Even Grimmer Tales (5 page)

A poor peasant and his wife are desperate to have a child, and the wife says she will not mind even if the infant is no larger than her thumb. They receive their wish, a very tiny baby, and the little creature becomes their dearly loved son, though he does not grow any bigger. (Be careful what you wish for – sometimes you get it.) The boy is happy to stay little, and despite his size he's a real help to his doting mum and dad. However, when some rogues see him and recognise his potential value, they abduct him. The villains have two plans for their captive: they intend exhibiting him, and also utilising his size to gain entry to houses that they wish to rob. By sheer cunning, he escapes and, after many adventures, makes his way home to his beloved parents, who vow never to let him go again.

“You're Mummy's little man,”

she often says to me.

“So, Tom, don't ever worry.

You'll always be my baby boy.

My little Tommy Thumb.”

We've always been so very close.

There's no-one else who makes me

feel so safe, so loved. For many years

it's been just her and me.

I know the neighbours tell her

I'm such a model son. She answers

that I've always been

her loving little man.

I never wanted to grow big.

Much nicer staying little.

So even though my body grew

she let me stay her baby.

I think the others knew it

when she let me go to school.

I was a few years older than the rest.

They taunted me with ‘Mummy's boy'

but then they soon gave up. No fun

in teasing someone who seems pleased

with everything you say!

I was no good at managing

to be a grown-up in the world.

At work they were unkind.

The daytimes didn't matter

because I knew at nights

I could be mummy's baby boy.

But then she said I could stay

home with her; she told me that

she had enough for both of us,

so I could be her little man

and never leave her on her own.

I like it at the end of every day.

She helps me with my bath;

she scrubs my back and front

just as she always has;

she's gentle with the shampoo

so as not to sting my eyes,

and then she dries me carefully.

My special towel is very soft.

I tell her she has magic hands;

She knows just what I like.

My tea time is a treat. She likes

to feed me from my bunny plate.

She often plays the choo-choo game

to make me eat my vegies.

But after tea on Friday nights

she lets me watch the telly.

I cuddle on the couch beside her

until she lets me put my head

down on her knee, her lap,

and finally, if I've been good,

she draws me even closer,

calls me her baby boy, and asks

if I am hungry. I always am.

My bed – the cot that she's had made

just specially for me –

waits there in her bedroom

for when my bedtime comes.

So when she's put my PJs on

and tucked me in for story time,

I know she'll sing to me each night,

the way she always does.

And if I wake up crying,

from nightmares in the night,

she takes me into bed with her …

Some nights I've just pretended to be scared.

I liked what happens when

I snuggle close to her.

But if I go out somewhere for a walk,

she dresses me, then sends me off,

tells me I have to be obedient,

come straight home to where

she will be waiting.

But sometimes when I close the gate

and step out on the path,

I wonder if I ever will grow up.

Somewhere around a corner

there might be a real Thomas waiting.

But till the day I find him

I'm happy being Mummy's Tommy Thumb.

A travelling merchant, lost in the forest at night, is given hospitality in the impressive home of a wealthy beast. When the traveller steals a rose from the garden at departure as a gift for his daughter, the lonely Beast demands as a repayment that one of the merchant's daughters comes to live with him. It does seem a bit excessive and, on the man's return home, his selfish older daughters refuse. Only the youngest, Beauty, agrees. With the Beast, she finds luxury and kindness despite his repulsive appearance. Although he pleads with her to marry him, the girl refuses, saying that she does not love him. Because she misses her family, he allows Beauty to return home for a visit, where her jealous sisters trap her into staying, until a magic mirror shows her that the Beast is dying in misery and loneliness. She returns and admits her love, and he is transformed into a handsome prince. Yet again, sometimes life gives you more than you ever expected!

I've always been so fond of animals.

These days when I look back I see

I've had more happiness from them

than any of the other sources we

most often think of as the ways

we can find daily consolation,

like money, looks, security,

possessions, honours, reputation.

