love."

  Snow White sighs heavily. "I' d set my cap for Lars, and what do you know? Wolfgang started courting me, and since my flirtations were directed at Lars, Wolfgang baited him. He teased Lars unmercifully and put a dead herring in his mattress. Pieter and Herman sided with Lars, Max and Gunnard sided with Wolfgang, and Ojars just tried to keep peace. The tension was wearing on all of us, and the day Lars came home from the mines with a black eye, I asked the guys to build me my own house."

  Snow White's voice has become raspy, reminding Beauty of a music box her father had given her with a dancing ballerina that twirled when the lid was raised. After Daisy threw it into a rain barrel, the ballerina's dance was jerky and the tones sour with rust.

  "It was a battle of will to stay in my tower. I hate being alone. I made seven cuts on my arm and swore I wouldn't come out until they healed. I used the time to review my life."

  Beauty twists her hair pensively. "What did you discover?"

  "That passion is destructive--Father's passion for Vanita, Vanita's passion for beauty, Horst' passion for pretty little girls, Otto's passion for collecting, my passion for Lars ruining our sanctuary. Chaos! Disorder! Retribution!" Snow White pounds her fists on the mattress. "The price of passion!" Her eyes blaze like a televangelist's.

  "I vowed to reject passion and bring peace and order into our lives. I wrote a message on seven scraps of paper and tied them to the legs of seven pigeons:

  7 single male dwarfs seek

  7 single female dwarfs,

  object matrimony.

  Must enjoy communal living.

  Apply Cottage of the 7 Dwarfs,

  Grimm Forest.

  "Over the next six months, the brides came out of the woods. Eva, Brunhilde, and Helga came together from the north in a painted wagon drawn by four goats. Freya and Gerda rode in from the east on ponies with silver bells tied in their manes. Ingrid came alone from the western forest with a bow slung over her back and a bag full of rabbits. No one knows where Sigrid came from." Beauty vividly pictures their arrival and looks at her satchel with longing. She romantically imagines the dwarfs' furtive glances at their future spouses. "How did they choose?"

  "I don't know. I kept to my tower until the seventh marriage was performed."

  "They seem to have made the right choices, and the women have become your dear friends."

  "Certainly not! If I'd allowed that, they would have pressed me, knocked on my door wanting to be pals and pry for secrets about the men. The development of our relationships followed an orderly, natural progression; houses were built and babies were born to fill them. My hands are always busy, knitting blankets, washing diapers, rocking babies, spring cleaning, summer planting, autumn harvest," Snow White chants, rocking back and forth.

  Beauty softly asks, "Are you not lonesome without the pleasure of married love?"

  "I have pleasure enough," Snow White replies flatly. "I know it's a trade-off. I made peace with that long ago. What greater pleasure is there than contentment?"

  Joyous passion is better than contentment, Beauty's heart answers. What is pleasure without rapture?

  A cock crows, and Beauty walks to the window. The eastern sky is stained red above the seven hills.

  * * *

  Beauty's Diary

  30 April Page Twelve

  I take a moment to write a few thoughts before departing. I'm not as brave as I was the day I left Fleur de Coeur. My head is muddled from lack of sleep and from Snow White's revelations. Are the woods as dangerous as she claims? Should I stay in the commune until the baby is born? No, I must not abandon my quest, for I would be abandoning all hope of love.

  True to her word, Helga returned my mirror, requesting I keep it inside my satchel until I'm well outside the commune.

  Is Snow White's rejection of mirrors a rejection of herself, not simply a rejection of her beauty? She is a mirror! Hard, sharp, and contained; her scope limited to reflecting only her immediate surroundings. Perhaps because I'm leaving, she allowed me a glimpse beyond the surface. Hers is a dark glass indeed.

  Because she's been up all night, because her good-byes were drawn-out for fear she was mistaken in leaving, and because she's eager to see what Runyon is up to, Beauty's hands shake as she holds the mirror before her face. Standing at the crossroads north of the dwarf commune, Beauty addresses the mirror:

  "Magic mirror, though I may wince,

  show me the whereabouts of Runyon,

  my prince."

