by Bruce Lansky
“Your memory serves you well,” I answered diplomatically. “But I wonder, if two sons’ squabbling is driving you crazy, how will you like it when you have eight grandchildren arguing over how to divide the kingdom? Or thirty-two great-grandchildren? Or a hundred-and-twenty-eight great-great-grandchildren? If you’re not crazy yet, that should do it.”
The king appeared lost in thought. “Come to think of it,” he answered, “the longer I put off making a decision, the worse it will get. I suppose I’ll have to make the best of my situation for as long as I can. You’ve been more helpful than you can imagine. I’m glad the fairy godmother was away.”
With more energy than he’d displayed since he arrived, he got up from his chair and announced, “I must be on my way.”
He smiled as though a great burden had been lifted from his back.
He headed for the door, opened it, and was almost gone when he turned and said, “I want you to forget I was ever here ... or did I mention that already?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of gold coins, which he handed me. He didn’t see me collapse into the armchair and pull out a handkerchief to wipe my face. This had been a most unusual day, and I was anxious to relax in a tub full of hot water and bubbles. (I’d found an excellent bubble bath in the fairy godmother’s potion cabinet.)
The next morning was uneventful. I’d slept well and was ready for anything. Then, around noon, “anything” happened. Who do you think knocked at the fairy godmother’s door just as I was starting to think about lunch? Prince Sherman and Prince Herman!
The first thing I noticed when I let them in was how angry they looked. They were arguing about something on the doorstep, and they continued to argue as I opened the door.
“I want the horses and the stables so I can play polo,” said Prince Sherman. (I could tell he was Sherman because he had a large “S” monogrammed on his tunic.)
“No way,” replied Prince Herman. (He was the one with a large “H” monogrammed on his tunic.) “I like to ride, too.”
“Excuse me, Your Highnesses,” I said as I curtsied. “I’m afraid the fairy godmother isn’t here. I’m her assistant.”
“That’s all right,” said Prince Sherman. “Our father, the king, sent us to see you.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “He sent you to see me?”
“That’s right,” said Prince Herman. “You see, he told us he’s very sick and doesn’t have long to live. And he said we’d have to figure out how to divide up the kingdom ourselves.”
“And,” Prince Sherman continued, “he said if we couldn’t figure it out, to come and see you. Which is why we’re here.”
“What do you expect me to do?” I asked. “You know, I’m just the fairy godmother’s assistant. I don’t do magic.”
“We know all that,” said Prince Herman. “But father said what you do is better than magic.”
I was surprised ... no, stunned ... no, shocked! “I- I- I’m fl- fl- flattered,” I stammered, not knowing what else to say.
“So we’d like you to divide up the kingdom for us,” they said in unison.
“I don’t suppose I can refuse a royal command,” I said hesitantly.
“What do you mean?” asked Prince Sherman suspiciously.
“You see, if I decide how to divide the royal kingdom, then you’ll both be mad at me, because I can’t possibly make you both happy. But I do have a couple of suggestions.”
“Such as?” they demanded.
I cleared my throat to create some drama. “Ahem!”
“Yes?” they asked, waiting for a brilliant pronouncement.
“Well, you could both renounce the throne and let your cousin Fritz rule.”
The twins looked at each other, wondering whether the other would seriously consider such a proposal. “Nah!” they said simultaneously.
“Or you could share the throne and rule together.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Prince Sherman.
“Disastrous!” proclaimed Prince Herman.
“We can’t agree about anything,” added Prince Sherman. He paused, “Well, almost anything. We both agree that’s a stupid idea.”
“Then there’s only one option.” Again I paused for dramatic effect. “Prince Sherman, you divide the kingdom as evenly as you can. Prince Herman, you choose which half you want.”
Prince Sherman looked at Prince Herman. Prince Herman looked at Prince Sherman. They smiled. Then they looked at me. Still smiling, they both reached into their pockets, pulled out bags of gold coins, and handed them to me at the same time. Then they walked out the door with their arms on each other’s shoulders. They barely made it through the door.
