Tuesday, April 28, 2020

Rapunzel Fabliau


Author's Note: This version of Rapunzel is a fabliau intended to be a lower-class parody of both the classic tale of Rapunzel and the Disney version “Tangled”. While fabliaux started as French, this was mostly inspired by Chaucer's "The Miller's Tale" chapter from The Canterbury Tales. Two important archetypes in a fabliau are sexually active women and foolish, cuckolded husbands, all of whom are “punished” in some way at the end. They also have a lot of bawdy humour and crude slang, so beware.



Rapunzel

There was a tiny town called Rived
In which a happy couple lived.
Though blacksmithing was the man’s trade,
Hardly any income he made.

For every day he drank his fill                                    5
Until he could not work the anvil.
Then joking he would take a break,
Fall fast asleep and hardly wake.

The woman laughed her life away,
Hiding affairs by light of day.                                    10
Their lack of wealth was no concern,
For she had ways with which to earn
From other men collections
In exchange for her affections.

Her blund’ring husband never guessed                       15
Another’s wealth to her been blessed.

And so the two lived merrily,
Though quite extraordinarily.
The man: a blust’ring, drunken fool
And she: happy with their life to rule                           20

Until one great problem interfered
With all their jolly atmosphere.
In time she found herself with child,
For all her exploits reconciled.

She riled and roared at the news;                                  25
Her other life she’d have to lose!
Her husband knew not what to do
During the fits of wrath she through.

Since this behaviour was so strange,
Was his darling wife deranged?                                    30
Was not a child a dream come true?
To help earn money as he grew?

“I want a child in this house
As much as I would want a mouse!
By God, by Jove, I want it out!”                                    35
The town around could hear her shout,

“What good would e’er a child do
When his own father has no clue;
Could never be a champion.
Now bring me an herb called rampion!”                       40
           
He froze, stunned by her sudden rage
And not too eager to engage.
He stared straight in her stormy eyes,
Cow’ring before her angry cries.

Then whimpered under glow’ring gaze,                         45
“My dear, my love, why all this craze?
While I may not be a champion —.”

I ASKED FOR FUCKING RAMPION!

He stumbled back. He could not fend.
He knew not how to comprehend.                                  50
“Rampion I’ve never heard of,
Do you mean something else, my love?”

“It’s a type of bellflower plant,”
She growled, breath like fire-ants,
Though ‘neath her glower, she was pleased                   55
At this strange knowledge she’d conceived.  

He fled the house to find the herb,
Though partially in fear of her.
Of a farm the townsfolk told him
That did grow the herb in question.                                 60
Owned by an old lady whose spouse
Had died and she took over the house.
Gothel was this widow’s name,
And to her farm this poor man came.             

“Please, ma’am, I was told of an herb,                            65
Of which you own the most superb.
Some rampion my wife requires
And without it, I fear hellfire.”

But when Gothel named the price he cried.
’Twas far more than he could e’er provide,                     70

But Gothel understood his pain
And made a deal for both their gain:

“One handful you can have for free,
But any more is twice the fee.”

Delightedly he took the deal                                            75
And brought the herbs for his wife’s meal.

They soon discovered its foul taste;
Bitter, biting, swallowed in haste.
Yet sooner would she kiss a snake,
Then e’er admit to her mistake.                                       80

She smiled and forced a pleasant sigh.
Sent her husband again to buy
This foul herb they both deplored
And (greater still) could not afford.

With no money, he did appeal                                         85
To Gothel with a brand new deal.
Age 10, Gothel could have the child
Till all the debts were reconciled.       

Gothel agreed to this deal too,
For she needed a summer crew                                       90
To harvest crops and work the land
And save money on the farmhands.

Day after day, he bought more greens
Along with peppers, corn and beans,
Racking up considerable debt                                          95
For which his child would pay by sweat.

Eventually the child was born.
From a peaceful womb, cruelly torn.
Instant rejection the child faced,
Since both the parents were disgraced.                            100

For though her parents’ hairs were blonde
Young ebony curls brightly shone
And, after months, intensified.
Yet still the mother further lied:

“The wood stove was too hot for me,”                             105
She mourned the loss, explaining “See,
Look how it has burned our daughter,
Turned her hair black as an otter.”

Though instantly the husband thought
Of the dark-haired man his wife had taught                    110
To read and write for near a year,
He instantly shut out these fears.
He agreed the child had been scorched
And any other theory torched.

