Part 2 (1/2)
As you can see, she really was the most wonderful mother imaginable.
And her daughter knew it. How could she not?
One cold winter day, this wonderful mother sat before the looking gla.s.s in her room, and her little girl, whose name was Jill, sat beside her and watched her mother's expert hands apply red to her fine lips and pale cheeks. Jill's feet were soaking in a tub of ice water. ”Beautiful women have the softest feet,” her mother told her. Jill nodded fiercely and tried not to s.h.i.+ver so loudly that her mother could hear.
Suddenly, from the street below, they heard the cry of a poor beggar, braving the cold in search of food. ”Bread!” he cried. ”Bread for a freezing old man!” The queen rolled her eyes at Jill. Little Jill smiled at her mother and, once the queen had gone back to her makeup, practiced rolling her eyes as well.
But the beggar cried out again, ”Bread! Please! Can anyone spare some bread?” He must have been right below their window, for his voice bounced around the snowy eaves, through the open window, and directly into the room. Jill's mother raised her eyebrows at Jill, and then dipped her finger in a pot of rouge. The little girl practiced raising her eyebrows.
”Bread! Bread for a freezing, starving man!” the beggar cried.
”Putrid, too,” the queen said. ”I can practically smell him from here.” Jill giggled. Her mother added, ”Don't make me smile, child. I'll ruin the rouge.”
”BREAD!” the beggar screamed.
”Heavens!” The queen looked at Jill in the mirror. Her eyes traveled down to the tub of ice water. Suddenly, the queen spun around, yanked the tub out from under Jill's feet, and went to the window. She stole a mischievous look over her shoulder at Jill. Jill stared, uncomprehending. Then her mother dumped the entire tub of water out of the window.
”Oh Lord!” the beggar cried. ”Who did that? Oh, it's cold! It's cold!”
Jill's mother fell back into the room. Her face was contorted with hysterical, silent laughter. She looked at Jill through heaving laughs, her eyes wide, her eyebrows raised. Jill stared at her. She thought she ought to laugh, too. So she tried. Her mother began laughing harder now, the makeup on her face cracking into little caverns, her eyes wide as moons, staring at her little girl. Jill watched her mother laugh and laugh and laugh, as the beggar cried for a warm blanket in the street below.
Finally, after her fit of laughter had subsided, the queen went into her wardrobe. Jill walked over to the window. The beggar was still crying for a warm blanket. The little girl stuck her head over the sill and gazed downward. A bent, bearded man rubbed his arms up and down and begged, begged for someone to help him. Jill wondered if she could give him her shawl, or if her mother would disapprove. Probably she would disapprove.
Suddenly, the wind banged the window frames against the castle walls, rattling the gla.s.s.
The queen, from the depths of the wardrobe, cried out, ”What did you break now?” Even though Jill had never broken anything of her mother's in her life.
”Nothing, Mommy!” Jill called back.
”If it's my looking gla.s.s,” her mother cried, ”I will never forgive you!”
Jill reached out to draw the windows closed. She looked down one last time at the beggar. Then, as she was pulling the windows in, her gaze happened to travel across the wintry square. At the opposite side, standing in the shadow of the church, were three huddled figures. They were watching Jill. Watching her with eyes that were so pale they seemed to have no color at all. Jill s.h.i.+vered and withdrew into the room.
Her mother was standing there, staring at her, dresses draped over her shoulders and arms and around her neck. ”What's broken?” the queen snapped. ”What's broken? Don't lie to me! Is it my looking gla.s.s? I must know!”
”Nothing! Nothing, Mommy, I promise!” And Jill ran to her wonderful mother and threw her arms around her and held her tightly.
What's that? You don't think she's so wonderful?
I don't know what you're talking about.
”Announcing the entrance of the world-famous Holbein Cornelius Anderson! Merchant-Adventurer and Clothier to Kings!” So read the guard. Then he stood aside, and a man, dressed in the brightest fabrics Jill had ever seen, made his way to the center of the room. He smiled from a smooth baby face, and his eyes were a blue so pale they were almost white.
