Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West

by Gregory Maguire

  He told her about her sister’s rise to Eminence, and the secession in the late spring. “Yes, yes, I know of it but not why,” she said, prodding. So he described the burning of a grange where opposition meetings had been gathering, the reported rape of a couple of Munchkinlander maidens following a cotillion of the Wizard’s army garrisoned near Dragon Cupboard. He mentioned the Massacre at Far Applerue and the heavy taxation on farm crops. “The last straw,” he said, “as far as Nessie was concerned, anyway, was the callow despoiling by the Wizard’s soldiers of simple country meetinghouses.”

  “Unlikely last straw,” said Elphaba. “Isn’t the back room of a colliery as holy a place to pray as a meetinghouse? I mean, according to teaching?”

  “Well, teaching,” said Frex. He shrugged; such distinctions were beyond him now. “Nessie was incensed, and communicated her outrage, and before she knew it the spark had been thrown out and the tinder caught. Within a week of her firing off a furious letter to the Emperor Wizard himself—a dangerous and seditious act—the revolutionary fever had coalesced around her. It happened right here in the forecourt of Colwen Grounds. It was magnificent, and you’d have guessed Nessie was groomed for treason. She addressed the senior men among the farming communities both near and far, and kept her religious agenda in check, sensibly, I think. So her appeal for their support was overwhelmingly answered. There was a unanimous approval for secession.”

  Papa’s gone pragmatic in his old age, Elphaba observed with some surprise.

  “But how did you slip through the border patrols?” he asked. “Things being what they are—hotting up, as they say.”

  “I just flew right through, a little black bird at nighttime,” she answered, smiling at him, and touching his hand. It was glazed and mottled pink, like a lake lobster on the boil. “But what I don’t know, Papa, is why you called me here. What do you expect me to do?”

  “I had thought you might join your sister in her seat of authority,” he said, with the simple-minded hope of one whose family has been too long apart. “I know who you are, Fabala. I doubt you have much changed over the years. I know your cunning and your conviction. I also know that Nessie is at the mercy of her religious voices, and she could slip and undo the terrible good she is helping to create right now by being a focal figure for resistance. If that happens, it will not go well for her.”

  So I am to be a whipping girl, thought Elphaba, I am to be a first line of defense. Her pleasure evaporated.

  “And it will not go well for them, the eager supporters,” Frex said, waving a hand to indicate most of Munchkinland. His face sagged—his smile was an effort too, she thought coolly—and his shoulders fell. “They have had more than a generation of gentle dictatorship from our Glorious Wizard scoundrel—oh, even I forget, we’re now in the Free State of Munchkinland—these farmers surely underestimate the size of the eventual retaliation. In fact, Shell has found from reliable sources that the stockpiles of grain in the Emerald City are massive, and we can be left for some time without needing to be overrun. Short of routing some divisions of soldiers across the border, and jailing some drunken hooligans, this has been a most genteel disengagement so far. We are deluded into believing we are safe. I mean Nessie is deluded too, I think. You, I have always felt, had a clearer mind about you. You can help her prepare, you can provide the balance and the support.”

  “I always did that, Papa,” she said. “In childhood and at college. Now I am told she can stand up for herself.”

  “You’ve heard of my precious shoes,” he said. “I bought them from a decrepit crone, and then I retooled them for Nessa with my own hands, using skills in glass and metal that I had once learned from Turtle Heart. I made them to give her a sense of beauty, but I didn’t expect them to be enchanted by someone else. I am not sorry they are. But Nessa now thinks she needs no one, to help her stand or help her govern. She listens less than ever. In some ways I think those shoes are dangerous.”

  “I wish you had made them for me, Papa,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “You didn’t need them. You had your voice, your intensity, even your cruelty as your armor.”

  “My cruelty!” She reared back.

  “Oh, you were a fiendish little thing,” said Frex, “but so what, children grow into and out of themselves. You were a terror when you first were around other children. You only calmed down when we began to travel and you got to hold the baby. It was Nessarose who tamed you, you know. You have her to thank; she was holy and blessed even from the day she was born. Even as an infant, she soothed your wildness with her obvious need. You don’t remember that, I suppose.”

