by Avi
"Fetch me a mirror!" Babette demanded.
"Are you dissatisfied by your portraits?" said the Prime Minister. "Would you like a new one painted? We have some wonderful new young artists who can paint whatever you'd like. Besides, all of Solandia is waiting—"
"Fetch me a mirror!"
"I suppose," said the Prime Minister, "there is one in the attic of the Royal Museum, but—"
"Get it!"
After a long search, an old mirror—hardly bigger than her own hand, and covered by a cloth—was brought to Princess Babette.
Babette first gave the mirror to the Prime Minister. "Look at it," she commanded, "and tell me what you see."
The nervous Prime Minister did as he'd been ordered to do.
"Well, what do you see?"
"A very old man."
Babette gave the mirror to a lady-in-waiting. "What do you see?"
"A very nervous woman."
She gave it to a guard. "And you?"
"A very frightened soldier."
"Leave me!" cried Babette. "All of you!"
It was done. Alone, Babette took the mirror and propped it before her on her vanity table. With very great care she combed her hair, patted her cheeks, pouted her lips, then lifted her chin ever so slightly. That was the way her favorite portrait showed her. Only then did Babette reach out and—heart pounding—look into the mirror.
Seeing nothing, Babette gave a shriek and collapsed upon the floor.
***
For the remainder of the day, Babette refused to see anyone. Nor would she let anyone see her. Instead she spent hours sitting before the small mirror, staring at her invisibility. How painful it was to admit that she was nothing. Not only did it mean that no one could truly see her, it meant that they had never seen her.
Babette tried to convince herself that she was dreaming, ill, going mad. Had not her mother gone mad?
Before Babette was willing to admit the truth—that the old woman was right, and she was invisible—she decided on another test. She took down all her portraits from the walls. Then she sent for the Prime Minister.
"Princess," he said, "the entire country is waiting for—"
"Prime Minister," she said, "look at me."
"With pleasure."
"What do you see?" she asked.
As he normally did, the Prime Minister stole a hasty glance at the walls where the portraits of Princess Babette usually hung. When he saw that they were gone, he gasped, placed a hand over his eyes, and said, "Princess, I've a frightful headache."
"I insist!" Babette cried. "Tell me what I look like!"
"I don't know," he admitted.
"Go away from me," Babette cried. "Send that Esmeralda to me."
"She's gone."
"Gone!"
"For her unspeakable rudeness to you, dear princess, the Royal High Judge banished her."
"Banished? Where?"
"Where you found her. The remote Northern Forest."
"But...!"
"She did, however, leave you a note."
"Give it to me!"
The Prime Minister hurried away, and though he himself did not return, he had Esmeralda's note slipped underneath Babette's door. It read:
Babette: If you wish to become visible, first find
yourself in a mirror, and then take what you want.
Esmeralda
Though Babette read the note three times, she could make little sense of it. Raging with frustration, she tore it into shreds. For a while she was too agitated to do anything but prowl about her room, pausing now and again to steal glances at the small mirror. Seeing nothing, she moaned and paced some more.
Now and again there was a knocking on the door. A lady-in-waiting or some other member of the court asking permission to enter, to help her, to feed her, to conduct some business—wondering if she had chosen a husband.
Babette ignored them all.
When she could no longer deny her hunger, she did request food, and also requested a box of paints and a paintbrush. When all was delivered, she forgot about eating. Instead she sat before her mirror and, with the brush, painted on her own face.
First she painted the outlines, then her eyes, nose, and mouth. She could see what she had painted in the mirror, but because Babette was no artist, the result was that she looked like a clown with bad makeup.
"I shall take art lessons," Babette told herself. "I'll pay artists to paint on my face every day."
The thought made her sad. The sadness brought tears that trickled down her cheeks, leaving tracks of emptiness through the paint she had just applied. She tried to smooth out the spots. Her face became a blur.
Babette picked up one of the portraits she had removed from the walls. With scissors she cut out the canvas face, punched out holes for her eyes, attached string to the mask she had made, and placed the image over her face.
When she looked in the mirror, she saw herself as she had always looked before. The canvas mask, however, was hot and sticky. What's more, with the mask in place she could not eat or scratch her nose. It was hard for her to breathe. Stymied to the point of fury, Babette tore off the mask and cut it up into tiny bits.
All that night Babette lay upon her bed, weeping. How she wished she had never met Esmeralda! That made her recall the message that had been left:
Babette: If you wish to become visible, first find
yourself in a mirror, and then take what you want.
Esmeralda
"Ah," Babette said to herself with a sigh, "if only I knew how! If only I could talk to Esmeralda and ask her advice." She resolved to find the old woman.
It was about two in the morning when Princess Babette slipped down to the castle stables, saddled a fast horse, and set off at a gallop.
Dawn had arrived when Babette reached the Northern Forest, and the place where she had first met Esmeralda. All was still. Babette's horse blew a frosty breath and nervously pawed the ground.
