The Grimm Prequels Book 5: (Prequels 19-24) Page 13

  Bluebeard grabbed me close and began dancing to the melody in the air. "Don't step on my feet please," he joked. "I've always imagined you dancing with me."

  I stepped on his right foot, on purpose. "Let me show you how dancing is done." I grinned, and he loved it.

  And so we danced on each branch for some time, continuously being spat out to another. Before long all the branches had created a padded platform – midair – for us to dance throughout the night. The moons gathered and produced one spot of white to illuminate whichever area we tapped our feet upon.

  Nothing would have changed a fifteen-year-old like me more than this. But I had to ask. "Are you a magician?"

  And this was when Bluebeard had me. He said, "Only for you."

  Whoever coined the term 'falling in love' must have been really in love, maybe for the first and last time in their life. Because looking back now, loving Bluebeard felt like a perpetual fall into something so beautiful. As if I had let go of everything, hands spread at my sides, welcoming my downfall into a bed of roses.

  The days passed and I just kept falling.

  We danced day and night, upon trees, human-sized flowers, and inside the halls of his castle where I saw a piano for the first time in my life. That black box, elegantly designed and curved, like a big chest of treasures holding onto many valuable secrets.

  "Can you play it?" I asked.

  "I can," he said. "But let me show you how."

  Bluebeard took my hand, this time pressing on my forefinger and brushed it over the black and white keys stretching out before me.

  "Don't press the keys yet," he whispered in my ears, standing right behind me, caressing me with that exotic scent of his beard. Some perfume I hadn't been able to connect with a definite smell, yet. Unearthly. "Feel them. Brush your finger upon each key, slowly."

  I registered that he called those black and white wooden blocks, the size of fingers, keys. And indeed, it confirmed my impression of this incredible musical instrument. It kept its secrets inside, and the only way to unlock them was through the keys.

  "The keys have names," he continued whispering. "This one is called Doe."

  "Doe?" I pronounced it as I heard it. Later I realized he wrote it as 'do’.

  "Do a deer, a female deer," he sang to me. "It's a song that no one knows about, but they will in a few centuries.”

  "You can read the future?"

  "The second key is called Ray," he dismissed my inquiry and I couldn't resist his voice.

  "Ray?" I said, later realizing that musicians wrote it as 're’.

  "Like a brilliant musician from the future by the name Ray Charles," he whispered in my ears, his breath on my neck. I was too hypnotized to question him talking about unheard of names and the future.

  "The third key is called Me." He guided my finger to it, this time helping me to push it down, producing a single note that almost took my breath away.

  "Me?" I said. "Do you have a futuristic story for this one, too?"

  "No," he said. "This one stands for Me and You."

  Then he turned me around and pulled me closer. His eyes watched me as he caressed my lips with his finger for some time. I was about to swallow when he stopped me by gently kissing my lips.

  Me and you. "Forever." I thought I heard him say.

  As we danced and kissed all night, he told me about the musical keys of the piano: do, re, me, fa, so, la, ti. Only I hadn't realized that night how important these notes would be in the future. How could I? I was only fifteen, charmed by an older man who later turned my tears into diamonds. I was sad. He was a magician like those I'd imagined and read about in books. That was his secret and he kept it with me.

  And so I kept falling in love with him. Falling so much, so fast that marrying him came naturally, like birds chirping in the sky.

  After my parents had attended the wedding and taken whatever money they had asked from him, Bluebeard and I danced again. If I remember correctly, and even though we'd just been married, it was our last dance as beloved husband and wife.

  Because from that moment on, the falling wasn't as fun as before.

  A few months later Bluebeard surprised me with the news of his upcoming travels.

  "Do you have to go?" I asked, wondering if I could stand this vast castle on my own.

  "Don't worry the maids will keep you company," he said. "They will entertain and take care of you."

  "But how long will you be gone?"

  "I should back next full moon."

  "And where will you go?"

  "I have to visit an old friend," he hesitated. "But I am afraid I cannot tell you more."

  "I understand." I didn't understand. I was just young and naive and helpless.

  "Don't worry." He held me by the shoulders. "The castle is full of surprises. Explore it as much as you like." He shrugged. "All but one room."

  I tilted my head quizzically.

  "It’s the last room on the left on the ground floor," he explained. "The one with my huge portrait on its door."

  I did want to ask. I should have asked. But he'd just pecked a kiss on my forehead and left abruptly, vanishing into the night, leaving me alone.

  And so the days went by.

  The boredom didn't attack me all at once. I did explore so many rooms in the castle, discovering exceptional art and entertainments and mysteries. But paradise is so dull if you're the only one who occupies it. I slowly realized how cozy and small homes make people happier. I mean all these rooms did nothing but make me wonder if evil lurked in one of them.

  Then I spoiled myself with baths and food and having ten maids serving me. One of them had a peculiar name: Tabula Rasa. She was older and obedient. You'd think she is naive. But she wasn't. She knew things, but never exposed them. I made jokes about her being immortal, and she laughed heartily, saying she'd be surprised if she lived another ten years. She was lying; Tabula was immortal and had served so many queens and kings in the same castle, in other times and other places, but I digress.

