Rapunzel, the One With All the Hair (2 page)

I have been crying and am not ashamed to admit it. I miss my parents even though they traded me for a stinking herb. (Literally, it stinks. Sometimes I can't get it out of my dresses for weeks, no matter how hard I rub.)

I am hungry and my bones ache from the miserable sleeping arrangements. I need to get hold of myself. I decide to take inventory of supplies. This is what I own:

And that's all. That's everything I have to my name.

I weep some more. When I am done and have wiped my eyes, I suddenly notice a silver plate piled high with food sitting in the center of the rug. Was it there this whole morning? I circle around the food a few times before picking up the plate and taking it to the small table. Ground mutton and onions. Not my normal breakfast, but nothing is normal anymore.

Once the food is in my belly, I begin to feel better. I'm sure my parents will come for me today. The witch has made her point. How long could she really keep me a prisoner? My father has some stature in the village. She can't get away with kidnapping me for long. I am sure of it.

 

EVENING

I am no longer sure of anything. It is dark and stuffy in here. I am alone (except for the ghostly breathing that I swear I still hear but am trying valiantly to ignore). I have lit another candle, but it is burning quickly and I have only three left. My hair hurts. I hadn't known that hair could hurt, but it does. I will soon develop a headache. Normally my mother would have unpinned it from my head and brushed it out after supper. If yesterday had gone as it was supposed to, I wouldn't have all this hair anymore. It would be a sensible length, perhaps gently gracing my shoulders.

My tears have run dry. I shall cry no more for now.

 

LATER THAT EVENING

I hear a scurrying sound like fingernails skittering along the stone floor. I am curled up in a very small ball and have buried my head under my shawl. It smells faintly of Mother's scent. And — ugh — of rampion.

My punishment has been lifted. Mum has a soft spot for me, her only son, the future king. I might as well have stayed in bed, though, because today was very annoying. This is what I did:

1. Fished for eels in the pond with Elkin and was tempted to push him into the water, but did not since, after all, he told the truth for once when we got caught behind the couch.
   
2. Chased a hare across the banks, then felt guilty. Felt wimpy for feeling guilty and chased it some more.
   
3. Discovered a new pimple growing on my forehead. Covered it with my hair until Mum told me that I looked like a tall brown mop and pushed it back to its proper position. Elkin laughed and pointed at the red spot. He is quickly losing any ground he may have gained last night.
   

After supper, I chewed some fresh mint and sage to lessen the pimple's swelling. The herbs might have been rancid, because my belly aches now. Or perhaps I am being punished for chasing the hare. I shall try to find him tomorrow to apologize. I am retiring early tonight with
The Adventures of Roland
to keep me company.

Elkin is going home early! My aunt is coming to fetch him today. He was supposed to stay all summer, but it turns out Elkin is to be engaged to a princess from a neighboring kingdom! Mum made the announcement at breakfast this morning. Elkin turned pale, causing his freckles to stand out even more. I choked on my bread and had to be smacked on the back by the closest serving maid. When I was done choking, I asked, “Is his wife three years old?”

Mum shot me a disapproving look. “The young lady is of suitable age, I assure you both.”

Elkin's normally buggy eyes were huge then. He asked gravely, “When is this marriage due to take place?”

Mum laughed. “Not for a few years, child. Your days of mischief aren't over quite yet.”

Elkin let out a huge breath. “Thank goodness!”

After breakfast, Elkin went to his bedchambers to pack and I went into the sitting room and did a little jig. (When
no one is around to make me nervous, I am not nearly as clumsy.)

Now I am sitting on a bench outside, watching the falconer train the hawks on the Great Lawn. I hear the pounding of horses' hooves on the rocky path before I see them. A moment later, the royal courier announces the arrival of my aunt's gilded carriage. Their kingdom is not as grand as ours, but even as a lower queen, my aunt travels in style, accompanied by squires and archers on horseback.

Elkin comes to the front door and I rise to shake his hand. His face is pale and sweaty. He actually looks quite ill. If it were me, Mum would have me in bed with the doctor at my side. My aunt does not even emerge from the carriage. She merely raises her hand in greeting. Elkin turns to wave at me again before a young page lifts his bags into the carriage and gently closes the door. I wave back and feel a tad guilty for not being nicer to him. I hope he will be happy with his future bride and that they will have many redheaded children. May blessings be upon their heads.

I am off to find my hare.

The tears have started again even though I told myself that I am too old to cry like a swaddled babe. I am unable to make myself leave this scratchy pile of straw. I couldn't even eat the plate of porridge and cheese that magically appeared again this morning. The witch has not shown her warty face since my imprisonment began. Oh, how I wish this were no more than a bad dream. Yes, of course! I'm sure that it is nothing more than a passing nightmare! How could I have thought that my parents — my darling, loving, sweet, kind parents — would have promised me to a witch in exchange for a salad ingredient? Absurd! I bet if I take a little nap, I will awaken in my own bed, atop my soft feather mattress, my cat Pumpkin warming my feet. Good night!

 

EVENING

When I awake from my nap some hours later, I do not open my eyes at first. I lie still until I am sure. Yes! There is definitely a warm body on my feet! And a purring! I am
HOME!! My eyes fly open only to find I am most certainly NOT home. Curiously, though, there actually IS a cat on my feet! I rub my eyes and look again. She is small and orange, a kitten not much bigger than my foot. She must have been responsible for the scratching and scurrying that I heard last night, and hopefully the rhythmic breathing as well. I shall name her Sir Kitty.

