Hourglass
I come in the dark.
I come in at the door and leave by the window or the chimney, whispering my black cloak along the rough smoke-stained brick. You would like my face if you saw it, for I have sharp black eyes and a smile like your favourite uncle who lives very far away and sometimes comes to visit, and always remembers to bring you a gift. I will always remember. If you saw my hands, you might be afraid of me, for my hands are small and wrinkled and twisted, like the hands of an old, old man; but you might pity me, too. It is easy to pity old men.
If you saw my black clothes, you would certainly be afraid of me, for I should be the man your mother always told you of in stories, the man in the black hooded cloak, the man with the black robes and tall black boots. My hood covers my face, but it doesn't matter, as my face is dark-skinned and my eyes are black--I told you before--and you would see nothing if you looked. I look like a hooded monk when you shine a light upon me, and like a shadow when I come in at the door.
But you must not be afraid of me. I have no scythe and I do not like blood. I like souls, and the soul is a pretty black shadow, like a cat or a piece of silk. It trembles in my hands. You must know that I do not cruelly tear strong men down in their height of life; I come quietly through the door and walk to your grandfather, who has forgotten your name and screams in the night at the memory of war. I take his hands in mine, old hands in old hands, and I lean down, and I whisper in his ear,--
"Grandfather, come with me."
His soul, a pretty black shadow shaped like a beautiful young man who can stand straight without stooping and walk without a cane, steps away from him, and I have set him free. Then your grandfather does not need to remember your name and it no longer pains him that he has forgotten; and the war never happened. He is happy again.
Sometimes I come to your little sister, who sleeps in her cradle. Someday soon, she will open her eyes and a wolf which is the world will stare at her with hungry eyes, and it will spring at her throat. Your little sister will cry and cry as she did when she was a baby, but now her mother will not run to her and comfort her. She will feel herself devoured, little by little. Before this happens, I will come in the dark and lift her from her cradle in my dark arms, and I will sing to her, rocking her. Her soul, a fair black shadow that has the look of a maiden who has never known what it means to be frightened or hurt, will creep from her, and I have set her free.
Now your little sister will never be touched by the wolf. She will never know the pain of the betrayal of crying for her mother when her mother does not come. She is happy.
Once in a while, I come to you. You are young, for to me all people are young, and you perhaps have been hurt. Perhaps you have cried. Perhaps someone has injured you, or perhaps you are tired, so tired, and no one will let you sleep. Perhaps you have never known what it is to laugh, because you work industriously night and day, striving for something which, I tell you as a secret, no one will ever let you have. I will come in my black cloak, and I will reach out for you, and I will lead your soul, as fluttery and light as a lace curtain blowing in the moonlight, away from you, away from everything.
I will give you back to the earth and the sky, and you will have no more sleepless nights and no more sorrows. You will never fear anything again.
And then, and then--let me tell you a secret--you will be happy.
Now you see why there is no reason to fear me.
~~~
The stone staircase was badly lit by flickering torches and the moon, through a barred window. The girls in their white smocks and shifts ran up and down, giggling, falling against one another, clutching one another, shrieking. They had marzipan hearts and rabbits and mice in their pockets, which they tried to steal from each other, a wild, tickling game played only because it was very late on a holiday night and they ought to be in bed.
In the shadows, which waved and sparked and trembled wildly at all the fluttering clothes and running feet, Maida hid herself, watching the other girls with wide eyes. She was a little afraid of them, of the noise. It was the excitement, and the way everyone had stayed up so late, and that all the girls had been allowed little sips of wine, and the gifts, and the music, and--things like that she was a little afraid of, because they were different from the way things usually were.
Suddenly she heard a noise beside her, and started, and smiled.
"Oh, it's only you."
"Just me." Lionel the storyteller sat down and took a candied pear from his pocket. "If you've got a mouse, I'll trade with you."
"All right!" She dug out her marzipan, only slightly squashed, and they exchanged the pieces. Maida began nibbling on the pear at once. "What are they going to do now? After this?"
