the new version of beauty and the beast that i created summer 2000

Beauty and the Beast

(07/00)

There once was a child called Beauty. This, however, was not a term of endearment given by loving parents or friends. Beauty was a small boy, about twelve years of age. In fact, he was very small for his age, skinny and pale. His hair was long, stringy, and blond, hanging down just below his shoulders. Music was his passion, and he made instruments out of everything he found. His father often gave him old pots and pans to turn into drums, glass bottles into chimes. If he was lucky enough to find a birch branch, he whittled intricate designs into it and hollowed it out, carving holes for his fingers to make a suitable flute. His two snobby older sisters always made fun of him, making him do their bidding.

"Wash the dishes, then mop up the mess you make on the floor. And stop making noise!" one sister would shout down the hall. Meanwhile, the other would tell him to run to the store to pick up more cakes for her supper. A few times his sisters made him put on their dresses and stand wearing them while they sewed up the hems. Word got out around the neighborhood and soon all the young boys ridiculed him, calling him Beauty. The boys would beat him up when he ventured out of the house and he suffered greatly through school. The only person who was nice to him was his father, and a close bond formed between the two. Over the years, although he grew taller, his relationships never changed. It was a small town and everyone knew what everyone else did.

Beauty's father was a door-to-door salesman. He was still selling the kinds of things that other salesmen had given up on months ago. His pots stuck, vacuums didn't quite get at that nasty stuff embedded in the rug, most were old versions of things that no one wanted any more. At times, he had to go on long trips to other cities, leaving the poor boy to fend for himself among the neighbors for weeks. His sisters locked him out as soon as their father's car was out of sight.

One morning the one of the horrid girls called out the window "Beauty! Beauty, come inside and stop that infernal racket!" He had been sitting in a tree playing his old birch flute and, not wanting to be bothered with their odd jobs, had pretended not to hear. Again the girl called out, "Beauty! Beauty, come inside and stop that infernal racket!" Again, he didn't listen to their calls. A few minutes later, a red-faced girl with blond curls hanging in her face flounced out to the yard. She looked around for a few minutes, cocked her head to the side, and listened for rustling leaves or a stray note from the flute. The boy began to climb down, pretending he had been trying the entire time to get back inside the entire time. His flute fell from his pocket and his angry sister ran to get to it before he dropped from the tree as well. She smashed it against the wall of the house and it cracked in half. The boy refused to cry or become angry in front of the girl, giving her more of an opportunity to pick on him. Instead, he walked into the house in front of her and calmly asked what she had wanted.

"Dad said he wanted all of us to be inside so he could talk to us. I guess we're just going to have to suffer through being in the same room with you for a few minutes." His others sister wrinkled her nose as the boy walked in. Their father told them that he was leaving on a particularly long trip, and the man asked his children if there was anything they'd like him to bring home for them. The greedy girls asked for cakes and trinkets and rich gowns, and the salesman said he'd try to bring what he could find. He hadn't yet told them that business was bad and no one wanted to buy his outdated wares anymore. He tried his hardest to keep from flinching, but his son noticed the slight wrinkle and awkward blink of his eyes. The boy was very quiet and didn't ask for anything.

"Don't you want some fine dresses, too, Beauty?" one sister teased.

"Oh, yes, fine, pale pink silk and satin for him," replied the other. Turning towards the boy, his father told him he could have anything he wanted. The boy knew his father's goods weren't selling well, and he didn't want to trouble him with outlandish requests.

"Bring home a birch branch if you come upon one in your travels, but don't trouble yourself if you don't find one. Just make sure you get back safe and as soon as possible," the boy begged in a tiny voice, looking up at his father with sad blue eyes. With that, the man set off for his travels with a worried crinkle in his brow.

He had no success in the cities he visited, and his daughters would not get their fine requests. Dejectedly, he climbed into his car to make his way home. The car, old and shabby, got a flat tire on a deserted stretch of highway late that night. The salesman walked down the road until he came upon one deserted house, large, dark, and ancient. The door creaked open when he set foot on the porch, and he walked in to the house.