In the not-too-far distance, Babette observed a glow. At first she thought it was the rising sun. When the glow did not move, however, Babette decided to investigate. She began to walk among the forest trees. A chill wind blew into her face. The only sound was her tread upon the ground. She walked on. The glow grew brighter. Now and again sparks of light exploded as if from a spinning diamond. A cool gray mist began to flow down among the tree roots. The mist seemed to be coming from the glow.
Babette stepped into the mist. It eddied about her ankles like flowing water. She walked through it, moving toward its glowing source. The glow grew brighter.
Babette saw the cause of the glow. Suspended between two great tree trunks was a gigantic mirror. The mirror was taller than it was wide—like a door—and was framed by wood that had been intricately carved. These carvings were of animals and birds, as well as flowers, crafted so well they seemed to be alive. The mirror's surface shimmered and sparkled even as it reflected the forest that surrounded it.
Though the mirror appeared to be solid, at the bottom a stream of gray mist flowed out. It was the same gray mist that ran through the trees, the mist Babette had followed.
Babette approached the mirror. She stood before it and looked at herself. What she saw was the clothing she wore, though as before, nothing showed of her face or hands. But the more she gazed at the mirror, the more she saw what appeared to be a multitude of shadowy faces within the mirror itself. There were hundreds, thousands of these faces, none very distinct, all drifting like feathers in a gentle wind.
Babette reached toward the mirror. Her fingers passed into the mirror itself. She pushed farther until her arm went in up to the elbow. It was as if the mirror—or what she thought was the mirror—was in fact a doorway.
She placed her other hand against the glass. It, too, went through. Babette stood there, arms extended into the mirror. Then—her heart pounding—she stepped inside.
Babette found herself in a large room suffused with dusty light. The room contained nothing but mirrored do
ors complete with hinges and handles. These doors were everywhere—on the walls, the ceiling, the floor—so many doors it was impossible to count them. None were marked, nor was there any indication of what lay behind them.
As Babette stood there, all her movements were reflected in the mirrored doors. It was as if she were in the middle of a kaleidoscope.
"Hello!" she cried.
No answer.
Feeling as though she had entered a trap, Babette reached toward the door she had used to enter the room. It swung open slowly.
Beyond was another room. Babette looked in. The room was full of eyes, millions and millions of them. Each one was a different color, a different shape. Some seemed sad. Others were bright and cheerful. A few blinked. Others stared brazenly. Some appeared brave, some evasive. A few of the eyes gaped fixedly at her, while some, as if shy, shifted away.
Babette reached out and touched one of the eyes. It winked and fell into the palm of her hand. It lay there gazing up at her. Babette looked back. As she did so, she remembered the message from Esmeralda:
Babette: If you wish to become visible, first find
yourself in a mirror; and then take what you want.
Esmeralda
Her hand trembling, Babette lifted the eye to her face and pressed it in. She took away her hand. The eye stayed.
Not sure what she was doing, Babette reached out for another eye, took it into her hand, and then pressed it, too, into her face.
Next she turned and stepped out of the room, back into the central hall. She gazed about into the mirrors. In countless images she saw her new eyes. But when she looked back at the doorway through which she had just come, the eye room behind it had vanished.
Babette went to another door and pulled it open. It was a roomful of thumbs. There were thumbs of all shapes, colors, and sizes. She reached for one and pulled it onto her right hand like the finger of a glove.
She held the thumb up before her eyes—and saw it. With growing excitement, Babette reached for another thumb—only to realize just in time that it was also for a right hand. She had to make sure to get a left one. She found one and slipped it on.
Babette went from room to room, finding that each contained something different: ears here, there elbows. Ankles in this one. Noses in another. Knees, wrists, and thighs—all had their own rooms.
When Babette had finished assembling herself, one door remained shut. What could she have forgotten?
She turned the knob. It was a room full of hearts. She picked a large, passionate one and pressed it into her chest.
Another door materialized. She opened it. Beyond was the forest. She stepped out, and then turned back toward the great mirror. For the first time Babette saw herself as she was—complete.
Of course, what she saw was not perfect. She had been in such a rush! Her left foot was slightly bigger than her right. One earlobe had a crease, the other did not. Her face was not quite symmetrical. What's more, she realized that in her haste she had selected one blue eye and one brown eye. But—she reminded herself—it did not matter. They were now her eyes and they could see themselves.
She turned toward her horse. The horse looked up, saw who it was, and nodded.
Babette galloped back home.
Did Babette marry? Did she become queen? Did she live happily ever after? None of that is known. What is known is that from that time on, Babette not only could see herself but liked what she saw. Moreover, the world saw her—truly saw her—as she was, as she had made herself.
And from that day on she was called—Babette the Visible.
Curious
"JEFF MARLEY," A TEACHER SAID TO HIM, "don't you ever mind your own business?"
Jeff said, "I'm just curious."
"But, do you have to know everything?" she asked.
"I thought," said Jeff, "that's what students are supposed to do."
"Curiosity killed the cat."
"Why?" asked Jeff. "What was that cat curious about?"
"Oh, Jeff," said the exasperated teacher, and walked away.
Jeff—twelve years old—lived in Rolerton, Wisconsin, a town with a population of forty thousand. Locals said it was the perfect place to live. Every Fourth of July the town newspaper, the Rolerton Observer, ran an editorial stating that if you wanted to experience the real America, Rolerton was the town to visit.
