Porcelain Princess by Jon Jacks Page A

the day he had spoken to them. But if
any townspeople still looked up to the balcony with any expectation
that he might appear there again, they did so in vain. If he did
ever appear there, some said, it would only be to announce that he
had decide to bring the world to an end.
    One day,
however, someone did appear on the balcony; but it wasn’t anyone
they were expecting.
    No matter where
you were in the town on that day, you couldn’t fail to hear the
unexpectedly joyful fanfare of trumpets that had abruptly erupted
from the tower. Blacksmiths stilled the ringing of their anvils,
tavern keepers halted the rolling of their heavy barrels down in
the cellars, maids stopped the whirl of their spinning wheels or
looms, the squishing of their milking, and children brought their
play to an end in the middle of an excited yell.
    ‘ Who’s playing the music?’ they anxiously asked each other as
they all wormed their way through the streets towards the beckoning
tower. ‘Why?’ asked others. ‘What on earth can it mean?’
    ‘ The end of the Earth!’ answered some as they nervously grasped
the hands of their children.
    Even as they all
gathered beneath the balcony, the curtains behind the immense
French windows were seen to move, to be disturbed. Then they
opened, flowing smoothly to either side.
    As the doors
themselves opened, everyone gasped. Some fell to their knees,
weeping.
    The fanfare of
trumpets came to an abrupt halt, letting an awed silence quickly
ripple across the crowd.
    In the darkness
of the tower’s interior, there was a flash of purest white,
growing, increasing in size as it drew nearer to the doors leading
onto the balcony.
    The most
beautiful girl anyone had ever seen stepped out into the
sun.
    Her dress, the
dress of a princess, glistened as if decorated with the finest
pearls, the most expensive lace. Her hair shone as if made of the
richest silk. Her face was flawless, her skin as pure as the
world’s most painstakingly made porcelain.
    She gave off an
angelic light (as everyone would later agree in awed
tones).
    She continued
walking until she was standing on the very edge of the balcony. She
looked down on them all, her head moving slightly as she took in
(as they each believed) each and every one of the assembled
crowd.
    She
smiled.
    Even though they
were all too far away to see clearly, each and every one of them
knew that she had smiled. They knew this because they suddenly felt
flooded with her happiness, her benevolence, her own remarkable
wonder of the world and everything that was in it.
    She
waved.
    She waved at
him, at her, each and every one of them knowing that he or she was
the one in particular that she had spotted amongst the crowd,
singling them out for her friendly wave.
    Each and every
one of them waved back.
    The Princess
didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She simply turned and
walked back through the balcony doors back into the palace.
(Suddenly, no one thought of it has being a tower anymore. The
tower had at last disappeared; it was now a palace.)
    It was over! The
terror was over!
    Their Princess
didn’t need to tell them this for them to know.
    They cheered.
They threw their hats into the air. They danced ridiculously
excitable jigs. They made their own joyful music, with hastily
produced flutes, with barrels transformed into drums.
    They reached out
to hold hands with whoever was nearest to them, groups forming into
circles or lines that wheeled amid or snaked around everyone else.
They hugged complete strangers, inviting them for a drink at the
tavern, even dinner at their home at the next available
opportunity.
    Clothes that
only a moment ago had seemed dull and poor now blazed with colour
as everyone happily mingled. Children who had been nothing but
noisy pests, forever getting under their feet, spread laughter and
gay tom-foolery wherever they went. Market stalls dismissed as
uninteresting and full of ill formed goods were, on a second look,
revealed to be