Rapunzel is ten years old when a stranger passes by her village. With the stranger is an invisible oral biographer, who collects "stories" from the villagers. Conflicting stories are inevitable. Evil and beauty are in the eyes of the beholder.
The village (if it can ever be called such) is small: two rows of living space either side of a dirt road heading up to the forest, the barren desert beyond it, and a town a million miles away. They are simple people, living simple lives. They don't trust strangers that much, I think.
The small guest house (if it can ever be called such) is also small, built barely inside the village gate, close enough to the wilderness, making it easy to throw out unwanted visitors. It is really a tavern with three rooms upstairs. They don't get many out-of-village travellers, it seems. The rooms smell like they haven't been lived in since the time it was built. The covers are clean but dusty, little minuscule dust rolling on skin. Here everyone can be a parody of the Pea Princess.
Old Alf. We try to keep the strangers as far away from that old witch as possible. No sense in putting innocent passers-by in danger. We like visitors. They bring stories that we've never heard before, keeps the gossip mill greased up. Old stories get old.
The tavern serves good food, the only redeeming feature. Old Alf and his wife keeps a good kitchen. Hearty, homely food made with good ingredients. I must remember to ask where they get their greens. I'd like to bring them on my trip. It'll be a change, eating fresh beautiful salad on my travels.
Dame Erna. I don't like strangers. They ask too many questions. I keep telling everyone that strangers can't be good. But Alf keeps saying that I'm a little bit stressed from the kitchens. I wish he could just stop putting words in my mouth. I know where his words've been.
Now. The new stranger, the one staying in the east-facing room, asked where I got my greens from.
As I said. I don't like strangers. They ask too many questions.
I think the food helped me sleep last night, despite the dust in my nose.
Old Alf's wife, the Good Erna (named after her dearly departed father, Ernust), is as tight-lipped about the ingredients as she was last night. I suppose, every good cook has their own secrets they take to their graves.
This is a small village, so I don't think they view money the same way I (or most people I know) do. Old Alf refuses money and ask for a thing or two instead. I don't bring a lot of things with me in my travels, they slow me down.
Two meals and a night's sleep cost me my old medicine box. It's a small thing really, I don't use it often anymore. In fact, I don't even know I had it with me.
Old Alf. The medicine box is very handsome. A bit old, but I suppose that's where the charm is. A good thing to be having around, I reckon.
Dame Erna. The stranger leaves today. Good. I'm beginning to tire of all these questions about where I got my greens from. It's not something that any stranger should know. It's better for them. Just as they shouldn't tarry too long in front of that house at the end of the road.
The children here do not go to school. There's no school in this village. The younger ones play in mud puddles in the middle of dirt roads, making horses and people navigate around them. One of these days, one of those young 'uns are going to get run over, and I might just be thankful I won't be here to see it happen. The road's too narrow. The older ones follow their fathers to the towns yonder and do not return until the end of harvest.
I was told to walk on by. Straight to the other end of the village and out of the back gate. Dame Erna reminds me I shouldn't tarry too long to "admire" anything. As if there's anything to be admired in this very small village.
I just think these people don't like strangers very much.
Mayor. There used to be a school in this village. And old teacher taught there. But the old teacher died and nobody came to replace her. It was a good thing at that time, since those were lean years and we could not spare any able-bodied younglings. We need money to survive. Children can work the fields.
The smarter children got sent to the school in the next town over. They don't come back ever.
Dame Erna. The children who went away and never came back? They're abducted. Then brainwashed. I'm telling you.
This dirt road is deceitfully long, maybe because it's so straight and so very dull. I think I've walked a long time, but I think I'm only at the halfway point. There's a haberdashery to the left, and someone's house to the right. You can't tell right away. They all look the same kind of brown, grey, and washed out blue.
I try to keep an eye out for a greengrocer, turning my head left and right, trying to figure out what this house sells and what that house offers. I still hope to find some of those delectable greens I ate in Old Alf's tavern.
A child waves to me from inside a house. A woman, maybe the child's mother, pulls the child away from the window.
Dame Ursel (overheard talking to an unseen person, possibly to husband). That must be the stranger Erna spoke about last night. Looks suspicious indeed.
I think my self-appointed task will come to naught as I'm almost at the end of the village. I can see the gate very clearly. Well, there is a sort of greengrocer here, a few houses back, but it sells half-wilted greens. Not like anything I've seen back at Old Alf's.
Maybe that's why Dame Erna keeps her secret so close to her ample bosom. A trade secret of the most secret kind, I'm thinking.
Gatekeeper (overheard talking to oneself). The stranger is fast approaching. This must be the stranger the Dames were talking about last night. Looks rather shifty to me, I must say. The Dames will be glad the stranger's gone.
A flash of colour appears at the corner of my eye. I almost tripped over my own two feet.
There. The last house of the row on the left. Is that green, brilliant green? Do I see red and turquoise blue, and flashes of colour I don't see elsewhere? My mind must be deceiving me, but I must look.
