“It’s strange... It’s really so strange...”
“Here we go again. Another one of your questions, right?” The prince was twenty-one now and seemed a good deal more mature and sure of himself. “What sort of question is it this time, I wonder. The one the other day was a real gem: ‘Where is God?’”
Rapunzel bowed her head slightly and giggled. Then she looked up and said:
“Am I a woman?”
The prince was taken aback by this question, but chose to reply in a rather pompous tone.
“Well, you’re most certainly not a man.”
“So I’ll have a baby, and I’ll become an old woman?”
“You’ll be a beautiful old woman.”
“I won’t.” There was a smile on Rapunzel’s face, but it was a very sad smile. “I won’t have a baby.”
“Now why would you say something like that?” The prince’s tone was one of easy confidence, as if he were indulging a child.
“I didn’t sleep last night, thinking about it. If I give birth, it will turn me suddenly into an old woman. You’ll love and cherish only the baby, and I’ll just be in the way. Nobody will care about me anymore. I know. I’m a stupid girl of lowly birth, and once I’m old and ugly I’ll be of no use to anyone. I won’t have any choice but to go back to the forest and become a witch or something.”
The prince was scowling now.
“You mean you still haven’t forgotten about that damned forest? Think of your social position.”
“Forgive me. I thought I’d forgotten about it, but on lonely nights like last night it all comes back to me. My mother is a fearsome old witch, but she doted on me when I was growing up. And I know that even when no one wants me any longer, my mother back in the forest will always be willing to hold me in her arms, like she did when I was a little girl.”
“But you have me!” said the prince, exasperated.
“No. You too will change. You’ve treated me nicely, yes, but only because you find me curious and amusing. It’s made me feel so lonely, somehow. If I have a baby now, it’ll be a new curiosity for you, and you’ll forget all about me. I’m really just a foolish and useless person.”
“You simply don’t realize how beautiful you are.” The prince had thrust out his lips in a pout and seemed to moan the words. “You’re saying such ridiculous things. Today’s question is really dumb.”
“You don’t understand at all. You don’t know how I’ve been suffering lately. I’m a savage child with the blood of a witch in my veins. How I despise this baby that’s going to be born! I wish I could kill it.” Rapunzel’s voice was trembling. She bit her lower lip.
The prince shuddered. For all his blustering, he was in fact a rather faint-hearted person, and it occurred to him that a woman like Rapunzel might actually go so far as to kill her own child. Women like this, who live by their instincts and don’t know how to resign themselves to fate, are always catalysts for tragedy.
The elder daughter had written all this fluidly and unhesitatingly, with an air of absolute self-confidence, and having come this far she quietly laid down her pen. She reread the piece from the beginning, blushing at certain passages and twisting her mouth in a wry smile. There were some rather suggestive scenes here and there, and the poison-tongued second son would probably laugh with scorn when he read it, but there was nothing to be done about that. It seemed to her that she’d set down her own feelings in an honest, straightforward manner, and it made her sad to think how that honesty might be received. On the other hand, she also felt a certain sense of pride: Only she, of all the brothers and sisters, was really capable of expressing the delicacy of a woman’s feelings.
There was no heat in her study, and now, suddenly, she became aware of this and shivered: “Brrr... I’m freezing.” Hunching her shoulders, she stood up clutching the manuscript and hurried out into the hallway, where she nearly collided with her youngest brother. He was standing outside her door looking perturbed and worried.
“Sorry!” he said. “I’m so sorry!”
“Kazu, you’ve been spying on me.”
“No, no, nothing like that!” The accusation flustered him even more, and his face turned bright red.
“I know—you’re concerned about whether I was able to continue the story in a satisfactory way. Is that it?”
“Exactly,” he confessed in a small voice, then began to berate himself. “Mine wasn’t any good, was it? I’m just no good at this.”
“That’s not true. This time you did very well indeed.”
“You really think so?” His small eyes lit up with joy. “Did you do a good job following up on it? Did you do right by Rapunzel?”
“I dare say I did.”
“Thank you!” The youngest son pressed his palms together and bowed his head. “Oh, thank you!”