In a Glass Grimmly (18 page)

“That’s it?” exclaimed the oil salesman. “That’s all there is to it?”

Jack shrugged. “That’s all.”

“Out of the way!” the oil salesman bellowed. He pushed Jack and Jill aside. He took a deep breath.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Make me the king of Märchen!

Jack looked at Jill. She tried to suppress a smile. “Uh,” Jack said, “that didn’t rhyme.”

“What?” the oil salesman demanded. “It didn’t?”

“No,” said Jill. “And it wasn’t a question. The Glass only seems to answer questions.”

The silk merchant pushed his brother out of the way and approached the Glass. He said,

Mirror, mirror, king of men,

When will my life come to an end?

The mirror was silent. A drop of sweat slid down the side of Jack’s face.

But finally, the mirror spoke:

Obey this Glass, through good and ill,

And die? Oh no, you never will.

“I KNEW IT!” shrieked the silk merchant, leaping into the air with a scream of demented joy.

The old woman howled: “LIVE FOREVER! We’ll LIVE FOREVER! We’ve done it! We’ve done it!”

The Others began to dance around the bone chamber, spinning and leaping and hugging themselves. The silk merchant banged the bones of the wall with his fists and shouted. The oil salesman slapped himself in the face over and over again.

Finally, the obscene celebrations stopped, and the old woman approached the altar. She wiped the sweat of joy from her brow and intoned,

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who is the cleverest of them all?

The mirror paused. And then it replied,

Up a stalk or down a hill,

None is as clever as Jack and Jill.

The Others were about to begin leaping and whooping in celebration again when they caught themselves.

“What?” demanded the old woman. “What did it say?”

Jack and Jill looked at each other, apparently befuddled. “It said we were,” Jill shrugged.

“That’s not possible!” barked the silk merchant. “
We
have the Glass!
We
, who have been seeking it for a thousand years!
We
have it!”

“You’re asking the wrong question!” the oil salesman exclaimed. “Here, let me try.”

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who is the bravest of them all?

This time the Glass did not hesitate.

Up a stalk or down a hill,

None is as brave as Jack and Jill.

“NO!” screamed the Others, all together. “NO! It isn’t possible! How could it be?”

“
We
are the cleverest!”

“
We
are the bravest!”

“Aren’t we?”

“Aren’t we?”

“Aren’t we?” they all howled.

The oil salesman came right up to the Seeing Glass and peered into its crystalline face. “Please, Glass, please.
We
are the bravest, aren’t we? Aren’t we, Glass? Aren’t we? Tell us we are!”

“Let me ask!” the silk merchant demanded. Everyone moved back, and he chanted:

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who is the wisest of them all?

And the voice of the Glass rang out like a brazen trumpet:

Up a stalk or down a hill,

None is as wise as Jack and Jill!

The chamber resounded with a scream so heart-wrenching and terrible that it would have brought you to your knees.
“No!”
the Others howled. “Tell us it isn’t so! Say it is not so!”

But it was so. The Glass had decreed it.

“How is it possible?” the Others screamed. “They are children! Stupid children!”

“They are not clever!”

“They are not brave!”

“They aren’t even smart!”

“Not wise like us! None is as wise as us!”

And then Jack said, “You can ask
why
it thinks we’re so brave and wise and clever.”

“Or,” suggested Jill, “maybe it can tell you how to be even better
than us?”

The old woman looked at her, eyes burning and demented. “Yes!” she cried. “Yes, of course! Now that we have the Glass, we can know exactly what to do! Move aside!”

So everyone moved aside, and she bellowed,

Mirror, mirror, tell us true,

To be the greatest, what should we do?

There was a long silence. In the bone chamber, the only sound was the dripping of blood from the body bags overhead and the Others’ frantic, ragged breathing.

Finally, the mirror answered:

Jack and Jill braved terrors en masse

To find, and recover, this sacred Glass.

Ye three have lived a life of sin.

To prove your worth, turn yourselves in.

Go to the guards of the royal throne.

Show them your victims. Show them their bones.

If you can face justice without fear,

Then soon, your own names from this Glass you’ll hear.

The Glass fell silent again. The Others stared at it, frozen.

“Turn ourselves in?” the oil salesman muttered.

Jack and Jill watched the Others’ faces tensely.

“Face justice?” said the silk merchant. “But surely, they’ll put us to death.”