This child who suffered long was named                         115
Rapunzel, who was often shamed.
For her mother desired no kid
And from her father’s drinking hid.

She was in such misery when
Ten years later, Gothel showed again.                              120

When Gothel saw the child, she knew
It was poor, abused Rapunzel who
Would come to help her on her farm
And ne’er return to this home of harm.

Since Gothel had her husband die,                                  125
She cared for loss of family ties
And craved return of this connection.
She’d give the child love and affection.

Rapunzel packed her things to go
Eager to go where she did not know.                                130
Leaving, her parents did not plead,
For she’d be one less mouth to feed.

In fact, they did not call for years,
Promptly forgot without a tear.
Into a woman their daughter grew                                    135
Under the care of the kind, old shrew.

Now despite the pity Gothel showed,
Rapunzel’s lifestyle did corrode.
So unused to outdoor living,
She was cause for great misgivings.                                 140

Gothel’s focused, hands-on teaching
Never to Rapunzel reaching.
For eight long years she slacked and sighed,
Ignoring Gothel’s well-meant chides.

She also loved to brush her hair,                                        145
Grow it long and soft with care.

Gothel loved to see her happy,
But for farm work, this was crappy.
One cannot work in sweat and hay
With mounds of hair all in the way.                                 150

But she refused to cut it short
And always sought for ways to thwart          
Her daily chores by hiding in
The grain silo, drinking gin
And brushing tangles from her hair.                                155
Often a man would join her there,
To the top of her silo he’d glide
And fulfill her wishes inside.
If the silo was not hot enough,
Imagine their actions in the buff!                                     160

All this poor Gothel put up with,
But one day returned the blacksmith.
Older now, Rapunzel could work.
He thought she would be his shop clerk.       

But in his face his daughter spat,                                     165
“I’ll never live with you, you rat!”

Then Gothel kicked him off the land
And from returning he was banned.
For she ensured that on her farm
Her lazy Rapunzel would not be harmed.                       170

Rapunzel’s parents could not take
 “No” for an answer so they made
A floating lantern light the sky
And hoped their child would hear their cry.

“Just one lantern?” a neighbour asked,                           175
“‘It’d be a miracle if she saw that.”

Rapunzel’s parents saw this fact;
The lantern was too small an act.        
They needed something bigger so
Rapunzel could see from her window.                            180

Their conclusion seemed quite sensible;
Not slightly reprehensible.
What could seem more rationalist?
They became local arsonists.

They watched the first house burning down,                  185
Then next month burnt another in town.

Mastering incineration,
They came to the realization
Their daughter still would not return
Heedless of how many they burned.                               190
They needed something closer still,
That she could see from her windowsill.

Meanwhile, Rapunzel was the same
As she was before her parents’ flames.
Up in her silo passing time,                                             195
Aroused when boys could make the climb.

One day, young Colin trotted by
Upon his Clydesdale sitting high.
He dismounted and climbed the tower
Then was greeted with a glower!                                    200

“Wait a minute, I’m almost done,”
For brushing her hair she’d just begun.
“Oh come on, you’ll take forever,”
Colin pondered his endeavor.

But he was so committed he’d wait                                 205
Until her knotty hair was straight.
When she turned and smiled wryly,
He ran to satisfy her highly.

An hour later, they were done
All wet and sweaty from their fun.                                  210
“Sorry I took so long to finish.”
His fulfillment not diminished,

He said “It’s fine, I’ll come again
At any time; just tell me when.”

Suddenly Rapunzel cried out                                           215
And frantically began to shout,
“Do you smell that? I think it’s smoke!”
And presently began to choke.

Colin did smell the sulphur there
And ran fast over to the stairs.                                          220
But a blast of heat pushed him back
To where Rapunzel sat and gasped,

“There’s a fire and we can’t get down!”
The last she saw was Colin’s frown.                                  225

“Was that a scream?” her mother cried,
Running around the silo’s side,
The torch still blazing in her hand.
“Nonsense,” responded her husband,
“This silo’s full of grain and hay,
It must have been a passing jay.”                                       230

“STOP! STOP NOW! RAPUNZEL’S IN THERE!”
Gothel’s shouting filled the air.

