Zel (13 page)

“No one.”

But Zel noticed the slight wrinkle of Mother’s nose when she asked the question. This question disturbs Mother. “Then how do you know which herbs will make my hair grow?”

“I just do.” Mother combs Zel’s loose hair. Her voice is hard. She may be angry.

“I miss you, Mother.”

“I miss you more, Zel. I suffer more.”

Suffering. Was it really only a few months ago that Zel hardly knew what suffering was? Her memory of herself on the day they went to market seems so childlike.

Zel thinks suddenly of the squirrel. Perhaps he ran to his wife when Mother came. “Mother, do animals have true love? I mean really true, like people do?”

Mother separates Zel’s hair into three groups of precisely equal size. She starts the braid close to Zel’s head, so tight it hurts. Zel yelps. But Mother braids uninterrupted.

Zel is seized with irritation at Mother’s refusal to answer. She wants to argue, to shout. She looks past Mother at the tree.

The squirrel is nowhere in sight. Zel’s only reliable company is Mother. The one slim daily hour with Mother is Zel’s best treasure. She must be obedient and good, so Mother will come without fail. She calms herself.

Zel touches the egg in her lunch. “What has become of the goose?”

Mother’s fingers move quickly as they braid. Her humming is faster now.

Zel feels tension in Mother’s hands on her hair. Mother is always tense when Zel talks of the goose. Other things make Mother tense, also. Zel can’t resist exercising her power to make Mother anxious. She is almost giddy as she speaks: “Mother, do horses know true love?”

Mother braids so fast, Zel is sure the hair will tangle. Yet it doesn’t. Mother is a magician at braiding.

Zel clenches her jaw. She will make Mother respond. “Does the horse Meta know true love?”

“There’s no point in thinking about that horse. Think about animals you haven’t met yet, Zel. Think. . . .”

“I will never know other animals here in the tower. The one animal I can think of is Meta.”

“Stop thinking about that boy and his horse!” Mother stands, and Zel’s braid falls to the floor.

Zel looks out the window again. “The walnut tree is happy when its branches are full, as they are now.”

Mother sits. She picks up the second braid. “Trees aren’t happy or sad.” Her voice strains with anger.

Zel cannot stop herself from licking the razor edge of challenge. “Yes, they are, Mother. The walnut tree wants to sing when it’s big.”

“No. I know about trees. I know about plants.” Mother’s fingers rip at Zel’s braid as they unravel the hairs. “The tree must shrink in upon itself when I’m not here, Zel. Otherwise what would prevent your enemy from climbing up, just as I do?”

And what would prevent me from climbing down?
But how can Zel think such a thing? Danger surrounds the tower. She must not forget. “Tell me about the enemy. Tell me everything you know, Mother.”

“I’ve told you. He would kill you if he could.”

“I don’t see him, Mother. I see no trace of him. Sometimes I cringe in fear. But other times I’m sure he’s not around. Nowhere near. At those times all I want is to leave this tower and run free again.”

Mother’s grip on Zel’s braid hurts. Mother whispers, “You need to learn to think right, Zel. You need time to become reasonable.” It is as though Mother speaks to Zel’s thoughts—as though she knows Zel has truly considered climbing down the tree.

Has Mother seen inside Zel’s head? Does Mother invade Zel’s being? Anger flushes Zel’s face. But no, she mustn’t allow herself anger. She must listen to Mother.

Zel eats the rest of her bread. She wants to think right, to be reasonable. Suddenly the futility of Mother’s actions strikes her. “By morning my hair will have grown, and the braids will be loose yet again.”

“Tomorrow I will braid them anew, like always.”

“When my hair grew at a normal rate, you only braided it once a fortnight. Don’t you get tired of doing it every day?”

“I love braiding your hair. I have always loved it.”

“Don’t you get tired of searching for my enemy?”

“Never, Zel.”

“I’m tired, Mother. I’m tired, and all I do is sit here and wait. You have to be, too.”

“No. I must keep up my search tirelessly.”

Zel wishes the faceless enemy would come while Mother is there. It would be a terrible fight and Mother would slay him. Oh! What a dreadful wish! Zel has never wished harm to anyone before. Zel leans forward and places her cheek on Mother’s knee. “Stay today, Mother. Please.”

