THE
SAD TALE
High on a hill, above the village, there was a
cottage wrapped in blooming apple-trees. The aromatic orchard seemed as if
painted. Coming closer you could see it really was painted. And there was
something poisonous about those precisely painted leaves, blossoms, and the
very smell seemed too persistent to be natural.
The cottage was inhabited. Its owner was a tall,
massive dark haired woman who used to wear a very sweet, syropous mask instead
of her face. Almost everyone who came in touch with this person felt uneasy and
wished to depart at once.
There was something unpleasantly false about all
the house and its mistress.
She used to arrange parties, and many villagers
received invitations from her, written on snowy white cards, and many had come
to her, on various occasions, Christmas, Easter, Midsummer Festival, but very
few came again. Nobody could explain why. The smiling mask was so sweet, the
coffee so good, real fire. Nevertheless, the air seemed thick and heavy, only
sometimes disturbed by a light breeze that whispered softly: Run away, run…
The servants of this woman looked a bit strange,
with dark circles under their eyes, always silent. The mistress used to repeat:
Ah, my fools, my silly bags. What would they do without me?
Each day started the same way. One of the servants
was taken to the mistress’ cabinet, for a talk. The poor thing was being
tortured for an hour at least, sometimes even to the end of the day. The other
servants meantime felt saved: Ah, this is
not me, this time…
Now I would like to reveal you a secret. This mistress was not a human being. She was a witch, and she could make others
suffer by glancing at them, or by one of her radiant smiles.
Many servants had run away but some stayed because
they really liked the cottage and the orchard artificial as it was.
One day the witch made one of the servants to dig
out a blooming jasmine and throw it into the fire, and instead of it to plant
plastic fir-trees.
There was one more person in the cottage, a big
black white cat whom the witch hated passionately. She used to kick him or turn
down the chair on which the cat loved to sleep.
Was he a real cat? Only some villagers knew the
truth. The cat was once a boy who lived at the cottage together with his
Granny, a blind old lady.
One day the witch spotted their house, and fell in
love with it at once. The witch wanted to buy the cottage, but the old lady was
stubbornly wishing to die under her roof.
The evil witch at last managed to persuade the old
lady to change the cottage for a comfortable apartment, with hot water,
telephone, a bathroom. Granny gave in at last.
The vicious person sent Granny to the old people
house not listening to the boy’s protests and turned him into a big black white
cat.
The years passed, the cat grew older, the servants
came and went, and only the wicked woman remained there, still young, still
strong, wearing her thirteenth mask instead of her face.
June 15, 1993
