by Edith Pattou
“Oh, Mother!” cried Sara.
“How could you, Mother?!” Sonja said.
I listened to the chorus of protest and disappointment from my family, then said, as brightly as I could, “There’s still heaps of time. Let’s not worry about partings now. Are there any more strawberries, Mother?”
I sensed that Mother’s words caused Rose pain. Or maybe it was that they caused me pain. I could not believe that once again Mother was choosing superstition over her daughter. Ironically, Rose and Mother were of the same opinion – that she must return with the white bear – but they came to it from very different directions. For Rose it was a matter of keeping a promise. For Mother… Well, she did not want to transgress on any of her foolish superstitions. If only Father had been there…
Every day we watched for him and every day he did not return. We tried to excuse Rose from doing any chores around the farm, but she insisted on doing her share. In private she told me that she actually missed doing chores, and described her makeshift laundry room as providing the only chance she had to do her own work. She actually let slip many little details of this nature, and gradually I felt I’d gained a piecemeal, sketchy picture of her life at the castle.
“You sound almost as if you are fond of the bear,” I said one day, after Rose had described a typical afternoon spent weaving and telling stories.
She looked a little startled. “I don’t know. Yes, I guess I am, in a way. Sometimes I feel sorry for him. Not pity – he would hate that – but when I see in his eyes the nonanimal part of him trying so hard to hang on, to keep a tiny grasp… Oh, it probably doesn’t make any sense to you.”
“You feel compassion for him.”
“Yes.” She got a faraway look in her eyes. “Like when he shivers –” She stopped with a guilty look.
“Shivers?”
“At night. You see –” She stopped again. “You must promise to tell no one,” she said, very serious. “Especially Mother.”
I promised.
“I have this feeling I should not speak of what happens in the castle at night, though he never told me not to, not specifically… But I find it so confusing, and strange. Talking it over with you might help me.” And then she told me of her nightly visitor, of the darkness that couldn’t be lit. Of the nightshirt she had made for him. And lastly of her suspicions that it was actually the white bear that slept beside her.
“Sometimes I can hardly stand not knowing. I want to reach over and feel his face. Or its face. But I daren’t. I tried different lamps, even making my own flint. But nothing worked. I think it must be an enchantment of some kind, Neddy. What do you think?”
I didn’t know what to say. Her tale sounded fantastic, like one of the stories I used to tell Rose when she was little. I shook my head. Then I was struck by a thought.
“Is that why you’re going back, Rose? To break the spell?” I asked.
Rose laughed. “It sounds so ridiculous when you say it like that. Anyway, it’s not that. It’s more like I feel there’s something I ought to be doing that I’m not. And if I did whatever it is, I could help the white bear.”
“Perhaps just being there is enough. Maybe he is lonely. And having you there keeps that little spark of humanness alive in him.”
Rose smiled at me. “You are so wise, Neddy. Well, I’d better get these in some water.” She stooped to gather up an armful of oxeye daisies she had picked earlier.
Just then, out of the corner of one eye, I glimpsed a flicker of green, the same colour green as Mother’s cloak. I instantly guessed that Mother had been eavesdropping on our conversation and wondered uneasily how much she had overheard. I decided not to mention it to Rose, not wanting her to be angry with Mother.
It was a foolish, foolish decision.
It is well to be prepared, to look ahead and set events in motion that will bring about the desired result at the desired time. If there are to be conditions – and what a confounded waste of time that there should be – then you use your wits and your arts to ensure the outcome is as you will it to be.
It was no difficult matter to set up a potion maker in a softskin village – to disguise a young troll, with a desire to please his queen. And then to give him the words and goods to entice a pair of foolish softskin women.
Even if she defies her own nature and returns with him, I will prevail. As I must.
It will soon be over.
And I will have my husband.
Only one day before my departure, and Father still had not returned. Already my family was begging me to stay longer, at least until Father came back. For a moment I imagined doing as they asked and pictured myself going to the white bear and saying, “Just a bit longer. Just until Father comes home.” And then I would remember that look in his eyes.
The harm he had spoke of – I wondered to whom it would happen. To me? Or to him?
The thought of those doors to the castle in the mountain shutting behind me made my breath go short and my heart pound in my chest. Remembering the despair I’d felt, the indifference to the days passing, frightened me. Maybe this time I would die.
I told myself that month of freedom would last me for a long time. And perhaps he would allow me to visit again, even longer the next time. But I didn’t believe it.
Anyway, it didn’t matter. I had made a promise.
I was in the room I shared with my sisters, doing the scant packing I needed to do, when Mother entered. I had successfully avoided being alone with her after our one encounter, and I felt guilty, though I was always kind and attentive to her when we were with others. My heart sank a little when she appeared then, but I smiled at her.
“I won’t disturb you long,” she said. “I have brought a few things for you to take back.” She laid a small bundle on the bed next to me. Opening it she handed me a jar. “Some of neighbour Torsk’s sweet honey. And look, a vest made for you by Widow Hautzig.”
“Oh, how nice,” I said, admiring the soft heathery wool, though I knew full well that Mother had surely paid the widow generously for her work.