“I can’t, Zel.”

“I get cold.” Zel knows this is unfair to say. She manipulates Mother, for Mother cannot bear the thought of
Zel suffering physically. Zel is ashamed of her weakness of spirit. Yet her need forces her words. “The weather has changed. I get so cold. Take me home.”

“I can’t.”

“Put me to bed in my own bed. Play your fiddle till I sleep.”

“You know that’s impossible.”

“Then stay with me, Mother. Oh, stay.”

“I must search for the enemy.”

“Someday you will tire of looking for this enemy. You seem near exhaustion when you come.”

“I will never tire of it, Zel. I will protect you forever.”

The words chill Zel more than the fall winds, more than anything else Mother could have said.

Chapter 17
Mother

stand and leave quickly, through the window, down the tree. I wait while the tree recedes upon itself, until the tower is once more secure. Zel does not look from the window.

The girl’s penchant for argument grows worse each day. I clench my hands on braids that are no longer
there. Zel has luxurious hair. Her braids came firm and reliable under my weaving fingers. Zel’s hair is strong as rope. I have a sudden urge to grab and twine it around my neck as though it were a noose. I think of the hair noose snapping my neck.

I am shocked at my own self-loathing. This emotion has no right to hold me. If I were to die, I’d leave Zel alone in this world. I must never do that. Never.

Zel would not be better off without me. She needs what I am doing.

What am I doing?

I’m preparing my daughter for the choice. There is no other way.

I sit on the ground. The nights have become cold. Yet I cannot allow Zel a hearth for warmth. Though there are no roads on this side of the lake, a hunter might spy a curl of smoke, even in this dense evergreen forest.

The thought of her shivering undoes me. I call upon the ground ivy. I entreat its thin stems. I coax and cajole. From all sides, ivy climbs the tower walls, growing, growing. A swelling tide of green that will hold in warmth, that will stop Zel’s shivering. In winter the snow will catch on wide ivy leaves and blanket the tower further.

I pant as I survey my work. The ivy grows in such profusion that the stones of the tower are no longer seen. From a distance the tower appears as an evergreen tree.
Yes. I was worried about some stray person spying the tower now that leaves are falling. Two problems solved at once.

And should that youth stumble upon this green tower—that youth who didn’t fool me, no, he never fooled me, for I saw the searching in his eyes, oh, yes, he must be searching for her now—should he grab at the ivy stems, they will come away in his hands, for they are thin, thin. His searching, his finding, all in vain. I would laugh at my own cleverness. But I do not have the energy. I swoon.

Chapter 18
Konrad

onrad gets up from bed. He does not stop to eat or change his wine-soaked clothes. He is sure he can retrace his steps. Dawn will be upon him by the time he reaches the path that leads up the mountainside to the little wooden footbridge. He will stand before Rapunzel in broad daylight this very day.

But Konrad is wrong. The path eludes him. He knows it was right here. But it isn’t. And, after all, he had missed almost a full night’s sleep when he came across the alm, so maybe his memory is clouded. Maybe the path is a little more to the south. He searches. A little more to the north. He searches.

Konrad rides Meta up one wooded mountainside after another, his eyes alert for cypresses. Many times he ends up in lovely alms, but never in the right alm. Konrad rides till night and beyond, haunted by the fiddle tune. When morning comes, he keeps riding. Another day. Another night. Shadowy chasms drop away on either side.
Many times a path looks familiar, yes, he knows it precisely; then it turns out to lead nowhere. Konrad falls asleep on Meta’s back and wakes to find himself in his own bed with his mother at his side.

“Awake at last, Konrad?”

“How did I get home?”

“Meta brought you.”

Konrad pushes himself up on his elbows. “I have to go.”

His mother pushes him back down with no effort at all. “You’re not going anywhere. You need to eat and rest.”

“I have to find a goose.”

His mother’s eyes narrow. “A goose?”

“A goose that sits on stones instead of eggs.”

His mother’s face is now guarded. She pats Konrad’s hand. “I’ll get you something to eat, Konrad. You stay in bed.”

“And a girl.”

“A girl?” The countess looks slightly hopeful. “Is that what this is all about?”

“Zel. That’s her name.”