Ladle Rat Rotten Hut (14 page)

“Please continue.”

“Wants pawn term, dare worsted ladle gull hoe life witter
murder inner ladle cordage.”

“Amazing,” I clapped my hands, forgetting about the wolves.
“
Once upon a time, there was a little girl who lived with her little mother
in a little cottage.
Is that right?”

“Indeed.”

“So murder sounds like mother?”

“Yes.”

”Creepy,” I giggled. “But wait, this story is strange. It
sounds like me. I am a little girl who lives in a cottage with my mother.”

“Could be anyone,” He waved his hand. “You think the world
evolved only around you?”

“You’re right. I am just being silly.”

“Besides you don’t wear a red hood. The book describes the
girl as Ladle Rat Rotten Hut.”

“Wait. Don’t translate it for me,” Closing my eyes, I tried
to translate it into English. “You mean: Little Red Riding Hood?”

“See? You might be little, and your mom calls you Ladle –
because you’re
little
– but you are not wearing a red hood.”

“I wanted to,” I said, remembering my mother’s double-faced
hood, secretly tucked in her drawer. “But my mother didn’t allow me.”

“And I assume you know why.” He asked.

“Yes. Yes. I know. Red is the forbidden color. Everybody’s
been telling me this today.” I said impatiently.

“But do you know why it is forbidden?”

“Not again,” I sighed. “I heard a million reasons.
Vampires, evil creatures, wolves.”

“None of that is true.” He shook his shoulders.

“So what is it?”

“If you come closer, I will tell you.” He teased me with
his lovely eyes.

I shrugged. The boy looked harmless, but finding him here
all alone, reading in a hammock, didn’t make sense.
Your mother warned you about
talking to strangers, Ladle. Remember? And you have a job to do.

Finally, I shook my head. No. I wasn’t going to come
closer.

“Just one step forward,” He teased again. “It’s worth it. I
am going to tell you a great secret.”

Reluctantly, I took a step forward. The boy was charming. It’s
just a step. What could happen?

“Happy?” I said.

“A little.” He smiled. It was an undecipherable smile.

“So why is red forbidden?”

“Because it is the color of death.” He whispered.

“You mean that it is the color of blood, so it resembles…”
I couldn’t say the word death. Somehow, it was so heavy on my tongue.

“No. I mean Death as in
death
itself.” He lowered
his voice, sounding cautious and creepy.

“You’re talking as if this death is a person.”

“Not really a person, but a demon that can look like humans
whenever it wants to.” He whispered again, looking around suspiciously. “And it
walks around in the forest every day, wearing a red hood.”

“So that is why the color red is prohibited? This doesn’t
sound like what everyone has been telling me.”

“Because they don’t know the truth. Death walks around
wearing a red hood, holding a scythe that it uses to kill with. You know what a
scythe is, don’t you?” The way he whispered the words with caution sent shivers
down my spine.

Of course, I knew what a scythe is, but I said, “No. What’s
a scythe?”

“A cutting tool, made of wood and a blade at the top. Some
people chop trees with it.”

“Oh,” I said with open eyes. “Those? We have those in our
garden. We have many actually.”

“Everyone does, but they used it to chop trees. Death uses
it to chop heads off.”

“So Death stands out. Imagine a world without the color
red. Whatever is red will be exposed, and maybe, just maybe, we can avoid it,
and maybe kill it, and then no one ever dies.”

Thinking about the boy’s theory, it made sense. But I
didn’t want to talk about it, because everything the boy said reminded me of my
mother.

“Can I ask you a question?” I said.

“In Anguish Language?” He rose an eyebrow.

“No. Are wolves evil?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On many things. And you know why? Because evil is a point
of view.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean little children fear the forest because of the
wolves. To them, wolves are evil. And wolves fear Death. They think it is evil.
A worm thinks a sheep is evil, because it eats it. A sheep thinks wolves are
evil because they eat it. You get the picture. What is a threat to you is
considered evil to
you
. Nothing is absolutely evil.”

As I listened to him, I kept thinking about my mother. I
was thinking about her travels to forest every day, why she owned so many scythes,
and that she kept a double-faced hood that was red on one side. Was it possible
that Death was my mother? Was that her job that brought bread to the table?

The cloth covering the basket slipped to a soft breeze.
Once the boy saw the cakes and the wine, something changed about him. I swear I
saw the hunger in his eyes, his tongue dangling like an animal as he stared at
the cakes.

“Are you hungry?” I wondered.

“I love cakes,” He dropped the book and rubbed his hands,
his eyes lingering on the basket. “I love cakes so much.”

Wow. I had the feeling he was about to sing to the cakes.

“When I really get hungry,” He talked as if daydreaming. “I
go visit the cemetery to eat the sweetest cake and drink the best wine. It’s so
delicious.”

“Cemetery?” I started to worry. His hunger was unusual. It’s
as if cakes could make him grow taller or something.

“Don’t you know that you can find the best cake and wine in
the cemeteries?” Finally, he looked up at me.

“How so?”

“Most people bring cakes and wine along when visiting their
dearly departed,” He explained. “Everybody knows that. It’s an old tradition.
Thanks to the Roman civilization.”

I wasn’t going to ask who the Romans were. I didn’t want
him to notice that I hadn’t been out for years. But it was interesting that
wine and cakes were brought to the dead as an offering or something. My
suspicions about my mother grew stronger.

“So can I get a cake?” The boy drooled.

“I am sorry,” I said. “I can’t. They are my granma’s. I
lost some of it already on the way, and I should be going, or I’ll be late. She
lives in the forest.”