“And here is some of that toffee candy you like so well. And a new handkerchief. And some hair ribbons from Sara… Your hair is getting so long, my dear, and quite lovely. Oh, and a candle, and flint. ’Tis a special flint, the latest thing. And the candle is also quite nice, slow burning, and I am told it will stay lit even in a strong wind. Whether or not that is so, I can’t say, but it may come in handy during your journey back to the castle.”
I gazed at the candle, which was a creamy ivory colour, then up at Mother’s face. Had Neddy told her of the unlightable darkness in my bedchamber? I did not believe it of him. Yet a candle, a candle that stayed lit… Her face was calm, placid. There was no hint of deception there.
“Just a few things from home, dear, that may bring you comfort until you can return to us for good.”
“Thank you, Mother.” I leaned over and hugged her. Then I took the things she had given me and stowed them in my pack.
I didn’t know how I would get through the goodbyes. I had thought of slipping away during the night to avoid them altogether, but that would have been cowardly, and I didn’t want to miss even one moment with my family.
The night before the moon had been new, the same silver eyelash I had pointed to when I had parted from the white bear. I had counted the days carefully.
When the time came for me to leave, we were all subdued. I gave each of them a quick hug, swallowing my tears.
“Let me walk with you, partway at least, to where you will meet…” Neddy said.
I nodded and was grateful for his arm around my shoulders as we left the farmhouse. And the tears I had held back overflowed down my cheeks.
Fishing in my pocket for the handkerchief Mother had given me, I said, “Neddy, please, when you see Father, tell him that…that I love him and that I am sorry for the angry words I said when I saw him last.” I paused. “And tell him to forgive Mother, if he can. She needs him, I think.�
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“I will tell him,” Neddy responded.
“And keep an eye on Widow Hautzig, Neddy. I don’t trust her.”
“Nor do I.”
“I’m sorry that I didn’t get to meet your Master Soren. Thank him for me, for all he’s done for us. And Neddy…” I turned and looked him in the eye. “Go to Trondheim, study with the scholar there. Do not wait for me to return. I will know how to find you if you are not here.”
Neddy was silent.
“Promise me.”
“I don’t know…”
“Neddy.”
“I will think about what you said,” he replied reluctantly. “But you will be back soon,” he added with conviction. “And you can come to Trondheim as well.” There was a pause. “Rose, if…if anything should happen, if you need me for anything, promise me you’ll get word to me. I will come to you, no matter where you are.”
“Thank you, Neddy. I will be fine.”
It was time to part. I clung to him a moment, then hurried away.
The white bear was where I had left him a moon cycle ago, standing beside the brook and weeping willow. He looked as if he had not moved from the spot.
I didn’t know how to greet him, so said nothing. He gazed at me for a long time, and I read something approaching joy in those bottomless eyes. I felt guilty at the traces of tears on my face.
Then he said, “Come,” and I had to find my balance on his broad white back all over again.
Waiting.
Curling slice of moon.
One month.
Hungry, pacing.
Frozen inside.
Will she…?
Then she comes, through the trees.
A great easing,
melting,
unbinding.
Hope.
Feel her above,
legs against my skin.
Moving through meadows,
undersea.
When we stop,
drinking in her voice.
Her purple eyes.
She came back.
It was after midnight when he spoke again. We were moving through a gorge and I had been half asleep. “What did you say?” I mumbled groggily.
“Did they…your family…ask you…do anything?”
I thought a moment, then said honestly, “They asked me to stay with them.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
“You…are sure?”
“Yes, I am sure.” I wondered what lay behind the question, what it was he feared.
“Your mother…did she not…ask you…give advice?”
“I told my mother only a little. Enough to reassure her that I am safe. I am safe, aren’t I?” I asked boldly.
The white bear made a sound that could have been a chuckle. “You are…safe,” he replied after a few moments.
I didn’t know how I was going to feel when the doors of the castle shut behind me, but as with leaving my family, it wasn’t as hard as I had feared. The memory of moonlight and cool night air was still fresh, and perhaps it would last me a long time.
I climbed off his back and stood before him in the front entryway of the castle. There was an awkward moment, as though neither of us knew what to say or what to do next.
Then the white bear said, “Thank you…for coming back,” and turned to walk away.
“Wait,” I said. “Can you not…?” I groped for the words. “Please…tell me why I am here, and what it is I can do to…help you?”
He turned and looked at me. “…Cannot.”
Then I couldn’t help myself. I was already feeling the walls close in on me. “Am I to be allowed to visit my family again?” I blurted out.
I thought his head drooped a little at that, but he lifted it and said, “…not talk of that…now.” He disappeared down the hall, his massive feet making no noise on the thick carpet.
Well, at least he hadn’t said no, I told myself, and made my way to the room with the red couch.
I was happy to see the loom again and had many ideas for clothing I wanted to make for my family. But I set them aside for the moment. I was much more focused on a new thought: during the journey back to the castle, I had vowed to get to the bottom of the mystery surrounding the white bear.
The obvious source to learn more about him was the two servants.