Mind you, I had all those as well.

When I was little, Daddy named

me ‘Beauty' – that began it. Now

it's the name for which I'm famed.

At times my sisters were quite jealous.

“He's always loved you best,” they said.

“but we'll make sure that there's no risk

a name like that goes to your head!”

No chance of that. The spiteful cows –

but that's unfair to docile creatures –

were always horrible to me

because I had much prettier features.

Perhaps that's why I turned to pets

as comforters who'd give me love.

And then I found new pleasures that

they brought, all other joys above …

My little dog upon my lap, I'd sit,

enjoy his company all day;

with great affection I'd stroke him,

reciprocate his loving way,

and wonder why my sisters thought

that human lovers offered more

than the delights that all my pets

gave freely and did not withdraw.

You know the satisfied smug look

so many medieval women wear

in all those old-style paintings?

Take note how often seated there

and even looking quite at home

in laps all frills and furbelows

the artist's placed a little dog …

Perhaps the painter chappie knows

what puts a faint and far-off smile

on many pictured women's faces.

Look at Europa and the bull, or Leda

(and her swan) – these show joy's traces.

I wonder if the Mona Lisa felt

that way; what lies behind her smile?

Her lap dog waiting for his turn?

Da Vinci's lasts just a brief while.

So when my father, quite distraught,

brought home his dire predicament,

of money owed, debts to be paid,

or what would be the punishment

unless to this rough uncouth beast

he offered up as wife a daughter,

I wasn't as appalled as they,

said, not reluctantly, “I ought to

be the one to go. I'll sacrifice myself,

mon père
, because I love you as I should.

I honour you far more than them;

my heart's more tender; I'll be good.

And anyway, I'm fond of pets.

A beast does not cause hesitation.”

I didn't say my senses stirred

with intimations of elation …

He was a rough and hairy man.

No female hand had tamed that beast.

We wedded in his forest home,

no need of prayer book, church or priest.

I knew at last I'd found the mate

I'd been preparing for these years;

oddly, he thought I'd be repelled,

and full of girlish doubts and fears.

Of course I wasn't. For a time

our happiness was quite complete.

Dad's debts forgotten; my needs met;

our joy and bliss were hard to beat.

But then the fool decided that

I was worth something more from life.

He'd never comprehended how

contented I was as his wife.

He changed. He shaved, and cut his hair.

Bought stylish clothes and thus became

sartorial elegance complete;

no longer was ‘beast' an apt name.

Well, reader, I went home of course.

The time of bliss was now quite past.

I knew such happiness was brief,

far too ecstatic – couldn't last.

So once again I live alone.

I've learned to stick to what I know.

My animals are what bring joy.

I'm training as a vet, and so

I see a lot of pets these days.

My skills are valued very highly.

When queried how I know so well

their needs, I smile a little wryly …

The youngest son of a miller is very disappointed when he receives his inheritance – a cat. His brothers seem to have scored much better, but that's the way it often goes in families. However, the boy soon finds that this is a very special cat, with some unusual needs, as the feline's request for leather boots suggests. Surprised but cooperative, the young pet-owner agrees and, newly shod, Puss begins a series of manoeuvers to bring about an improvement in his master's fortunes. By trickery and quick-wittedness, and the capacity to play his cards just right, the cat eventually makes his master a wealthy and popular member of society, and sees him marry the daughter of the king of that country. Such an injustice: only inheriting a cat! Appearances can indeed be deceptive; one wonders how the ‘lucky' brothers felt …

Running out of room.

I'll have to order extra racks.

Bulky items,

boots.

They don't store easily.

They ought to be a tax-deductible expense …

Perhaps if I paid tax

they might be.

I'm not sure how they'd classify my line of work.

And frankly, I'm not clear exactly what I'd name it.

‘Health services' perhaps.

I'm not alone: podiatrists, chiropodists,

all deal with feet. Well, so do I.

