Fancy Shop

by Valeri Stanoevich

  thee; but with great mercies will I gather thee.

  Isaiah 54:7

  Children were playing in front of the building. The man on the staircase looked at him, turned his head and froze for a moment. Then the snorting behind continued for a little longer, only now it was quieter, apathetic. He passed a couple of doors, opened one of them and walked through it. He saw a field and desert clouds. He could barely see her in the distance. Then she came near. She didn’t look surprised:12

  ‘You finally found me.’

  ‘It wasn’t easy.’

  ‘Yes, but now you’re here. I knew you’d come. Let’s go, the path is that way.’

  ‘No. Let’s go through the door. He’s waiting for you.’

  ‘Come! I was waiting for you.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why? Nobody would look for us here.’

  ‘I am …’ he was looking for the word. ‘I am his messenger.’

  ‘It’s a pity.’

  ‘It’s a pity of a shelter. You thought it up, didn’t you?’

  She leaned forward, picked a weed and gave it to him:

  ‘Forget-me-not!’13

  Her silhouette was moving away, in that dream …14

  He was crossing the street, when the book of Dod slipped from his hand. Out of the opened pages fell the stem with the blue flowers. He picked it and sensed the smell of soil … So, it was true!15

  Now the air over the staircase was being torn out of his lungs. For a moment he stopped, in order to inhale …

  Next to the open door, a child was standing and letting the flow of air outside.

  ‘That place … It was here …’ he managed to say.

  The child smiled.

  ‘It cannot speak. It’s a phantom,’ said someone on the inside.16

  RETURN OF PARSIFAL

  His death was walking next to him. The streets were starting, dozing, and ending as usual. What was waiting for him by the wall, said:

  ‘Leave the chick here, you carrion!’

  He met the sparkle in their eyes and probably he would have frozen in fear, if he hadn’t heard his scream and if his arm had not raised a sword. He saw them, sinking like bats in the corners of their dark. It became so dark that the sword began to shine: distant, unreachable. Then, once feeling the lack, he shrank like a rag over the shit that poured from his mouth …

  ‘What have I lived to see!’ the cut-throat sighed. ‘I could have robbed you, beggar. Not that I could take anything from you, but it’s unlikely somebody else will soon pass by.’

  ‘Have you robbed a lot of people?’ he asked.

  ‘A lot, but that was long ago. Now if I meet someone, I still rip the shirt off his back.’

  ‘Aren’t you touched by their prayers?’

  ‘How could they pray?’ The villain was surprised. ‘I kill them straightaway.’

  … Despite his youth, the wretch had kept his dignity. Unfortunately, the noose didn’t tighten. It was clear from his groans and raging kicks in the gap. They were silently watching and only one of them took pity on him.

  ‘Easy-easy, easy-easy,’ he said to comfort him and moved in front of him.

  Then he embraced him and swung with him. The groans became whimpers and quietened. The body became calm.

  ‘Easy-easy, easy-easy,’ the man kept repeating.

  ‘Squeak-squeak, squeak-squeak,’ the rope was creaking.

  … ‘Look at that dirt, brother! He’s even shabbier than you! And you think you’re scum. I bet he wants to kiss your legs. Why don’t you make him? Look at the joy he takes in kissing them! He’s making an effort out of fear, that rascal. He’s afraid of you, brother. So what if others shun spitting on you. Turns out, you are a decent man.’

  ‘Look how frail that bastard is! Go ahead, hit him in the mug!’

  ‘Good, you hit him well! Why isn’t the bastard screaming? A squeal, at least? Is he dumb? Try the knife! Poke him! Or don’t! Look how he’s gazing. Maybe he’s bewitched. Spit on him!’

  ‘Let’s get out of here, brother! ...’

  …The wind in the high branches awoke him. He saw the hill and the contour of the ridge. He went out from the pile of leaves and kept on going.

  It seems that up there the wind was blowing stronger. He climbed up and understood that what seemed like a wind was the noise of the multitude. He saw waggons and people. They were walking as if the road were familiar or indifferent. At the foot of the hill, the elders went off in the waggons and the younger ones hitched themselves to the horses. There was a scream. They were huddling up next to one of the carts. Probably someone was crushed.

  ‘Where are you, Parsifal? Why did you leave to look for that chalice? Why did you leave us alone? Will I see you again in this world?’ the living mummy kept screaming.

