Brave Red, Smart Frog Read online

  SNOW WHITE

  THE FROG PRINCE

  THREE WISHES

  TOADS AND PEARLS

  RED RIDING HOOD

  THE THREE GREAT NOODLES

  HANSEL AND GRETEL

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  There was once a frozen forest, cold as cold ever was. Snow blanketed the ground. The frost sparkled. The streams were iced, the bushes bare. The paths were so narrow, no horse could walk through.

  No woodcutters ever chopped anything down. People from nearby towns believed that vengeful sprites lived in the trees. They said witches lived in the winter wood, as well — some with cold hearts, and others with hot ovens and ugly appetites — and also dwarves, immune to the cold and sheltering in tiny houses made of stones.

  On one side of this frozen forest stood a castle. In it lived a queen who was unhappy. She was a warm person, a bright person. Her husband was chilly and dull. It had been a mistake to marry him. When their first and only daughter was born, the king named the baby Snow White. The queen would have preferred a name like Tulip or Sunshine.

  It was not long after Snow White’s birth that our poor, warm queen caught a cold. It worsened and she died of it. Soon after that, the king married again. His new wife had walked out of the winter forest one day and charmed him with beauty like an icicle — sharp and slippery. She called herself January, and when she moved into the castle, she brought along nothing but an enchanted mirror.

  This new queen felt invisible without a reflection of herself nearby. She spent hours staring into the mirror, touching her beautiful face, just to be certain she really existed. Every so often, she asked a question:

  Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

  Who is fairest of them all?

  And each time, the mirror answered what January wished to hear:

  You deserve an answer true,

  There’s no one here, so fair as you.

  And January was happy — or, at least, pleased enough with her lot.

  Snow White didn’t bother with mirrors. She was warm and bright like her mother had been. Since the cooks and tailors of the castle were her only companions, she kept herself busy learning to cook and sew. As she grew older, she got even warmer and brighter, and by the time she was a young woman, Snow White was the sort of person who made you smile just to look at her.

  There was beauty in her character.

  By now, January was not so young as she once was. There were cracks on her face and a softness in her jaw. Some people find cracks and softness lovely, but January wanted the mirror to show the face she had seen long ago, a face of smooth and shining ice.

  Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

  Who is fairest of them all?

  When she asked, the mirror had always replied:

  You deserve an answer true,

  There’s no one here so fair as you.

  That is, until one fateful day. It said:

  You will not like my answer true:

  Snow White is twice as fair as you.

  Was it true? There are so many ways to measure beauty, and so many ways to enchant a mirror. We cannot know.

  What matters is that January believed it. She gazed into the glass, peering at her face.

  All she saw were cracks.

  And that softness in her jaw.

  January ordered the castle huntsman to bring Snow White into the frozen forest. When they were far from home, he was to kill her and cut out the warm, bright heart that beat in her chest.

  January planned to eat it.

  Yes, to eat the heart.

  She believed it would restore her beauty.

  THE HUNTSMAN was a kind man, but he followed orders. He took Snow White by the wrist and dragged her toward the trees.

  Snow White fought, but the huntsman held fast.

  She screamed and bit and kicked, but the huntsman held fast.

  Finally, she begged. He held fast still.

  He dragged Snow White along the narrow paths of the frozen forest into the dark.

  But then, when they were far from home, he let her go. He would cut out a wolf’s heart, he told her, and bring that to the queen instead.

  Snow White thanked him.

  He left her alone.

  The bare branches of the trees clicked across one another.

  Snow White shivered and crossed her arms around her body.

  She could feel the cold through the soles of her boots.

  She began to walk, and the eyes of hungry creatures followed her, but luck was on her side. It was only minutes before she came upon a tiny house built of stones. She stepped inside without knocking and shut the door behind her.

  Inside, the ceiling was so low, Snow White could only just stand up. “Hello, is anyone home?”

  There was no answer.

  “Hello?”

  Her eyes adjusted to the dark. She was in a kitchen. Burned pots and scorched pans sat on the counters. Stacks of dirty plates were piled on the table. A smell of singed meat and overboiled cabbage hung in the air. In the living room, dust and spilled sugar covered the tables. In the bedroom, Snow White found seven tiny beds, all with the bedclothes crumpled at the bottom. Tiny slippers and worn pairs of pajamas littered the floor.

  The bathroom was too unpleasant to describe.

  She rested and warmed herself, and waited for the owners to return home.

  No one came. A storm began to blow outside.

  With nothing else to do, Snow White cleaned the kitchen. And then the living room. The bedroom, and finally the bathroom. She mended the holes in the pajamas with a bolt of cloth she found in a closet. She roasted a joint of meat and cooked up a cabbage, one without burning and the other without overboiling. She was just pulling the meat from the oven when seven dwarves rushed inside. The snow stormed in behind them until they shut the door.

  They were all men.

  Very small and squat, only so high as Snow White’s knees. They wore no coats, no hats, no winter gear at all.

