Chapter 11: Mother Dear

  Once, in a great forest far far away from here, there lived a beautiful woman in a cottage. Now, this woman was actually a Queen who fled from her home in time of war. Despite her stately upbringing, she was an extremely capable woman, and fended herself well in the heart of the dark, threatening forest. She was indescribably beautiful as well. Her hair was the colour of amber, her complexion fair as spring. She wore the rubies and velvet of her country; a ghost of a bee in the centre of a deep red rose.

  No one knew of her whereabouts, sans an old farmer’s wife who visited her every full moon with fresh vegetables and meat. You would think that she was very lonely, and in truth she was. But not for long, for in the Queen lay the beating heart of new life.

  At the height of war, when the flames burnt the brightest, and the screams of dying were shrillest, the Queen gave birth to a healthy prince all by herself. Her strong maternal instincts told her how to care for her little weakling. They were very well off, for no man or beast harmed them in any way, and the suckling babe thrived into a fine boy.

  The Queen loved her son with all her heart. She gave him everything she could, squeezing out the last drops of her warm milk into his eager mouth when he suckled, the largest portions of every meal when he began to stomach everything in his path. Of course, the prince loved his gentle mother, and fetched and carried for her when he was not three years old.

  There was one thing, however, that the Queen kept away from her darling son. This was a crystal goblet of wine. Often when the moon shone like marble in the night sky, the Queen would sit herself in front of this goblet and stare into the still, red liquid. Often she would cry, silently, so as not to wake her sleeping son. But sometimes a choke or sob would escape her trembling lips. Her young Prince would awaken, and watch his mother as she did her solemn ritual. He knew not of the importance of all this, certainly all he could see was his mother crying over a cup of not-spilled milk, and he saw no fuss in that.

  Many times, he tried to climb to the table to peer into the goblet himself, but his mother would slap his hands away (the only time she ever laid a hard hand upon him).

  “But whyever not, mother?” He wailed each time. “Why may I not look into the goblet for myself? I want to know what is inside that makes you weep!”

  “You must never, never look into this goblet,” the Queen implored. “My child, I am only doing this to protect you. I love you, and would rather not see you hurt by things you do not, will not ever understand.”

  “But what is inside, mother?” The Queen would refuse to say another word, and sent him to bed while she put the goblet away.

  One night, however, curiousity got the better of the little boy. He pretended to be asleep, and watched where his mother hid her goblet up on the top shelf. When she had her back turned, he climbed up to the shelf and reached for the goblet. But though he stretched his fat fingers as far as they would go, he could not reach it. He stood on his tiptoes, and grabbed at the goblet in a lunge. It flew right off the shelf onto the floor with a crash, just as his mother turned around, and the moon burst through the black clouds and starless sky.

  The Queen shrieked, a scream that seemed to awaken the entire forest. Wolves howled from their dens, eagles cried from their nests, owls hooted, bears roared in answer to the Queen’s cry.

  The prince stood rooted in shock, as his mother began to transform before his very eyes. Her hair seemed to crackle like fire; her pearly white teeth grew strong and carnivorous. The rubies and red velvet trickled down her naked white skin, staining and pooling at her feet in puddles of blood. Her eyes clouded to black, with just a pinprick of white in the centre of both.

  “Do you see now?” The Queen asked her son in a voice of a beast. “Do you see now, dear son, foolish son, stupid boy! Do you see why I tried to keep you away from what is mine, and mine alone?” She took a step towards the prince, who backed away from her in fear. He stumbled over broken glass, his own blood mingling with the growing dark puddles at his feet.

  “Come, my son,” The Queen crooned. “You have always wanted to look into the goblet. You have always wanted to see the reason why I weep. Come, look into my eyes now and find what you are looking for.” He was trembling now, his knees clacking together like bones in an empty dish, picked clean. And yet, he could not resist. He could not fight his childlike curiosity. Slowly, he lifted his head to look into the soulless eyes of his beloved mother, gazing into the tiny twin moons in her black orbs that were now like glass mirrors.

And, deep within them, he saw himself.

Chapter 10: The Girl Who Lost Her Shadow

  Once upon a time, there lived a little girl who lost her shadow.

 It should not be assumed that this little girl was careless, or if she suffered from a terrible curse, or if she was not on good terms with her shadow. It was very much the opposite, really. This little girl lived very happily with her father and mother in a small village. When she was born, the village fortune teller proclaimed her to be born under a very auspicious star, and will bring plenty of luck to her family and village. And certainly that was true, for soon after she was born the paddy in her father’s fields grew lush and abundant despite scanty rainfall, and bandits from the mountains ceased to attack the village, bringing peace and harmony to those who lived in it.

  The little girl grew up with no brothers or sisters, and as her parents were hard at work in the rice fields day after day, she had to find her own amusement. She quickly tired of the old rooster in the chicken coop, who would rather peck at grain in the sunny courtyard all day. The sow in the pen she could not play with, for she would be scolded dreadfully if she muddied her clothes. The tabby cat would give her a few minutes of its time every day, before jumping up onto the rooftop out of reach to sleep on the warmed tiles.

  It was one of those times, her arms stretched out in vain to reach the desirable puss, that she found a friend in her own shadow.

  It was quite harmless, at first. The little girl was curious of this odd, black shape on the ground that seemed to mimic her every move. It seemed to only come out in the sunny patches of the courtyard, and disappeared without a trace as soon as she was indoors. But soon she realized she could play catch with it for hours on end. She could skip; dance and even play hide and seek with it (only when the sun was well hidden behind the clouds, of course). When she was happy, her slim friend leapt up and down with her in joy. When she stubbed her toe, or when the tabby showed its dissatisfaction of being carried by means of claws, her flat mate would wipe her tears off her face tenderly. It was a decidedly odd friendship, to say the least, but having no other companion, the little girl grew to love her shadow very dearly.

