The Fabled Journal of Beauty

by Boyd Brent

  “I have no idea how you get through so many books …” said Betty, hugging the tonnes to her ample bosom. She hurried back to our table and plonked them down.

  “I suppose that having no gainful employment of my own has allowed my love for reading to flourish,” I replied, following her.

  “Some might say to get out of control,” said Betty.

  “Yes, I suppose they might, but reading is good for the soul. I wish you’d meet me at the library for once. Truly, it is a wonderful place,” I said, taking my seat beside her.

  Betty shook her head adamantly. “The library's too grand for the likes of me.”

  “I can assure you that it isn't. Books are for everyone.”

  “Yes. Well, that sounds all well and good, but what use have I for books when I can't read?”

  “But I've been teaching you.”

  “And very grateful I am, too, but I don't think I was written that way. As a reader, I mean. I keep forgetting everything you teach me.”

  I squeezed Betty's hand. “The land of fairytales can be a cruel place.”

  “No need to remind me of that,” said Betty, picking at the scabs on her calloused hands. “When the messenger brought word that your papa had lost his fortune, I wondered what was to become of me.”

  I smiled. “Take heart, for he will return soon, having salvaged a goodly part of it.”

  Betty placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “Your sisters must have been thrilled by the news.”

  I nodded wholeheartedly. “You're not wrong. They have given Father a list of presents to bring them back.”

  “I just bet they have.”

  “Don't be unkind,” I said, lowering my voice, “my sisters were just written that way.”

  “Speaking of which,” said Betty, rolling her eyes, “I don’t suppose I need ask what you asked your papa for?”

  “You need not. Obviously, a rose. I just couldn’t help myself. To be honest, I would have preferred some books.”

  “Then why didn't you ask for books?”

  “I had every intention of doing so, but when I opened my mouth, I heard myself confirm that I wanted a rose.”

  “Written that way?” sighed Betty.

  “Apparently so.” I glanced about to see if anyone might be listening to our conversation. The coffee shop was frequented by the usual patrons: animated ladies gossiping, men reading the Daily Tale newspaper, and the old Mr Whiskers asleep before the fire. I leaned in close and whispered in Betty’s ear, “I have the strangest feeling that a rose is central to my story.”

  “Beauty and The Rose?” mused Betty.

  I grabbed her arm. “We should not talk of such things here.”

  “Right, you are,” she replied, glancing left and right.

  On our way home, we were ambushed by Philip who insisted on taking the books I was carrying. “... Well, if you must,” I said.

  “I absolutely must,” he replied, wrestling them from my grasp.

  “And what about Betty’s?”

  “Don’t mind me, I'll be fine …” said Betty, stumbling a little.

  “You heard her. She's built like an ox. What do you intend to do with all these doorstoppers anyhow?”

  “Charming. And they’re not doorstoppers; they’re books, and I intend to read them.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes, Phillip. Stories engage my imagination and transport me to places I would otherwise never go. There is nothing quite like seeing the world, often other worlds, through the eyes of others.”

  “And the point of this out-of-body gazing would be?”

  “So that I might share in adventures and learn from them.”

  “You could learn all you need to know from me,” said Phillip.

  “It's very kind of you to offer but …”

  “But Beauty already knows everything you do and a good deal more besides,” chuckled Betty.

  “I suggest you hold your tongue, scullery maid, or …”

  Betty somehow managed to balance her books in one hand and hold her tongue with her other. “'ike is you mean.”

  Philip stopped walking, and his cheeks glowed with rage.

  “I'll take these, that’s if you don’t mind,” I said, wrestling the books away from him.

  “Very well, but I suggest you have a word with your servant,” he said, brushing down the lapels of his frockcoat with the back of his hands.

  “I'll do no such thing. Betty's my friend. And I encourage my friends to speak their minds. And now we will bid you a good day.” We walked away, leaving Philip open-mouthed on a street corner.

  Journal entry no. 5

  Earlier today, when Father returned from his quest to claim his ship's cargo, his mood was difficult to read. To the delight of my sisters, he arrived home in a golden carriage laden with luxuries that made them swoon. At first, I imagined his trip must have been a great success. But as I observed him, his expression gave me cause for concern: one moment he was smiling at the reaction of two of his children to his rediscovered wealth, and the next, well, if I'm perfectly honest, he looked rather guilty. If I didn't know Father better, I might have suspected him of skulduggery, of stealing the carriage from a rich merchant. And when he approached me with a red rose, quite unable to make eye contact, my suspicions grew. “Thank you … it’s beautiful, Father,” I said, taking the rose. “You’ve obviously been successful in your quest,” I continued, glancing towards the open top carriage where my sisters swarmed like bees on a honeycomb.

  Father nodded and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked him.

  “Oh, dear Beauty!” he exclaimed with heartfelt passion. “Ever since you were little, it has felt as though you could see into my very soul!” My sisters froze and looked over at us. “Papa? Is something the matter?”

  “Yes, Papa. These treasures do belong to us, don't they?” asked the other, admiring the jewel-encrusted ring she’d just slipped on her finger.