"Hello…hello?" he called. "Is anyone here? I have no money and my car broke down. Can I stay here until it gets light?" He seemed to be drawn to the couch by invisible hands and found hot tea waiting for him by the fire. He called out again, but no signs of life showed themselves. The old mansion was silent except for the crackling of the fire, and even that was eerily unnatural. Nevertheless, the man had nowhere else to go, and quickly fell asleep on the couch. Upon waking, he ate the small breakfast that was on the coffee table and went back to his car, calling out thanks to the invisible hosts. In the daylight, fixing a flat tire should be no problem. As he was walking towards his car, he noticed he saw a grove of trees a little way from the road. There was a strange tinkling noise, like wind blowing through a forest of icicles, and its musical quality reminded him of his son's makeshift chimes. He walked toward the grove, hoping me night find one birch among them. As he got closer, he noticed they were all birch trees. Figuring he could at least bring something home for his son, the man took out a knife and cut off a shoot of birch. As the last pieces of the branch snapped off the tree, a woman materialized out of nowhere. She was wearing a deep red dress that swept across her thighs as she walked towards him with quick steps. Her dark brown hair was tied up into a messy bun.

"What gives someone like you the right to damage my precious trees?" the woman demanded.

"I…I just wanted to take one branch to my son. He likes to whittle on…" the woman cut him off mid-sentence.

"What talents have you? You must repay me for the damage you've done, and the first thing you said upon entering my house was that you had no money. What can you do for me?"

"Well, I'm a traveling salesman. I could demonstrate my products for you and give you whichever you wish for free," the man said, strangely mesmerized by this woman. She agreed hesitantly and motioned for him to follow her back into the house.

"My things are in the car," he said to her, starting to walk back towards the door.

"Don't worry about it," she said. They walked into the room he had slept in, and all his goods were there on the floor waiting for him in the boxes from his car. Trying to recover from the shock, he began to take out a vacuum cleaner from one box. He poured out the dirt and pebbles he always used to demonstrate how wonderfully clean his vacuums left the carpets and sprinkled it generously around the room. Of course, his old machine just ground the dirt in and sent the pebbles flying, leaving the room looking like a storm came through. The woman's ears turned red and her face grew angrier than when he'd cut the birch.

"Lets go into the kitchen and I'll show you my amazing no-stick pots and pans!" he said, trying to divert her attention from the mess. "I can clean this up later." He dug through a box, clanging dishes loudly. Upon reaching the kitchen, he took all sorts of food out of the massive refrigerator and freezer. He turned on all of the 8 burners on the stove and set a pot or pan on each. Once he had filled all of them with some sort of food to be cooked, he turned them all on. He hoped this would work better than the last demonstration had.

"See, I'm not even going to pay attention to the things cooking here, and I guarantee nothing will get stuck to the pans!" He stepped casually away from the stove and they walked into another room to sit down. A little while later, the woman sniffed the air carefully.

"I smell something burning," she declared. He rushed over to check the stove. Though he hoped it wouldn't be, there was smoke pouring out from some of the pots. He grabbed the handles of two, threw them into the sink, and turned on the water full blast. It just wasn't his day. Of course, to make things worse, the water splashed from the sink all over the kitchen and right on to the woman's dress. Drenched and angry, she shrieked. Her face contorted with rage.

"Get OUT of my kitchen, you fool!" she screamed. Terrified of this beastly woman, the defeated salesman left the room. He passed by the still-burning food stuck to the pans, into the dining room where they'd been sitting, and then stepped on to the vacuum-spewed dirt. He couldn't think of a single way to repay this woman for her kindness the night before, and he was tempted to leave to escape her rage. Over the clanging of pots, he thought hard, dredging through the recesses of his mind for something of material value. He didn't get to think long, however, because before two minutes had passed, the woman walked into the room. She had calmed a bit and collected herself after throwing the pots and burnt food into a sink.

