As It Happens In Such Stories
by Joshua AbramsOnce upon a time, not very long ago but in a place far removed from our own, there lived a family with an eldest daughter. This family lived in a poor little village in a poor country, a land where children played in dirt with trash on the street, where men drank to excess to forget the passing of their empty days while the women, as always, were left with the wash. It was a bleak time, with few obvious prospects, and people had begun to grumble and grow strange from inactivity.
The eldest daughter’s family was no different from any other. It was large and crowded, with a father at the head and a mother at the bottom, filled with children of different ages and temperaments, and governed by rules passed down through generations that kept it functioning smoothly, if not necessarily happily. The eldest daughter, however, unlike her parents or siblings, aunts or uncles, was possessed of the very unique strength of character, or flaw, to look carefully about her and recognize her life’s options. Those options not being very much she spent her days depressed and bored and begrudging of her fate. No longer young enough for muddy games with other children, she spent her days helping her mother, tending to chores and family, and waiting for the day she would be married off.
She did not want to be married. She saw how her mother lived a servant in all but name, house-bound, pregnant, mouth sealed shut by learned humility and exhaustion and how her father lived as a petty lord over his courtyard fief, unaccountable, lazy, with sour-smelling breath most mornings and evenings.
The eldest daughter looked about at her brothers and sisters, of which her poor, sore mother had so far produced five. Her two brothers were second and third in line, making them old enough for her to see where they were headed. As was done in those days, girls were put to work almost as soon as they could hold a broom, preparing them from early on for a life in the courtyard, the house, the kitchen, the bedroom, while the boys jumped and kicked and fought and sang in the street and felt that life could only be for them, which it seemingly was.
Into all of this was the eldest daughter born, and as her eyes looked about and saw how unkind fate had been to her she grew despondent with stifled rage. For a little village isolated from the greater world and its choices, this is the way the world was. This was the way things were, and would be, forever. Our heroine, knowing this, could not help but be distraught.
As it happens in such stories, the eldest daughter was also of uncommon beauty, plump and dark, with eyes black as coal, black as her thick raven’s hair. Her lips were full and red, a light mustache touching their corners, and soft as dewdrops. Crowning her face in a swooping arc was her nose, proud and strong as an eagle’s beak. Her nose protruded fiercely, extravagantly outward, as if in open rebellion against the monochrome life its owner was condemned to lead.
The eldest daughter’s beauty was known throughout the village, and even a bit beyond it. She was lovelier than any of her sisters or her peers, and her father knew it would be simple enough to find her a man when the time came. That her rather morose demeanor might prove a challenge was not lost on the family; her mother assumed that with enough time, children, and laundry she would become too weary to complain much (or think), while her father expected regular beatings by her future husband as the best corrective.
It was during these heavy days that a comet appeared in the nighttime sky. The people looked up to see a large ball of light and, though it was blazing through space at remarkable speed, the illusion on the ground made it appear as though hanging suspended among the stars. The comet lingered for many weeks, causing suspicion and despair among the people. The men, having little else to do, took to debating its meaning; the women whispered of omens and endings amongst themselves, while the children looked up with awe and knew not what to think.
All eyes that saw it saw in it portents of doom, but the eldest daughter looked up and smiled and thought to herself, “If it means anything at all, it is that the world is large and beautiful and full of secrets.” The idea of mystery, of the unknown, when so much about her was thick with strict, simple rules, proscribed roles and routines, thrilled her. On nights when the skies were clear she would go out into her family’s courtyard and gaze at the comet and she would allow herself to dream and so, for a time, escape.
The dusty rural folk were not alone in their ill ease over the comet. The King - a ruler neither terrible nor just, simple nor wise - was equally as disturbed, though for his own reasons. His realm being in such a shoddy state to begin with, he feared the influence an unforeseen astrological upset could have on an already upset populace. With the safety of his throne in mind, the King thus summoned all of the wisest men in the land to determine what, exactly, was going on, and whether they needed to worry.
