Saturday 1 October 2016

Relic Environments Trilogy: Book III, Part 2.iv

from Book III, Part 2, Animus

II. The Child-Eaters

ii. Hansel and Gretel                  

It was a time of famine.

Even when the weather favoured
kitchen crops − potato sets and runner beans −
the pickings were lean, but now
bellies bloated, guts pinched and heaved with hunger…
the summer wet, the sun all day
curtained in low cloud no winds could shift,
their plantings rotted in cold clay.

The Father set off into the woods, each day
a little firewood cut, a few cords more
to trade for grain
his wife milled for sour bread.

The Father set off into the woods, at first close by
their poor hut, and the boy Hansel
could hear the steady chop chop chop
of his Father’s axe, but with each day passing
the sound grew fainter, until his sister Gretel said,
Hansel, our Father goes deeper in the woods
each day, and now
the chop chop chop so faint
I cannot tell it from the calling birds.

One night − a wishbone night stuck
between yesterday and tomorrow − the woodcutter’s wife
whispered to her husband, The food is nearly finished; what wood
you find, there’s little grain to trade for.
She looked towards the little loft
where the Father’s children lay: It’s us or them, and better
we alone than four graves one by one.

The Father dragged his rough hands across his face,
and sobbed until he’d rubbed
the tears and snot into his beard. He sobbed
until he stopped, closed his fingers, stretched
and popped his finger-joints:
he knew she had a point.

In the loft, Hansel and Gretel heard, knowing
their Stepmother as good as her word
would see them off, arrange an accident or worse,
abandon them to beasts.

Gretel whimpered, We’re lost. I’m too weak to run.
But Hansel took his little sister’s hand
and kissed it, saying, I have plan,
and climbing from the loft, stopped just once,

his rumbling belly startling
the Stepmother half-awake; her snoring breaking
to a snort, she turned over to the wall, and farted.

And Hansel slipped by, and out the door,
gathering small stones as white and bright
as stars he knew must still be somewhere
through the cloud.

Back in the loft, they whispered, Goodnight.
In the dark
Gretel reached for his hand and held it tight.

                                    *

There was another plan…

The Stepmother, the next morning,
called, Lazybones wake up. It’s deeper woods today,
and we’ll all be needed
if your Father’s hunch is right for easy cords.

Through the forest trail, just out of sight of home,
Hansel stopped and turned, and said,
Father, I think I can just see my little cat
sitting on the roof, and as he spoke, and walked
and stopped again and turned,
a little stone, bright as a bird’s egg
rolled to the ground.

The Stepmother said to the Father: Tell him, it’s no cat.
It’s chimney shadows on the roof; we ate his cat long since.

They walked and walked, a little trail of white stones
winking in the grass behind them,
until they came to a depth of forest
so dark it could be night, and nearly was by then…

The Stepmother said, We’ll be back. Deeper in these woods
the cuts are sweet with resin
and there to be had by those who’d walk that farther in. Stay put.
There are beasts about: take two sticks and make a fire.

But they did not return, and the children shared
their little bread, through the night
picking their way home, stone by shiny stone.

*

The Father opened the door, jumped back.
Father, Hansel said, we might be ghosts, you’ve gone so white.

That night, they heard again
the drip-drop drip-drop of the Stepmother
wheedling, wheedling, until they heard too,
their Father’s knuckles pop.

The next day, Lazybones, another journey,
and down the path they went, but Hansel
was cold with worry. Last night
he’d tried the door, but it was locked − the Stepmother
whispering to the Father, I don’t know what he did,
but it won’t happen twice: I don’t trust that kid
and now what little bread he had
he pinched apart and dropped, each
stop he made to turn to see his home.

…Father, I think I see a little pigeon
there, just there around the eaves…

The Stepmother said,
Tell him, it’s chimney shadows
playing tricks. And besides, that pigeon never touched the sides.

This time, deeper still, and darker than the dark before,
and they, alone
walked a night and day, a night and day and no way home,
knowing then each pinch of bread
was tastier to birds than stones.

And after three days and nights
Gretel fainted, and everything Hansel saw
swam before in twos and threes, and hunger
whined in his ears, and then, suddenly,
in a tree, a beautiful white bird appeared,
flitting branch to branch, so that Hansel understood
they were to follow.

He pulled Gretel to her feet, and stumbled
through; three birds he saw, but thought
the middle one would do.

*

The place they came to was built of bread, cake and sugar.

Bread… Cake... Sugar

Gretel licked a sugar pane, and Hansel
scoffed a slate of cake, then from within
from what on closer look
they took to be a cottage, came a little voice,

Nibble, nibble, be my guest.
When you’re done, step in and rest.

The children answered,
We’re not here. We think we died. Our plan
went wrong, and now it’s heaven drenched in marzipan.

Through the door she came on crutches, her red eyes
blinking in the daylight.

The children fell back, against the sugared-almond shutters.
Don’t be afraid of me. I’m just an old woman
who likes a little company for tea.

Hansel followed in, and Gretel followed him.
When the door was closed
and locked,
the crone came to Hansel, pinched his cheek, and said,
You’ll do, and dragged him through
and pushed him in a shed.

Gretel tugged the door and windows,
but no escape, and to make the bad dream stop,
hurled a pan. The old woman halted it midair, charmed it
bird-like, snatched
and ate it, feathers and all.

Gretel screamed, Hansel, she’s a witch.

My dear, said the witch, that’s so. I am as you say, but
we all have our parts to play: you too.
Your brother’s rangy. I prefer a plumper meal −
chop some veg.

Weeks went by, and Gretel cooked and cooked,
and the witch took pot after pot of stew
to Hansel.

Give me your hand, she said, and he shoved
a chicken bone through a crack in the door.
She pinched and thought, This one’s slow.
I’ll be starved before he fattens.
I’ll take them both and call it done, and hope
the girl’s not as chewy as she looks. Maybe this time
only lungs and liver…

But Gretel, sneaking soup and chicken
all those weeks, was stronger now, and saw
the way the witch poked the air and tapped the floor
before her with her crutches, and knew
the witch’s red, cross-eyes were weak.

The witch instructed, Make a pastry. Get the oven warm,
and mused, for a pie dish big enough for two.

Climb in, human child, and see what heat there is,
was what Gretel
later said was said. Gretel, now a little podgy, posed
slyly at the oven door: I’ll never fit in there.

The witch, squinting towards the heated hole,
climbed in herself, and said, See, any fool could do it.

Gretel slammed the oven door,
threw on more logs, and smelt the burning hair,
and listened to the squeals, as fats from the flesh
bubbled and squeaked, and could be any flesh
Gretel thought,
for a passing moment
considering her next square meal…

She and Hansel found a chest of jewels, pearls
and such they thought useful
and could carry in their pockets.
They walked through the wood, to the edge
of a lake, and noticed a wedge of ducks in flight.

Hansel remembered the time of year,
and the direction ducks took
in that season, and remembered them
sailing over their little cottage.
The children headed south, and home.

                                    *

Their Father said, I would never leave you really,
but they knew he had, and watched him close
from then on.

The Stepmother died the very day
she’d led them out a second time to the forest.
She walked so long, and grew so hungry
she ate black berries from a bush, greenish-black
they were, that killed her dead, their Father
vague about what happened after that...

They took the jewels
and shared them out, and things were better for awhile,
but jewels are not bread, when there is no bread,
nor grain to mill,
when there is no grain, even with only
three mouths to feed.

It was a time of famine.




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