The town was home to Bevlin Farm Machinery, Universe Plumbing Fixtures, the Duckworth Regional Medical Center, Luther Junior College, and the Rolerton Astros, a minor-league baseball team. The original team sponsors were the people who owned the Universe Plumbing Company. They picked the name Astros hoping folks would make a connection between Universe Plumbing and Astros. No one did.
The Astros played in the Midwestern League. Teams came from midsized towns in Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Iowa. Most players were right out of college. The season began on Memorial Day. Labor Day saw its end.
The team played in Rolerton Park. It had a perfectly symmetrical field with emerald green grass that looked especially good at night when the arc lights came on. Owned by the town, which maintained it, the park had comfortable wooden seats in open stands. Dugouts were clean. There was a concrete field house, with locker rooms for the two teams and the umpires. The Astros uniforms were bright gray with purple trim, the numbers and the name Astros in old-timey letters. Most games started at 7:00 P.M. There were lots of special games, such as Fan Appreciation Night, Kids Night, and Helmet Night. The young ballplayers—if they weren't talking to the high school girls—were always willing to give autographs.
General admission was two bucks. Kids got in for one dollar, though some kids snuck in by way of the right-field bleachers. No one seemed to mind. Two more bucks got you a hot dog and a soda. The hot dogs were plump, the sauerkraut was sour, the mustard plentiful. Fifty cents for some pink cotton candy. Or, you could hang out behind the low center-field fence in hopes that someone would hit a home run. Shag a ball, and you kept it.
Though Jeff liked baseball—he played on a Little League team—what he really loved about the Astros games was the team mascot. The mascot was known as the Alien.
This Alien was a bulbous bright green creature covered with red polka dots. He had a stubby spiked tail and huge claw-hands with ten fingers on each hand, which, being rubbery, bent in all different directions. His face—perhaps a third of his whole body length—was long and narrow, with two large, round blue eyes, which gave him a quizzical look. The creature also had a long pointy nose—carrot-like—the end of which lit up red when one of the Astros did something unusual, like make a good catch, a classy putout, or an error.
The Alien's mouth was purple, large, and perfectly round, giving him a perpetual look of surprise. Two red horns sprouted from his head. When his nose lit up, so did the horns.
Jeff was really curious about the Alien. There was nothing in Rolerton like him. He'd do things like follow behind players, imitating any quirky walks with mocking perfection. If the umpire called an out against an Astro, the Alien would call the player safe, his stubby arms spread wide, nose and horns flashing furiously. Sometimes he ran the bases backward or made fun of the umpires or coaches. Or he would pretend to faint—falling backward—at exciting moments. The Alien posed for pictures with anyone, hugging pretty girls, playfully kicking boys on their butts.
If, during a game, the crowd roared, Jeff was probably not paying attention: He'd have been watching the Alien do a somersault, horns and nose brightly lit. Jeff had seen plenty of mascots for professional teams on TV. Every team in America seemed to have one. But the Astros' Alien, according to Jeff, was the best. Of course, Jeff understood that the Alien was a costume, which he supposed was made from foam rubber. That meant somebody was inside the foam rubber. The more Jeff watched the Alien's funny, mocking ways, the more he wanted to know who the person was inside. As far as Jeff was concerned, it was as if the Alien was making fun of Rolerton. Rolerton people didn't usually act the way it did: mocking th
ings. Of course, people accused Jeff of acting the same way. Maybe that's why he found the Alien so interesting.
Jeff asked his friends if they knew who the person inside the mascot costume was. Not only did they not know—they didn't care. That made Jeff want to know even more.
One night he hung around after a game, waiting at the gate for the players, umpires, and coaches to straggle out. The food vendors, ticket takers, and park staff also left. Since none emerged with horns or a nose that lit up, Jeff could only assume that the Alien was one of the people who had already come out. But which one? His curiosity grew.
The next day, after the game was over, Jeff waited till everybody had gone home. When the last person came out of the park—an old guy who started locking up the gates—Jeff went up to him.
"Excuse me, sir," he said.
The man looked around. "Hey, kid, it's late. Your parents know where you are?"
"Yes, sir, they do. I'm going home right now. But I was just wondering: Did the Alien come out yet?"
"Who?
"You know, the mascot. The Alien."
"Oh, him. Everybody's gone. I suppose he has, too."
"Do you know who he is?"
The man thought a moment, and then shrugged. "Now that you mention it, I don't. Hey, my job is to make sure everyone is gone and things are locked tight. And they are. So I guess that guy is gone, too. Unless it's a different person each night."
"I don't think so," said Jeff. "He's always funny in the same way."
"Funny?" said the man. "Ask me, I think he's just rude. But no, I don't know who he is." That said, the old guy drove off in a pickup, calling, "Better get yourself home, boy!"
The following day, Jeff got to the ballpark early. The Astros, being the local team, arrived in ones and twos. The Iowa City Jayhawks came in an old school bus. Any number of other people arrived, too. Jeff studied them all but did not have a hint as to whom the Alien might be.