"Once the girls have stopped running about like fools? They'll all have their hair bound up in braids and put on their nightdresses, and wrap blankets about themselves; and then they'll come to the common room, and I'll tell stories while they eat peppermints. That's what usually happens on holiday nights," said Lionel.
"
Oh..." said Maida softly.
"And you will sit by the fire and squeal with fright, for I shall frighten you. I'll tell stories about ghosts." He picked her up and sat her on his knee. "I'll tell stories about spirits."
"No, don't," Maida begged, clinging to him.
"Very well. I'll tell about clever girls who outwit trolls. Some of them will marry strong men and live happily ever after, and some of them will become good witches and live alone with their comfortable cats and magic spells. I'll tell about frogs who became princes and princes who became nightingales, and little princesses like Mistress Maida who grew up to become queens of the whole wide world, and always had their faithful fools with them, to dance and play stupid and know all the secrets in the world. Will you approve?"
"Oh, yes!" said Maida, and she smiled as Lionel wiped the pear sticky off her face with the corner of his black tunic. "And you'll tell the one about the clock, the clock, won't you?"
"I promise you beyond a doubt that you will hear the story about the clock."
Then everything was quite all right, and the shadows didn't frighten her any longer, and neither did the noise. She wrapped up the last of her pear in the pocket of her shift and Lionel put her down so she could run up to the bedrooms and have her hair braided and get her pocketful of peppermints before the other girls came. They were still playing games on the stairs. Maida stood still very nicely as the maid braided, and when it was finished took her green blanket from her bed and tied it about her neck like a cloak, and rushed down the stairs, in such a hurry she almost fell, to have the best seat by the fire when Lionel came into the common room to tell stories.
At last all the girls were crowded in, waiting, and the room was a little noisy and a little hushed, like a soft murmur all over. Maida was hugging her knees and sucking on a peppermint when Lionel came in at last.
He was wearing his best storytelling clothes, the black tunic and trousers and the long black cloak, and he had a grey purse of objects with him to use so that the girls could see what he was talking about, like a soapstone carved into a dragon so they could know exactly how the wings curved and the sharp teeth snarled over the lip. Down he sat upon the stool set out for him by the fire, and he looked around at them all.
"Are you listening?"
"Yes!" they shouted, laughing.
"Very good. I am beginning in a kingdom like ours, but where everything they have is carved to look like an animal. They clip their bushes and trees like tigers stalking in the tall grass, and they make their cakes like monkeys cracking nuts. They have houses shaped like big elephants from India and their little girls wear smocks and shifts made from the fur of kittens, and shoes of butterfly wings. They believe that everything in the world that is good comes from an animal, and they worship a big Ermine in the sky, who wears a crown of rubies to match his eyes and makes declarations and rules, the way the pagans do.
"Now, in this kingdom, a long, long time ago, there was a little girl called Maitane who was a princess, and she was the most beautiful girl in the wide world. She had long brown hair that she tied back in a ribbon made of snakeskin, and perfect brown eyes that she rimmed with the powder from a moth's wing. Her clothes were always made for her with the best furs and skins that could be found. She was a good girl, a fair girl, who loved her mamma and father, and knew how to be kind. She had been taught since she was very small that the animals supplied her with everything, and she must never hesitate to give anything to them.
"One day, a dark boy came to her father's court. He was dressed in black, and there was no animal Maitane could imagine which could make clothing of the sort he wore. His name was Brishen, and with him he brought a very curious creature, a creature which astonished her father and mamma, and made Maitane smile. It looked for all the world like a little gold hourglass, full of grey sand, keeping the hours regularly; but it had little black bats' wings poking out from the wooden circle about its middle. It perched on Brishen's shoulder and flew about his head as he spoke, and Maitane longed to have such a creature of her own. Brishen told her this was impossible, for the creature loved only him, but Maitane begged and begged. At last, he gave it into her little hands for her to hold, no more."
"What next?" cried the girls. "What did it do?"