Gatekeeper (overheard). Much as Dame Erna predicted. The nosy stranger can't keep straight on the path, venturing to that house. Nothing good will come out of this, I'm sure. I must tell the others. But how? I can't leave my post. So maybe the stranger will tire out and leave. The sooner, the better, I reckon.
This house, unlike the other houses, have a high gate and tall walls. But through the cracks I can see... Brilliant greens! Delectable blues! Wonderful yellows, reds, and pinks. Vivid red and enchanting purple. Vegetables and flowers, shrubberies and trees.
Who lives here, I wonder? This is probably where Dame Erna gets her greens. This is the only place with such freshness and vibrancy.
Dame Gothel (overheard talking to someone. possibly to child). Someone is poking their head through my gates. Must be one of those urchins again. Didn't I tell them to leave me alone? What must one do to be left in peace in this place?
Beyond the well-kept garden with mouthwatering salad leaves, I can see movement. There's someone inside! Maybe they'll sell me some of these leaves. Funny how I've become obsessed with mere leaves. Maybe I've been on the road too long, too much of the same waybread and the same traveller's fare.
I knock on the wood of the gate. Softly then louder. "Excuse me!" I yell.
Dame Gothel (overheard). These people! Why can't they leave me alone?
A child comes up to me, pulls the edge of my cloak.
"If you want to buy stuff from Dame Gothel, today's not the day. Come back Friday."
"But I'm not staying until Friday. In fact I'm leaving today."
"Then, you're out of luck, stranger," the child says, shrugs, and leaves.
Friday is just tomorrow's tomorrow. I suppose I can stay a while.
Gatekeeper (overheard). The stranger is turning around. The stranger is not leaving. This can't be good.
This village must have spectres that I can't see, news travels so fast. By the time I reached Old Alf's tavern again, he's already at the door shaking my hand and leading me inside. Dame Erna has lunch prepared on the table already, but she has her sour face on.
"How long are you going to stay here?" Dame Erna asks pointedly.
"Until Friday," I answer and if it's even possible, her face turns even sourer. She leaves my side quickly and pulls her husband inside her kitchen. I can hear them talk, maybe they squabble. They must be talking about me. From their tone of voice, I wonder if I should worry about poison in my food.
Dame Gothel. I used to have shallow gates. I used to let them come any time of the day, every day of the week. But they come and come and take and take. Now, even Fridays are too good for them.
After lunch, I climb up the stairs to my room, the same room I stayed in last night. The covers have changed, but equally yellow. At least it's not as dusty.
I stay in my room for the rest of the day. I watch the day pass by from my room, the children playing, the small traffic passing through the village, the people gossiping. Old Alf sends dinner soon after. I eat. I sleep.
Dame Erna. The stranger went inside the room and didn't come out the whole day. A good thing. We can only take so much nosiness in a day. The other dames are already twittering in the streets. Dame Ursel thinks the stranger is a child-stealer. The Gatekeeper ate lunch at her place, told her the stranger's been nosing around the witch's house. They must be cronies. They're going to steal our young away from us. Alf thinks me mad, stressed from the kitchen. I think he is blinded by the stranger's things.
Old Alf. I don't understand why Erna dislikes me from taking things from strangers. It's for her own sake, isn't it? Haven't they allowed her to continue cooking?
I slept very soundly last night. Good food and clean sheets. Old Alf points me to the woodscraftsman's place and the potter's place. I think I may get some souvenirs for my little nephews.
The scene today isn't all that different from yesterday. The villagers are wary of me. They seem to dislike me asking about that house at the end of the street. They'll scowl and frown and will try to change the subject.
The children are more forthcoming when I ask them. They say an old woman lives there. They say the old woman only sells vegetables and plants on a Friday.
Greengrocer. The children who went away and never came back? They never went away at all. They're here. Under the witch's cauliflowers and roses, under her berries and trees. There's no way you can get good crops here without sacrifices. I grow mine the way all humans do, and they're nowhere as good as those enchanted crops.
The children tell stories. The adults pull the children away from me when they catch me talking to them.
Dame Gothel. Like I would ever share my fertilisers and soils with these hateful people. Their very breath is poison. Slander and poison.
"It's not like we don't welcome you here," Old Alf tells me when I sit down for lunch. "We don't get too many strangers coming through."
"They don't seem to like me asking about the house at the end of the village, as well."
Old Alf pales, or at least I think I see him turn pale. He's not dark to begin with, but it's as if I've talked about a ghost. Or maybe something worse than an avenging ghost.
"We don't discuss it often," Old Alf says.
"Do you know the person living in the house?" I ask.
There's silence.
I eat my lunch in silence. Old Alf sits across me, but doesn't talk.
I keep to myself the rest of the day. I sit in my room, watch the day pass by from my small window. If Friday isn't tomorrow, I would've left. They don't want me here, I get that.
Dame Erna. I don't even like cooking. But Alf likes my cooking. So be it.
Old Alf delivers dinner. He invites himself inside.
"Tomorrow's Friday," he says.
"Yes."
"You will leave?"
"After I buy vegetables from the house at the end of the village, yes."