“I can’t believe it!” I said to no one in particular as soon as I’d collapsed into the armchair again. Thank goodness there were no more visitors that day. I’d had all the excitement I could handle.
That night over dinner, I wondered whether Ella ever went to the royal ball. The next day I found out. Just before noon she knocked on the front door. She was carrying a satchel and looking tired but happy. I was about to ask, “How was the ball?” but she started talking before I could say a word.
“The ball was great! The music! The food! The dancing! Everything! I would never have gone without your help!” she gushed.
“Thanks,” I replied. “But I can’t take any credit. You did it all yourself. By the way, what’s in your satchel?”
“All my belongings,” Ella replied. “After attending the royal ball, I really couldn’t go back to living with my stepmother and stepsisters. So I decided to move to town and open up a dressmaker’s shop. I really am a good seamstress, you know.
“I just came by to thank you and to tell you the latest news from court. Last night, the king announced he was stepping down from the throne so he can travel. He turned the throne over to Prince Herman—all except the stables. Apparently, Prince Sherman has decided to devote himself to polo.”
As she was leaving, I said, “I’d like to be your first customer. I’ll be in to see you for a fitting next week.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Maybe we can go to the royal ball together next year.”
“I’d love to,” I replied. “But next year we’ll go in style. We’ll rent a coach for the evening. And we’ll both wear dancing slippers, too.” Ella walked out the door laughing.
The fairy godmother returned the next day. She didn’t seem surprised when I told her all the things that had occurred while she was away. “I told you when I left that you could handle whatever came up,” she said.
I wonder if those were magic words.
Grandma Rosa’s Bowl
ADAPTED BY BRUCE LANSKY FROM A
GRIMM BROTHERS’ STORY
While visiting a poor village in Mexico, I stopped in an antique shop and picked up a dusty old diary.
The shopkeeper told me that it had belonged to a girl named Maria, who had lived nearby with her mother, Sevilla, many years ago. I hope she will not mind if I share her story with you.
Maria’s father had died when she was young, so her mother worked very hard as a potter to make a modest living. When Maria’s father’s mother became too old and frail to take care of herself, she had no alternative but to move into the little house of Maria and her mother.
From the very first day, Maria enjoyed Grandma Rosa’s company. While Sevilla worked at the potter’s wheel, Grandma Rosa made herself useful by mending clothes. But because her eyes were weak and her hands trembled, putting the thread through the tiny eye of the needle was very hard for her. So Maria helped her grandmother thread the needle and was rewarded with fascinating stories about her father when he was a boy.
Sevilla was worried about making ends meet now that there was one more mouth to feed. The first night at the dinner table, when Grandma Rosa spilled some soup, Sevilla got angry. “You should be more careful,” she warned. “I work hard to put food on the table.”
The next night, when Grandma Rosa dro
pped a dinner bowl on the floor, Sevilla became even angrier. “That beautiful dinner bowl would have brought ten pesos in the market. Now it is broken. You are too clumsy to eat from my best pottery. Here is a plain clay bowl. Eat from that.”
The very next night at dinner when Grandma Rosa spilled her coffee on the rug, Sevilla lost her temper. “¡Ay, caramba!” she yelled. “First you waste my good soup, then you break my beautiful bowl, and now you stain my carpet. You are too clumsy to eat with us in the dining room.” Sevilla set up a little table on the front porch, where Grandma Rosa finished her dinner.
After dinner Grandma Rosa went to her room with her head hanging down. When the old woman was getting ready to go to sleep, Maria came to her bedside to comfort her. The girl whispered to her grandmother, “I’m very sorry about the way my mother treated you. I know your feelings are hurt. I’ve thought of a way to help you: Tomorrow night at dinner, I want you to drop your bowl again.”
