Beauty Is a Wound (60 page)

So she learned how to cook and was soon an expert at mixing spices. It didn’t stop there, she also began to knit, sew, and embroider, and maybe she would have even been able to do some auto repair and plow the fields if she had been given the opportunity. She learned everything she knew from that kind angel, who taught her with such patience and diligence.

“If you never learned how to do any of this, then how do you know how to do it, and how can you teach me?” asked Beauty.

“I steal from the people who know how.”

I steal from the people who know how
.

“What do you know how to do without having to steal it from anyone else?”

“Pull a cart.”

Pull a cart
.

And that was how she grew up in that house with Rosinah, who soon grew accustomed to all the strange and supernatural qualities the girl exhibited. Beauty had been given a quite adequate inheritance from her mother, all Rosinah had to do was figure out how it could sustain their life together. She went to market every day to shop for their daily needs, while Beauty stayed at home. There was a ghost in this house, just as Dewi Ayu had once said, but he didn’t seem to bother anyone. If in fact it was true that he had taught Beauty everything she knew, then you could say that the ghost was a good ghost. So Rosinah didn’t need to worry about anything when she left Beauty alone.

Even the kids who sometimes grew curious and peeked in from behind the fence in fear didn’t need to worry. Beauty would never show herself to them, because she was a kind girl and she knew it would frighten them half to death. She only showed herself to Rosinah, who had known her since the day she was born. She was so kind that she sacrificed herself and her desire to have the kind of life most people enjoyed. Her life was limited to the house: her bedroom, the dining room, the bathroom, the kitchen, and sometimes she went out into the yard in the dark of night. She was so kind to sacrifice herself, or punish herself, by leading a monotonous and terribly boring existence, but she seemed to be quite content with it.

“Now I am going to give you a prince,” said the good angel.

Now I am going to give you a prince
.

She had grown into a young lady and so of course longed for a man who would fall in love with her, and whom she would fall in love with. This began to depress her, because she was certain that no man would ever want to love her. She wasn’t made to be loved. She was a hideous girl with nostrils that looked like an electrical outlet, with skin like jet-black soot. She was a frightening girl who made people feel nauseous and puke all over, faint from terror, piss in their pants, and run away as if possessed, but didn’t make people fall in love.

“That isn’t true. You will get your very own prince.”

That isn’t true. You will get your very own prince
.

That was impossible. No one had ever even seen her, so no one even knew her, and there was no way that someone could fall in love with her without knowing her.

“Have I ever lied to you?”

Have I ever lied to you?

No.

“Wait on the veranda at dusk, and your prince will come.”

Wait on the veranda at dusk, and your prince will come
.

She would often sit out on the veranda once night had fallen, to breath in the fresh air without having to worry that her monster face would bother people. In the dark she felt quite safe, and the nighttime was like her best friend. Sometimes she even got up early in the morning, before the sun set everything ablaze, in order to sit outside and look up at the pinkish star the angel called Venus. She loved it because of its beauty. Just like her name.

Now she sat on the veranda in order to wait for the prince who had been promised her. She didn’t know how he would arrive. Maybe he would be riding a dragon that came from Venus, or maybe he would appear from underground, popping out of the earth in some astonishing fashion. She didn’t know he would come, but she would wait for him. That first night passed without any prince walking by her house. Not even a beggar walked by.

But she believed the angel wouldn’t lie, so she waited again for a second night. There was one funeral procession that passed by, but no prince. There was also a
bajigur
seller who passed by, but he didn’t stop to say hello or even turn his head to look at her. There was no prince, until finally she fell asleep exhausted in her chair and Rosinah came and picked her up, carried her inside, and put her to bed.

