Mrs. Beast (19 page)

    
“Wind whooshed in the window and coiled around Mother. Up and up it swirled, gathering speed, sucking in dolls, cheese, apples and sausages. Up and up the whirlwind climbed.” Scheherazade’s arms writhe like two snakes and Beauty is mesmerized. “It exploded the roof—Ka—boom! Once loose, the wind whisked through the sky carrying Mother far from Grimm Land. The force was so great that by the time it set her down, her hair was once more flowing around her ankles.”

    
“And the sand was so hot, her slippers burned away,” Omar interjects. Beauty knows if it were any other time of day, Scheherazade would snap at her twin, but she’s indulgent with an attentive audience.

    
“A desert wasteland without pasture and without water. The ground was flat for miles in every direction with neither a bush nor a green leaf. No bird sang and neither snake nor a lizard cooled beneath a rock. The sun so was bright, Mother could barely see and the wind plummeted her body like the wings of a giant raptor. All her life she had been enclosed by walls.”

    
Scheherazade lowers her voice confidentially. “Have you ever seen a cat, that has always lived indoors, be put outside? It hunkers in the grass, paralyzed and meowing, desperate for a hiding place from the terrible openness. There was no refuge for Rapunzel. Three days and three nights she wailed until her throat was raw. She wept and drank her tears until her eyes were dry and crusted. Finally, she wound her hair about her like a shroud and laid down to die.”

    
Although Beauty knows Rapunzel survived the desert, she’s caught up in the tale and gathers a lock of hair to twist between her fingers.
 

    
"As the sun set on her third day in the desert, the ground began to tremble beneath Mother.
 
She had not the strength to raise her head, but through the slits of her swollen eyes, she saw them riding through the purple haze.
 
Bedouins, nomads of the desert.
 
The hooves of their war mares and racing camels thundered closer and closer, and a pair of muscular arms whisked her up onto a saddle."
 
Scheherazade closes her eyes and pauses for effect.
 
Beauty is on the edge of her pillow.

    
"Her savior was Prince Fazel, the man who would be my father.
 
His olive-skinned face was oval with a highbred, aquiline nose.
 
His dark eyes were large and brilliant.”

    
"I remember his face," Omar says.
 
He picks up a wooden flute and blows a desert serenade.

    
"Fazel smiled at her, showing dazzling white teeth beneath his fine black mustache.
 
He wore a linen kaffiyah from which protruded two braids on either side of his head.
 
Rapunzel hooked her fingers in his braids and pulled his lips to hers. Then Prince Fazel tilted back his throat, let loose a howl, and applied his heels to the mare.
 
Riding into the thick of the camp, they were surrounded by throngs of ululating women."

    
"You-you what?" Beauty asks.

    
"Ululate, a noise made by shrieking while moving the tongue rapidly, not unlike the gobble of a turkey," Omar explains.
 
"Mother often ululates at night.
 
It's quite amazing."

    
"Well, it frightened her then,” Scheherazade snaps. “Mobs of people, barking dogs, grunting camels, bleating sheep, an intolerable racket. Mother clawed at Fazel like a treed possum. He wrapped her in his cloak and carried her to the tent of his father, Supreme Chief Amir Nuri.

    
“I must make clear, Scheherazade looks pointedly at Beauty, “Bedouin law affords safety to strangers, and women are never taken prisoner nor murdered on raids as men are. Fazel took her to the woman’s side of the tent where the Chief’s six current wives and twenty of his forty-seven daughters were gathered. He unfurled his cloak, Mother’s hair tumbled to the floor, and the woman gasped. Among Bedouins, a woman’s most valued ornament is his hair. Every young Bedouin man wants to marry a girl with long tresses. And, yellow hair is prized. Lots of Bedouin women dye their hair with yellow henna, their palms and nails too.”

    
Omar sets the flute aside. “Their hair is not the same golden color as Mothers’.”

    
Beauty nods; she can’t imagine anyone who has ever lived having hair more beautiful than Rapunzel’s. She also believes she detected a caustic tone to Omar’s voice. No mistaking Scheherazade’s irritation as she continues.

    
“When Mother turned to the women, they thrust their yellow palms outward, hid their faces, and ran from the tent. Chief Nuri, who had been outside inspecting the stolen livestock, came in to see what the commotion was about. One look at Mother and he knew. For the next hour, the Chief and his four eldest of twenty-two living sons discussed what should be done with mother. A beautiful woman is a good omen, and they all agreed she was a beauty. However, Bedouins believe green eyes can bestow the evil eye. Was she a Jinn who had lived underground? With such white skin, pale and large eyes, and the strange tongue she speaks, what powers might she possess? Chief Nuri decided Mother should be entrusted to Fazel’s care since he had rescued her. Prince Fazel erected a tent for Mother, and the courtship commenced, but not without obstacles.”

    
Omar leaps to his feet. “I’m bored with this old story. I’m going to bed,” he snarls.