“I do not understand,” answered Grandma Rosa in a low voice. “If I drop my bowl, your mother will get upset and yell at me again.”
“She may get angry, but don’t worry,” whispered Maria. “Everything will work out. You’ll see.”
The following night at dinner, Maria and Sevilla heard a loud crash on the porch. When Sevilla rushed out to see what had happened, she found that Grandma Rosa had dropped her clay bowl, and it had broken into several pieces.
“You are so clumsy!” she scolded. “Pick up the pieces and glue them back together. I’m not giving you another bowl to break.”
Grandma Rosa’s eyes filled with tears. Maria helped her grandmother up from the table and guided the frail woman to her room.
Then Maria returned to the porch and picked up the pieces of the broken bowl.
Later on that evening, Sevilla found Maria gluing the pieces of Grandma Rosa’s broken bowl together. “How nice of you to fix Grandmother’s bowl for her,” Sevilla said.
“You are mistaken, Mama,” answered Maria. “Tomorrow I am going to make a beautiful dinner bowl for Grandma Rosa. This glued-together bowl I will save. Many years from now, when you are as old and frail as Grandma Rosa, I will give it to you.”
Now Sevilla’s eyes filled with tears. She wept because she felt ashamed of the way she had treated her mother-in-law. And she wept because she was proud of Maria for having the wisdom and the courage to show her the error of her ways.
As soon as Sevilla’s tears had dried, she went to Grandma Rosa and begged to be forgiven.
The next day, when dinner was served, Grandma Rosa was again seated at the dinner table. Unfortunately, while stirring sugar into her coffee, she knocked the sugar bowl onto the floor.
Sevilla looked down at the broken sugar bowl. She looked at the sugar that had spilled on the floor. Then she looked at Grandma Rosa and smiled. “Don’t worry, Mama. Accidents sometimes happen. Enjoy your dinner.”
And that was the first of many happy meals Maria’s family enjoyed together from that time forward.
For Love of Sunny
AN ORIGINAL STORY BY VIVIAN VANDE VELDE
Once upon a time, when dragons and trolls roamed the earth, the king of a small country on an island now known as Ireland invited the royalty from neighboring kingdoms to a ball at his palace.
Two of the people who met at that ball were Princess Meghan and Prince Sean, who was called Sunny because of his cheerful smile. Before the ball had ended, the two had fallen in love.
But when Sunny brought the princess home to meet his mother, things didn’t go well.
“This is Princess Meghan,” Sunny started. “Her parents are—”
“I passed through her parents’ land last year,” the queen said. “A nasty little kingdom whose most interesting inhabitants are the reindeer. Her parents keep pigs in their living room, you know.”
Meghan forced herself to smile politely. She explained, “We let the pigs inside when it was cold so they wouldn’t freeze to death.” A bit peeved, she added, “They didn’t stay in the living room, you know.”
Sunny shrugged. “Anyway, we want to get married.”
“Fine,” his mother said. “As soon as she passes the tests.”
“What tests?” the princess asked somewhat warily.
“You have to kill the giant troll that lives in the valley and the dragon that lives on the mountain. And then ... let’s see ... you have to answer three questions.”
“But that’s not fair!” Meghan cried. “I have never heard of a princess having to win the hand of a prince.”
“We have the rule,” the queen purred, “to make sure our prince marries someone worthy of him.”
“Wait a minute,” Sunny said. “I don’t remember hearing about this rule last year, when you wanted me to marry the royal chancellor’s daughter.”
“The rule applies only to foreign-born princesses.” The queen smiled. “Good day.”
Meghan waited until the queen left, then said, “What kind of questions, I wonder? I’m not good at riddles, and I’m even worse at history. I don’t mind doing all the dangerous stuff, but I’d hate to do it only to fall on my face over who discovered what when.”
“Don’t be silly,” Sunny said. “You can’t go running all over the countryside killing dragons and trolls.”