  * * *

  Elora switches off the Cuisinart, dips her finger in the nectar she's preparing for Walpurgisnacht and sips it from the hollow of her fingernail. "Needs more Mandrake." She offers a dollop to Croesus, who laps it up, then latches onto Elora's leg and humps like a horny toad.

  "Maybe not," she smirks and cuffs Croesus on the ear. "Stop it, you dog. The crystal ball is flashing. Beauty's using the mirror."

  Croesus shakes his head and trots to the ball.

  "Let's have a look at what she's seeing." Elora snaps her fingers and the Great Hall of Castle Fleur de Coeur appears.

  "Woo-hoo-hoo! What a spectacle. Sort of Busby Berkeley meets Fellini.”

  Two flamingo-feather fans part to reveal Runyon seated on his divan. The fans are waved by two nubile maidens, naked but for gold wrist and ankle bracelets. Kneeling at Runyon's feet is an Adonis with a San Tropez tan, painting Runyon's toenails gold. Green grapes stuck between his toes keep the paint from smearing. The south wall has been knocked out and the Hall expanded. A Roman pool tiled in lapis lazuli has replaced the rose garden. A white marble colonnade with twenty arches is reflected in the deep blue water. From alcoves beneath each arch, women clad in iridescent, fish-scale suits fall into the water like a chain of dominoes. Adjacent to the pool is a performing ring around which Blockhead, dressed in a polka dot clown suit leads Vixen, a pair of black poodles riding on her back. He drops the lead and shuffles toward Runyon, his clown shoes flap-thwacking.

  "Pardon me, Sire. Princess Beauty's been gone a long time. Want me to go look for her?"

  "Has it been a wong time?"

  "Mor'n a month now, Sire. I wouldn't mind a bit going," Blockhead says tugging at his ruffled collar.

  "Beauty should see my improvements," Runyon spreads his arms grandly." She would wook fabuwous as Venus rising from the waves. These women are fetching, but Beauty is the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. Not the most beautiful person, which is I. Correct, Brucie?"

  Bruce answers with a blinding smile, then sucks the grapes from between Runyon's toes like a starving sow on a cob of feed corn.

  "Geez-Louise," Elora cackles. "A certified shrimper."

  Elora snaps her fingers and the view changes to Beauty, sitting on the grass, wiping tears from mirror with a handkerchief. Once the surface is clean, she stares numbly at her reflection. Her baby peddles its jelly bean feet against Beauty's ribs; her eyes narrow, her jaw clenches, and she utters:

  "Magic Mirror, show which road

  will take me to Elora's abode."

  The mirror presents both the north and the west roads.

  "North or west,

  which one's best?

  No, no wait . . ."

  Beauty considers the weeks lost due to Blockhead’s thievery and faulty directions, Vixen's rebellion, Hermes' desertion, the turtle's treachery, and the leeches and festering blisters.

  "Magic mirror, please reportest

  which of these two roads is the

  shortest
?"

  Beauty watches furtively as the image of the west road expands to eliminate the north road. She places the mirror in her satchel and sets out along the westward path.

  Elora arches an ebony eyebrow. "The shortest distance between two points does not always an easy journey make. She should have stuck with the best."

  Chapter Six

  Let Down Your Hair

  Beauty allows no unpleasant thoughts as she walks resolutely down the west road. She's thinking that tomorrow is May Day and magically, a ray of sun struggles through the Grimm clouds and drops a curtain of light on the road ahead. Interpreting this as a good portend, Beauty halts, takes Gerda's sun and moon scarf from the satchel and ties it around her neck.

  Resuming her stride, she soon realizes she is not alone in her appreciation of the rare weather. The undergrowth lining the road rustles and parts as forest creatures waddle and scamper into the light. A dozen red squirrels swish their tails, six chipmunks chatter and shimmy, two porcupines scratch their quills against a birch tree, and seven snakes poke their triangular heads out from under rocks. Beauty wonders if she should keep moving or wait for them to retreat. She decides to walk on; in their giddy gratitude for sunshine, they seem oblivious to her.