  Somebody was moaning. Then their voices mingled. He pulled the hood over his eyes because he knew they were calling someone else.

  Suddenly, everything became quiet.

  ‘Go back!’ they heard and it echoed over the precipice.

  The cliff started to move in the outlines of people and horses. The armour of the horsemen was gleaming.

  ‘Go back, rotten scum,’ the first one repeated, and so they understood him, he raced forward, lifted his sword and struck the nearest one. The poor man opened his hands and fell down. A reflux followed — compelling and fast. The horsemen noticed him only now. They looked like statues under the trembling mantles. The armour, losing its shine, regained its stone greyness. Down there the wind was fading away. And by the freedom with which it was waving his rags, he understood he was alone ...

  The path was sunk inside the forest. It was like other sounds laid low behind the rustling. He could hear only his footsteps. Then he felt it. Through the rustling, other sounds were penetrating. When he stopped they hastened to stop, but they didn’t always succeed. Inaudible words. Spoken without a voice, they were able to give their humility only. Everything ended here. It couldn’t be him. Why? Who could say? He took their hope instead of leaving it on the road. Would he have the strength to continue if he was freed from its heaviness? Was that the price?

  This forest is dense. It’s hard to wander over it. Here, behind the bushes, anyone could be lurking. However, the one who waits for you is probably you. Don’t turn back. Don’t look for what you know. Just go, go …

  He already knew where he was going. He was returning to where he had come from. What he had gone after was now leading him back. So, mercy hadn’t been taken away from him. He was allowed to leave and stop. An effort against doom. The destiny to bear every fate. The solace to forget the goal. This thought used up his strength. He made a few last steps in order to reach the meadow. He managed to lift his head towards the light before going down on the grass. The one who had followed him throughout came closer and left the chalice by his outstretched hand, gently as if she didn’t want to wake him up.

  ONCE AGAIN FOR THE PRINCESS

  Maybe everyone knows Hans Andersen’s story The Princess and the Pea.

  It is the story of a princess who was in pain after a single pea was put under her mattress. The plot is told with simple phrases and suspicious dissonances. Where is the acerbic wit or emotional depth of other Andersen tales?

  There are different theories about the point of the story. One makes a connection with an ancient Indian text; another maintains that it is a pamphlet criticising the habits and ridiculous behaviour of the nobility. But what about the questions hidden behind the narrative? Are they a matter of chance or are they intentional? Firstly, let’s see what they are:

  1.Why can’t the prince find a real princess? Has he any idea what he wants? What does he want?

  2.Why is a girl who arrives at the same time as the storm taken seriously and invited into the palace despite her pitiable appearance? Why does she call herself
a real princess?

  3.Why does the king welcome her himself? How has he heard the knocking on the town gate from his palace, despite the thunderstorm?

  4.Why does the queen consider the girl’s ridiculous appearance merits putting her to the test? Why do the strange test results completely satisfy her?

  5.Why does the princess describe things so dramatically? Why is she both a stranger appearing through the storm and spoiled child? To whom does she want to make an impression?

  6.How did the prince know he had found a real princess?

  7.Why did they put the pea in the museum? Is it so valuable?

  8.Why does the author conclude that it is a true story?

  9.Why has Andersen written a story raising so many questions?

  10.By answering these questions, was he provoking the reader into making up his own story?

  Here is mine:

  Once upon a time there was a prince who wanted to find a real princess. He travelled the world looking for a princess but couldn’t find one anywhere. He returned home frustrated, finished with his attempts to get a bride. A crown without a lawful heir: over time it would have boded ill for the kingdom.

  The queen thought deeply about it. Once she entered the prince’s chamber and found something unusual there.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked.

  ‘The prince brought this painting from abroad last time he was there,’ answered the servant. ‘Sometimes he stays here for hours looking at it.’

  The picture portrayed a fairy with flowing hair running over a green field.

  ‘So this is what he wants,’ the queen grasped. ‘Then I should get her.’

  An unusual case requires an extraordinary solution and the queen knew what it should be. She went to the window, gazing out beyond the things she could see to where things unseen were lurking, and sent out her thought:

  Come and I’ll give you everything.

  Time passed. Nothing happened. Change happened rarely in that kingdom.

  One evening a terrible storm blew up. Suddenly the old king heard knocking at the town gate.