  “Who’s the tall one?”

  “What’s she doing here?”

  “Is she a witch?”

  “She won’t tell you if she is.”

  “Why is it clean?”

  “She cleaned it, noodle.”

  “Why would she clean it?”

  “Humans like clean.”

  “Witches like clean, too.”

  “What smells good?”

  “The witch cooked.”

  “She’s not a witch.”

  “She cooked our meat.”

  “She cooked our cabbage.”

  “Witches cook.”

  “Don’t eat their food.”

  “She’s not a witch.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I feel it in the bones.”

  “Stop it with your bones.”

  “The bones don’t lie.”

  “Shut it, you.”

  “She’s not a witch.”

  The other six dwarves must have believed the one who felt it in the bones, for they all took off their boots and walked into the kitchen in sock feet. They said nothing but sat down at the table, each grabbing a fork and plate on the way.

  Snow White looked at the dwarves.

  The dwarves looked at Snow White.

  Then one of them stood up. Moving slowly, he dragged an armchair from the living room over to the kitchen table. “Sit down,” he said. “And eat with us.”

  THAT IS HOW Snow White came to live with the seven dwarves of the frozen forest. They were strange little men, not exactly human. They were rotten cooks but good hunters, and kept stores of potatoes, cabbages, and carrots in a shed out at the back of their tiny stone house. They didn’t mind the cold, couldn’t read, argued constantly, and spent their day
s mining coal from deep below a mountain some miles away.

  Snow White didn’t tell them where she’d come from. It was too sad for her to talk about. Instead she made their house warmer and brighter, keeping it clean and teaching them how to cook so that things didn’t burn or get overboiled. The eight of them lived like that together for some weeks. Snow White learned their names and darned their socks. The house was filled with laughter and friendship.

  Back in the castle, the king did not even notice his daughter was gone. January had eaten the wolf’s heart and was happy again — or, at least, pleased enough with her lot. That is, until the day she thought to ask again:

  Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

  Who is fairest of them all?

  And the mirror replied:

  You will not like my answer true:

  Snow White is still more fair than you.

  At this, January knew the huntsman had deceived her.

  IT WAS NOT HARD for her to guess where Snow White had found shelter. January knew the forest well.

  She went to the marketplace and bought a basket of red apples. Each one she rubbed with poison. Then she disguised herself with a hooded cloak and walked quickly into the winter woods.

  The dwarves were working at the mine.

  Snow White was home alone.

  She hadn’t eaten fruit in several weeks.

  She hadn’t left the stone house, so cold was the forest.

  When the apple-seller knocked on the door of the stone house, Snow White wrapped herself in a blanket and answered the door.

  “Sweet apples, fresh apples,” croaked January.

  “I am sorry. I have no money,” Snow White told the hooded figure.

  “You could make a pie,” said the seller, holding up a shiny red apple.

  Snow White would love a pie. The house would fill with the smell of warm fruit and sugar.

  “I can’t,” she answered. “I have nothing to give.”

  “Take one for yourself, then,” said the seller. “To eat. A gift.”

  “Thank you.” Snow White took the apple and bit into it gladly. “Won’t you come inside to warm yourself?”

  “Oh, I’m not cold,” the apple-seller said, and Snow White paused.

  Not cold.

  How could that be?

  Any true human would be freezing.

  She thought no more. Asked no questions. The poison had begun to work. Snow White collapsed lifeless in the doorway.

  January threw off her cloak and pulled a knife. She would have the heart, she would. She would eat it and regain her beauty.

  Knife drawn, she bent over Snow White . . . but was stopped by the sound of the seven dwarves, shouting and running at her, waving picks and mining lamps.

  “Witch!” they yelled.

  “Witch for sure!”

  “I feel it in the bones!”

  The dwarves chased January through the forest, swinging their axes and hurling stones.

  She ran. And ran.

  But not fast enough.

  It was a bloody, bloody day.

  At the end of it, January was dead.

  When the dwarves returned to the stone house, Snow White seemed lifeless, but she was not cold. Her skin was warm, though she did not breathe. Her face was pink, though her eyelids did not move.

  “She’s choked.”

  “She hasn’t.”

  “She’s poisoned.”

  “She isn’t.”

  “She’s magicked.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “She’s gone and dead forever.”

  “She’s alive, I tell you. I feel it in the bones.”

  “I think she needs sunlight.”

  “I think she needs warmth.”

  “Out of the winter.”

  “Yes, into the spring.”

  In the end, the seven dwarves carried Snow White out of the frozen forest and onto a hillside far from her father’s castle. One of their number remained, keeping watch from behind a rock, and they left her lying there, hoping that the warm bright sun would work its magic.

  An hour or so later, a prince rode by on horseback. He was a kind person: jolly and strong and fond of music and good things to eat. This prince, whose name was Beacon, saw Snow White lying on the hillside. The sun had warmed her, and she seemed not dead, but sweetly asleep.

  He stopped his horse and watched her breathing.

