Mrs. Beast (18 page)

    
"Che fica!" A masculine voice growls breathlessly from the mirror.

    
"Ich komme!"
 
A female voice answers.

    
Beauty recognizes the voice as Rapunzel's, and she also knows the meaning of her words she had heard the dwarf children shout many times in response to their mothers:
I'm coming!
  
However, the mirror's reflection remains a mystery, a blur of undulating, swarthy flesh tones with a dark, dividing center line, like a huge mottled plum.
 
Beauty scowls:

     
"Of this scene,

       I cannot make

       sense.

       
Please show me

       Rapunzel's

       countenance."

    
As the scope widens, so do Beauty's eyes with the realization that she's been looking at a man's backside bouncing between Rapunzel's thighs.
 
Rapunzel's face contorts and she crows, "Merde, faire pleurer de cyclope!"

    
"That's French, says Scheherazade:
Shit, make the cyclops cry."

    
Beauty whirls about to find Omar and Scheherazade standing beside her.
  
She quickly hides the mirror behind her back.

    
"The man in the mirror is Italian.
 
I think he said,
What a piece of ass.
" Omar shakes his hand for emphasis.

    
"Sono venuto tre volte!" the man's voice thunders from the mirror.

    
"Yep," Scheherazade nods, "that's Italian all right:
I came three times!
"

    
“Mother may not be able to write, but she is multi-lingual," Omar says proudly.

    
"Gosh, Beauty, your whole neck is red.
 
Are you angry?"
 
Scheherazade asks incredulously.

    
"I'm not angry."
 
Beauty takes a cleansing breath and peeks at the mirror.
 
The couple now lay in a forest glade, glowing on the golden blanket of Rapunzel's hair, no infant in sight.

     
"Magic mirror,

       lest I
die of

       humiliation,

       
quickly remove

       this
aberration."

    
Now the mirror's surface reflects only Beauty's image, which is, indeed, red as a beet.
 
She places the mirror in the satchel, and her eyes swell with tears.

    
"Do you need a hug?"
 
Scheherazade offers sweetly.
 
Beauty throws her arms around the child.
 
Instinct takes precedence over fairy tale beauty protocol, and Beauty sobs into Scheherazade's brunette ringlets.

    
"What's eating you,” Omar asks, tosses a strawberry in the air and catches it in his mouth.
    
Scheherazade imitates her twin, but misses the berry.
 
"She's going to have a baby, Stupid."

    
"How did you know . . ."
  
Beauty's voice trails off, of course, the girl had read this information in the diary.

    
"I didn't read your diary, if that's what you're thinking," Scheherazade mutters and turns to Omar.
 
"Beauty's dress is too tight, you can see a little loaf in her oven, and her boobies are brimming.
 
Besides, she's moody."

    
Beauty is taken aback by Scheherazade's directness. She's also annoyed by her assumptions, especially because they're true. Describing her as moody is putting it mildly.
 
She feels as if her skin doesn't fit.
 
She is worried sick that Rapunzel may run away with her Italian lover. However, she won’t reveal a hint of fear to the twins. She believes they will sense it, like the critters of Grimm Forest, and turn on her in anger, or worse, expect something she is not yet capable of giving.

    
"Eat something and you'll feel better." Omar hands Beauty a sausage wrapped in bread.
 
"Mother's friends leave food at the door every morning."

    
Beauty takes the food and sits on a pillow by the hearth. The twins watch her eat, wary as rabbits in the brush.
 
She rolls her eyes and mumbles, "Mmm, scrumptious.
 
My, how smart you both are, but there is something about me you can't guess."

    
Beauty watches for the change from suspicion to curiosity, for softening around the eyes, tilting of the head, shoulders dropping.
 
No one is more adept at engineering this transition than fairy tale beauties.
 
She smiles sideways and says, "I'm on a quest."

    
"A quest for love?"
 
Scheherazade sings, and Beauty again suspects she's read every word of the diary.

    
"Quest, pest, what's on your breast?" Omar chants.

    
Beauty tugs self-consciously at her bodice to cover the tattoo.
 
"I'm on a quest to Glass Mountain, home of Elora the Enchantress. I don't know if I can reach my destination before the baby is born, so I need to know when Rapunzel will return."

    
"I know where Glass Mountain is," Scheherazade says.

    
"East from Stromberg into the Black Forest, turn north and keep going straight to the Kingdom of Dreams," Omar says, drawing an imaginary map in the air.
 