  “Yes, they belong to us but …” Father shuddered so violently that I took him by the arm and led him towards the house. In the entrance hall, the servants had arranged themselves in a line to welcome him home. One took his hat; another his coat; and a third, his cane. “Now come into the parlour and explain why you have such a ghostly pallor,” I said, leading him in that direction.

  In the parlour, Father slumped into his favourite armchair and, having placed his head against its rest, gazed wide-eyed at the ceiling. “Where to begin …” he murmured.

  I pulled up a chair and sat beside him. “Like the best stories, at the beginning. You went to the docks and found your ship?”

  Father closed his eyes and nodded.

  “And it was laden with all the treasures you have returned with?”

  Father opened his eyes and, meeting my gaze for the first time, shook his head. “The ship’s hold did contain a great many luxuries but …”

  “But what?”

  “It also contained my debtors who were taking stock of the ship’s inventory. Once they had removed what I owed them, I was left with nothing.”

  “Nothing? Then how have you returned in a golden carriage laden with so much treasure?”

  “Where to begin,” he said, miserably.

  “At the beginning,” I repeated.

  Father sighed. “I was on my way home with the sad news that I knew would disappoint my family …”

  “You're such a caring person; it's little wonder the thought of returning home with such news made you miserable.”

  “Caring, you say? Caring she calls me!”

  “But you have always been so …” I said, taking his shaky hands in my own.

  “Oh, dear Beauty. I fear that if what I encountered on my way home was a test of that caring, then I have failed it.”

  “What makes you say such things?”

  Father got a faraway look in his eyes. “I … I got lost ...”

  “Lost? Bu
t the route must be so familiar to you.”

  “It is. But on this occasion, I came across an unexpected fork in the road, and a choice had to be made.”

  “And where did your choice lead you?”

  “To a palace.”

  “Palace? To my knowledge, there are no palaces between here and the docks.”

  “That's what I would have said before I came upon it.”

  “Are you certain it was a palace? Maybe it was a very grand villa.”

  Father shook his head. “It was the biggest, grandest palace you can imagine, Beauty, and …”

  “And?”

  “And I was cold and hungry, and its front doors were open wide as though in welcome.”

  “You went inside?”

  Father nodded. “At first, I stood just inside the door and called out, 'Hello? Is anyone home?' There was no reply. I could see a lit fireplace in a room just across the main hall. My hands felt as though they were frozen and so I … I made my way through the hall into the room and warmed them before the fire.”

  “And still you saw no one?”

  “Not a soul. Even though the palace was spotless and clearly somebody's home. The room I’d entered was a dining room and, while its table was long enough to seat a hundred guests, it was laid for just one.”

  “How curious,” I said, taping my lower lip.

  “That's what I thought. And what's more, the place setting was surrounded by dishes filled with delicious food.”

  “I see,” I said, sitting back in my seat.

  “As I said, the palace was deserted, and it seemed a shame to let all that food go to waste …”

  “Well,” I said optimistically, “I'm sure the owner of such a grand palace would not begrudge a weary traveller something to eat. Is that why you look so guilty?”

  “If only it were!” he replied, gripping the arms of his chair.

  I cleared my throat nervously. “So … tell me; what happened next?”

  “After my meal, I felt tired and lay down on a sofa. I fell asleep and awoke the next morning feeling refreshed and determined to complete my journey home.”

  “But that doesn't explain the riches you’ve returned with,” I said, motioning to the window.

  Father placed his hands over his eyes and muttered miserably to himself.

  “Father? You’re making me nervous.”

  He lowered his hand and gazed at the rose in my hand. “As I was leaving,” he began, “I noticed a magnificent rose garden, and remembering the promise I had made you, I reasoned, What harm could it do to pick one for my daughter?”

  “And was this the rose?” I said, breathing in its delightful scent.

  Father swallowed. “Indeed, it was.”

  “Such a lovely gesture,” I smiled.

  “I somehow doubt you'll think so when I tell you what happened next …”

  I straightened my back and braced myself for whatever had caused Father to turn so pale.

  “That's when it happened!” he blurted as though in a spasm.

  “That’s when what happened?”

  “The Beast appeared! As if from nowhere!”

  “Beast?”

  “Yes! A monstrous creature as ugly as you are beautiful! It stood nine feet tall, and although it was dressed in a fine suit of clothes, its face and claws were those of a savage fiend! The thing was enraged, and I feared it would tear me limb from limb!”

  “Father! What had vexed the creature so?”

  Father closed his eyes, calmed his breathing and said, “It told me what had vexed it …”

  “It could speak?”

  “Speak? Not what I’d call it. Certainly, it could bellow or, should I say, ROAR. “'How dare you repay my generosity this way!' it roared with a ferocity that made me cower before it like a naughty child. 'I have provided you with a fire upon which to warm yourself, a feast to quell your hunger, and a couch upon which to sleep.'

  'And I am eternally grateful!' I replied as I shrunk backwards in fear for my life.

  'Then why have you repaid my generosity by stealing a rose from my garden?' it bellowed, swiping at the air with one of its great paws.