“Your grandmother lives in the forest?” The boy rubbed his
chin.

“What’s strange about that?”

“I
don’t know. But it is just strange. When was the last time you saw her?”

“Hmm…About ten years ago. She used to live with us, but I
don’t really remember much about her.”

“The forest is big. You could easily get lost. And who
knows, Death could find you.”

“I am not afraid of—“ Again, I couldn’t say it. “Not even
of the wolves.”

“Nobody’s afraid of the wolves. They’re just cute
creatures—“

“Wow. You think so?” I giggled. “Actually, it did cross my
mind how beautiful they are. Their hair and their eyes, and the swift and fast
ways they run. I like it.”

“I am glad we share the same opinion about them. Everyone
thinks otherwise, not knowing that the wolves are the victims, and that the
real danger in the forest is Death, which the wolves are afraid of. But still,
you might get lost.”

“Don’t worry. I have a map.”

“Oh,” His eyes glittered. “But how is a map in the forest
of any use? What does it say? Walk five steps to the apple tree, and three
steps to the next mushroom? Or does it say, wait for the cloud in the sky that
looks like a sheep, and then take a right from there.”

I laughed. “In the beginning it said something like that,
but now that I came closer, it says to follow the breadcrumbs.”

“Did you find the breadcrumbs?”

“No. That’s why I have to get going.”

“It’s so sad. I just thought I made a friend in this lonely
forest.”

Making friends was my weak spot. If I didn’t have to visit
granma, we could have played the Anguish Language game. “Listen, I won’t be late,”
I said. “If you wait for me here, I meet you again on my way back.”

“Really?” He almost jumped in place. “That would be fantabulous.”

“I think it’s fabulous,” I said. The Anguish Language
messed with his
language
. “And to prove to you that we’re good friends,
here is a piece of cake.” I walked closer to him, and stretched out my hand
with a cake.

The boy looked at the cake on the palm of my hand with
glowing eyes, which turned a little yellow. “Hmm,” He licked his red tongue,
and started eating from the palm of my hand. “I love cakes.”

I couldn’t see his eyes when he was eating like an animal, licking
the cake off my hand. His tongue felt strange, rough like a cat’s tongue. Not
like the tongue of—

Oh. My. God.

I stepped back suddenly as he rose his head. His eyes were
slitted and yellow. Hair grew on his hands. His body grew bigger, and arched as
if he were in pain, ripping the cloth open as he growled at me.

He was a werewolf.

“Yum. Yum. Yum.” He said, licking his lips, saliva drooling
out.

Instantly, I ran away in the snow, looking for a place to
hide. There was nothing here but vast amounts of white and some dark trees.

Run. Run. Run.

I heard him panting behind me, and from his shadow, I knew
that he was growing bigger and bigger.

I was just a fool. He played me with all this talk about
Death while he was the evil one in the forest. Where should I go? What should I
do?

I stumbled over an uneven part of the snow. It sloped up
enough for me to hide in it. I remembered when I used to hide from my mother inside
in the snow when I was a kid.

Shuddering to the approaching voice of the wolf, I dug a
hole in the snow, just like rabbits and cats. I dug deeper and faster with my
hands, then slid into it and hid inside. I buried the basket before I pulled
down the white hood. I was thankful that I didn’t spill the red wine on myself to
scare the wolves in the carriage. There was no way I could hide in the snow if
my hood was soaked in red.

I held my breath.

The wolf came running, but decided to stop two feet away from
me. Did it smell me? Or did smell the cakes?

It started sniff-sniff-sniffing. My heart
poun-poun-pounding.

As it walked slowly, inspecting the area with its yellow
piercing eyes, I wondered how long I was able to hold my breath. It didn’t
bother me at all. How did have such a gift?

The wolf padded right over me, not noticing me. I was about
to scream, but I didn’t.

Lurking around, the wolf seemed to believe that I was
nearby somewhere, but it couldn’t figure out where. Then it stopped in place,
and started shivering.

Squinting, I could see very little from under the hood. The
wolf stood in front of something – or someone – I couldn’t see. It’s started to
moan like a cat, brushing its chin against the snow. What was it afraid of?

The wolf turned around and ran away. Far away into the
dark.

I rose out of my hiding place, cautiously making sure it
was gone. I grabbed the basket and padded the snow away.

Walking toward the spot where the wolf stood, I saw
nothing.

What was it scared of?

Wait. There was something. It wasn’t what I had in mind
though. I saw a scythe, half-buried in the snow. This was one of my mother’s
scythes.

I found myself stumbling back in horror. This meant that
Death was nearby. He – or she – must have lost its scythe on the way. Maybe it’s
taking a nap somewhere before chopping someone’s head off.

And I didn’t want to say chop-chop-chop in my happy and
perky way. I was so scared. If the werewolf was afraid, why wouldn’t I? After
all, I knew now why the wolves at my window ran away when I spilled the red
wine on my hood. They weren’t just afraid of the color red. They were afraid of
Death.

Then, another thought hit me. I found myself calling for my
mother in the middle of the forest. If my mother was Death, chopping off heads
in the forest, I didn’t think she would kill her own daughter.

The conclusion drew a smile on my face, “Mother?” I rose an
eyebrow, looking around, feeling the sweet taste of the word on my mouth. “Are
you around? It’s me, Ladle. It’s ok if you’re Death. I still love you.”

Wake up, Ladle. Don’t be a fool. If she
didn’t mean to hurt you, why did she send you to the forest?
She kills in the forest.

“Mother?” I said again, breathing out rings of vapor,
sticking to the air. This time, the word tasted bitter and unsure on my tongue.