Maida watched Lionel fixedly.
"It grew little teeth from its wooden lip, on the top cap of its hourglass body, and bit Maitane's hand. She cried out, and fell to the floor..."
~~~
"...then Brishen went away with his creature upon his shoulder, and Maitane and her betrothed watched him down the long road until he was almost out of sight. They turned to one another in the coloured dawn-light, and he embraced her. She wept.
"Then, with a little sigh, Maitane stepped away from her betrothed and began down the road after Brishen. First she walked slowly, but she started to go more quickly after a few moments, and then she ran, as fast as her feet could carry her, until she, too, was almost out of sight. Her betrothed did not stop her, and she followed Brishen away, to wherever he had come from.
"The king waited some years for Maitane to return, but she never did, and finally her mamma and father declared that she must have died. Her betrothed in a few years married her youngest sister, and they ruled justly, and well. They learnt to make clothes from plants or clipped fur, so that they need not kill the animals. They learnt to eat things that grew in the fields, plants and fruits, so that they need not kill the animals. They learnt to make tools from wood and metal, so that they need not kill the animals for their bones and sinews, and thus the two races were able to live in peace. So they did, and they lived--they lived happily, for-ever after."
The girls were silent, and then someone in the back called out,--
"Oh!"
and everyone joined in, and clamour filled the room. Lionel smiled, spread his hands, and let them make noise for a few moments before someone else called,--
"But what happened to Maitane?"
"Nobody knows, Lady. Perhaps she married Brishen and lived with him. Perhaps she made her fortune in another land in another story. Perhaps she truly did die. But hush, hush, and I will tell you another story. I will tell you about Ena and the clocks."
They all quickly fell silent in the anticipation of a new tale, and Lionel began.
Many stories later, when their hourglasses had been tipped once, twice, three times, the maids came in quietly, shaking the girls to tell them they must go; and they got up, groaning and laughing and talking. Maida's maid took her hand, and she stood up from the fire, feeling tired and wide-awake all at once.
Lionel put his carved stone and wooden figures back into his purse, lastly the hourglass with the blackbird's wings pinned to it, and stepped in beside her, walking her back to the room the girls slept in.
"Did you like the stories, Mistress Maida?"
"I did, I did! I did! Only have you ever seen a bird like that?"
"A bird?" asked Lionel, smiling.
"The glass bird with sand in it."
"Brishen's creature! Well, perhaps I have, perhaps I haven't. It's time for you to go to sleep. You will sleep well, won't you?"
"I will," Maida said truthfully, sucking the peppermint taste off the inside of her cheeks.
"Did you have a fine day?"
"I did. I've been so happy all day long."
"Have you really?"
"Yes, of course I have! I've had the most wonderful day I've ever had in my life," she said devoutly, and gave him a look of quiet, sincere adoration.
"I believe you." Lionel looked ahead. "I just wanted to be certain. Now you go along and sleep. Good-night, Mistress Maida."
"Good-night."
She went into the sleeping-room and curled up in her bed, straightening the covers. It took her longer than usual to fall asleep that night, but she dreamt of peppermint mice and marzipan birds full of sand and the rain coming down.
Later, when it was very dark and the girls were all asleep, the door slowly opened. A man wearing black slipped in, the moonlight making him look even darker than he was, the stars making no difference at all. He wore a long black cloak and had silent footsteps, and a little hourglass hovered above his shoulder, beating black wings that made no sound.
He walked to Maida's bed and sat down on the edge without making a mark in the coverlet, and he smiled gently. The most wonderful day in your life? he murmured, and his voice sounded like leaves rustling and night falling and stars going out. I am glad to know that.
Then he touched her hand.
With a sound like snails walking along a leaf in the dark, and moonflowers unfurling their white petals and a stone sitting alone in a path and weeping because it is not a star, Lionel and the little black shadow of Maida's soul stepped to the window and went like a whisper, walking along the fog.
~~~
And now you see--you see now--why there is no reason to be afraid of me.
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