  I leant forwards and took hold of Father's Forearm. “Surely, a creature that lives in such a palace would not begrudge you a single rose. Particularly given its earlier generosity.”

  “You would think so but … but the punishment it was resolved to inflict for my 'crime' …” Father fell silent.

  “What punishment?”

  “Death!”

  I shuddered so hard that the rose fell from my hand upon the carpet. “For picking a rose?”

  Father closed his eyes and nodded. “It told me that my only hope was to plead my case. To explain my actions.”

  “And what was your defence? It must have been convincing, for you have returned to us safe and sound.”

  Father opened his eyes, scratched at his chin and said, “I told the Beast that the rose was intended to be a gift for one of my three daughters—the most beautiful young woman you can imagine, not only in her appearance but also in nature.”

  I felt myself blushing.

  “And while,” continued Father, “my other two daughters had requested that I bring them back fine clothes and jewellery, the daughter in question asked only that I return with a single rose. I told the Beast that I did not see the harm in taking one, not when it had so many. And you can imagine my relief when my words appeared to calm the creature. Indeed, it listened most attentively to my explanation.”

  “And took pity on you?”

  “What makes you say so?”

  “You are home, Father.”

  “Yes, but not before I had promised it what it asked for in return for my freedom.”

  My curiosity was joined by a dark foreboding which must have been conveyed by my expression, for Father answered it: “To escape with my life, I had no option but to promise the Beast that what it asked for in return …”

  “Which was?”

  “You,” shuddered Father.

  “Me? But I don’t understand.”

  “The Beast said it would let me go, spare my life if the daughter for whom the rose was intended took my place.”

  I sprang to my feet, the room spinning around me.

  “No!” said Father, reaching out and taking my hands in his own. “You don’t have to go. It doesn't know where we live. And what’s more, such a hideous creature must stay hidden for fear of being hunted and killed. Why else has no one ever seen it?”

  I reached down and placed a comforting hand upon Father’s head. “The Beast would have killed you had you not agreed to its terms. I cannot think of anything that would have pained me more than losing you in such a way. Don’t you see? You had no choice. Just as I have none now.”

  Father gazed up at me with tears in his eyes. “Your desire to always do the right thing by others be blasted to smithereens,” he said, holding my hand to his tear sodden cheek.

  “Take heart, Father, for I have done nothing to this creature. Committed no crime in its eyes. It is, therefore, unlikely it wants to hurt me. I will go and talk to it. Reason with it.” It was then that the door to the parlour fell open, and my sisters spilt into the room. They stood before us, and having mustered as much dignity as a pair of earwiggers might, one said, “I agree with Beauty.”

  “We both do,” said the other, “this Beast can hold no grudge against her. Maybe it is simply desirous of a conversation.”

  Father shook his head. “The agreement was that Beauty would remain with it as its captive.”

  Despite their best efforts, my sisters could not help smiling.

  I dragged my gaze from them. “His captive?” I murmured.

  One of my sisters stepped closer. “But the creature is yet to meet you. And will doubtless tire of you sooner rather than later. And what's more, if Beauty does not go to it, it might seek the return of its treasure.”

  “It’s true,” said Father regretfully, “the Beast did
provide the wagon filled with riches. It told me it would be unfair to return with a rose for Beauty and yet deprive my other daughters the things they had asked for.”

  “How generous this Beast is!” said one of my sisters.

  “Yes, very generous,” I said, “and now, if you’ll excuse me, I feel suddenly tired.” I turned and walked unsteadily to the door.

  “Beauty,” said Father from behind me, “you do not have to go. It’s not as though the Beast’s request is in any way just.”

  My sisters drew breath audibly to disagree.

  “Then, why do I feel that I must?” I replied over my shoulder.

  I returned to my room, placed my back against the wall and slid to the ground as my legs gave way beneath me. I suppose I must have fainted, for some time later, I felt a hand upon my shoulder and heard Betty's reassuring voice. “Beauty? Beauty? Why are you sleeping on the floor?”

  I opened my eyes and, seeing my dear friend, threw my arms around her shoulders and whispered, “I know the name of my story!”

  “Why do you tremble so?”

  “Because I fear that its name is Beauty and the Beast!”

  “Why would you say such a thing!?”

  “Father has just returned from the Beast’s palace, and his liberty, his life was only spared because he promised that I would take his place.”

  Betty shook her head. “I don't believe it. Your father is a good man. A kind man. He loves you dearly and would never promise such a thing.”

  “Maybe. Under normal circumstances. But these circumstances were far from normal. The Beast … it terrified him so much that he would have promised it anything if it spared his life. And in his fearful state, he convinced himself that whatever he did promise would not have to fulfilled.”

  “Well then, maybe your papa has a point.”

  I shook my head. “A promise is a promise, particularly when it's made in a land such as this.”

  “You're going, then? To the Beast's home?”

  I clambered to my feet. “Yes.”

  “Then I will go with you!”

  I placed a hand upon her shoulder. “Thank you for offering, but I would not place you in danger so needlessly for anything in this world.”