  Her eyelids fluttered.

  Prince Beacon liked Snow White’s face for its courage and kindness, and he was also a curious fellow who liked most pretty girls and all new adventures.

  And so, he woke her up.

  Now, some kisses break enchantments.

  And other kisses begin them.

  Beacon’s kiss was the second kind, not the first. Snow White woke to bright sunshine and a friendly face.

  A new life was what she needed. Now, with seven new friends and an eighth to love, there was finally one ahead of her.

  There was once a princess, young enough to play with toys but old enough to think about marriage. This is not a long period in a person’s life, and it makes her feel uncomfortable. She is not a child but not all the way a grown-up, either.

  This princess, Crystal, was beautiful to most people’s way of thinking — except for those people who see beauty in character. In character, she was flawed.

  She had too many pretty dresses.

  Too many pairs of shoes.

  She had too many curls in her hair, too many roses in her cheeks, too many chocolates before dinner, too many ladies-in-waiting instead of friends.

  Even worse, Crystal had too few occupations and too few real conversations. The ladies-in-waiting agreed with whatever she said. They did whatever she wanted to do. “Yes, Princess,” “Of course, Princess,” and “You know best, Princess,” all day long. Crystal was fretful and spoiled, spiteful and desperately lonely.

  One day, tired of trying on clothes and eating chocolates, Crystal took her favorite golden ball out to the castle grounds. She could have forced some member of the castle staff to play with her, but a game never feels the same when people are paid to play it with you.

  The golden ball had been a gift from her mother when she was young. Her mother was dead, and Crystal missed her dearly.

  This day, Crystal walked to the top of a hill and tossed the ball high, admiring its golden shine against the blue sky before she caught it again. On the third toss, however, she missed her catch, and the ball bounced down the hill at high speed.

  Crystal chased it.

  The ball bounced down through the rose garden and then through the vegetable garden at the back of the castle kitchen. Then it kept on downhill, shining merrily, until it landed in the well at the base of an herb garden.

  Out of breath, the princess leaned over and looked at the water.

  It was very, very deep.

  She lowered the bucket into the well and raised it again, hoping to retrieve the ball.

  Only water.

  She lowered it again, and again, and again.

  Only water.

  Now, in the way of princesses who are not used to solving their own problems, and of girls who have lost their mothers, and of girls who are young enough to play with toys but old enough to think about marriage, Crystal sobbed bitterly.

  She leaned her cheek against the cold stone of the well. “I would give anything if only I could have my ball back.”

  “Anything?”

  A frog had spoken. It was moss green and as big as Crystal’s head. Its eyes goggled out of its body. Its strange dry lips were curled in something that might have been a smile. In other words, the frog was of surpassing ugliness to everyone. That is, except for those who see beauty in character.

  Crystal jumped back in surprise and disgust. “Where did you come from?”

  “From the well,” answered the frog. “Did I scare you?”

  “No.”

  “I think I did.”

  “No.”

  “You
jumped back.”

  “You did not scare me, slimy thing.”

  The frog drew itself up. “I’m not slimy. Touch me. You’ll see.”

  “No!”

  “Try it.”

  “I will not.”

  “I’m dry. Just use one little finger you don’t much care about.”

  “Never, not ever.”

  “Your loss,” said the frog. “Why should I care if a dairy maid feels my skin?”

  “I’m not a dairy maid.”

  “Pardon me,” said the frog. “A kitchen maid.”

  “Sure as sure, I am the princess.”

  “Sure as sure, nothing,” said the frog. “Here you are in the herb garden. The bottom of your dress is covered in mud, and your face is puffy. I’m no noodle. A princess is clean and doesn’t let her nose run without finding a handkerchief.”

  There was nothing Crystal could say to that. She dug in her pocket, found a handkerchief, and wiped her nose. “I lost my ball down the well,” she told the frog. “I’ll give anything to get it back.”

  “Anything?”

  “Anything.” Crystal nodded.

  “Well, what you have to give is considerable, if you really are the princess,” said the frog.

  “I am the princess.”

  “Maybe.”

  She flicked him with her finger. “I am! You know it.”

  “Only maybe.”

  She flicked him again.

  “You touched me,” croaked the frog gleefully. “You said never, not ever, and still you touched me.”

  “Only to flick you,” said Crystal.

  The frog turned around and hopped along the edge of the well. “You don’t want me to get your ball for you, then.”

  “But I do!” Crystal followed him. “Pretty please, my warty friend, get it for me. I promise I’ll reward you however you please.”

  The frog disappeared down the well in a series of long hops, his suckered feet sticking to the stone.

  After some time, he reappeared, holding the golden ball in his lipless mouth.

  “You’ve slimed it,” said the princess, taking it from him.

  Then she ran away laughing, with never a thought of keeping her promise.

  THAT NIGHT, Crystal had dinner with her father, the king. As usual, they sat at either end of a long table in an enormous hall. They ate from silver plates and drank from golden goblets.