Too late she came, the fire glowed
Down fell Rapunzel’s safe abode.
Inside, her dark hair charred straight black;                        235
Outside, Gothel's sobbing body wracked.

But while her mother stood and gawked,
Her father fell and cried in shock,
“From whence she came, so she returned!”
The conscience of her mother burned.                               240

Wednesday, April 22, 2020

Nothingness (Short Story)


Everything was dead.

The coursework laying unstarted in front of her, the guitar she could hear being played somewhere else on the residence floor, her roommate’s empty chair, the journal she had nothing to write in anymore, the superficial smiles of other first-years anxious to make friends, the words she no longer had, the emotions of TV characters whose actors only imagined what they “should be” feeling…

But mostly it was her nothingness.

The blank nothingness that reminded her that everything was dead. The blank nothingness that placed a brick wall between her and anything she’d ever actually felt. The blank nothingness that was only confused away by the rush of her insides coming to save her when she called.

Sometimes they saved her when she called them with a knife, or from the top of a tall and unstable tree, or on top of the speeding motorcycle she legally wasn’t supposed to drive. But they always saved her. Sometimes they saved her during a brief moment of connection or genuine kindness between herself and another person, but these were nearly impossible to predict or rely on. Besides, what right had she to demand another’s time or energy when she could call on her insides to clear the nothingness herself?

Turning away from the unstarted coursework now hidden behind a black computer screen, she looked out the frigid crystal of her residence window. Light flecks of snow danced under the spotlight created by the streetlamp, unafraid of claiming attention; demanding it.

It looks cold. I’ve already wasted the time I should’ve spent working. I can’t do this without my insides.

She considered the blade beside her bed to call to them, but she hadn’t sterilized it in weeks and was hesitant about causing infection; she needed to call her insides for help – not kill them off. Anyway, soccer season was coming up and she needed to be in shape.

Resolving her thoughts, she changed into a pair of winter leggings, a mini-skirt, tight-fitting jacket, and boots with visible heels. Pulling her hair into a messy bun on top of her head, she glanced at her appearance in the mirror to make sure she looked the part. No need to bother with makeup; it couldn’t be seen from a distance anyway.

Throwing her residence key into the jacket pocket, she left the room and made her way toward the main exit. On her way, she was stopped by her roommate, Joy, who had returned from her evening adventure and was chatting with another person on their floor.

“You’re looking fiiine – going out?” Joy’s voice always rang with her constant enthusiasm.

“Yeah – just need some fresh air.” The words came out slightly staged and surprised her a bit; she hadn’t communicated or even thought about communicating with anyone in several hours. “It’s been a while since I dressed up so I figured why the hell not?”

“That’s the spirit! Stay safe – it’s pretty late to be out by yourself.” Something about Joy’s good-natured but misplaced concern aggravated her a bit. It felt so external; welcoming but from a closed-off distance.

That’s the whole point; I need this.

“Will do!” She smiled and moved to continue down the hall.

“And make sure you stay north of campus!” Joy called behind her, “it’s pretty sketch down toward Begonia Hollow!”

Without turning around, she reached up and gave a thumbs-up into the air where Joy could see it. Begonia Hollow was an area of student housing that hosted most of the university’s frat houses and, recently, most of the school’s sexual assault charges as well. The school generally tried to pretend the area didn’t exist but it was well-known among most of the students.

She stopped thinking about the Hollow the second she stepped outside the door and began walking south toward it. The chill brought a sense of feeling into her insides and she smiled as some of the snowflakes bounced on her uncovered cheeks.

Her insides were started to wake up.

Walking briskly down the dark streetlight-dotted highway, she wasn’t bothered (nor afraid of) the nothingness as much anymore. It wouldn’t be there much longer, since her insides were starting to respond, as she had known they would. They had never let her down when she called.

It took a few hours to reach Begonia Hollow – she wasn’t exactly sure but it didn’t really matter; time was the last thing on her mind. (Or rather, one of just about everything that was not on her mind, which was focused on one thing – the nothingness was disappearing.)

Turning onto the Hollow, she walked taller, a broad smile making its way onto both her face and her insides. She was alive. Her insides had finally pushed out the nothingness and all that was left was life. She could head back and focus on schoolwork but why? She was so alive! The life that makes her so full and present.

She moves into the centre of the street, watching the rows on houses on either side of the street. She isn’t exactly sure which are the frat houses, but nearly all of them house young university men and the entire area holds the dangerous reputation. Loud music and some shouting can be heard from one of them; her insides relish every moment. She continues walking.