    
“He harbors resentments and is still a bit afraid of those days,” Scheherazade whispers. “Mother wasn’t afraid anymore, for she had fallen in love with Fazel and wanted to belong to his huge family more than anything she had ever wanted. To please the tribe, and especially Prince Fazel, she was determined to learn the Bedouin ways.
 
A dutiful Bedouin woman prepares meals, sews, collects camel hair to weave into garments, and bears children."

    
Scheherazade shrugs her shoulders.
 
"What did Mother know about domestic duties?
 
Gothel had given her the bare necessities and taught her nothing but how to wait.
 
The Bedouin women wouldn't help; they shunned her.
 
So she sat in her tent, waiting.
 
When hunger cramped her stomach, and no one brought her food, she followed a group of women to a grove of date palms.
 
She watched one shinny up a tree and throw dates into the apron of another below.
 
Then, the woman in the tree saw Mother, and she pointed to a tree that held more dates than any other did.
 
Mother ran to the tree and stepped directly on the beehive at its base.
 
The women laughed as the bees chased her all the way back to camp."

    
Beauty sighs with empathy.

    
"By the time she staggered into her tent, she was lumpier than Uele the giant's head and very sick.
 
Ah," Scheherazade winks, "but this was also when Mother first suspected that her affection for Prince Fazel was mutual.
 
During her recuperation, she'd wake to find gifts piled at the entrance of her tent: a beautifully sewn robe, a necklace of red coral beads, black glass elbow rings, copper ankle bracelets, a plate of pressed dates, a bowl of fresh camel's milk, a basin of wild honey with dabs of sour sheep butter floating on top.
 
In truth, Fazel had fallen deeply and secretly in love with Mother. Omar and I were born nine months later."

    
"Did the tribe know you were Fazel's children?"

    
"Sure they did, but the events that transpired between our conception and our birth made that fact of little importance. Fazel's three older brothers were killed during raids.
 
The elders pressured him to choose a cousin for marriage and get busy procreating Bedouin sons.
 
He loved Mother, but his duty to kinsmen was second only to Allah.
 
He married, and a few months later, he was made Chief.
 
The night we were born, Fazel left his wife's tent to help us into the world.
 
No one else would."

    
"Does a woman need help?" Beauty asks, feeling stupid, hoping Scheherazade won't laugh at her.

    
"Of course, you're right," Scheherazade replies, assuming Beauty's comment was an attempt at sarcasm rather than a question.
 
"Remember though, Rapunzel had lived a life of seclusion.
 
She had not seen anything born, not an animal, not a brother or sister.
 
It's easier if someone helps, but she did birth Kurt and the other five by herself."

    
"The other five?"
 
Beauty's eyes pop.

    
"Three girls and two boys were born after Omar and me."
 
Scheherazade holds up her hand and counts on her fingers.
 
"The twin girls were fathered by Saul, the Jew Among The Thorns, before he was hanged.
 
Yunka, brother of The Three Black Princesses fathered one boy and one girl, before he was boiled in oil.
 
Lewis the leper fathered the other boy before he was stoned to death.
 
Mother hasn't told us who fathered baby Kurt."

    
"Where are the other five children?"

    
"The witch who lives in a candy house ate the twin girls.
 
The other girl was grabbed by the Black Forest Demon right after she was born.
 
One boy stepped on a poisonous snake, and the other was born blue, never drew a breath."

    
The color drains from Beauty's face.

    
"Fazel cut the cords. . . cleared our mouths . . . buried the placenta. . ."

    
I'd never imagined my baby could die.

    
"He ran to the nearest camel, kicked it in the hip to make it rise, massaged its right flank until it peed . . ."

    
What if I can't get to Elora in time?

    
". . .
 
collected it in a pail and baptized Omar into the sacred fellowship of the wilderness . . ."

    
What if I'm alone in the forest when the baby comes?

    
". . .
 
swathed him in plaster of dried camel dung and rags . . ."

    
I should have stayed with the dwarfs!

    
"I was put to Rapunzel's breast.
 
Beauty, are you listening?"

    
"Yes, I'm listening.
 
What happened after you were born?"
 
Beauty asks, diverting attention, masking her fear, and silently praying for Rapunzel's swift return.

    
"I don't remember much about our time with the Bedouins, except that we weren't accepted any more than Rapunzel.
 
The children taunted us, saying:
 
Thou wilt come to nothing for thou art only half Bedouin. The blood did not mix well; you resemble your mother's kin.
 
Twin, twin, kin of jinn.
I think there's a loaf of Hutzel Brod in the hamper.
 
Are you hungry too?"

 
*
     
*
     
*

Chapter Eight

No Hearts And Flowers

    
Croesus whimpers pitifully, staring into the crystal ball, his pupils the size of grapes, as Scheherazade and Beauty spread butter on thick slices of Hutzel Brod.

    
"I have one nerve left, and you're getting on it," Elora warns.
 
"Half an hour until midnight and the fast ends.
 
If I hear one more whine, you'll be spending that thirty minutes in Beelzebub's corner of Hell with a note around your neck that says,
Thanks, your pet rat was delicious
."