It was the queen's half birthday, a holiday that the kingdom celebrated with more fervor than any other excepting the queen's actual birthday, which was a holiday so holy that even the churches were shut. ”Your Majesty,” the brightly clad man said with a low bow, ”I am Holbein Cornelius Anderson, Merchant-Adventurer and Clothier to Kings! I have just returned from a smas.h.i.+ngly successful trip to the East, where I made kimonos for sultans and turbans for empresses!”
The queen didn't know what a sultan or a kimono was. Her eyes narrowed. She didn't like it when people used words she didn't understand.
”But now I have returned!” Anderson went on, ”And I bring with me the greatest treasure I have ever seen! And I find, lo and behold, that I return just in time for the queen's half birthday! Fate has led me to your feet, with this treasure of treasures!”
There was a pause. The king and the queen and Jill and all the courtiers in the room were silent. So was Holbein Cornelius Anderson. He looked up, right into the queen's cerulean eyes.
”Your Majesty,” he said, ”I bring you the finest silk, for the finest gown, in the whole entire world.”
Silence again. He smiled. The queen raised an eyebrow.
”Well,” she demanded impatiently, ”where is it?”
”I can't show it to you here!” Anderson cried, surprised. ”Your Majesty, this is the finest silk in all the world! The emperor of j.a.pan offered me a thousand camels for it! The sultan of Arabia offered me every single buffalo he owned! The great kahn, in China, offered not to cut off my head if I gave it to him! I refused them all! I wanted to save it for you, Your Majesty! Now, having traveled all these millions of miles home, I will show it to no one but you!”
”Very well,” the queen announced. ”Everyone leave at once! I will examine this silk alone!”
Her husband, the king, gave her a plaintive look, but she just raised an icy eyebrow at him. He, the courtiers, the guards, and the servants, all left the room. Jill was last to leave. As she was about to close the door behind her, the old merchant said, ”Wait.”
Jill paused and looked back.
”Princess, would you mind staying a moment?” the merchant asked. The queen raised her eyebrows at him. He ignored her. ”Come in, come in, and close the door behind you,” he said with a smile. Then, turning to the queen, he said, ”I am sorry, Your Majesty. But you are far taller than I remembered. You see, the great queens and empresses of the East are all very small-some no taller than my knee! I knew you were taller than that, but I thought you were, perhaps, the size of the beautiful princess here. I am afraid I haven't enough silk for a dress that will fit your statuesque majesty.” He looked down at the floor as if he were ashamed.
”You're going to make a dress for my daughter?” the queen exclaimed. ”On my half birthday?”
”When is the princess's half birthday?” the merchant asked innocently. ”Or her real birthday, for that matter? I could return then.”
I have a birthday? Little Jill wondered. She thought only the queen had a birthday. She knew that she hadn't always been alive, of course, but it had never occurred to her that she-or anyone besides her mother, in fact-had been born on one specific day. It was almost a silly idea, people besides her mother having a birthday.
The queen's lovely complexion reddened, until Jill thought she might be having a heart attack like that fat lord did two Christmases ago. But her mother merely said, in a tight, clipped voice, ”Let me see the silk.”
The merchant nodded affably and placed his broad fabric bag before him. He opened it. He put both hands inside, moved to unfold something, and then, very slowly, drew his hands out of the bag again. He was quite the showman.
His hands were a yard apart. His fingers were pressed tightly together. His eyes ran back and forth over the distance between them. Over nothing.
”Magnificent, isn't it?” he sighed. ”The most exquisite silk I have ever seen.”
Jill stole a glance at her mother. The queen was staring, wide-eyed, at the empty s.p.a.ce between his hands. Jill turned back to the merchant and mimicked her mother's facial expression exactly.
”You see it, don't you?” the merchant went on. ”Only the finest eye can see silk this majestic, this perfect. I was nearly stoned to death in the kingdom of the Tartars because the king claimed that I had no silk at all. But then his wife came in and laughed in his face. You see it don't you? You see the most exquisite piece of silk that has ever been?”
”Oh, yes!” the queen said, and suddenly her voice took on a dreamy languor. ”It's . . . it's wonderful. Just perfect. I didn't think there could be a silk so fine.” She glanced at Jill. ”Do you see it, child?”
”Oh, yes!” Jill said, echoing her mother's dreamy tone. ”It's wonderful. It . . . it's wonderful.” Seeing nothing, she dared say nothing more.