“We’ll never see each other again if I don’t,” she reasoned. “Could you be happy with the chancellor’s daughter?”
Sunny sighed. “She’s nice enough, but I’ll never love her as much as I love you.”
“Well, then, I’m on my way,” Meghan said, showing more confidence than she felt.
It was almost midnight when, halfway up the mountain, Meghan came face-to-face with the dragon.
“Hello!” she said. “How are you feeling?”
The dragon, who was used to knights sneaking up the back way, was a bit startled to find someone walking up the main road, even if that person was female, unarmored, and out of breath from the climb. “What?” he asked, scrambling to his feet.
“Oh, dear,” she said. She spread her cloak on a rock and, from her pockets, took out a piece of parchment, a quill pen, and a bottle of ink. “Hard of hearing,” she murmured while writing, tipping the paper to catch the moonlight. “I said,” she repeated more loudly and distinctly, “How are you feeling?”
“No need to shout,” the dragon answered. “I’m feeling all right. What’s it to you?”
“Feeling all right,” Meghan said, scribbling away. “No problems with your joints stiffening or anything?”
“No. Why?”
She didn’t reply, being too busy writing down his answer. “I can’t help noticing you’re a bit overweight,” she commented. “That doesn’t affect your flying, does it?”
“Listen, little girl, you’re treading on dangerous ground.”
She started writing again. “Seems to have a touchy temperament,” she read out loud.
“What are you doing?” the dragon screamed at her.
Meghan looked up, surprised. “I’m taking notes on your physical condition.”
“But why?” asked the dragon.
“To know whom to bet on for the fight,” she answered.
“Huh?” the dragon asked. “What fight?”
“With the giant troll,” she replied.
“Now, why would I want to fight the troll?” the dragon wondered aloud.
“Because he’s telling everyone you’ve been sitting here for too long—these are his words—on your fat behind, and he’s going to come up here and take all your gold away from you.”
The dragon hissed. “Let him try,” he warned, smoke pouring out between clenched teeth.
Meghan pointed down the snowy mountain slope. The giant troll was pushing a huge empty wheelbarrow up the mountain path, stopping periodically to scratch his belly and yawn.
Earlier that evening, just as the sun had disappeared over the edge of the world, Meghan had awakened the troll from a peaceful sleep by sitting outside his cave and crying
loudly.
“Shut up, or I’ll come out and eat you!” he had shouted from his bed. Trolls sleep during the day and are awake at night, but this was much earlier in the night than this troll was used to waking up.
Encouraged, Meghan cried even louder.
“What is the matter with you?” he warned. “Don’t you know that I eat people for dinner?”
“Oh, what difference does it make?” the girl wailed. “My brothers have killed each other fighting over the dragon’s gold.”
“Killed each other, eh?” The troll chuckled. “And what was the dragon doing during the fight?”
“He was just lying there dead.”
“Dead?” The troll was suddenly very interested.
“Oh, woe is me! All that gold—more than enough for the two of them—and now they’re dead.”
“The gold!” the troll called. “Is it still there?” But Meghan didn’t answer. She hid behind a tree and pretended she had run away. Then she watched as the troll stopped only long enough to eat a couple of sheep and to dig his wheelbarrow out from under a pile of unwashed laundry. When he looked ready to start up the mountain to loot the dragon’s den, Meghan ran ahead of him.
Now, nothing could have surprised the troll more than seeing the supposedly dead dragon running full speed down the mountain straight at him.
“Hey!” the troll yelled. The dragon’s claws reached out to crush his throat.
The troll picked up his wheelbarrow and brought it down on the dragon’s head. The dragon turned around and used his spiked tail to knock over the troll.
On his way to the ground—and it was a long way for a giant troll—he pulled up a tree and jabbed the dragon in the stomach.
The dragon set the tree on fire with a blast of flame, but then got lost in the smoke. The troll took a running start toward where the smoke was thickest and bowled into the dragon.