  Elphie wasn’t able to remember, she wasn’t able to think about all that. Even the idea of being cruel was slipping from her. Instead, she was trying to feel fondness toward her father, despite the exhaustion of being commandeered to be a second lieutenant once again, in service of dear needy Nessarose. She concentrated on her father’s concern for the citizens of Munchkinland. Ever a pastoral sensibility, his. Though rejecting his theology, she adored him for his commitment.

  “I must hear more about Turtle Heart one day,” she said in a light voice, “but now, I suppose I should go greet my sister. And I will think about what you say, Papa. I can’t imagine being part of a governmental troika, with you and Nessarose—or a committee, should Shell be involved too. But I’ll suspend judgment for a while. And Shell, Papa, how is he?”

  “Behind enemy lines, so they say,” Frex answered as she got up to leave. “He is a foolhardy boy and will be among the first casualties, once this really gets going. He resembles you in some ways.”

  “He’s gone green?” she asked, amused.

  “He’s stubborn as sin stains,” he answered.

  Nessarose was secluded in an upstairs parlor, conducting her morning meditation. Frex saw that Elphaba was given license to wander about the house and demesne. After all, in another configuration of events, Elphaba could have been (or could yet become) the Eminent Thropp, the Eminence of the East, the nominated head of the Free State of Munchkinland. Frex watched his green daughter amble down marble corridors, dragging her broom like a charwoman, gazing at the ormolu, the damask, the fresh flowers, the servants in livery, the portraits. He felt, as always, a twinge of pain deep in his breast, for the hidden and unknowable things that he had done wrong in raising her. But he was glad that she was here at last.

  Elphaba found her way into a private chapel at the end of a hall of polished mahogany. It was baroque rather than ancient, and it was in the midst of being redecorated. Nessarose must have ordered the frescoes to be whitewashed; perhaps the succulent images would distract people from their meditative tasks. Elphie sat on a bench on the side, amidst buckets of limestone wash and paintbrushes and ladders. She did not pretend to pray, though she felt very uneasy about this whole thing. She trained her gaze, to focus her mind, on a huge section still boasting its images. It featured several rotund angels levitating with the aid of sizable wings. Their garments had been cut to accommodate the anatomical irregularity, she saw. They were rather full-bodied dames, but the wings weren’t bulging with straining arteries nor snapping at the tip. The artist had considered the optimal length and breadth of wing required to hoist ample ladies aloft. The formula looked to be about three times wing length to the length of arm, corrected perhaps to account for the portliness. If you could sweep your way to the Other Land on wings, what about on a broom? she wondered. And realized she must be very tired; usually she’d cut off senseless speculation about unionist nonsense like an afterlife, a Beyond, an Other Land.

  I should remember my lessons from that life sciences course, she thought. All the devastating borders of knowledge Doctor Dillamond was about to cross. I almost understood some of it. I could stitch wings onto Chistery. He could join me in flight. What a lark.

  She rose and went to find her sister.

  Nessarose was less surprised to see Elphaba than Elphie would have guessed. Perhaps, Elphie considered,
it was because Nessa had become used to being the center of attention. Then again, she had always been the center of attention. “Darling Elphie,” she said, looking up from a pair of identical books some attendant had laid out, next to each other, so she could read four pages without calling for someone to turn the page. “Give us a kiss.”

  “Oh there, then,” Elphie said, obliging. “How are you, Nessie? You look fine.”

  Nessarose stood, in her beautiful shoes, and smiled brilliantly. “The grace of the Unnamed God gives me strength, as ever,” she said.

  But Elphaba could not be annoyed. “You have risen, and I don’t just mean to your feet,” she said. “History has chosen you for a role, and you’ve accepted it. I’m proud of you.”

  “You needn’t be proud,” said Nessarose. “But thank you, dear. I thought you’d probably come. Did Father drag you here to take care of me?”

  “No one dragged me here, but Papa did write.”

  “So all those years in solitude, and political turmoil brings you out at last. Where were you?”