On the third night, still nobody came. Rosinah would ask her why she was sitting out on the veranda every night and Beauty would reply, “I am waiting for my prince to come.” Rosinah began to understand that the girl had entered puberty. She knew that the girl was already menstruating, and now she wanted a lover. She was sitting on the veranda hoping that someone would see her and fall in love with her. Rosinah felt sad to think about this and went into her room, weeping over the misfortune of ugly Beauty, who hadn’t even realized that no one would ever love her, maybe for as long as she lived. There was no prince for her.

But Beauty was still waiting on the fourth night, and the fifth, and the sixth. On the seventh night a man appeared from behind the bushes on the edge of the yard, startling her. He was quite handsome and she immediately felt sure that this was her prince. He was about thirty years old, with a gentle gaze, his hair neatly combed back, wearing clothes that were dark and sombre. He was holding a single rose, walking toward her, and then he handed her that rose hesitantly, as if afraid of being rejected.

“For you,” said that man, “Beauty.”

Beauty accepted it with a flowering heart, and then the man disappeared. He appeared again the following night, with another rose to give her, and then disappeared again. Only on the third night, after he had given her another rose, and Beauty had accepted it, did the man say:

“Tomorrow night I am going to knock on your bedroom window.”

That whole day she waited for night to come and for her prince to appear at her bedroom window, like a girl eager for her first date. She wondered what dress to wear, and fussed over her outfit in front of the mirror. She forgot about her hideous face and tried to adorn herself with everything that was on her mother’s old dressing table, even borrowing some things from Rosinah’s vanity. Rosinah herself didn’t know about the man’s visits, and every time Beauty came in with a rose she simply thought the girl had picked it herself. But Rosinah grew perplexed, or saddened, when she saw Beauty making herself up in a fuss all day.

“Like a frog trying to dress herself up like a princess,” she thought to herself while rubbing her wet eyes.

Beauty hoped to meet that old man, that kind angel who liked to appear out of nowhere, but he never visited her anymore, not since the prince had come, despite the fact that she had a lot of questions, like what a girl was supposed to do to prepare for her first date, what she should say or do if the prince seduced her, what she should do when he knocked on her window and she opened it, and, if they had to talk, what should they talk about. She wanted to discuss everything with the kind angel, but the old guy never appeared.

In the end she just wore an ordinary everyday dress and began to wait in earnest once night finally fell. Not on the veranda, but in her own room. She sat on the edge of the bed, obviously quite nervous, her ears perked up, like a job applicant who waits nervously for her name to be called, anxious that she would miss the sound of the knock, that might be gentle and quiet. Every once in a while she would stand up and peek out the window curtain, but there was nothing but the view of the yard with its plants all black in the dark, and she sat down again on the edge of the bed, just as anxious as before.

Then she heard the knock, so soft that she had to strain her ears, and then she heard the knock again, three times. With mixed emotions, half-running, Beauty went toward the window and opened it.

There stood her prince, with a rose just as usual.

“May I come in?” asked the prince.

Beauty nodded shyly.

After handing the rose to Beauty, the prince jumped through the window into the bedroom. He stood for a moment, looking around, slowly walking back and forth from one corner of the room to another, and then turned to look at Beauty, who had just closed the window without locking it. The prince sat on the edge of the bed, and gestured for Beauty to sit beside him. The girl obeyed, and for a moment they both were silent.

“I have been wanting to meet you for so long,” said the prince.

Beauty was quite flattered so she didn’t ask where he knew her from.

“For so long, I have been wanting to get to know you,” the prince continued, “and for so long I have been wanting to touch you.”

That made Beauty’s heart race. She didn’t dare look at the man, and her whole body suddenly felt cold as the man touched her hand, and held it so gently.

“Might I kiss the back of your hand?” asked the prince. Beauty hadn’t even responded, or maybe she was unable to reply, when the prince kissed the back of her right hand.

Their first date was dominated by the words of the prince, while Beauty mostly stayed mute, embarrassed and shy, occasionally nodding or shaking her head, and then turning embarrassed and shy once again. They spent an hour and a half like that, until it was time for the prince to go home. He left the house the same way he had come: jumping through the window. But before he left, he made plans for their next date.