  ‘It’s impossible; I shouldn’t be able to hear it from here.’

  But some compulsion made him go outside the court in his raincoat, turn left down the street and open the gate. A pitiful girl was standing outside. The water streamed from her hair down her clothes into her shoes.

  ‘Who are you?’ the king asked.

  ‘I am a real princess,’ was the answer.

  ‘If that is so, where is your carriage and retinue?’

  ‘I prefer walking to the grating of carts and fussing of servants. Feeling lonely, I summoned the storm to have some company as I strode through the forest.’

  ‘That sounds reasonable,’ the king smiled. ‘Come to us. You are soaked through and need to change before you catch cold. The queen will decide who you are. My duty is only to greet visitors.’

  ‘Dearest, the real princess has come at last,’ he said when they went into the palace.

  ‘Who invited you here?’ the queen asked.

  ‘You, if I recall,’ was the answer.

  ‘Well, well, we will have more of this tomorrow. Now you look tired. I’ll make up your bed,’ said the queen.

  She went to the bedchamber, stripped back the bedclothes and put just one pea in the bottom of the bed. Then she took twenty mattresses and piled them on top of the pea. Then she took twenty eiderdowns and piled them on the mattresses. Up on top of all these the girl was to spend the night.

  In the morning they asked her: ‘Did you sleep well?’

  Being smart and compliant, the girl started whining:

  ‘Oh no! I scarcely slept at all. Heaven knows what’s in that bed. I lay on something so hard that I’m black and blue all over. It was simply terrible.’ But the message behind these words was: ‘I know what you did. I felt your power. I’ll take on the role you have set for me. I’ll be a worthy replacement for you.’

  ‘I have just remembered,’ said the queen. ‘You were the one I invited here.’

  Thus, two weird creatures, two witches actually, passed the prince and the kingdom from one to the other in a calm and pragmatic way. So the prince made haste to marry the girl because he knew she was compelling, unusual and possessed skills over and above his mother’s.

  As for the pea, they put it in the museum, because it was a magic talisman which certified royal authority.

  There, that’s a true story, because what is the truth? That which the eye can see, or the intangible things which hide their meaning?

  NOTES

  * * *

  1 Rainer Maria Rilke (1875–1926), an Austrian poet

  2 Lamentations 3:2

  3 Lamentations 1:1

  4 Lamentations 5:14

  5 The bed’s legs stand in vessels filled with water as prevention against creeping insects.

  6 In an unclear and dark future, some new ‘prophet’ has created an energy field in which everyone can make visible for himself, and for others, the images of people that are a fruit of his own imagination. This is how the world is being inhabited by non-organic mute images of people (phantoms) that are hard to distinguish from the ones that exist in reality. This has to be an option for saving oneself from the common suffocating solitude, brought by the impossibility and the inaptitude for real communication and human sympathy.

  7 He is inside the home of a woman sunk in depression, who is living with her domestic phantom.

  8 Those living in dark and solitude find solace in the repetition of mantras and advertising slogans.

  9 He is coming back to the domineering and powerful persona, in order to report where he is in the progress of the task he’s appointed to. Through the words of the boss the flow of his thought comes through. The master is furious at the lack of progress and sends out a threat.

  10 Outside of the ‘tamed’ space of the city, there in the wilderness, where there are no laws and rules, there are atavistic fears and instincts outside of the jurisdiction of progress. Everyone who walks after himself is an enemy (or a phantom).

  11 In the dark landscape of a world without humanity, the only vital ones are the people rejected from society.

  12 He opens the door of the home from the address and stumbles into a new, vast world, where the person loses his perspective of the reality outside.

  13 Forget-me-not! By speaking the name of the flower, she practically says: Farewell!

  14 For him, what is visible is the phantom field in which her imagination has created a ghostly image of a landscape, which will diminish in any moment now, like a light fog.

  15 The reality is different: Since the flower which she has picked out of her ‘imaginary’ field is real, so all the rest that he has seen is real and alive. So she can create with her imagination a real new world and life which is worth living, an oasis among the desert of the ‘new world’ of Dod. She is the only one he had to feel with his heart. So he has missed the gift of destiny without understanding.

  16 Once he has missed it, he can never find her again. She has said goodbye and has carried her world with herself. He has to go back to his ghostly world.