  “Here and there.”

  “You know we thought you’d died,” said Nessarose. “Drape that shawl around my shoulders and fix it with a pin, will you, so I needn’t call a maid? I mean that awful, awful time when you left me alone in Shiz. I am still furious with you about it, I just remembered.” She curled her lip, prettily; Elphaba was glad to see she possessed at least a residual sense of humor.

  “We were all young then, and perhaps I was wrong,” said Elphie. “It didn’t do you any lasting harm, anyway. At least not so I can see.”

  “I had to put up with Madame Morrible all by myself, for two more years. Glinda was a help for a while, then she graduated and went on. Nanny was my salvation, but she was old even then. She’s gone on to you lately, hasn’t she? Well, back then I felt horribly alone. Only my faith saw me through.”

  “Well, faith will do that,” said Elphie, “if you’ve got it.”

  “You speak as one still living in the shadowland of doubt.”

  “In fact I think we have more important things to discuss than the state of my soul or lack thereof. You have a revolution on your hands—sorry, I guess I’ve gotten out of the habit!—and you’re the resident commander general. Congratulations.”

  “Oh, tiresome events of the distracting world, yes yes,” said Nessa-rose. “Look, it’s just beautiful out there in the gardens. Let’s go walk for a bit and get some air. You look green about the gills—”

  “All right, I deserved that—”

  “—and there’s plenty of time to go into diplomatic matters. I have a meeting in a little while, but there’s time for a stroll. You should get to know this place. Let me show it to you.”

  5

  Elphaba could only get Nessarose’s attention for small snatches of time. However dismissive of the demands of leadership, Nessarose was clearheaded about her schedule, and spent hours preparing for meetings.

  And at first the discussion was frivolous—family memories, school days. Elphie was impatient to get around to the meat of the matter here. But Nessarose wouldn’t be rushed. Sometimes she let Elphie sit in when she held audiences with citizens. Elphie wasn’t entirely pleased with what she saw.

  One afternoon an old woman from some hamlet in the Corn Basket came in. She made obeisance in a most disgusting and obsequious manner, and Nessarose seemed to shine back at her with glory. The woman complained that she had a maid who, having fallen in love with a woodcutter, wanted to leave her service to get married. But the old woman had already given three sons to the new local militia for defense, and she and the maid were all the labor available to bring in the crops. If the maid ran off with her woodcutter, the crops would spoil and she would be ruined. “And all for the sake of liberty,” she concluded bitterly.

  “Well, what do you want me to do about it?” said the Eminence of the East.

  “I can give you two Sheep and a Cow,” said the woman.

  “I have livestock—” said Nessarose, but Elphaba interrupted and said, “Did you say Sheep? A Cow? You mean Animals?”

  “My very own Animals,” the woman replied proudly.

  “How do you come to own Animals?” Elphaba asked, her teeth clenched. “Are Animals no more than chattel now in Munchkinland?”

  “Elphie, please,” said Nessarose quietly.

  “What will you take to release them?” demanded Elphie, in a passion.

  “I already said. Do something about this woodcutter.”

  “What do you have in mind?” interrupted Nessarose, displeased that her sister was usurping her role as arbiter of justice.

  “I brought you his axe. I thought you might bewitch it and cause it to kill him.”

  “Fie,” said Elphaba, but Nessarose said, “Oh well, that wouldn’t be very nice.”

  “Very nice?” Elphie said. “No indeed it wouldn’t be very nice, Nessie.”

  “Well, you’re the legal answer around here,” said the old woman stoutly. “What do you suggest?”

  “I might bewitch his axe and let it slip,” said Nessarose thoughtfully, “just enough perhaps to cut off his arm. I know from experience that a person without an arm isn’t as desirable to the opposite sex as one fully armed.”

  “Fair enough,” said the woman, “but if it doesn’t work I’ll come back and you’ll do more, for the same price. Sheep and a Cow don’t come cheap around here, you know.”

  “Nessarose, you’re not a witch, no, I don’t believe it,” said Elphie. “You don’t do spells, of all things!”

