—Stop it! You’re killing him! she shouted at the lynx, yanking its harness to make it let go of its prey. She had to use a broken branch to push the animal away, and then tied it to a tree trunk.
Princess Esmeralda studied the strange creature. Was this really a human? The protruding head leaned its forehead on the ground, arms resting in front of it. The body parts were filthy with blood and dirt. Esmeralda thought the creature looked like a macabre, withering plant. It did not utter a sound. She crouched by the head and carefully lifted the stiff clumps of hair. There was a large gaping wound at the back of the neck. She turned the head to one side and saw a face that seemed overgrown, almost obliterated. The creature was unconscious from its injuries or from fright.
Esmeralda considered summoning the guards, but decided not to. Instead, she gripped the creature tightly under its armpits and pulled him out of the ground. This was easier than she had thought. The robust shoulders and arms were not proportionally matched by his lower body, which slipped out of the hole like some sort of flaccid appendage. With a firm grip around his chest, she dragged the underground creature through the park. She left the lynx by the tree. Right beside the tower, she waited under cover of darkness, letting the sentry pass by before she made her way up the stairs unseen with her peculiar cargo.
Only when she had washed him clean did she start to feel certain that what she had pulled out of the ground was a human. Underneath the dirt, his skin was white as snow. She lay him on some blankets on the floor, bandaged his wounds, and then inspected him closely by the light from a candle.
—What a pitiful creature, said Princess Esmeralda, fascinated.
At that moment he suddenly awoke and whimpered, seemingly terrified. He started scrambling and scrabbling and and scratching wildly at the floor. When Esmeralda touched him, he anxiously curled up and tucked his legs under him, like a hedgehog in hibernation.
When morning came she carefully locked the door, went down to the park, untied the lynx, and asked a servant woman to take care of it. She was afraid it might hurt the stranger more if she let it up into her tower.
All day the man lay curled up in a corner. The blankets that the princess had laid out were no longer on the floor, he had instead heaped them up over his body. She sat down on a chair beside him. She tried using him as a footstool like she usually did with the lynx. After a while, he seemed to get used to it.
Esmeralda told nobody what she was keeping in her tower room. She had learned that it was best to keep quiet about things that meant something to you. She told the man stories, she sang to him, she caressed his back with her toes.
After a month or so, he started speaking. He complained about the light. The princess tore strips of fabric from her dress and tied them over his eye slits like a blindfold. He thanked her, and a few days later, he told her his story. Princess Esmeralda listened, and then said in surprise:
—The war you speak of ended fifty years ago. But there’s not even one wrinkle on your face.
She continued:
—Everyone has always warned me against sunlight. It ruins the complexion. If you want to stay young, you should avoid the sun. How youthful it must make one to spend all one’s time in darkness, like you!
Princess Esmeralda told him more about the war:
—The war annihilated almost all of your people, and the enemy too. It went on for many years. Those who did not fall in battle soon starved to death, since fields and barns were burned down. Many died from plague as well. The land lay dead for long. But all the fires had made the soil fertile. Therefore, my people moved here to plant seeds in the ashes.
The princess tended to the man’s wounds and sewed him new clothes. She called him the Mole King and fed him bread soaked in water and earthworms. She brought several large horse blankets from the stables for him to crawl around under. But when he asked her to take him back to the park, she refused.
—You can have anything you want up here in my rooms. But I’m never letting you go.
The Mole King yearned for the underworld. Air was such an empty element. He felt vulnerable and fragile. Again and again, he dreamed of scrabbling at the stone floor. A flagstone was loose, he pried it free, darkness came flooding up, he widened the hole and crawled in. But when he woke, the floor was smooth and impenetrable, and he was still a prisoner in the overground.
He always kept his blindfold on. But one day, while giving him his feeding bowl, the princess stroked his cheek and happened to nudge the blindfold, and his eye was exposed. The shock made him open it. Her white-hot blondeness blazed toward him. Her eyes flashed blue in every direction. He closed his eyes and adjusted the blindfold. His eye had almost been burned through, as if someone had poured a drop of poison into it. After she had left, he knew what she resembled. She was like the royal crown he had lost in the woods. Shining, with sapphires sparkling blue.
One night, he cautiously lifted a corner of the blindfold. The princess lay sleeping in her bed. There was moonlight in the room. He felt she was made of liquid silver. When dawn came, he looked at her again. Now she was lead. Gray, heavy, muted. In the sunrise, she was copper. At dinnertime, when she brought him food, she was gold. And when she combed her hair at sunset, she was made of copper once again.
When the Mole King was by himself, he tried standing up. After some time, he could hobble around, holding on to pieces of furniture. He started taking off the blindfold altogether at night, and when he looked around the room, he felt a strange sensation. These eight walls embraced him and brought memories of a calm, light world. At the same time, everything was new and unfamiliar. The walls were covered with tapestries showing animals and people from faraway lands.
