alanwolfmoon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alanwolfmoon) wrote2008-02-04 06:29 pm
alanwolfmoon) wrote2008-02-04 06:29 pm
Entry tags:
A god awful tie (ch 12/?) (pt1)
Title: A god awful tie... (ch 12/?) (pt1)
Pairing: House/Cuddy, Foreman/Cameron
Author: Alanwolfmoon[Unknown site tag]
Rating: PG-13
Summary: House treats some odd diseases, but even he doesn't know the cure to the one affecting PPTH
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Notes: Reviews and flames alike are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast) this one is ridiculously long (split posts..), but there's a reason for that. I've been thinking about putting this in for a long time, because it obviously makes the chapter very long, but it fits so well I can't resist.
House sighed, as not one, but two, and then three children wandered into the bedroom, complaining of bad dreams or the inability to go to sleep in the first place. Endless parades of burn and trauma victims tended to do that.
He asked them if they remembered their parents doing something specific to end bad dreams–his memories didn’t help much, given his bad dreams were *about* one of his parents–to which Chase didn’t answer, Wilson stuttered something unintelligible that he was obviously embarrassed about, and Cuddy said they had read stories.
House was silent for a long time.
There were some books, shoved way back into a corner, in a locked box, in a file box, taped shut, with a label that read “Lucky underwear–DO NOT WASH.”
They were from when he was really little, maybe three or possibly four or five, because after that he got told that he had to learn to read before he got anymore stories–something that had taken a while, given they were living in India and the only books not in Hindi that he could find were his dad’s military manuals. But the ones in the box were some his mom had read to him, a very, very long time ago. He hadn’t looked at them since he was nineteen, and he didn’t know why he still had them.
He did nothing for a long moment. It was oddly scary, thinking about reading those books to the kids surrounding him, cuddling and trying to fall asleep. The memories of those books were so deep, so private, that not even his mother knew he still had them, or the books. Reading them to someone was like... sharing that deep, private part of himself with someone, someone that could hurt him if he shared to much.
House blinked, and felt like hitting his forehead on something. The kids were three-, four- and five-year-olds. They were not going to think that deeply about what he was reading them, and even if one of them *cough*Wilson*cough* did, it was a book. It wasn’t him, it was a book.
And even if it was him. So what? Did he want to be scared of what a three-year-old might do to him for the rest of his life?
He got up, pulled down the box with the aid of a stepstool, unearthed the key from under on of the legs of his piano, and stuck it in the lock.
None of the kids seemed to find having a locked box of story-books odd.
He looked through the books inside, considering each in turn. Eventually he decided on a Hans Christian Anderson story, one of the most dog-eared and well used of the books. He figured Wilson had probably loved this story.
“Listen, this is the beginning. And when we get to the end, we shall know more than we do now.”
Chase laughed, which House ignored.
“Once there was a wicked demon–one of the worst: it was the devil.” House wondered if this was really a good story for calming nerves, but rolled his eyes internally and continued, “he was very pleased with himself because he had made a mirror that had a strange power.” of course it had a strange power, it was in a fairy tale... “anything good and beautiful reflected in it shrunk away, while everything bad and ugly swelled up.” swelled up? No wonder doctors didn’t read fairy tales very often. “The loveliest countryside looked like boiled spinach; the prettiest people looked horrible, and seemed to be standing on their heads or have no stomachs at all.” he had believed this? “As for faces, the mirror twisted them so that you couldn’t even recognize yourself. One single freckle would turn into a great blotch over your nose and mouth.” doctors *really* should not read fairy tales... “that’s the devil’s idea of a joke!”
House glanced down at the kids between paragraphs, and was unsurprised to find them looking a little disinterested. Whatever, if he was going to read a story, he might as well finish this one.
“If a good thought went through anyone’s mind while he was looking in the mirror, it pulled a face at him. The devil had a good laugh at that, too. All the pupils at his school for demons said it was a miracle.” that must be where Tritter and von-Lieberman went to grade-school... “this is the real world, they said; this mirror shows what people are really like. And they ran around with it until there wasn’t anyone or any place that hadn’t been twisted by it.” they had a point... “then the demons wanted to fly up to heaven, to make fun of the angels and even of god himself. The higher they flew, the more the mirror grinned like a gargoyle. They could scarcely hold it still. The mirror shook and grinned, and grinned and shook, till they dropped it, and it fell straight down here to earth and broke into a million pieces.” and the demons had seven years of bad luck? “That was only the start of the trouble. Some of the splinters were scarcely the size of a grain of sand, and they blew everywhere, getting into people’s eyes and making them see everything ugly and twisted. Some splinters even got into people’s hearts, and that was awful, because their hearts turned into blocks of ice.”
House paused again, seeing that the kids had gotten over the disinterest stage, and were now rather enthralled.
“Some of the pieces were big enough to use as windowpanes, but it didn’t do to look at your friends through that sort of window. Others were made into spectecals, and the people who wore them could never see things straight.” kind of the opposite of rose-colored glasses? “The devil laughed so much he nearly split his sides. And he’s laughing still, because there are plenty of those splinters flying about right now, as you will hear.”