  No, it was not anything out of the ordinary that parted the little girl’s shadow from her. It was simply time. Like the change of seasons, or the coming of the tide. Like the setting of the sun.

  It happened on a day unlike any other day before it. The old rooster rose its crowned head to greet the rising sun with a mighty crow, just as it had every morning of its life. The little girl roused from her sleep, turning to her left to greet her shadow-friend on the ground as she always did.

   Only today, nothing but the bare earthen floor greeted her.

 She looked under her straw mattress, and the larger one that belonged to her parents. She looked under the rice bowls, the teapot, the worn bamboo table, even under the pail that drew the well water.

  She searched all over the courtyard, the chicken coop, the small house. She called to the old rooster, the sow in her pen, the cat on the rooftop.

 “Have you seen my shadow? Have you seen my shadow? Have you seen my shadow?” She asked over and over.

 “No, little one, no.” The animals answered in a chorus.

She went right down to the rice fields and peered over the vast greenness of it. She ran down to the busy market, weaving in and out of stalls and dirty streets. But no, her shadow was not in sight.

She called to her father and mother, she ran to the market and asked the fishmonger, the butcher, and the witchdoctor.

 “Have you seen my shadow? Have you seen my shadow? Have you seen my shadow?” She asked over and over.

 “No, dear, no.” They all answered, shaking their wrinkled heads as they got back to their work.

  Troubled and tired, the little girl sat by the stream and cried, for her shadow was her dearest friend and it broke her heart to be without it. It was then, when she heard a steady ‘bloop, bloop, bloop!’ coming from the stream. She peered over the edge, her tears falling ‘plop, plop, plop!’ into the clear water. And lo and behold, a little silver fish popped its head out of the water.

 “Little girl, little girl, I have seen your shadow!” The fish cried in a voice of bubbles.

 “Oh! Where did you see it, little fish?” Asked the girl joyously.

 “Follow the stream, little girl, follow the stream,” The silver fish burbled. “Follow the stream and you will come to a hut. It is the hut of the washerwoman. The washerwoman has your shadow, little girl! The washerwoman has it!”

  Up got the little girl, and away she went like the wind, following the stream. She ran and ran, stumbling over pebbles and pot holes, until at last she came to a little hut with washing lines strung all around it. Clothes of all sorts hung on the lines, waving in the wind like bright banners. It was not just clothes that hung on the lines, the little girl noticed. There were also pots and pans and towels and flowers and lanterns and paints and fish tails and orange skins and motley of other things. It was more of a junkyard than a washerwoman’s hut. The scent of soap and washing hung thick in the air.

  Timidly, the little girl went round the hut and found the washerwoman. She was a vast, round specimen, built like an immense washtub. She crouched by the stream and scrubbing away at a flimsy, black piece of silk.

 “Oh, my shadow! My shadow!” Cried the little girl, when she realized just what the washerwoman was scrubbing away at.

 “Is this your shadow, little girl?” The washerwoman asked in surprise. “Well, that is impossible! This can’t be your shadow, not at all!”
 “It is, it is!” The little girl said, “I’ve lost my shadow, and the silver fish said that you had it.”

 “Well, well-“ The washerwoman lifted the shadow out of the water, but my goodness! It had shrunk almost three times its size! “Well, if this is your shadow, you certainly won't be able to fit into it now!” She cackled, her laughter sounding like the splish splash of soapy water.

  The little girl began to cry again. All the trouble for nothing! Her shadow looked small and forlorn, more like the shadow of a doll than anything else. It was no longer her beloved friend whom she shared everything with, good or bad. She could hardly even recognize it; so shrunken and misshapen was it. But her tender heart knew that it was her beloved shadow, and nothing could stop her to have it back.

  The washerwoman took pity on her, for it was the soap that made the shadow shrink. She took down a pair of tiny shoes -shoes that would fit a baby- from one of the clotheslines overhead.

 “Here, child,” she said. “If you can manage to fit yourself into these shoes, I will sew your shadow back on in no time. It will be good as new, your shadow and you! But you must fit into these shoes first.”

  The little girl dried her eyes and took the shoes. She wanted her shadow back very badly indeed, but she could not imagine how she would be able to fit into such tiny shoes. She thought and thought, and finally came to a determined solution.

  Taking the biggest rock she could carry off the clothesline, the little girl gritted her teeth. Without stopping to think, she deliberately began to crush the toes on her left foot. Bam! Bam! Bam! Went the rock on her delicate toes. The pain was absolutely agonizing, and tears ran down her cheeks in a torrent, but the little girl would not stop. She ground her toes until they were no more, then she rolled them up under her foot and she could slip it into one tiny shoe. Holding her breath, she held the rock over her right foot. Bam! Bam! Bam! She nearly bit her tongue in half from the pain, but one toe after another did she smash, until they too could be rolled under her right foot and the shapeless lump could fit into the other tiny shoe. She got shakily to her feet, and the weight of her body crushed her feet even more, until they took the shape of the little shoes, never to see daylight or soft earth no more.

  The washerwoman kept her promise, and sewed the shadow firmly to the soles of the little shoes. Bleeding but happy at last, the little girl limped away home just as the sun was setting and the old rooster was crowing his farewells to the fiery globe. The last red rays mingled with the blood that dripped from each step the little girl took. Nothing mattered now. Her toes and her feet were no more important to her if they were grain scattered in the courtyard. She had her dear shadow back with her now. She could rest easy tonight, despite the bloody drips and the throbbing pain that would be with her forever. The little girl smiled and clapped her hands in joy, as the sun dipped its head down below the horizon.

Slowly but surely, the little shadow dwindled away into the dusk.