But the old woman raised her voice.

Mirror, mirror, master of fate,

If we do this, will we be great?

And the mirror answered,

Face the punishment, standing tall,

And ye shall indeed be the greatest of all.

“We will be!” the old woman crowed.
“We will be!”
And then she barked at her two siblings, “Come on!”

She ran from the room. For a moment, the two men continued to gaze at the Glass. Then, slowly, resolutely, they turned and followed their sister.

For nearly twenty minutes, neither Jack nor Jill said a word. They merely stood, stock-still, listening to the pounding of their hearts, praying that indeed the Others were gone.

Finally, the Glass intoned, “Well, that must have been the
greatest
performance in the history of Märchen.” The frog crawled out of a hole between two rib bones at the base of the altar. He was beaming.

“It was pretty good,” Jack grinned.

“
Pretty good?
It was
great!
It was
genius!
I am a dramatic
genius!
”

Jack laughed. “You may indeed be a dramatic genius.”

“I am indeed,” the frog agreed. But then he paused. “Still, I can’t believe they fell for it! Why did they fall for it?”

Jill replied, “Didn’t you see how they worshipped the Glass, even before it spoke? Didn’t you recognize that from somewhere?”

Jack said, “I know I did.”

“They are con-fused,” said Jill.

“With the Glass,” said Jack.

The children stared at the Seeing Glass.

“Maybe,” said the frog. “Or maybe I am just a dramatic genius.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Face to Face

O
nce upon a time, two children walked down a long, dusty road.

Jack fingered the Glass from time to time. He shook his head at it. Its secrets remained locked away.

Jill wondered about the Others. She wondered where they were, and if they were following the mirror’s advice. She watched the road warily.

The children’s stomachs were all tied up in knots, and their throats had lumps that made it hard to breathe. But not just because of the Others. Nor solely because of the Glass.

Their stomachs were in knots and their throats were thick with lumps because, at long last, they were returning to the places they had fled, the people they had run from. They were, at long last, going home.

They came to a fork in the road.

“I go this way,” said Jack.

Jill nodded. “I go this way.”

They embraced.

“Oh,” said Jack. “Do you want the Glass? I don’t know what to do with it.”

Jill shook her head. “You keep it. We don’t need another mirror in my house.”

Jack grinned sideways. “Sure,” he said. And then he whispered, “Good luck.”

“Good luck,” Jill whispered back.

Then they parted.

As Jack made his way over the small country roads that led to his father’s house, he saw a group of boys playing blindman’s bluff in a field. Marie was the blind man. His eyes were closed, and he stumbled around after the other boys as they dipped and dodged out of his way.

“Hi,” said Jack. Some of the boys turned to him.

“Who’s that?” Marie called, his eyes still tightly shut.

“It’s me,” said Jack. “Jack.”

Marie’s eyes flew open. All the boys were staring now.

Marie asked, “What happened to you?”

Jack grinned. “A lot. Remember when I bought that bean? Well, then—”

“No,” said Marie. “I mean, what happened to your skin? Did you fall in a toilet or something?” The boys exploded with laughter.

Jack looked down at his skin. It did look disgusting. He said, “I got this from going in the stomach of a fire-breathing beast!”

“That’s funny. My toilet breathes water,” said Marie, and the boys roared.

“I did!” Jack insisted. “I did!”

The boys laughed harder.

Jack stood, staring at them. A dim and distant wisdom tickled his brain. He shook it off and turned for his house. He came to the front door. He took a deep breath.

Before he could take the doorknob, the door opened itself. His father stood in the doorway.

A moment of silence.

And then, “Jack?”

Jack nodded.

Jack’s father threw his arms around his son.

Jack’s father made him some food, he helped him wash himself, and he told Jack to lie down. He needn’t worry about chores for a little while. He looked like he’d had a rough time of it.

“I missed you,” his father said. “I feel bad about how I acted.”

Jack nodded. But he was already staring out the window, watching the boys play blindman’s bluff.

The next day, he was outside with them, going with them down to the river, running with them across the fields.

Soon, that old song came back.

Marie had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb. Marie had a little lamb whose fleece was black as coal.

“Don’t sing that,” Jack would say. “It isn’t funny.” So the boys would sing it louder.

Everywhere that Marie went, Marie went, Marie went, everywhere that Marie went the lamb was sure to go.

