Mrs. Beast (13 page)

    
Snow White has gone silent, absorbed in scab picking.
 
Beauty can't bear the suspense. "How did you return to the cottage?"

    
Snow White pulls her nightgown over her knees and three drops of blood seep through.
 
"Otto arranged an escort. Good thing too, because along the way we were attacked by boars, bears, and wolves.
 
At last, the cottage came into view, and my heart filled with joy.
 
How easily I embraced my old routine: sweeping, sewing, cooking, a place for everything and everything in its place.
 
There's a big difference between order and perfection, you know," she says, a mite too defensively in Beauty's opinion.

    
"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