"I'm so terribly sorry, I'll do anyth…" He began to apologize, and again she cut him off.

"You said before you have a son."

"Why yes, yes I do. I've got two daughters as well." he replied.

"Bring the boy to me, fool. He will be my slave. Inform him he is to come here because of his father's stupidity. Your car is fixed. If your son is not here by tomorrow night, I will come get him myself, and its safe to say you will not enjoy my visit. Now go." After these orders, Beauty's father left the room stammering and walked out of the old house.

He got home late that afternoon and went looking for his son. The doors to the house had been locked, and the boy was nowhere in sight. He found the boy fast asleep in a tree. Gently, he lifted his precious child down and brought him inside. The boy awoke to the smells of hot tea and warm bread and his father sat down to talk to him. He explained the old mansion and the messy disasters. He never mentioned what had happened in the birch grove. If he had, the boy may have taken it to be his own fault that his father had suffered this humiliation.

"The only thing she'll take to make up for all I've done is you." He lowered his eyes and put his arm on the boy's shoulder. "She wants you as her servant. It'll only be for a little while, I promise. I'm going to get the police after her. But she said if you weren't there tomorrow, we'd have hell to pay." The boy agreed to go. At least he'd get a brief rest from the torments of his sisters and the kids in town. He packed a bag and they left immediately.

No one came to greet them when they reached the old mansion. The doors opened on their own just as they had a few nights before. The man got the distinct feeling that he should leave, so he helped his son carry the bag inside and then left as quickly as possible, hugging the boy and wishing him luck. As soon as his father had left, a woman walked slowly into the room wearing an identical dress to the day before. Her face was pulled into a frown as tight as the bun in her hair.

"You're here to make up for all the damage that awful man, excuse me, I meant all the damage your Father has done to my estate." She looked down at the boy with an intent glare. "You'd better do exactly as I say when I say it, boy, if you ever want to see your dad again." The boy looked nervous. She went on, "Now go up to your quarters and out of my way." He scampered quickly up the stairs in the direction she had pointed, and went into the one open door in the hall. There was only a bed, a chest of drawers, and a small hand mirror in the room, and it only had one small window. It was pretty late by the time he had gotten to the old house, so he curled up on the hard bed and fell fast asleep. He awoke the next morning and found a note lying on his bedside table. It directed him to grab a quick breakfast and then scrub the floors. He got up and dressed quickly. It really wasn't overly different than what he had to suffer through at home, he thought, and at least his sisters weren't around. He was told to carry the small mirror with him; it would serve as the communication portal between him and the woman. As soon as he had finished the floors, he was to take it out and find out his next task. At seven o'clock that first evening in the castle the mirror told the boy it was time for supper and he was to go down to the great dining hall whose floor he had scrubbed earlier. The woman sat at one end of the table, the boy at the other. For the most part, they ate in silence. Every now and then the woman asked a question or two, but it was an awkward meal.

"Boy, what is your name? I must have something to call you."

"Bea…Brian," he stammered. Except for his father, everyone always called him Beauty.

"Very well, Brian. I will see you tomorrow at the same time for supper. Go to your chambers now." With that, she excused herself and practically vanished. He went up to his room as he had been told to, and decided to see what kinds of instruments he could improvise in there before he went to bed. The furnishings were sparse, and all the boy could find to drum on were half-open drawers. After a few disappointing minutes, he went to bed.

The next day was very much the same. He ate breakfast and was set to work about the house. This time he was to start by cleaning out the kitchen, which was still a disaster from his father's visit. He was also to bring some lunch upstairs to the woman and then continue with his work. As he carried the tray with her lunch up to her room, he tripped over his own feet on the stairs, spilling the tray everywhere. She came flying out of her room like an angry red whirlwind and that was the last the boy saw of her that afternoon. There was no supper that night. He had to clean the kitchen again, after he cleaned up what he had spilled, of course, and then redo the floors. And straighten out the pillows on the sofas. The list just went on. By ten o'clock, he finally made his way up to his room.