I admit I have cheered since her arrival. I know not how she got in, or where she was hiding, but I am very pleased for her company. It is quite comforting to have another living creature in here. The sun is setting through my small window, so the day is almost spent. No parents have come. The plate of food that I ignored this morning has been taken away. I wish I had forced myself to eat, because my belly is rumbling. I recall Mother saying once that time moves more quickly for busy people. I must find some way to pass the time until the breakfast meal tomorrow. For one thing, I can undo my hair, which has become a big scraggly mess. I will soon look like a witch myself if I don't do something!

It takes me a good half hour to pull all the pins out of my hair. I add them to my list of possessions and place them carefully in my trunk. When my hair is finally free, I shake it out and run the comb through it. Or, I should say, I TRY to run the comb through it. Mother would weep to see me right now. By the time I finally get all the tangles out, the sun has
set. I light the candle and melt the bottom so it stands upright on the small wooden table. I realize with a start that my hair reaches almost to my feet! Sir Kitty meows in delight and tries to climb it.

“Ow! Stop that, Sir Kitty! It hurts!”

“Does it now?” a voice asks, sounding amused. “We wouldn't want you in any discomfort.”

I whirl around and find the witch standing on the rug in the center of the room.

“Where did … how did … where —” I can't seem to get the words out. Sir Kitty burrows under my hair and starts to quiver.

“It is of no importance to you where I came from,” she says, taking a step toward me.

I open my mouth to beg to differ, but one look from her and I close it. She sets a plate of steaming food on the table next to my candle. I don't want to take my eyes off her, but I can't stop ogling the roast pig with a side of peas and carrots. The tea in the copper mug looks crisp and refreshing. But I cannot let myself be distracted! I put my hands on my hips and try to look fierce.

“Now look here, witch,” I say in my most imposing voice — which, let's face it, isn't very imposing at all. “My parents will be here any minute. You might as well let me
out of here right now or … or … you will face the hangman's noose for sure!” I stamp my foot for emphasis.

For a moment, she doesn't say anything; she just looks at me, surprised. I must have scared her into realizing what she did was very wrong. I begin to fantasize about what I shall do first thing when I get home. Well, I shall bathe, of course, and eat the almond birthday pie that I never got a chance to enjoy. And after that, I'll —

Suddenly the witch starts laughing. She laughs so hard, she actually clutches her belly. Then she throws back her head and guffaws some more. Finally she stops, wipes some tears from her craggy face, and says, “Ah, foolish girl. Foolish Rapunzel, the name I gave you twelve short years ago. Your parents are not looking for you, and no one will ever find you here. We are far, far away from any village or riding path. Quite well hidden. The only visitors you shall have are the birds and the flies. And me, of course. You may call me Mother Gothel. You and I will become great friends.”

Then she laughs again and I recoil, almost knocking over the table with all the food on it. What does she mean that she named me? Mother told me my godmother named me Rapunzel after her favorite food. Wait a moment! I recall the schoolmaster taught us that
rapunzel
was another name for rampion! Will I NEVER be free of that herb? I am starting
to realize that Mother may have lied about a thing or two. If I ever get out of here, she and I are going to have some words.

I wish the witch would leave already so I might dine in peace. Instead, she reaches out and touches my hair. I want to scream, but I will not give her the satisfaction of showing my fright. She strokes it softly. “I see you have let down your hair, child. It has grown since your birth, yes?” She curls her fist around a section, then lets it slip through her fingers.

“Yes, well, Mother was supposed to cut it on my birthday, but I was rudely and savagely kidnapped before she had a chance.”

The witch raises one eyebrow, and half of her mouth twitches. As a result, she looks half amused and half furious. She orders me to stand facing the window like an obedient child. I start to protest, but her eyes darken. I pick up Sir Kitty and place her on the “bed.” The witch watches me very closely.

“Where did that animal come from?” she hisses.

I keep my back to her and hope she doesn't hear how hard my heart has started to beat. I don't know what I would do if she took away Sir Kitty. “It must have been hiding here the whole time, witch.” I keep one hand on the kitten protectively.

“I told you to call me Mother Gothel! Now go to the
window! Do not turn around until you have braided that hair of yours. You are too old to be walking around with a mop like that!”

“I know that!” I say, turning to face her. “I told you it was already supposed to be cut!”

She points to the window. The conversation is apparently over. I don't tell her that I have never braided my own hair. Mother has always done it. I am afraid if I tell her, she might do it herself, and the thought of her touching me again makes me shudder. I have braided rope before, so perhaps it is not that different.

I face the window and gather my thick hair away from my face like Mother used to do. Using both hands, I reach around the back of my head. It takes me a good twenty minutes to make a braid that feels something like what Mother used to make. When I am done, my arms ache. I rest my hands on the ledge and find that if I lean slightly forward, I can catch the light breeze that comes off the treetops. The moon hangs low in the sky, illuminating the forest. It does not shed much light into the tower, though. Perhaps my parents are looking up now, too, and wondering where their only child has been taken. I still believe they will come for me. Surely they will leave no stone unturned, no tower unsearched. The witch said I could turn around after I completed the braid, but I'd rather look at the night than her
face. After a minute, though, I hear a crunching and scratching behind me. What is the witch doing now?? I sneak a peek over my shoulder. To my relief, the witch is gone, simply vanished. And Sir Kitty is happily munching on my roast pig!