I’m sorry. Before I tell you the very, truly, absolutely end, I’ve got to interject one last time.
For fun.
Or to help you, if I can. (Though I wouldn’t count on it.)
Why did this patricidal beheading have to happen? Why something so awful? So gruesome? So upsetting? Why was their father the dragon? And did they really, really have to cut off his head?
And what about everything that came before that? All this blood and this pain. What sense does any of it make? Is there any sense at all?
I don’t know.
I mean, what does under-standing have to do with returning to your family? Or cutting off your finger have to do with turning into a wild beast? What does an old crone with a shackle on her leg have to do with Faithful Johannes? Or three black ravens with cages full of white doves? Why is the moon creepy and cold, when the stars are bright and kind? Why was the widow a good parent, and yet no more able to protect Gretel than the bad parents? What did all of this mean—these strange, scary, dark, grim tales?
I told you already. I don’t know.
Besides, even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.
You see, to find the brightest wisdom one must pass through the darkest zones. And through the darkest zones there can be no guide.
No guide, that is, but courage.
As Hansel and Gretel and the queen and king held one other, the final golden fumes of the dragon drifted from the chimney and out onto the morning air. The gold mingled with the sunrise and slowly suffused itself over the whole kingdom. As people woke that morning, they saw it. They were drawn out of their houses by it, by the beautifully golden smoke that floated beneath the clouds. They followed it. Without wondering, without saying a word, they followed it. As if they knew, upon seeing it, that something had happened. Something important. And that, to find out what it was, all they had to do was follow the golden smoke.
Along the roads, the subjects of Grimm walked silently toward the source of the beautiful golden light. Toward the castle.
“You never told us,” the queen said to her children as they sat on the floor of the bedroom, blood winding through the crevices of the stones, collecting in little pools. “You never told us where you’ve been, and what you’ve done.”
Hansel and Gretel looked at each other.
“You don’t have to tell us,” their father said gently. “Not now. Not ever if you don’t want to.”
Hansel held his sister in his gaze. Her eyes, ocean-blue, sun-bright, were happier, clearer than he had seen them in a long, long time. Gretel returned her brother’s stare. He looked unburdened. Lighter. And he looked older than he had ever looked. Not old with care. Old with wisdom.
“We can tell you now,” Gretel said.
And so they did. Hansel started with what Johannes had told him, about the old king, lying on his deathbed. Gretel planned to pick up as soon as she and Hansel entered the story.
But just then there was a knock on the king and queen’s chamber door.
“Yes?” said the king.
A servant poked his head in. “Excuse me, Your Majesty,” he said. Then he saw blood on the king. “Your Majesty! Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” said the king. “What is it?”
“I ... uh ...” The servant, named Wilhelm, shook his head and tried not to stare at the blood. “Your people,” he went on. “They’re standing outside the castle.”
“What? What people?”
“The subjects.”
“Which subjects?” the queen demanded.
“All of them, Your Majesties.”
The king and queen leaped to their feet. “But why?” the queen asked.
“I ... I’m not sure,” said the servant. “I think it might have to do with the golden smoke.”
“What smoke?” said the queen.
“The dragon,” Gretel whispered to her.
“What?” the king said. Hansel gave him a meaningful look. “Oh,” he said. “Right.” He turned to his wife. “Should we go down?” He looked concerned.
The queen looked at her children.
“It’s okay,” Hansel said. Gretel nodded.
But the queen said, “No. Let them wait.”
“But, Your Majesty!” the servant said. “They’re calling for you!”
“Let them call,” the queen replied.
The king added, “Try to keep them entertained.”
The servant was about to protest again, but, on seeing the expressions on his masters’ faces, thought better of it. He closed the door. Hansel and Gretel smiled at their parents, and Hansel started again.
In the hallway, the other servants crowded around Wilhelm. “What are we supposed to do?” one asked.
“Keep them entertained,” Wilhelm said. “Somehow.”
“What are they saying in there?” another asked. “I think I hear the children talking.”
So the servants leaned their heads against the door. Hansel was telling of the portrait of the golden princess.
“Quick!” said Wilhelm. “Go get everyone you can. Every servant in the castle.” So one of them did, as the others continued to listen at the door.
When all the servants were assembled, Wilhelm said, “Jacob and I”—he gestured to the servant to his right —“are going to listen at the door and relay everything we hear. Then you pass it down, as best you can, to the next servant, and keep passing it, all the way out to the balcony. The royal crier will stand on the balcony and relay it all to the subjects.” He turned to the kitchen staff. “Go and make food. For everybody.”
“For everybody?!” the chief cook exclaimed.
“Everybody!”
And so the plan was carried out. Hansel and Gretel told the whole tale, from the old king’s deathbed all the way through the beheading of their father. And the servants relayed it, as best as they could, down the halls of the castle and out to the royal crier, who in turn relayed it to the people of the Kingdom of Grimm.
The storytelling took all through the day, and into the early evening. And then, as the stars were beginning to twinkle, but before the creepy moon had made an appearance in the southern sky, Hansel and Gretel finished. The family hugged one another once more, very tightly, and stood up. They stretched their arms and legs, and then they went to the door. The servants had retreated to the opposite wall of the corridor. When the king came out, he asked what they were all doing there. Wilhelm said that they were ready to take them down to the great balcony, where their subjects were still waiting. They’d been fed.
“You fed them?” the queen said. “That was very clever of you.”
Wilhelm bowed.
“What did you tell them?” the king asked.
Wilhelm rubbed his hand nervously over his hair. He looked at Jacob and the other servants. They all looked at the floor. He said, “We told them what Hansel and Gretel told you. About their adventures.” The queen raised her eyebrows. “And let me be the first to congratulate the children,” he added quickly, “on the successful vanquishing of