“Please stop!”

It made the children laugh and play, laugh and play, laugh and play, it made the children laugh and play to see the lamb follow.

“STOP IT!” Jack would shout. And the boys would roar with laughter.

Jack tried to just be with the boys. Not follow them. Just be with them. He even tried to tell them of the places he’d been, the things he’d done. But they didn’t believe him. Jack was a dreamer. And a follower. Always was, always would be.

They teased him mercilessly. And when they weren’t teasing him, they were mocking each other. Jack hated it.

And the song. The song would not go away.

Marie had a little lamb, little lamb . . .

And then, one day, Jack had had enough.

Marie had been teasing him for hours, calling him “toilet” for his blisters and scabbing skin, and asking why he followed them around so much. The boys sang the lamb song again and again and again.

Jack stood there, taking it, trying to laugh—as his face turned red and he squinted his eyes against the tears.

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw three ravens fly past. He did not know if they were the talking ravens or not. They could have been regular ravens, for all he knew.

But when he saw them, he remembered something that the talking ravens had said. Something he had not understood at the time.
When you do what you want, not what you wish . . .

And suddenly he realized,
I wish I could be friends with these boys. But I do not
want
to be. I do not think I like them at all.

And without another word, he turned around and walked away.

It was one week earlier that Jill left the frog on the edge of the well and promised she’d come and visit him soon.

He looked unhappily into the mossy, smelly darkness. “You’d better . . .” he said. She smiled.

Jill headed for the front of the castle. She started walking very slowly, her stomach turning over and over. Then she walked faster. And faster. And faster. Soon, she was running. She came to the castle gate.

The guards took one look at her and said, “Princess?” Jill nodded, her eyes brimming, her throat too thick for words.

“The princess is home!” they shouted. “The princess is home!” The call was taken up all throughout the castle. Jill ran to the great door, and then through the grand hall, and finally up the steps that led to the throne room. And as she ran, she heard, “The princess is home! The princess is home!” echoing from the walls, and also laughter, and whooping, and even some weeping.

Jill burst into the throne room. Her father jumped nearly a foot at the sound of the door banging open. He cried, “Darling!” But Jill ran for her mother. Her mother had turned, and her eyes were wide like moons, and Jill catapulted herself into her arms. And, burying her face in her mother’s neck, she said, “Mommy.”

And her mother held her. But not tightly.

At last, Jill pulled back.

Her mother looked slightly disgusted. “Darling . . .” she began. “What’s happened to you . . . ?”

“Well,” said Jill, “it’s a long story. It starts with a beanstalk. No, it starts with a frog, who can—”

But her mother cut her off. “No,” said her mother. “I mean, what’s happened to your skin, darling?”

Jill felt like she had been punched in the gut. She took a step back. She looked at the floor. She said, “Sorry, Mommy. I’ll go wash.”

So Jill got washed up as best she could, put ointment on her blisters, put on all the correct clothes, and went back to her life as it had been before—sitting by her mother’s side as the queen reapplied makeup or fussed with her hair.

But it didn’t feel right.

From time to time, she would tell her mother how beautiful she looked. And her mother would blush and deny it and smile, just as she always had.

But now, this ritual reminded Jill of goblins and a throne and silken bonds.

One day, her mother was testing new shades of eye shadow, and Jill was bored. She stared out the window, remembering that fateful day with the beggar. Then, suddenly, across the square, she espied three dark forms. Her heart caught.

Birds,
she realized. They were black birds, casting long shadows on a windowsill. Perhaps ravens. She smiled to think that, maybe, they knew the future . . .

Suddenly, Jill was reminded of something the ravens had said to her.
When you no longer seek your reflection in others’ eyes . . .

She thought of the Others’ pale eyes. Then she thought of her mother.

At that very instant, the queen looked up at her. “Darling, will you go put some more makeup on? Your blisters are starting to show again.”

Jill felt the familiar twisting in her stomach that she was again growing used to living at home. But she swallowed it down. She took a deep breath. She tried a new approach. “It’s just the two of us here, Mommy. And I don’t really care about my skin.”

“Well, I do! It looks dreadful! You look dreadful!” And the queen went back to testing eye shadow.

Jill stared at her beautiful mother. And then, very slowly, she reached for a heavy silver hairbrush that sat on a side table.

