Mrs. Beast

Mrs. Beast by Pamela Ditchoff Page B

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Authors: Pamela Ditchoff
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ramshackle coop where she laid down to await death.   She had just folded her hands over her breast when an old woman appeared in the doorframe.   Her back was curved, her mouth toothless, and her head covered with a red wool scarf.
         "Did I startle you, Dearie?" the woman wheezed.   "These old bones need resting and this seems a likely spot."
         "Why no, Madame.   Please come in and rest yourself."
         The old woman plopped down beside Beauty and asked, "Why are you moping in this fetid shack on a lovely spring day?"
         "I don't wish to burden you with my trouble, Madame."
         "Nonsense.   You look as pale and low as a catfish belly.   Tell Granny, maybe I can help."
         "I . . . I am dying," Beauty stammered.   "I began bleeding this morning from my private place and it hasn't stopped."
         The old woman cackled, "You're not dying, girlie girl.   It's the curse of Eve, the monthlies, the red flower, a visit from Aunt Flo.   You should be celebrating.   You've crossed over from childhood into womanhood and gained the wondrous ability to bring forth life."   The old woman drew a pear from her pocket as a visual aid, and explained the menarche.
         Beauty kissed her withered cheek. "Will the visitor ever stop coming?"
         The old woman struggled to her feet.   "If you lay with a man and he plants his seed within you, then a baby may grow. Your blood will nourish the babe instead of flowing from you.   And when you're old as me," she leapt in the air clicking her heels, "it will cease altogether."
         "Thank you, sweet Madame," Beauty said sincerely. "How can I repay your kindness?"
         But the old woman didn’t answer. She hustled out the door, caught her skirt on a piece of chicken wire and ripped it free muttering, "Bricklebrit."
         Beauty remembers the old woman's words now as she watches Lars caress Eva's pregnant belly.   She knows the baby has wiggled beneath Lars hand when his eyebrows fly upward.   Last evening, she had felt her own child stir for the first time.
         The old woman said when you lay with a man and he plants his seed within   you . . .   I lay with both the Beast and Runyon, although only twice with Runyon and once he spilled blue white, watery seed on my belly, saying he wanted no   brats, no squalling balls of meat . . . The Beast's seed was pine scented, thick as honey, and white as milkweed juice. Of course, Runyon and the Beast are one and the same, and his beastly appearance was created by a spell, inside beats the same heart.   Still, the two are so different, if I'd not witnessed the transformation with my own eyes . . . If I’m able to complete my quest, if I can persuade Elora to change Runyon back to my beloved Beast, how will he take the news of my pregnancy?
         Beauty smiles a Mona Lisa smile; only she knows the true noble character of the Beast. She removes her crocheted slippers and examines her feet.   The sores have shrunk to tight red scabs.   Tonight she'll tell the dwarfs that she's leaving in the morning.  
     
    *       *       *
     
         Beauty yellow satin dress is spread on a trunk, cleaned and pressed for her morning departure.   She sits cross-legged on the bed looking at farewell gifts from the dwarfs.   There is a boar skin satchel, gloves and shoes, and a flask of elderberry wine from the men. The women gave her a muslin caftan embroidered with flowers, a pot of cure-all salve, a red vellum diary, a crocheted baby blanket, a scarf with sun and moon appliqués, and a tin filled with dried fruits, nuts, and cookies.   Gerda had assured her that her mirror would be returned in the morning.
         "Come in," Beauty answers to a knock at the door.   Her smile fades and her spine stiffens as Snow White appears in the doorway.   Snow stares at the floor, twisting a handkerchief between her fingers.   "They told me you're leaving tomorrow.   I hope

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