  She has walked fifty feet when she sees a stag's head emerge from the trees. Its bare bone eye sockets are horrific. Then, a huge hairy paw pushes a pine branch aside and a black bear guides the blind stag onto the road. The bear's rubbery nose twitches and he turns his thick head in Beauty's direction. He whispers in the stag's ear, then lumbers toward Beauty. Fairy tale beauties are not adept at thinking fast in dangerous situations. Before Beauty can consider the most appropriate course of action, the bear's locomotive breath parts her hair down the middle of her head.

  "You've got some nerve, Missy," the bear scolds, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "Raymond may be blind, but there's nothing wrong with his nose. A few steps more and he'll be able to smell you. Then off he'll go on a tear through the woods, breaking off antler points, maybe even a leg! The scent of a beautiful woman is pungent, as if you don't know."

  In typical beauty form, Beauty is more alarmed by the possibility that her presence will cause harm than by the presence of a towering, ticked-off bear. "I don't understand you, Brother bear . . ." Beauty begins.

  "I'm not your brother," the bear snarls. My name is Bertrand."

  "Am I correct in assuming you'd like me to remove myself from this road? Beauty asks."

  "It's a public thoroughfare, but any human with a bit of sensitivity, especially a beauty, would choose another path."

  Beauty rubs her forehead nervously; she doesn't want another run-in with devious animals.

  "Don't tell me you didn't see the sign, or can't you read? Beauties are notoriously stupid."

  "Now, look here, bear. I'm simply trying to reach Glass Mountain. I'm looking for the enchantress who changed my prince into a beast, for whom I broke the spell by confessing my love, and I love the beast better than the prince. I want my beast back," Beauty rants. "I've been able to read since age three, and I did not see a sign of any sort!"

  Bertrand pulls in his chin and shuffles backward ten feet. He tears away the sucker growth on a honeysuckle bush, revealing a sign that reads: MAIMED ANIMAL ZONE.

  "That stag is my friend. His eyes were gouged out because some queen wanted her beautiful stepdaughter murdered and her eyes brought back as proof of the deed. The girl was so beautiful the servant couldn't bring himself to kill her. There are dozens more like Raymond around here. It's a friggin' epidemic," the bear grunts, folding his arms over his barrel chest.

  "Not to mention da members of our society widout tongues," a voice rises from the undergrowth preceding a red fox.

  "Morning, George," says the bear.

  "How's it hangin' Bertrand?" the fox replies. He sucks his teeth, and a big black wolf slinks onto the road.

  "Lenny, my boy! How are you today?" the bear bellows enthusiastically.

  "Fine, Bert. I'm doin' just fine," the wolf says and rubs his jaw over a dead white rabbit clutched in his left front paw. "Something smells real good," he gurgles, snuffling the air in Beauty's direction. His ears flatten, his eyes narrow, and drool drips from his chops. George the fox snickers and twitches his tail wildly.

  Beauty is familiar with the wolf's expression. It's the same as the Beast wore prior to foreplay. She quickly opens the satchel, grabs the tin filled with treats and pries off the lid. Lenny's ears cock, and his eyes turn round and innocent as a cocker spaniel's. "Cookies!" he yelps, and in seconds has devoured every fruit, nut, and cookie. He glances guiltily at George.

  "Go play in da sun," the fox says. Lenny bounds onto the road turning somersaults, and Beauty notices three jagged scars on his belly.

  "Yeah, Sweetheart, I sees you givin' Lenny's scars da once over. Two a dem's from swallowin' beautiful princesses, and the other from da beautiful miller's daughter. You tink he would pick an ugly dame once in a while, but ugly dames got more sense den to wander in the woods alone, always got some big sheep-shagger husband ready to protect her ugly ass wid his life. Tink he woulda loint after the foist time, but Lenny ain't too bright, and he does have a taste for beauties." The fox winks a copper colored eye at Beauty.

  "I mean, the goils was not hoit. Lenny can't move after swallowin' a whole beauty, so he's easy to catch. Dey slit him open and hefted dem wailin' goils out, but did dey have the decency to grease him? No, dey had to go and put rocks in his belly and sew him up. Dat is inhumane. Ask me and I sez, a beautiful goil goes wanderin’ in the forest alone, she's askin' for trouble."