The next morning the mirror told him to go eat a bit of breakfast and then gave him a set of chores to do. At seven o'clock that evening, he sat down for supper with the woman. This time it wasn't so quiet.

"So you like music," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, yes I love music. But how did you know?"

"I heard you banging around in your room the other night and the mirror told me you were looking for any kind of instrument you could find." The room fell silent for a few minutes again. Then the woman spoke again, breaking the stillness she had left hanging awkwardly in the air. "You know, we have a piano downstairs." Awkwardly, she left the table and dismissed the boy. He slurped down the rest of his meal and ran to find this mystical piano. He had made all of his instruments before, and the only piano he'd seen was at church. Could he really be allowed to play a piano, he wondered. Upon finding it, he plunked his fingers down on the keys and it made the terrible noise most pianos do when someone with no experience plays it like a big ivory-keyed drum. The next morning Brian was instructed to go down to the piano after breakfast. He found the woman sitting on the bench waiting for him. It was apparent she was going to teach him to play. He sat down next to her, nervous with excitement. He didn't want to bother her, but he couldn't keep from shaking. These piano lessons were another event added to their daily schedule. Now he saw the woman only twice a day, unless she requested his presence specifically. The next few days were the same; he went to bed late at night after practicing what she had taught him and trying to learn some more on his own.

After a few months, the boy grew weary of the constant work but looked forward to the hours spent at the piano, squeezing it in at every free minute. Each lesson left him with a huge grin on his face, and they made his stay in the old house almost enjoyable. He began to hum and whistle while scrubbing floors and polishing chairs, practicing in his mind. After a year, he excelled at the most difficult pieces the woman could offer. One afternoon she called him to her unexpectedly.

"You have served me well. You are free to go home now."

"Thank you," he said. "And thank you for the piano lessons." That evening he left the old house, now transformed from a rundown shack to a gorgeous and spotless mansion. He began the long journey home. His sisters heard someone coming and ran to the windows and peered out, wondering what boy was standing in their driveway. They had certainly never seen him before. They sent their father out to see who this man was and what he wanted. His dress was neat, clothing slightly worn in places, but still neat. His long hair swept across his eyes and the girls watched his tan muscles as he put his bag down on the porch. He had grown strong working for the woman. They were amazed when they found out it was not some suitor at the door, but their very own brother. The family had supper together that night, and Brian reclaimed his own bedroom. The next day he brought his father down to the church to play the piano for him. The minister was so impressed by Brian's skill he hired him to play each Sunday.

The next Saturday night he took a hot bath, scrubbing really well to make sure he was presentable for church. Sunday morning, he dressed in one of his father's suits and pulled his hair back. He got to the church early and set up at the piano. He played as the people walked in, and no one recognized the handsome man at the piano. After the service people came up to him and complimented his playing, and he was quickly accepted into their social circles. He was given free use of the piano at church and started composing his own fancy pieces, borrowing from what the woman had taught him at the old house.

A few months later he was engaged to a sweet brown haired girl, and a month after that the wedding was held at the old house. The wedding was small, as she had almost no family in the area, only a distant aunt and uncle. The woman was more than happy to see Brian again, and even happier that his life was going well. She had grown rather attached to the boy in the time he worked for her. To thank her for her hospitality and for the gift of music, he played one of his favorite pieces for her. Every week or so, the new family visited the old house and their friend there. The windows sparkled with light now, gardens grew magnificently, and the piano glittered. Even the woman, once bitter with loneliness, seemed to shine. She welcomed visitors now, and Brian often held small concerts at her piano. The woman gave Brian's first son a flute, carved out of delicate birch wood. She had hired the best craftsman to make the intricate designs down the sides of the instrument, and sacrificed a branch of her most beautiful tree. He grew into a happy, healthy boy with a strong love for the music he and his father made together at the mansion. They all lived happily ever after.