The queen was too busy admiring a new shade of blue to notice. Nor did she notice Jill pull the brush back behind her head. But she certainly did notice the brush crash into the large silver mirror and send it shivering, shattering, into a million pieces.

“I DON’T CARE!” Jill screamed.

Jill’s mother turned around, mouth agape, eyes as wide as moons.

An anger and a hurt so deep, so old, exploded from the little girl. “I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU THINK! I DON’T CARE! You stare in that mirror all day long and you don’t even see!
You don’t even see!
”

And then Jill spun and ran.

The queen was frozen. At last, she shook herself, stood, and hurried to her chamber door. She looked down the hall. Empty. She looked back in her room. Her mirror was shattered.

And yet, in that moment, the queen was not concerned with the mirror. Not at all. She was much more concerned about something else. Someone else. Which she found very, very surprising.

“Jill!” she cried out. “JILL!”

But it was too late. Jill was gone.

Jill arrived at the well.

She stopped.

Jack was already sitting on the ledge. The light on his face was dappled by the bare trees. Birdsong echoed throughout the grove, as did the creaking of branches in the wind.

Jill sat down beside him. Neither said a word. They did not have to. Jack pressed his lips together in a weak excuse for a smile. Jill put her arm around his shoulders.

Just then, the frog clambered up onto the edge of the well.

“Hooray! You’re back!” he cried. “How’d it go? Good? Better than here, I hope. I thought Eddie was smelly. Jeez! A frog leaves his well for a year, comes home, and it’s like they’ve been growing mold on purpose! In fact, they probably have! And stuuuupid! ‘Hey Frog, where were you? Where was I? Where am I? Who am I? What is the meaning of life?’ Idiots.” The frog smiled up at the two children appealingly. Then his face fell. “What?” he said. “What’s wrong?” He waited. “What, it didn’t go too good?”

Jack and Jill shook their heads. “Not too good at all,” said Jack.

The frog sighed. “No, ‘You’re so beautiful,’ ‘You’re so great’?”

“No,” said Jack.

“No,” said Jill.

The birds sang in the trees as if nothing at all was wrong. The frog looked up. The sky was that deep, cerulean blue that he had once loved so.

“No, ‘Home Sweet Home’?” the frog tried again.

“This isn’t my home,” said Jill.

Jack looked over at her.

She said, “Home is where you can be yourself.”

Jack pressed his lips together. He nodded. He took her hand, picked up the frog, and stood up. Jill stood up, too.

And then Jack and Jill walked away.

As Jack and Jill walked, no destination in mind, they came to a very tall hill, just on the outskirts of town. Around the base of the hill, a large crowd had gathered. The two children came up and tried to ask what was going on, but no one would listen to them. All strained their necks to see the top of the hill.

Finally, Jack nudged a boy about his own age. “What is everybody looking at?” he asked.

The boy said, “Three murderers are being punished. They’re to be rolled down this here hill.” He was a small boy, with a sooty face and no front teeth.

“Rolled down a hill?” said Jack. “What kind of punishment is that?”

The boy grinned at Jack with his gap-toothed smile. “Well, they came to the royal guards and confessed to being murderers—and cannibals! So they were brought before a judge. Not just any judge. The Beggar Judge.”

Jack and Jill shrugged.

“You don’t know the Beggar Judge?” the boy exclaimed. “But he’s famous! He’s the beggar that gave his blanket to the princess when she was naked!” Jill blushed hotly and stared all the more intently at the boy, who went on, oblivious. “The king saw him do it, and, for being so kind and merciful, he made him a judge. And he’s the best judge we’ve got. Wise and fair.”

The boy continued, “Anyhow, the murderers were brought before the Beggar Judge. He asked them why they confessed. And you know what they said? They said, once they confessed, they would be the greatest, bravest, wisest creatures in the whole world! Creatures. That’s what they said!” The boy was clearly enjoying the story. “So the judge said, ‘If you’re so wise, you can be my assistants, and help me be a judge!’ Well, the murderers like that, don’t they?” The boy took a deep breath, readying himself for the story’s climax.

“Well, the first case they had to decide was that of a murderer. And the judge, he asked them what the punishment should be. And they said, put him in a barrel, drive nails into it, and roll him down a hill. They were pretty proud of themselves for that bit of wisdom. So the Beggar Judge, he says, ‘You have pronounced your own sentence.’ Just like that.”