The Happy Moron

I’m trying out a little game I thought up. The game is to retell a fairy tale or children’s story while omitting one of the major characters.

This is Hansel and Gretel, and we’ve lost Hansel… just not in the woods. This is Part III;  Part I. Part II. Part IV.

This was the beginning of a new life for Gretel. She could not leave the witch’s cottage, and, with no where else to go, there she stayed.

It was a sad and empty time. Some days she would think that she was only living a dream; everything seemed so strange, so unreal. Such a terrible, horrible dream – lost and stranded and so far, far away from home.

So Gretel stayed and was raised by the witch. She slept in the bed the old woman provided and attended to the witch as she demanded. Gretel was obedient and uncomplaining in all things, except one.

So far as she was able, she would not eat the witch’s food. She would never forget what she saw happen to the poor robin, even though it often meant hunger, or stealing something from the garden, or forging in the woods for whatever nuts and berries she could find. She would eat nothing prepared by the hand of the witch. After a time, she was given the run of the kitchen and garden, and tasked with preparing meals, and things became easier for her.

It was precious time that she spent on tasks and chores; the only things in any way familiar to her, real things from a real world outside her prison. She knew the broom, the garden and the wash line.

The witch worked the girl hard, small though she was. However, the witch was never directly unkind to her. The witch was evil, it must be said, but it was the hallmark of her malice that she scorned to waste it on petty, uncalculated discourtesy. The girl was hers, and broken, and the witch took delight in seeing her shaped and formed according to her own purposes.

The witch taught Gretel much; and she prepared many potions and medicines which she gave to the girl. On her part, Gretel avoided taking these as often as she could. Sometimes she was unable; they were nasty, horrible things. But she feigned obedience, and because of her quiet, unrebellous conduct, she gained some leeway.

“I must clean the cupboard, grandmother.” Gretel would say, “May I drink it after?”

So confident was the old woman that the girl was under her thumb, she would be content to leave the tray and have the girl return the empty glass.

I would like to tell you that living underneath the old witch had no effect on Gretel, but the truth is that the witch *did* have a great deal of power and influence upon her. For one thing, Gretel soon gave up all thought of escape from the cottage. It became familiar, and as the strangeness faded, so too did her memories and thoughts of her former home.

It was a terrible end she was being brought towards, but the insidious nature of her captor meant that if poor Gretel was aware of it, she never realized it. It was to be the work of many years, not days, or even months. Gretel was helpless.

Now, if Gretel could not completely halt the workings of the evil witch, the witch herself was powerless to stay the growth of grace and beauty. There was nothing the hag hated more; but Gretel was graceful, and Gretel was beautiful, and as she grew, she grew more so. With every passing year, the witch would curse, and brew a potion more malignant than the last… but to no avail.

So time went on, and Gretel grew, until she was no longer a little girl at all, or even a young girl.

No, for when the passing knight rode in upon the clearing, his eye was caught by, not a child, but by a maiden, a woman with a beauty that he had never before seen.

The good knight checked his horse within the border of the woods, concealed and transfixed. Who was the captive here? For if Gretel could not leave the cottage, well! Our poor young friend could not leave Gretel. That woman in the garden had him completely, and just to look upon her was enough for him.

I swear, he would be standing on that spot this very day, as rooted to the ground as all the trees around him, if, out of the cottage, the witch had not come forth.

The knight, surprised, let out a gasp at the hideous shape of the crone. He saw with clear, unhindered eyes the wretchedness, the unbridled evil. He could scarce believe it when the maiden in the garden stood up, and in a pleasant voice said, “I’m coming, grandmother.”.

She not only went to the awful creature, but gave the hag a kiss – a kiss! upon her cheek. The maiden’s beauty only served to make the witch the more repulsive.

This warranted some thought. As quietly as he knew, the knight turned his horse around and rode off. He would be back.