  "Amen, brother," Bertrand retorts.

  "And ain't dose boar skin shoes you are wearin' and a boar skin satchel you are carryin' in your boar skin-gloved dainty hands? Sees anybody round here wearin' goil skin apparel?

  "I'm sorry for what happened to your friends," Beauty says, "but did the beauties ask to be eaten? Did they deserve to be hunted for their beauty? Were they not as much victims as Raymond and Lenny?"

  The fox runs his tongue over his teeth. "Alls I know is dose beauties is off and married to some rich buggers, livin' in a castle, and Raymond dere is blind as a bat and Lenny's bowels is so screwed up he can only digest coids and whey. Dem cookies and nuts gonna give him da howlin' hoop."

  Bertrand appears to relent. He drops to all fours and shuffles his right paw in the dirt. "There's a cottage up the road; I'll take you there. Will you stay indoors, at least until the clouds move in, as a gesture of respect for our society?"

  * * *

  The cottage sits far back from the road, obscured by waist-high weeds. The window glass hangs in shards and the roof is black with soot. Reaching the doorstep, Beauty looks back at the sunny road and sees Bertrand standing with paws on hips, a troop of various smaller maimed animals behind him. He gestures impatiently for her to enter. The door creaks ominously as she pushes it open.

  Inside, the single room is bare except for a great black kettle and a pile of burlap sacks in a sunny corner. It’s filthy; a layer of greasy dirt coats the walls and the planked floor, which is oddly stained. It stinks too, with the acrid scent of stale beer and human sweat. Beauty steps to the window and looks outside. Lenny, George, Raymond, Bertrand and troop are lying on their backs in the sunny road, sprawled and immobile as Spring break sophomores. Beauty yawns, lies down on the pile of sacks and falls asleep.

  “Wake up, wake up, pretty bride.

  Within this house thou must not hide

  For here do evil things betide!”

  The voice is feminine, muffled, and Beauty believes she is dreaming.

  “Wake, wake, wake for pity sake!” The voice cries out from beneath the burlap pile, and Beauty scoots sideways.

  “Thank goodness. You have been sleeping for seven hours!”

  More curious now than afraid, Beauty gathers up one sack, another, and the voice becomes clearer. “You are in a house of cutthroat cannibal thieves.”

  Beaut
y lifts twelve sacks before reaching the final, lumpy bag. She takes hold of the bottom seam and shakes out a bevy of bones. The dry, pearly bones vibrate and clatter on the wooden floor as the voice sings:

  “I was once a beauty like you. Then my best friend’s beloved made me an improper proposal. When I spurned him, derided him for his disloyalty, he told my friend I had invited him to my bed. She brought me here and gave me three glasses of wine. The first white, the second red, the third yellow, which together rendered me paralyzed. Her parting words as she let in the thieves were: A woman as beautiful as you has not right to flirt with men. You are a common whore who deserves to die. The thieves lit a fire under the big, black kettle, cut me to pieces, cooked and ate me. Go now, quickly! Only one hour until the sun sets and the cutthroats will return. Run, run for your life!”

  Sprinting down the west road, Beauty’s lungs ache and her tongue feels huge. She wills herself to run as she did when escaping some torture of her sisters. To her surprise and dismay, she cannot. Her body seems spongy and leaden. A sharp pain sears her right side and she sits in the middle of the road to catch her breath.

  Pondering, as fairy tale beauties are fond of doing, Beauty concedes that Snow White may not have exaggerated the dangers of Grimm Forest.What am I to do when darkness falls? She opens the satchel, drinks three sips of elderberry wine, and decides to consult the mirror. As she reaches into the bag, an eddy of black smoke forms at her feet. It whirls, stretches, grows into a human shape, and the smoke dissipates to reveal an old man. He wears a hooded purple cape over a yellow tunic printed with runic symbols. A garland of henbane and nightshade crowns his head. His silver-white beard and mustache hang straight to his belt.

  "No need to consult your mirror, Princess." The old man unfolds his webbed fingers. A golden key gleams in his palm. "Twenty paces forward, at the base of the giant black oak, is a door. This key fits the lock, and inside the tree is a passage to Glass Mountain."