From: nisaba@dodo.com.au   
      
   BLUEBEARD   
      
   © Nisaba Merrieweather 2008   
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
   Once upon a time, in a land far away, a man with striking blue eyes built a   
   castle. Heavily fortified, it had vertical bars on every window and   
   horizontal bars on every door, and from every door handle hung a huge black   
   padlock with its own huge black key, that hung always on a giant key-ring   
   that he wore on his belt for the world to see. He filled the counting-house   
   with money from floor to ceiling, he filled the treasury with jewellery and   
   treasures beyond price from floor to ceiling, he filled the pantries with   
   food from floor to ceiling, he filled the ice-house with meats of all kinds   
   from floor to ceiling, he filled the granaries with wheat and rice and   
   barley and rye from floor to ceiling. And lastly, he filled the courtyards,   
   surrounded by high, strong stone walls, with fruit trees heavy with every   
   kind of sweetness, and with flowering herbs of all kinds filling the air   
   beneath the trees with the richest of perfumes.   
      
      
      
   He looked at his castle, so impregnable, and his bunch of keys, and knew   
   that none could come in or go out without his permission. And it gave him   
   pleasure. He looked at everything in his castle and his courtyard and knew   
   he had everything he needed to live, and that gave him pleasure, too.   
      
      
      
   Most of all, he loved sapphires. The whole eastern corner of his treasury   
   was filled with sapphires: pale-blue ones from Ceylon, dark-blue ones from   
   Australia, and every shade of blue between from every country on the world.   
   Mountains upon mountains of them gleamed in the sunlight falling across them   
   from the high barred window. His yellow and pink sapphires were mixed with   
   his other treasures, but after glancing at them he would always turn to his   
   blue sapphires. And the sapphires were lit by the falling sunlight, and   
   reflected back on his glossy, oiled beard, making it shine with a deep blue   
   iridescence over its natural black, a blue that made his beard echo the blue   
   of his own eyes.   
      
      
      
   The years passed and he became lonely. The gleam of treasure was not so   
   pretty without someone else's eyes to see it. The lush sweetness of figs and   
   dates twisted at perfect ripeness off the tree was not so sweet if he could   
   not feed it to appreciative lips, to sweet lips.   
      
      
      
   He took to riding his dapple-grey horse through the town on market day, and   
   talking to the stallholders and customers, but although he was open and   
   friendly he was still the newcomer in the big castle, and the townsfolk were   
   nervous. Month after month he came and talked, and befriended a widow and   
   her three grown daughters. One day he asked them if they would like to come   
   to the castle for a feast in their honour.   
      
      
      
   The widow looked at her eldest daughter.   
      
      
      
   The eldest looked away. "I do not like him, Mother," she said.   
      
      
      
   "Why, child?"   
      
      
      
   "I do not know," she replied. I just know that I do not think he is a nice   
   man. And she would not go.   
      
      
      
   The widow looked at her second daughter.   
      
      
      
   The second daughter fidgeted. "Well, he's been nice to us," she said, "and   
   his offer is generous. But I'm uneasy."   
      
      
      
   Before the widow could look at her youngest daughter, she laughed and said:   
   "He's being more than nice to us! Look at the beautiful castle he has built,   
   and how it reflects the sunlight off its white stone surfaces! Look at how   
   he comes to town every market day just to talk to people, buy produce   
   without even haggling, sometimes paying for food for the poor to take home   
   so that they get two loaves instead of one. Look at how nice he has been to   
   everyone, especially us, for so long! I feel we should be nice to him in   
   return, I feel that it is unkind to repay generosity with suspicion."   
      
      
      
   So the next week the widow took her middle daughter and her youngest   
   daughter to the feast, whilst the eldest stayed at home.   
      
      
      
   There was such merriment. The food was fresh and delicious, the bread was   
   light and fluffy, the water was cold and cleansing. After the meal the man   
   showed the widow and her two younger daughters around the castle, with its   
   grand walks, its arches, its windows, its thick soft carpets, its   
   hand-carved, comfortable furniture, the myriad colourful paintings and   
   tapestries on the walls. And they agreed that it was a very fine home.   
      
      
      
   "Not as fine as if I had someone to share it with," he muttered under his   
   breath.   
      
      
      
   The next week he asked them to come riding with him. The middle daughter   
   made an excuse: seeing his fine house had not persuaded her that something   
   was not wrong. The younger daughter came willingly, and her mother   
   accompanied her. The women rode on two fine chestnut mares, the man on his   
   dapple-grey gelding, its saddlebags bulging.   
      
      
      
   They rode to a clearing in the woods, with a fallen tree-trunk to sit on,   
   and a small stream trickling through between the light and the shade. There   
   they let the horses drink and graze, as he unpacked his saddlebags. They   
   were filled with wonderful things to eat, including great globular oranges   
   from his orchard, their skins the colour of embers and their juice tasting   
   of the strength of sunlight.   
      
      
      
   And there, with the permission of the widow, he asked the youngest daughter   
   to marry him, and when she said yes he produced from his pocket a golden   
   ring in the shape of a lemniscate, with a diamond in one loop and the finest   
   pale sapphire in the other, and placed it on her hand.   
      
      
      
   They prepared a magnificent wedding and invited the whole village. The bride   
   was allowed to choose any of the fabrics in his storehouse, and she chose a   
   fabric as sparkly as the stars on a still night, overlaid on another as   
   calmly silver as moonlight. At the wedding the second sister said maybe he   
   wasn't as bad as she had thought; the eldest sister just looked away without   
   saying anything. And they were married, and the youngest sister went to live   
   in the castle, where she was very, very happy.   
      
      
      
   After some time the husband called his wife to him and told her: "I am going   
   away on business for a while. I will be gone two weeks. Here is my key-ring:   
   you may enter every room in the castle which the black keys open, but the   
   tiny bronze key, that is special. Do not open the lock that it fits. I could   
   take the key with me, but I'd rather trust you. Can I trust you?"   
      
      
      
   And the young bride said he could, so he handed her the keys and said that   
   to prevent her from becoming too lonely she could invite her family to stay   
   for the two weeks, if she liked. So she thanked him and kissed him goodbye,   
   and he rode away on his dapple-grey, his saddlebags bulging.   
      
      
      
   The young bride went to her mother's house, and said that the whole family   
   could visit for two weeks. The widow had missed her, and so had her two   
   older sisters, so they came right away, leaving a note on the table for   
   their seven brothers, who were away at the wars, and would be coming home   
   any day now.   
      
      
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)