  “The righteous person can work miracles in the honor of the Unnamed God,” said Nessarose calmly. “Show me that axe, if you’ve brought it.”

  The old woman held forward a woodcutter’s axe, and Nessarose knelt down near it, as if she were praying. It was an odd, even a frightening thing, to see that narrow armless body able to lean forward, unaided and off balance, and then, when the spell was through, able to right itself. Those are some shoes, thought Elphie soberly, bitterly. Glinda has got some power in her, for all her social dazzle, or maybe the power comes from the love of our father for his Nessie. Or some combination. And if Nessarose isn’t pulling the wool over this old biddy’s eyes, she’s become a sorceress too, by whatever name she chooses to call it.

  “You are a witch,” said Elphaba again; she couldn’t help it. This perhaps was a mistake, as the old woman was just thanking Nessarose for her efforts. “I’ll bring the Animals by the barn out back,” she said. “They’re tethered in town.”

  “Animals! Tethered!” exclaimed Elphie, seething.

  “Thank you, Miss Eminence,” said the old woman. “The Eminence of the East. Or should I call you the Witch of the East?” She grinned toothily, having gotten her way, and went out the door carrying the enchanted axe over her shoulder the way a strapping young lumberjack would do.

  They weren’t to be alone again for a while. Elphaba went prowling around the stable and sheds until she found an attendant who could point her toward the two Sheep and the Cow. They were in a pen with clean straw, each one facing a different corner, chewing in abstraction.

  “You’re the new Animals, brought here by that old vengeful fiend,” said Elphaba. The Cow looked over as if unaccustomed to being addressed. The Sheep made no sign of having understood.

  “What’s your beef?” said the Cow, in a dark humor.

  “I’ve been living in the Vinkus,” said Elphie. “There aren’t many Animals there. At one time I was an agitator in the Animal Rights grassroots sweep—I don’t really know how things stand for Munchkinlander Animals now. What can you tell me?”

  “I can tell you to mind your own business,” said the Cow.

  “And the Sheep?”

  “These Sheep can tell you nothing, they’ve gone dumb.”

  “Are they—sheep? Does that happen?”

  “They talk about humans becoming vegetables—or nuts—or even fruits,” said the Cow, “but they don’t mean it literally. Sheep don’
t become sheep, they become mute Sheep. They don’t really need to be discussed here as if they’re not listening, by the way.”

  “Of course. My apologies,” she said to the Sheep, one of whom blinked balefully. To the Cow she added, “I’d rather call you by your name.”

  “I’ve given up using my name in public,” said the Cow. “It’s not afforded me any individual rights to have an individual name. I reserve it for my private use.”

  “I understand that,” said Elphaba. “I feel the same. I’m just the Witch now.”

  “Her Eminence herself?” A gummy rope of spittle dropped from the Cow’s jaw. “I’m flattered. I didn’t know you called yourself Witch, I thought that was just a nasty backfield nickname. The Witch of the East.”

  “Well no. I’m her sister. I suppose I’m the Witch of the West, if you will.” She grinned. “In fact I didn’t know she was so disliked.”

  The Cow had blundered. “Surely I meant no disregard to your family,” she said. “I should just keep my mouth closed and concentrate on my cud. The thing is, I’m in shock—to be sold in exchange for a witch’s spell! There’s nothing wrong with that woodcutter—oh I’ve got ears, I have, though they forget—and the thought of a warmhearted simpleton like Nick Chopper coming to harm through a witch’s spell—and I part of the barter cost—well, it’s hard to imagine how much lower one could sink in life.”

  “I’ve come to free you,” Elphie said.

  “By whose authority?” The Cow snorted suspiciously.

  “I told you, I’m the sister of the Eminent Thropp—the Eminence of the East.” She amended herself: “The Witch of the East. It’s my prerogative here.”

  “And free to go where? To do what?” said the Cow. “We’d get from here to Lower Muckslop and be roped in again. Subjected to slavery under the Wizard, and catechisms under the Eminent Thropp! We don’t exactly blend in with those creepy little Munchkinlander humans.”

  “You’re gone a bit dour,” said Elphaba.