Viziers and augurs assembled, astronomers and alchemists; hermits were roused from their mountaintops and poked and prodded for suggestions. Stellar alignments were scrutinized, bones cracked over coals, and sundry entrails studied for clues to answer the celestial riddles: What is it? And how do we make it go away?
After many days of learned thought, after all the bones were cracked, entrails analyzed, and stars counted, the King proclaimed the riddle solved. The words of a particularly toothless old hermit offered mid-prod, mid-poke had found favor amongst the gathered wise men as an answer both reasonable and charming:
“O, that which we see up in yonder sky,” spoke he, “’tis none but an angel come down from heaven! Now, this angel is come down from heaven for he is poor and lonely, a lonely angel without a mate. And he come and say to himself, I am to find myself a woman, a girl, a pretty young thing preferably, whom I will take as my wife. A wife to make a good meal hot and steamy when I am done flying amongst yonder stars, soo I won’t be a lonely old angel.
“So,” the old man concluded, “if we find a good one we can send her on up to him, and he’ll take her and be off.”
It took a few more pokes and prods to insure that the hermit had said his piece. It is unclear whether he understood quite what was happening but the Court, satisfied with his soothsaying, presented him with a bagful of teeth as a reward and dispatched him with haste to his mountaintop.
In no time at all envoys were sent to all the far corners of the land, racing to summon before the King all of the most beautiful girls that lived. The words of the hermit were made known and, although no substantial promises about the future were made, the King let it be implied that finding the angel a wife would in some way bring better times for all. How the bride would actually be delivered to the angel was another bone of royal contention. The King, however, being neither a General nor Tactician, assumed that they would work it out, somehow, sooner or later.
As when the comet first appeared, talk of all sorts filled the village, the courtyards and street corners, in which the eldest daughter lived. Eyes now fixed with expectation on the nightly visitor as they had before with suspicion. People studied the apparition as if attempting to spy a pair of wings or a harp, or to establish some sort of contact. Women of all ages looked up every evening after dark from the smallest girls to the pruniest grandmothers, from the fattest to the palest to the hairiest to the meanest and each could not help but hope that she would be the one to be seen and chosen and taken away.
The eldest daughter, who was more clear-sighted than everyone around her, treated all these goings-on with derision. It was perfectly obvious to her that the thing in the sky was just a thing in the sky, no matter what the heralds proclaimed with however much pomp and fanfare. “People are fools,” she grumbled to herself, which is true, but still her heart began to pound and the young woman grew flush whenever she looked up at the comet. She flushed and she blushed, but not because she secretly believed in an old hermit’s gummed ramblings. The eldest daughter blushed and flushed because, in the King’s silly pronouncement on angels and brides and summonses to the Capital, she saw a hope, a glimmer of chance to get out, even if for a short time.
In low times people will often become opportunists. If a way is found to better their lives they will pursue it, even if it means selling themselves or others to do so. The things people will do vary according to situation and desperation, but it is often those with the least to lose who take the boldest steps.
As the whispers and street-talk continued and evolved, focus gradually lowered from the heavens down to ground level, to every door of every home. Mirrors were consulted, as were beauty-aids and dressmakers, and every man with a daughter walked about as if lost between greatest hope and despair. Throughout the village young women primped and preened and prepared to sell themselves to the highest bidder, but even had every single one of them been as beautiful as could be, still none of them could have matched the beauty of our heroine, the eldest daughter.
She knew that she was beautiful. Even had there been no mirrors or well water in which to look, she would have known. Why else would her father keep her cloistered at home, away from men and boys, if they did not come panting after her whenever she was allowed out? She saw the jealous looks of her sisters and the shameful, semi-lustful glances of her own brothers. The eldest daughter knew she was both desirable and eligible, and so did her family, and so did everyone around her.
She was not in need of make-up or fancy shawls. Eyes shining with fierce intelligence, cheeks pink with ambition, and with a nose worthy of epic poems in metered rhyme, it puzzled many that the angel had not come straight down to steal her at once.