The balcony door was open, and he forced his soft legs to walk there. Out in the night air, he recognized his surroundings. He was back in his own castle, in the tower room where he had lived with his nursemaid as a little boy. The tower room had windows to the north, south, east and west. The light up here had always been so airy and blue. He remembered his nursemaid and her generous lap, where he had ridden in comfortable walks and wilder canters. Gingerly, his thoughts touched this part of his past, and to his surprise he found no pain.
When he looked down he saw that several of the smaller buildings around the castle were gone. Gaping foundations showed where they had been. Some had been replaced by new structures.
The Mole King returned to his mound of blankets. He tied the blindfold so he wouldn’t be caught unawares by the bright morning light. Princess Esmeralda slept above in her bed. Her breathing was rhythmic and unyielding, like the footsteps of the sentry outside.
* * *
—
One day, Esmeralda’s father called her to him. He took her for a walk.
—You are my only child, he said. If you don’t get married, our line will die out. I am old now and growing less strong. Grant me the joy of seeing you married before I die.
—I would love to give you joy, Father, said Esmeralda.
—But none of the suitors please you! Is there then not a single man in my large kingdom that you would want? the King exclaimed, spreading his arms toward fields and forests and mountains in the distance.
—No, answered Esmeralda. Not out there. But up in my tower I have a man I want.
—Really? A man you want? A man who is good enough for you? the King asked incredulously.
—He’ll do, Esmeralda said.
—How did he get here?
—I dug him up.
—Well, that’s just like you. But it doesn’t matter. Now, I want to see him, and then we’re going to throw a wedding.
They climbed up to the tower room. The Mole King was sitting on his mound of horse blankets.
—Could you not have given your suitor a nicer spot to sit? Esmeralda’s father asked.
—He’s not a suitor, Esmeralda answered.
&
nbsp; —What now? Hasn’t he asked for your hand?
—No.
—But how do you know he wants to marry you then?
—If I’ve dug him up, he’s mine, said Esmeralda. And he likes the horse blankets.
The King approached the man, crouched down, and inspected him. Then he returned to his daughter’s side.
—Why is he wearing a blindfold? Can’t he see?
—Yes. But he doesn’t want to.
—He seems sickly. He’s very pale, the King pointed out.
—Father, can’t you see his lovely complexion? If my skin were that white and smooth, I would be very pleased.
—Yes, his complexion is extraordinarily fine, it’s true, the King muttered. He must come from a good family.
—He has royal blood, said Esmeralda.
—I can see that. I can see that. But his hands are rough.
—He has used them to work hard.
—Manual labor and royal birth. A good combination, the King nodded. You have my blessing, Esmeralda.
And with this, the King left the throne room. At last, his heart was at ease.
* * *
—
Even though it brought him pain, the Mole King often lifted the blindfold a little to look at the princess.
—Good, said the princess one day when she noticed him watching her.
—When we get married, you can’t wear the blindfold at all. If you take me as your wife without looking at me, you’ll make me a laughingstock. And you have to learn to walk properly. Come, let’s take a walk in the park so you can exercise your eyes and legs.
They went outside. The Mole King supported himself with one hand on a cane and the other on Princess Esmeralda’s arm. Two guards walked in front of them and two behind them. They were surprised by a shower of rain. The princess pulled her fiancé in under a willow tree. The guards stayed outside.
—Have you been married before? Esmeralda asked.
—No, said the Mole King. My relatives introduced me to several young women, but…
He fell silent and cast his eyes down.
—None of them interested you? the princess prompted. I understand perfectly. We will be well suited.
The rain whipped through the park, but the dense foliage of the willow protected them like the walls and roof of a house.
—I hope there’s thunder as well. I love a storm, said Esmeralda.
—If we marry—does that mean I will be King? wondered the Mole King.
—Yes. When my father dies. And don’t think you can slip down some hole again. I will keep you under surveillance.
Small drops of sweat crept forth on the Mole King’s forehead. Esmeralda tried to kiss his cheek, but he hid his face in his large collar.
—I’ll support you. Don’t start brooding over that yet. Oh look, there’s a wrinkle on your forehead! You shouldn’t worry so much. It’ll damage your beautiful complexion.
The rain stopped and they made their way back to the castle, accompanied by the drenched guards. The fragrance of the flowers had been freed by the rain, and a rainbow spanned the turrets of the castle. The princess talked rapidly about her plans for the seven-day wedding. The Mole King was silent. His eyes were stinging and he felt utterly exhausted.
On the walkway, the earthworms had crawled up to the surface. There they lay, blue like veins and utterly vulnerable. The Mole King halted and pushed his big toe into the ground, trying to send the vibrating warning signal. But he had forgotten how it went. The worms stayed still. As princess Esmeralda talked about her bridal gown, all the courses of the wedding dinner, the gifts she might receive, the slim lavender-gray bodies were crushed under her heels.
When the wedding day came, the Mole King had put aside the blindfold, but he couldn’t manage without his cane. Esmeralda’s father had ordered there to be rumors of how his daughter’s betrothed had been wounded in glorious battle.