“Hey you - in the heels! Whatchu doing out by yourself?” coos a deep voice from a small cluster of young men talking loudly.

“Ahh leave her alone, Blake,” she hears a response to the first voice.

“I’m just saying hi. Hey, lady, want a drink?”

She walks on, riding high on the sheer energy her insides award wherever they sense danger, the energy they pump into her every time she enters the Hollow by herself. While most houses are dark and silent, several others blare loud music and dangerous life.

A few blocks later, she is approached by a young man on a bicycle with a friend close behind him on foot.

“Heeey where are you going? Need a lift?”

She has to stop as the young man parks his bicycle directly in her path, demanding her attention that she doesn’t hesitate to give. She isn’t afraid of him; she doesn’t think much of him at all as he sways his bike flimsily from side to side. He may have the power to physically hurt her (and this does run through her mind), but he has no more idea what he was doing than she does. Beneath his confident exterior, he is weak and afraid; they almost always are.

“Don’t worry about my friend – he’s really drunk. Just ignore him!” The young man on foot has caught up and placed himself between her and the bicycle. His words take longer than they should and alcohol wafts from his breath into her nose. What once may well have triggered fear now triggers her insides to pump even more life into her body and mind. The nothingness once so heavy is now nothing more than a faint memory of earlier that night. She is alive and peaceful and full.

“I’m serious.” The drunk man on foot places his hands on her shoulders and leans in with what appears to be an effort to block her from his friend but functions more as an aid to help him stand straight. “My friend is really drunk and doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’ll keep you safe from him.”

How are they so confident? She continues to look wordless at the pair, aware that bemusement is beginning to make its way onto her face.

“I believe you but I think I can make my own way,” she announces finally, cheerily moving to release herself from the standing man’s hold on her shoulders.

“Oh come on, I’m no drunker than he is – look at him!” Whines the man seated atop the parked bicycle still blocking her path.

From what she can tell, what he says is true, but she couldn’t care less who is more intoxicated than whom.

“No really. I need to protect you from him.” The man on foot returns one of his hands to her shoulder, only it’s stronger this time and she can sense a vague frustration seeping into his slurred words. It’s as though he is pushing for control of the situation and afraid of losing it. It is useless challenging him.

He needs some sort of reassurance. Damn motherless boys…

Still filled with a calm energy, she raises her hand and places it on top of his, softly but firmly, ready to yank off his hand and run if need be.

“I know. Thank you,” She smiles, her words equally soft but firm.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he pushes further, leaning his face closer to hers.

Like fucking shit you are.

“Thank. You.” Her firm voice masks the excitement coming from her insides. She places her forearm on his chest and gently pushes him away. “I would feel more comfortable if you stayed with your friend to make sure he doesn’t cause any more trouble.”

“Right – good thinking! She’s a smart little lady!” He stumbles back and begins leaning into his friend’s bike. “Gotta keep this here asshole from tearing shit up, eh?”

“Oh fuck off- ” the guy on the bike cuts off his protest when she delivers another calm smile in his direction, her blazing eyes daring him to continue.

“Have a good rest of the night!” She offers cheerily and turns around, returning the way she had come.

“You too, ma’am! Stay safe!”

Oh I will.

She can’t contain the life within her and begins to run. Back through the Hollow and onto the highway. She stops for a few moments to catch her breath but mostly she is running. Flying. Living. Full.


“Thank god you’re back,” Joy gushes as she re-enters the room, “You were gone for hours! I didn’t know you were going to be gone that long – it’s 3am and you don’t even have a damn cell phone. Something could have happened!”

“Right – I know. I’m sorry,” the life and sincerity in her own voice bring a sense of relief. She needn’t fear the nothingness anymore tonight. “I didn’t mean to worry you; the snow was just so beautiful and the dark, crisp air was so refreshing that I couldn’t leave.”

“Kay can you just tell someone next time how long you’re going to be gone for? I was really worried.”

“Yeah, I’m really sorry. How was your night? We didn’t get a chance to talk when we crossed paths in the hall.”

“It was actually so great…” Joy launches into a lively rehashing of her night of dancing and clubbing. It’s not difficult to listen intently, curiously, bland as the story may be. She is alive, present, and full. They both are.