For the first time in her life the eldest daughter’s family doted on her. Her mother cooed and sighed, her father boasted to anyone who would listen. Her family pampered her in ways that made her uncomfortable, for she knew that the changes came not out of love for her but from the same shameless opportunism that fueled her own ambitions.
The newfound attention pleased her, regardless of motives, but as the daughter was more clear-sighted than those around her, she still managed from time to time to grumble, “People are fools.” Which is true.
A royal contest was declared for all the young women of the kingdom. Throughout the land, in every village, all the girls were to gather for appraisal by the King’s envoys. The most beautiful would be brought before the King for him to choose from among them the Angel’s Bride. The winner would then be somehow catapulted to a certain death, her parents receiving a comfortable reward for their troubles, and the losers would either return home or wed some petty bureacrat in the capital. The comet would eventually disappear on its own, everything would remain more or less as it had, and the King would continue to live quite well, indeed. This was the general plan, although none of those involved understood it precisely in the above way, the King least of all.
When the envoys finally came and they seemed a long time in coming there was a pageant on the streets the likes of which had not been seen before. The young ladies of the village promenaded through the streets with their entire families in tow. Mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, even distant cousins were dressed-up, made up, and perfumed. The dirty children had been bathed and scrubbed and now stood miserably in starched collars; the men tried their best to stay sober for the day, or at least make good effort to appear so; while mothers of contending daughters displayed themselves as if at a carnival, though in their hearts they were tortured by a variety of motherly anxieties.
Grand as the young women were, with their tribal entourages and up-swept bouffants, as soon as our heroine, the eldest daughter, appeared in the street, their poor hearts fell, while their brothers’ shuddered. She was dressed simply and made up almost not at all, but when she stepped forward all sound around her hushed. Led by that most ferocious of noses, trailed by a mane of blackest-night hair, the eldest daughter made her way to the village square to where the King’s men stood in judgement, and when they turned to witness her approach it was as if everything else in the world had faded away. Without further debate they held up their hands for silence which had already fallen and said, “It shall be she.”
One can well imagine the commotion that ensued, festive and otherwise. There was a celebration that lasted for three days and four nights, filled with feasting, music, and innumerable toasts to the good health of the lovely Lady, our heroine, who would go on to wed an angel.
The eldest daughter smiled more than she ever had in her life. She laughed and she danced and accepted every toast for she found that her wildest dreams were being met. In a single moment she had risen above the drudgery of a peasant girl to become, if only briefly, a Queen. Euphoria did not cloud her mind completely; she knew that she risked humiliation if the King chose another and danger if he did not. But the risks were worth it even an early death seemed worth it as her life had up until now been, to her, even worse.
Days later, on her last night at home, after everyone had gone to bed, the eldest daughter stood alone in her family’s courtyard. With just hours to go before dawn, she looked up at the sky. The comet was most visible earlier in the evening, but a faint glimmer could still at that late hour be made out. She studied what could be seen, and gazed about at all the stars that shone above. She was lost in her thoughts, lost in her fears and hopes, on the cusp of great changes that few people could ever imagine. It is impossible to say what was going through her head that night beyond rumors of moods and humors, but we will investigate no further and leave her as she appears to us now: awake, expectant, alone.
It is often that the apex of our dreams occur right before they come true. Once they do they may reveal themselves to be real life, with too many of the usual blemishes to be anything other than disappointing. If this is true then better for us to look away while there is still time for a happy ending. Although, if we wait, we may reach a happier ending still, there is also the risk that we may not, and this story is not about risks. Better to turn the page right now so that we may, at least, take comfort that our last glimpse of the eldest daughter is the one we would most want to remember: of a successful fairy tale heroine at the end of an unsuccessful fairy tale.
Joshua Abrams is a New Yorker currently living in Tajikistan, which most of his family can't find on a map. He has pieces pending on Old Town Review and Peace Corps Writers. This is his first published piece of fiction.
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