  Tabula showed me Bluebeard’s many bathtubs inside his castle. My husband had a lavish and seemingly unusual style. The bathtubs were large, some the shape of apples, others looked like hearts. I wondered why he'd never showed them to me.

  "He hasn't used any since you arrived," she said. "Before that we were never allowed in here when he bathed inside."

  I sensed she was lying to me. My curiosity piqued. "Does he come alone?"

  She shrugged. I knew she was lying. "No. He always came with one of his wives."

  And so she left me wondering why he'd never invited me here as well.

  Tabula would not tell me more about the bathtubs for days. Even though I befriended her, she had her secrets under lock and key. Out of loyalty to Bluebeard, I supposed.

  I had to test the waters and so asked her. “What about the room my husband told me not to open?”

  Tabula’s eyes avoided mine. She pretended to continue knitting my new dress, while sitting by my feet as they dangled from the unusually high bed.

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” she claimed.

  “Bluebeard told me not to open the last room on the left, the one with his portrait carved on the door.”

  “The portrait?” Tabula raised her head, staring up at nothing in particular. “Is that a door?”

  I had a hard time accepting she didn’t know, so I guided her to it, so we could both examine it.

  We stood in front of the door, made of what looked like wood but was a hard as iron. I tested it, trying to knock, but I got no reply. My husband’s portrait filled two thirds of the span, no hinting of the slightest of splits in the mid-section. Since I hadn’t seen such a broad door before, I’d earlier assumed it was a double door, but maybe I was wrong.

  “I don’t see how this can be a door?” Tabula scratched her temples.

  “Me neither,” I mumbled.

  Why did he tell me it’s a door then?

  For a moment, I had to assess
the situation. If my husband really killed girls as it had been rumored, why would he tell me about the locked room where he kept them?

  Something didn’t seem right.

  “You can go now, Tabula,” I said. “Thank you.”

  I watched her disappear in the vast and endless corridors and turned to inspect the door.

  For hours, days, and nights, I sat next to it, but with not enough clues to figure things out. I always ended up staring at Bluebeard’s portrait. It reminded me of how handsome he was. The portrait slightly showed his age though, by adding a few flickers of silver hair to his temples. I hadn’t seen those myself. Maybe he dyed his hair.

  One other thing stood out each time I looked at the portrait.

  His eyes.

  Those weren’t my husband’s kind and caring eyes. Those had a maroon tint to them, a subtle wickedness, and manipulating endeavor.

  I wondered who’d painted it.

  Squinting at the details of the eyes and the face, I began to think my husband wasn’t from where I lived in Eastern Europe. No, definitely not from here. How I hadn’t noticed that when staring at him in the flesh, I had no idea. Maybe in real life we don’t see people with our eyes, but hearts, thinking it’s the eyes.

  French, I thought. He could have descended from French nobility. It was hard to pinpoint why, but I remember how my girlfriends fancied the French soldiers who crossed our borders. I thought Bluebeard was like an older version of those.

  Damn it, I thought. This emptiness and loneliness is going to drive me to lose my mind. I had to give up on the door and be a good wife and wait for my husband’s return. Standing up, I was ready to leave, when I thought I heard something.

  It came from behind the door.

  Instantly, I asked if someone was there, but like always: no reply. So I leaned my shoulder against it and pressed my ear tight, listening.

  The sound was faint — or weak. It seemed near, but barely audible. At times I’d thought I’d heard scratching at the door, but I couldn’t be sure. I knocked, scratched, and rapped on it myself, but it was all in vain. All I could do was listen to the sound and try to figure out what it was.

  If it was one of his previous wives, then why didn’t she answer me, I wondered. She could at least have returned my knocks.

  I took a few steps back, assessing if the door was breakable, but it seemed like a towering fortress of stubbornness to me.

  Back with my eyes pressed to the door, I swore I wouldn’t leave before I figured it out.

  “Answer me,” I whispered, as if conspiring with whoever was on the other side. “I will not tell him. Just confirm you’re there. I can help you.”

  No reply, even the sound disappeared.

  “Don’t do this to me,” I said. “At least keep making that noise.”

  The faint whistle returned. This time I believed it wasn’t human. Some kind of an animal? A really small one?

  “Listen to me,” I whispered again. “All I want to know is if there is a way to open the door.”

  No reply, but I insisted. “Please tell me, is there a way to open the door?”

  The sound escalated—this or I was going mad.

  “Great,” I said. “Can you tell me how?”

  “Door.”

  I almost shrieked, listening to the speaker on the other side. Was that the voice of a young girl? Oh my lord in heavens.

  “What did you say?”

  “Door.”

  “I know it’s a door,” I said. “Do you know how to open it?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “Door.”

  “Are you having trouble speaking?”

  No reply.

  “Did someone hurt you?”

  No reply.

  “Can you tell me anything else but ‘yes’ and ‘door’?”

  No reply.

  I sank to my knees, weighted down with my frustration. “One last time. How can I open the door?”

  “Door.”