I began to spy on them, being careful so they wouldn’t guess what I was up to. I would go to my loom dutifully as they expected me to, then would sneak out into the halls of the castle to see where the two of them were. As time went on I observed a pattern to their daily schedule and began work on a map of their movements. First I came up with a list of their duties, the jobs they did to keep the castle running – at least those things that were visible to me: starting and tending the various hearth fires; lighting, filling, and putting out the oil lamps; providing me, and themselves, with meals (I suspected the white bear did his own hunting outside the castle); general cleaning, dusting, and so forth. I had no idea where they got the raw materials for making meals, but having seen no sign of chickens or cows or vegetables growing in the castle, I determined they must have such things delivered. If that was the case, the deliveries had to be made infrequently and at odd hours, because I had never seen any sign of the front door opening.
Unless it was all done by magic. Yet even though I was living with a talking white bear in a castle inside a mountain, my mind still rebelled at the whole idea of magic. After all, I hadn’t seen any mystifying transformations, things flying through the air or anything like that. The unlightable darkness of my bedroom and the lamp that went out for no reason were the only real signs that anything supernatural was going on.
I made it a point to wander along the hallway with the tapestry-covered kitchen door, and whenever I saw the two servants, I tried to be friendly. I would smile and speak a few words, offering by pantomime to help them carry things.
The woman would smile back blandly but remained aloof, resisting my efforts. I could see, however, that the little man was interested. He would nod and smile back, and once he let me carry wood for him. The woman was with him then and she frowned, saying something in their language that prompted him to take the wood back from me.
Clearly, if I was to have any luck at all communicating with the man, I needed to catch him alone.
According to my map the woman servant laid the fires in the rooms I used most – the one with the red couch, my bedchamber, the laundry room, and the weaving room. While she was attending to those, she sent the little man to check whether I’d used any of the other fireplaces during the previous day. If I had, which was rare, he was in charge of laying them afresh, after reporting to her.
So one afternoon I used a candle to light a fire in a small room on the second floor, as far away as possible from the kitchen or any of the other rooms the woman would be working in. It was a library of sorts, though it had fewer books than the big library on the first floor.
The next morning I got up early and hid myself in the second-floor room. I watched as the little man entered and inspected the fireplace, which had ash and burned kindling in it. He lit the lamps in the room and then left, so I settled myself with a book in a large, comfortable chair. A little while later the man opened the door. Seeing me sitting there, he began to back out of the room, but I hopped up and, smiling warmly, beckoned him in. With a quick backward glance out into the hall, he slowly entered, carrying his bundle of wood and kindling.
“Hello,” I said brightly.
He just stared at me.
Then I said, “Rose,” and pointed to myself.
Again he looked at me dumbly.
I did it again. “Rose.”
Something lit in his eyes. “Tuki,” he said, and pointed to himself. I couldn’t be sure if Tuki was his name, or nationality, or even species, but I nodded enthusiastically and pointed to him, saying, “Tuki.”
And to my pleasure he responded by pointing to me and saying, “Rose.”
I clapped my hands with delight. And then I pointed to the book I was holding and said, “Book.”
He looked a little puzzled but then pointed to the book and said, “Kirja,” which I hoped meant “book” in his language.
After that he set down the wood he was carrying, and we went around the room pointing to things, each giving our own name for it. He seemed to enjoy this greatly, as if it were a splendid game, and I wondered if, despite the fact that his features looked adult to me, he might not actually be a child.
As we moved around the room, he would deliberately brush against my arm or hand, and I remembered the first time we had met and how he had appeared to be fascinated by my skin. And for myself, I was struck again by the white-ridged roughness of his.
When we came near the fireplace, he suddenly remembered his reason for coming to the room and quickly retrieved the wood. While he hurriedly laid the fire, I sat in a chair and watched him. He finished, then gazed at me, a questioning look on his face.
I nodded, and only a moment after he had bent over the wood, flames sprung up. I hadn’t seen a striker or a candle and wondered if he had used some kind of magic spell to light the fire.
I pointed at the flames licking the logs and said, “Fire.”
He looked at me, grinned, and said, “Palo.” Then he left the room.
“Goodbye, Tuki!” I called to him.
I was pleased. This was a good beginning.
One of my favourite rooms in the castle was the music chamber, even though I didn’t know how to play any of the instruments. Occasionally I would sit at the pianoforte and play on the ivory keys, but I could not make a melody out of the sounds.
The instruments that I liked the most were the flautos and recorders, especially the lovely flauto in the box with blue velvet. It was so beautiful I had been shy about even touching it, but one day I worked up my courage and took it out of the cabinet. I placed the mouthpiece to my lips and blew. A loud ringing note came out, startling me so that I almost dropped the instrument. But I held on and tried again. As that second note died away, the white bear entered the room. I fought down the instinct to hide the flauto behind my back as though I were a naughty child caught playing with grown-up things. As he came closer I could read a sort of yearning in his eyes. He lay down on the rug near the cabinet and looked up expectantly, as he did in the weaving room when he was ready to hear a story.