"Cross the Lake Of Longing to Charmed Kingdom, and you can see Glass Mountain from there, a few miles to the east.
 
The west road's a quicker route, but it's dangerous."

    
"Following the north road will take sixty days.
 
I'd guess you have twice that long before your baby's due," Scheherazade states with authority.

    
Beauty's mood is much improved.
 
I have plenty of time.
 
Rapunzel saved my life; I can certainly tend her twins for a few days.
 
 

*
     
*
     
*

    
Ten days later, Elora the Enchantress' curse floats above the Deco Palace.

    
"Bricklebrit!
 
Drop the attitude now," Elora snaps in response to Croesus' whining.
 
It's the final evening of her post-Walpurgisnacht fast, and she's irritable.
 
They're lounging on the west wing balcony, drinking Perrier and watching Beauty, Scheherazade, and Omar in the crystal ball.
 
Croesus feebly coughs up three gold coins with the stricken stoicism of Gandhi.

    
"Have I ever imposed the fast on you?
 
Once, three hundred years ago.
 
You deserved it then and you deserve it now. Sure, the spirit of Walpurgisnacht is eat, drink, and be nasty, but Croesus, eating Beelzebub's pet rat in front of everyone while I served the cordial was simply poor taste.
 
Don’t give me that look!
 
You know when I said,
Help yourself to the ratafia
, I meant the booze.
 
You embarrassed me and you must pay."

    
Elora raises her wrist and reads her watch.
 
"The fast will be over at midnight.
 
Meanwhile, pay attention to the cozy scene in the ball.
 
You might even learn something.

*
     
*
     
*

    
Rapunzel's house and its netted chambers are settled into quiet duskiness.
 
Only the hearth sheds light, which radiates subdued red onto the faces of Beauty, Scheherazade, and Omar.
 
A pan of milk steams above the embers.
 
The twins, fresh from their baths, exude scents of spring herbs.
 
Omar stirs a spoonful of honey into three cups.
 
Scheherazade sits cross-legged, braiding and unbraiding a lock of hair, waiting to begin tonight's installment.

    
This is Beauty's favorite time, the only time she has the twins together and all to herself.
 
During her first three days here, she was unhappy and frustrated.
 
In her enthusiasm to practice mothering, she scheduled games and excursions, rest periods, meal and bed times.
 
However, Rapunzel's household was run without rules.
 
Her back yard rivaled F. A. O. Schwartz, filled with gifts from Rapunzel's friends: a merry-go-round of carved dragons; silver and bronze balls that chime with each toss; kites of numerous colors and forms; swings, slides, see-saws, and a stage where Omar performs magic tricks and Scheherazade dances.

    
Beauty had quit planning meals because at the appointed hour, she sat alone before three place settings.
 
A week ago, the twins had sauntered inside and found Beauty crying into a tepid quiche. "There's no use in my staying.
 
You children don't need me.
 
I might as well leave," Beauty bawled.
    
"Don't go, please," Scheherazade crooned.
 
"It's nice having you here, and the food looks yummy."
 
The twins scrambled into chairs, took up their forks and ate with gratuitous smiles.

    
"You're an excellent listener," Scheherazade had said.
 
"I love telling stories.
 
I can tell you Mother's story tonight."

    
"I don't know," Beauty sniffled.
 
"How can I keep order in a house without rules?"

    
"We do have rules," Omar huffed.
 
"Don't go outside the gates after dark, don't let anyone hurt you and have fun."

    
Beauty hummed skeptically through her nose. "Which one of you made up those rules?"

    
"Mother," they had answered in unison.

    
Since that night, Beauty has eaten when she's hungry and napped when needed, as the twins do.
 
Though she rarely sees them during the day, they faithfully return to the house before dark.
 
Beauty has accepted the fact that the twins are precocious and becoming precious to her.

    
Tonight, Beauty watches with anticipation as Scheherazade sips her milk and clears her throat.
 
Each night of the past week, she has told the tale of Rapunzel, beginning with Louise gazing longingly at Gothel's rampion.
 
Last night, she ended at the point where Gothel had cut Rapunzel’s hair.

    
"As was told to me by my Mother . . . "

    
Beauty shifts her weight, settling like a hen on eggs, pleased Scheherazade gives credit to her mother instead of starting with
Once upon a time.

    
After Gothel cut Mother’s beautiful hair, she hopped around the tower and chanted these words: Funnel form magical storm, whirl and curl about this girl, a ferocious wind for she who sinned, carry her within a twister, drop her where she will burn and blister.