  Then it whistled again. This time I could clearly make out what I was talking to. If I hadn’t seen Bluebeard’s magic earlier, I’d have sworn I was hallucinating. But I wasn’t. I was talking to a bird behind the door.

  I retired to the Bluebeard Garden to collect my thoughts. The door my husband denied me had a bird living on the other side. What kind of madness was that?

  I walked among the flowers and swaying trees, thinking it over. A bird that can only say ‘yes’ and ‘door’. To be honest, it may have not said yes. I could have imagined that part. I wasn’t sure.

  But it definitely said ‘door’.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I mumbled. “The only way to open a door is ‘door’?”

  I tapped my feet, feeling dizzy and confused. After all, I’d tried to open the door anyway. Now, when my husband returned, I doubted he wouldn’t know. I’d started a fire and the only way to kill it was to open that door. Bluebeard was going to be mad anyway.

  Then right there where I stood, something happened. I glimpsed a bird I’d never seen in the garden before. The same bird that would confirm that this garden had originally been called the Bluebird Garden.

  I saw a bluebird fluttering over the swaying green trees. It was actually blue, and it was alive, not dead. I’d never seen anything like it. It was a big bird, the size of a parrot.

  Oh my God, a parrot. Is that what was behind the door?

  Aiming to wave at the bird, it surprised me by flying down my way. Not too low though. I craned my head up and smiled at it. Then its yellow eyes stared at me and it spoke to me before fluttering away again.

  It said, “Door.”

  A few days later I was sitting in a gypsy’s place on the outskirts of town. Against Bluebeard’s wishes I’d left the castle and come here to see a woman who called herself the Godmother. A gypsy, old, blind, and of brown skin.

  Tabula had guided me to her, saying she was the one woman to ask about such birds and the history of the castle.

  “If anyone knows who Bluebeard really is, it’d be the Godmother,” Tabula had said.

  Godmother’s small house was lit by too many candles. An empty cot lay in the middle, elevated on a few stones to be used as a table. The two chairs on either side were pumpkins. I had to bring myself to sit on mine, afraid it would squash underneath me, but it didn’t.

  “You’re Erza?” Godmother asked.

  I nodded, unable to raise my voice out of respect. The woman had an invisible aura to her.

  “You’ll have to do better than nod when a blind woman asks you something.” She rolled her blind eyes.

  “Ah, sorry,” I said. “But wait, how did you see that?”

  “I didn’t.” she said. “People are predictable. I can see their actions coming a mile away. You’re young — I know from the scent of your skin. And you’re naive — I can tell from leaving Bluebeard’s house to search for his secret. You probably had a hard time sitting on the pumpkin, afraid it wouldn’t hold. And you’re intimidated by my brown skin, white and blind eyes, so you nodded and didn’t answer me.”

  “You see a lot.”

  “Pun intended?” She smiled.

  “I’m sorry.” I lowered my head. “I don’t go out much.”

  “Why go out when your castle is the size of our town?”

  “It is,” I agreed. “But it’s scary.”

  “You tried to open the door he told you not to open?” She cut right through.

  “You know about the door? Did Tabula tell you?”

  “I know because he asks this of all his wives,” she said. “It’s the last thing he asks them before they disappear forever.”

  I resolved to remain sitting in silence.

  “You see, Bluebeard will claim they all left, traveled away and left him lonely, but that isn’t the truth.”

  “What is the truth then?”

  “I’d be lying if I say I knew. All I know is that they haven’t left the castle.”

  “How do yo
u know?”

  “Because you’re not the first one who’s been asked not to open the door, tries to open it, finds the Bluebird, and comes asking how to open the door.”

  I took a deep breath. I’ve started a fire, and it’s going to be really hard to put it out.

  “Are you saying Bluebeard will do whatever he did to them to me when he comes back?”

  “I believe so,” she said. “I think he is tricking you, asking you not to open a door, when he knows you will.”

  “Or maybe he is looking for an obedient wife who can keep secrets," I said, feeling guilty. I mean he showed me his magic secret about the whistling and the trees. He seemed eager to know I can keep all of his secrets, so he asked me not to open the door. Maybe it’s me who is a horrible wife.

  “Wives believe what they want to believe about their husbands,” she commented. “Did the bird tell you how to open the door?”

  “It only uttered one word, over and over.”

  “‘Door’ I know. None of the previous wives succeeded in solving the puzzle.”

  “Why would the bird tell me a puzzle?”

  “Probably because it’s loyal to Bluebeard. Don't think the bird is on your side. I believe he created it to entice you to open the door, to want to.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ve never understood why?”

  “Did you ever know the reason behind the multiple marriages?”

  Godmother took a moment to think. “I have my theory.”

  “Would you please enlighten me?”

  “It’s just a theory.”

  “I’m willing to listen, since there are no sound explanations. I’d like to know why he chose me.”

  “Well, he chose you because you’re like them,” she said nonchalantly. “What it is you and the previous wives have in common, I don’t know.”

  “Then back to your theory. Were all the wives as young as me?”

  “Not at all. Different ages. And they weren’t all as beautiful as you.”

  “Maybe they were all poor like me, easy to marry once their parents’ greed had been taken care of.”

  “Not even that. Some were rich.”