"I'd hoped you wouldn't."
I stare at him.
"Seems like you're still going to do it."
I end up paying him in advance. This time it's my walking stick. It's a very handsome walking stick, made from some sturdy expensive wood. I've had it since forever, so maybe it's not a very strong thing now. I never go anywhere without it.
Dame Gothel. I used to let them take what they like for free. At first they only take a little, only what they need. They used to appreciate my vegetables, they used to praise my plants. But they grew greedy. Their children are even greedier. Then I don't give things for free anymore.
Dame Ursel. Old Alf said the stranger's only interested in the witch's vegetables. I don't believe him. Strangers either pass by quietly, or they mean something bad. I fear for my child.
Amelinda. I heard from the dames. There's a stranger, a very suspicious stranger. The stranger has been poking around the witch's garden. They say the stranger is the witch's crony. They're going to take all the children away. Everyone will be childless. Like me.
Old Alf. Now I have enough things to barter for vegetables. I hope I will always have enough things. I think I'll die if I have to barter my child for vegetables. Poor Raban and Amelinda, having to barter for vegetables with a child.
Dame Gothel. I used to ask for trivial things, just things that I needed. I never needed very many. I live a simple life, I only want a peaceful life. But the things I need are not important to them, and they don't even appreciate it. That's true. I began to ask for things that they deem precious. Even when the things they deem precious aren't useful to me. I even had to build a tower to put all those useless stuff in it. I don't want to return it to them. That'll be too good for them, won't it. I have to think about what to do with those things though. Or I'll need to build myself a new tower.
Raban. I came back from the tavern one day to find that Amelinda, my dear dear wife, was pregnant. We didn't know it at first. But her morning sickness. Her craving. They all pointed to pregnancy. Finally. We're going to have a child. We were happy. She threw up. We were happy. She craved. We were happy. But I will now curse her cravings for as long as I live.
Dame Gothel. That good-for-nothing man came to my house, crept in like a thief in the middle of the night. I woke up to find him trampling all over my flower beds.
Raban. I did knock you know, I think I woke everyone, except for the deaf old witch. Amelinda was waiting at home, hankering for some rapunzel. I couldn't possibly wait, could I?
Dame Gothel. I'll remember that cur's face for as long as I live. My rapunzels, beautiful and fresh, clutched in his grimy hands. I yelled at him and he yelled back.
Raban. So I admit, I did enter her yard without her permission. But Amelinda...
Dame Gothel. I asked him what he's got to give in exchange for the rapunzel, not to mention compensation for trampling all over my flowers. Those were no ordinary flowers either, very hard to breed. Took me several tries to coax them into full bloom and the cur just had to prance all over it!
Raban. We were poor, Amelinda and I. We didn't have anything to offer.
Amelinda. I think it was ten years ago, when I sent Raban to the witch's house to barter my heirloom brooch for some rapunzel.
Dame Gothel. Even with clouds over the half moon that night, Raban Winkelzug. Came from a hardworking father and a good, gentle mother. Pity the child turned out to be a good-for-nothing. He thought nobody knew? He could deceive everyone in this village, but not I! The sweet-mouthed swindler. Poor Amelinda, said I.
Raban. I admit I was sneaking through her property. But did that equal handing over our child to her, I ask you. I was so very afraid that she would curse the village, that I had no choice but to agree.
Dame Gothel. Why would I ask for a child? What use would I have for a child? I only wished to be left alone in peace. Having a child in the house couldn't mean peace, could it?
Raban. She was very insistent upon it. My child or my wife would be dead from her craving.
Dame Gothel. There was a rumour in the village a few days after Raban left my garden in disarray. He apparently had told them that I had cursed Amelinda, that she would die if she didn't eat rapunzel from my garden. It was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard in my long life, and believe you me, I've heard a lot of stupid things in the past. I let him off without having to pay for anything despite the destruction left in my garden, and that was how he repaid me?
Raban. Roughly nine months afterwards, dear Amelinda gave birth. I passed out because there was so much blood. When I woke up, Amelinda's hand was empty and there was no babe at her breast.
Dame Gothel. I woke up one morning, and found a basket with a baby in it! Whose baby was it? It was a quiet baby, though, with golden tufts on its head. Her head. I didn't know what to do with the poor thing. Later that day, I heard rumours that Amelinda had finally given birth. Towards the end of the day, I had rotten eggs thrown at my doorstep. They said I'd taken Amelinda's child. But the child that was sleeping in my room couldn't be Amelinda's. Both Amelinda and Raban had dark hair.
Dame Ursel. I heard from the other dames, that the witch took Amelinda's daughter and exchanged it with a yellow-haired devil. And now the changeling child lives in our midst.
Dame Gothel. I don't think the children in the village like my daughter very much. Poor poor dear.
Today is Friday. I'm going to buy my salads, and leave this odd village. I wonder if I'll ever return to this place again. I don't think I'm going to miss this place very much.
Amelinda. Today is Friday. I've thrown up every morning for the past week, though I haven't told my dear husband yet. I think I have a craving for celery, but I will not give in to it.