The wedding celebration took place in the largest castle hall, which was illuminated by a multitude of torches. Their light was not as bright as the sun’s, but it was more unpredictable, and it was intensified by all the shiny objects in the room. It ambushed the Mole King from every direction, and he didn’t know where his eyes could rest. If he looked straight ahead, a thousand needles of light pricked him from the necklace of a lady-in-waiting. Over her shoulder, he saw rows of torches, multiplied by their gleaming brass holders. Turning his gaze upward, he was met by massive chandeliers swaying like ships ablaze at sea. And if he lowered his eyes, the sparks from a well-polished spoon struck him. He closed his eyes, opening them only now and then to look at Esmeralda, who seemed to him lovelier than ever in her bridal finery.
A never-ending stream of serving plates filled to the brim were brought out. There was eating, dancing, games, walks in the park, and yet more eating. On the seventh day, Esmeralda’s father stood up to give his speech to the newlyweds. But before he could say a word, his face turned scarlet, he clutched at his side, then his chest, and fell face-first onto the table with a grimace of pain. Groaning, he rolled from side to side, and his face, having landed right in his plate, was smeared with pheasant sauce. The King gripped the edge of the table to try to stand up, but crumpled to the floor instead, laying where he fell, with eyes staring vacantly. The Royal Physician, who had been sent for, could only conclude that his highness was dead.
When the dead King had been carried out and the shock had dissipated, someone called for a toast to the new monarch, and everyone turned toward the Mole King’s chair. But it was empty. He had instantly realized the implications of the event and, giving in to an overpowering urge, had crawled under the table. There was quite a bit of searching before they found him. The new King of the realm lay curled up in his mantle like a tortoise in its shell. They dragged him out, hoisted him in the air, carried him to the throne amid shouts of celebration, and pushed the crown down on his head. The Mole King looked out over the sea of people, food, candles, torches. All eyes were upon him.
—All this light, he mumbled, and everyone fell silent, thinking this was the start of a speech.
Whispering, he continued:
—Darkness. I want to eat darkness like the worms eat soil.
And with a sob, he leaned his head in his hands, and stayed like that until all the guests had left.
* * *
—
Now that he was King, the Mole King had to leave his mound of blankets in the throne room and move into the Royal Chambers together with his Queen Esmeralda. Not once during the wedding night did he touch her. And not any of the following nights either. She asked:
—Why won’t you touch me? You’re my husband now.
—I can’t touch a woman made of brass or copper. Not even a woman made of silver, he answered.
Esmeralda found heavy dark blankets for the bed and had someone sew her a little moleskin cloak. When night fell, she crawled under the blankets to the King who lay hidden there and gently sniffed him. And in the darkness they made love like two little moles in the underworld.
* * *
—
The Mole King was now reliving his old life. Every morning, he met with his councillors in the very hall where he had sat in council many, many years ago. He felt the same insecurities. The same anguish over decisions that affected other people. But at the same time, he realized that the expectations upon him were lesser than before. He was pale and sickly, half-blind and lame. His unbelievably smooth skin that Esmeralda had marveled over was turning rough and coarse. The Mole King couldn’t help noticing the servants’ scorn behind his back, the mumbling in the Council Hall before he entered, the cunning looks exchanged by some of the councillors. He lamented this to Esmeralda.
—You’re being much too suspicious, she said. Don’t worry so much. I do believe there’s another wrinkle here! Worry and sunlight are the very
worst things for the complexion.
Regarding the latter, Esmeralda needed not worry. The Mole King hardly ever ventured out in the daytime. But when evening came, he set out on long walks. With no crown on, his mantle like a cowl over his head, leaning on a cane, he looked like a beggar. A short distance behind, the guards followed him like shadows.
From the throne room, he had seen a hill with a single tree. One evening he made his way there. He found that the hill was a churchyard and the tree a large oak. He sat down under the oak. The guards rested by the gate and round the outside of the wall. All was calm. The Mole King sat listening to the whispering of the leaves that swept through his thoughts, dispersing and dissolving them. When the moon rose, he set out homeward, feeling something of the quickening that had once filled him when sleeping in a hole by an uprooted tree.
But every day, more wrinkles appeared on his face. He started to look old. One morning, a chambermaid overheard the Queen calling her husband Mole King. She found this so apt and amusing that she told some other servants, and before long, he was referred to as the Mole King throughout the castle. With his squinting slits for eyes, a mole was just what he looked like.
In the beginning, the nickname was uttered carefully, in whispers. But as time went on, the voices grew louder. Once the court and the servants realized that the King did not punish those who mocked him, they grew ever bolder. He was openly ridiculed, and his poor eyesight taken advantage of for mean jokes. But when the Queen was around, the jesters kept a low profile. Esmeralda doled out harsh punishments to anyone who did not show her husband appropriate levels of respect.
The Big Book of Modern Fantasy Page 87