Better work it out, now that I seem to be

returning to the job.

Life takes some funny turns.

Biggest mistake I ever made, to fall in love.

It was a good thing I had going.

Accidental, almost.

I'd never thought that feet would make my fortune.

Though I say ‘feet', that's not quite accurate.

It's not the feet themselves, but what is on them –

the way I'm shod – that's brought me

everything I have.

I'd always seen it as a private hobby,

an indulgence.

A passion for the shoe shop windows,

names like Jimmy Choo, Ferragamo

Perugia and Blahnik …

a sparkle in my eye. Money spent

was an investment, never waste.

Clomping through the house

in Mummy's four-inch heels –

perhaps that's where it all began.

It was a love affair with footwear –

that was how

one of my favourite clients put it.

I never call them customers.

Wrong tone. Far too commercial.

‘Clients' is the way I like to think of them.

My ministrations are quite therapeutic;

it's not a cold commercial world that I create!

Far more a meeting of their needs.

I understand so well

the quickening of the blood,

sudden heat of body roused,

rapid rate of breathing

when I extend a languid leg,

sheathed in leather,

gleaming and seductive,

light catching on well-polished slopes of skins.

The eager hands

that stroke and linger, curving gently over insteps.

They fondle ankles,

slide languorously over calf,

and hesitate above the knee.

The silent question hovers in the air:

how much further can I go?

But that's not where their interests really lie.

I flick my foot impatiently.

Obedient hands,

still trembling with desire, return to heel.

Caressing the stiletto tips, they quiver

with delicious fear. For will those sharp

and needling points next stab the hands

that stroke them lovingly,

and in a sudden whim

grind into

only half-reluctant flesh?

Imelda Marcos had her shoes; but I'd take boots

for preference any day. It's boots

that get my clients all excited.

Simple pleasures, rarely comprehended.

They know how well I understand.

Astounding how my reputation spread.

No need to advertise;

eager men paid well for pleasures

such as those that I provided.

Regulars, so many, plus the strays

who came from interstate or overseas.

Some wit I entertained in early days

re-named me,

long before I came to see potential

in this field. He called me ‘Puss',

and leered.

I didn't get the reference then.

Thought he was being dirty, and resented it.

He shook his head, still smiling,

pointing to the shelves of boots.

Now I know the story I can understand.

After that I had my name.

Biggest mistake I ever made, to fall in love.

I thought this john was different,

a cut above the rest.

The others felt it; so did I.

He played me for a sucker,

and I fell for it. Now, looking back,

I simply can't see why

I gave him mastery.

I tell you, I'd do anything he wanted.

Amazing, how he managed me.

Such skill.

Looked helpless, needy. I added extra clients,

worked long hours, put every cent I made

into his hands. He took it all, and told me

what a very clever little Puss I was. I purred

and preened myself, happy just to serve.

I didn't realise he had a string of other kitty-cats

who curled up on his knee whenever I was busy.

They worked their butts off for him too. I guess

they had their own especial fields.

His business acumen was pretty sharp; no wonder

he did well. It didn't take him very long at all

to grow beyond what I could do for him, and then

it was to be a swift farewell.

Or so he'd thought.

Biggest mistake he ever made, to let me fall in love.

For cats have claws, you know. I guess he had forgotten

that big cats don't take kindly to bad treatment.

The exit that he'd planned did not go quite

as he had wanted.

He's found stiletto heels can leave

some very nasty scars;

girls won't look at him

in quite the way they did before.

For boots have many uses

that he hadn't quite foreseen.

The judge was sympathetic. Not surprising, when

we looked across the court in silent recognition

of past services he'd paid for, and received …

Six months inside gave me a little time

to think and plan. I'm calling in

some favours, and I've gone legit.

A shoe shop.

“Puss in Boots” seems a good name.

The tax man doesn't need to know about

what's offered in the salon at the back …