“Wait for me, just as you were waiting for me, this weekend.”

In any case, that weekend Beauty vowed to speak. She would not stay dumb, nor just nod and shake her head, embarrassed and shy. She had to speak and do whatever was necessary so that the prince would not get bored with her. The old man never came again, but Beauty stopped caring. She had found his replacement, who was better looking, and kinder, who flattered her, who often seduced her, and who maybe even loved her. Her heart pounded waiting for the weekend to come.

Just as he had promised, the prince came that weekend, still carrying yet another a rose. He came in through the window and sat at the edge of the bed with Beauty. Then, taking the initiative, Beauty asked in an unwaveringly timid voice:

“Where did you get that rose?”

“From your yard.”

“Oh really?”

“I’m short on cash.”

They chuckled.

Then the prince once again took Beauty’s hand, and this time Beauty returned his grasp. Without asking if he might, the prince kissed the back of her hand, making Beauty return to her old habit. All embarrassed and shy. She felt him begin to gently stroke her hand, with a touch that was so soft and lulling it made her float, just like someone who was slowly drifting off to sleep. Then suddenly she had the man right in front of her, his face was right in front of her face, and it made her heart pound harder and harder. Before realizing what was happening, that face was approaching, and she felt her lips touched by the lips of the prince, then felt the prince crush her lips, making them quite wet. She tried to return his kisses, and began to feel that it wasn’t only their lips, but now their tongues that began to play roughly. They kissed for a long time, almost half an hour, until it was time for the prince to take his leave and go home.

“I’ll wait for you next weekend.” This time it was Beauty who spoke, and the prince nodded with his enchanting smile.

Those kisses were quite impressive to Beauty, and she hoped the weekend would come as quickly as a flitting fly, which comes and goes and comes back again. She was still feeling their heat the next day, and she was still feeling it the day after that. She remembered, step by step, how they had arrived at the moment of the kiss, and it made her heart tremble every time she thought about it.

And so it was, at their next meeting, that kisses were the first thing they said to one another. They started practically at the windowsill, with Beauty standing in her bedroom and the prince still standing outside. Finally the prince climbed through the window into her room and Beauty closed the shutters, but the whole time they never unlocked their lips. The kisses continued inside the bedroom, with Beauty pressed to the wall and the prince pressed up against her body, wild and full of desire.

Slowly but surely the prince’s naughty hands began to slide under Beauty’s dress, and the atmosphere in the room grew hot. They took off their clothes piece by piece, dropping them to the floor, until they were bare and the prince embraced Beauty and carried her to the bed.

“I am going to teach you to make love,” said the prince.

“Yes, teach me,” Beauty replied.

So they began. Beauty was still a virgin so she moaned, caught between her feelings of pain and pleasure, causing a ruckus and making Rosinah stand outside the bedroom door, confused. She opened the door (that Beauty had forgotten to lock) and saw only Beauty’s naked body bouncing up and down on top of her bed. She just shook her head in a sad and solemn manner, closed the door gently, and left her. Meanwhile the prince continued to destroy Beauty’s crotch, making her bleed but also making her scream in exquisite joy.

Her prince always came in through the window but Beauty always waited for him on the veranda, because she wanted to witness the moment of his arrival, driven by her uncontrollable longing. They made love every time they met, sometimes twice, and felt like the happiest couple in the world. Beauty didn’t wonder why Rosinah couldn’t see the prince, or why when Dewi Ayu rose from the grave and returned to the house and forced down the door, she couldn’t see the prince either. They had been feeding on a regular diet of miracles in that household, and so she didn’t feel amazed. After all, Rosinah had never even seen the old man angel either, even though Beauty could see him.

Then Beauty got pregnant.

But even after she realized that she was pregnant, Beauty still waited for the prince to come, and they made love. She never told the prince about her pregnancy, because she was afraid it would ruin all their happiness.