House stopped, flipping through the book to see how long the story was. It was pretty long.
“How about you go get something to drink.” he suggested, realizing that he had accidentally hooked them with the story, thereby making it unlikely that they would fall asleep before the end. Stupid...
They all nodded and the boys followed Cuddy out to the kitchen–she was the only one who could climb onto the counter for cups.
A few minutes later they came back, and House held the cups while they climbed up.
Once they were settled in, he started again, “story two. A little boy and a little girl. In the city there are so many houses, not everyone can have a flower garden. Most people make do with a few flowers in a flowerpot. But once there were two children who did have a garden a bit bigger than a flowerpot. They weren’t brother and sister, but they loved each other just as if they were.” House could see he was losing Cuddy and Chase to a bit of boredom, but as he had guessed, Wilson was still fascinated. “Their families lived next door to each other, right up into the attics. Where their roofs joined, they each had a little window, face to face, and you only had to clamber over the gutter to get from one window to the other.” House stopped, smirking. Wilson was gripping the sheets so hard his hands were white. “No, they don’t get hit by the mirror and fall.” Wilson sighed with relief.
“Their fathers each put a wooden box across this gutter, to grow herbs for the kitchen. There were little rose trees, too, one in each box, that grew like anything. What with the sweat peas trailing over the sides of the boxes, and the rose trees twining their branches over the windows, the garden was just perfect. Of course, it was so high up, the children weren’t allowed to climb on the boxes, but they often went out to sit under the roses and play together.”
House got up, sighed, sat down in the wheelchair next to the bed, and got himself a drink.
When he came back, Wilson was waiting anxiously, Chase looked mildly interested, and Cuddy looked kind of bored.
He sat down, picking up the book again.
“In the winter, these games had to stop. The windows were all iced up. But if you warmed a coin on the stove and put it to the frozen pane, it made a round peephole, and behind each peephole was a friendly little boy or little girl. He was Kay and she was Gerda. In summer they could meet with one jump, but in winter they had to climb down a lot of stairs and then climb up a lot of stairs, and all the time the snowflakes were falling outside.“Those are the white bees swarming,” said the little girl’s old grandmother. “Have they got a queen?” asked the boy, because he knew that real bees have one. “Yes they have,” said the grandmother. “She flies at the heart of the swarm, she’s the biggest of them all. *She* never lands on the ground; she soars up again into the dark cloud. Many’s the winter night she flies through the streets of the very town and spies through the windows, making them freeze over with patterns like flowers.” “I’ve seen that,” cried both children, and so they knew it was true.“could the snow queen come in here?” asked the little girl. “Let her try!” said the boy. “I’d put her on the hot stove and melt her.” but the grandmother stroked his hair and went on to other stories.”
House cleared his throat, feeling stupid. He was actually enjoying this. He was imitating an old lady. It was stupid. Chase looked fascinated. Cuddy looked slightly less bored. Wilson was watching him with wide brown eyes that were about to pop out of his skull in anticipation. He sighed.
“In the evening, when little Kay was at home, and half undressed, he climbed up on the chair by the window, and peeped out of the little hole. A few snow-flakes were falling, and one, the largest of all, remained lying on the edge of the flower pot.”
Chase handed him his empty cup to put on the table.
“The flake of snow grew larger and larger; and at last it was like a young lady, dressed in the finest white gauze, made of a million little flakes like stars. She was so beautiful and delicate, but she was of ice, of dazzling, sparkling ice; yet she lived; her eyes gazed fixedly, like two stars; but there was neither quiet nor repose in them. She nodded towards the window, and beckoned with her hand. The little boy was frightened, and jumped down from the chair; it seemed to him as if, at the same moment, a large bird flew past the window.
The next day it was a sharp frost--and then the spring came; the sun shone, the green leaves appeared, the swallows built their nests, the windows were opened, and the little children again sat in their pretty garden, high up on the leads at the top of the House.
That summer the roses flowered in unwonted beauty. The little girl had learned a hymn, in which there was something about roses; and then she thought of her own flowers; and she sang the verse to the little boy, who then sang it with her:
"The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet,
And angels descend there the children to greet."
And the children held each other by the hand, kissed the roses, looked up at the clear sunshine, and spoke as though they really saw angels there. What lovely summer-days those were! How delightful to be out in the air, near the fresh rose-bushes, that seem as if they would never finish blossoming!
Kay and Gerda looked at the picture-book full of beasts and of birds; and it was then--the clock in the church-tower was just striking five--that Kay said, "Oh! I feel such a sharp pain in my heart; and now something has got into my eye!"
The little girl put her arms around his neck. He winked his eves; now there was nothing to be seen.
"I think it is out now," said he; but it was not. It was just one of those pieces of glass from the magic mirror that had got into his eye; and poor Kay had got another piece right in his heart. It will soon become like ice. It did not hurt any longer, but there it was.
"What are you crying for?" asked he. "You look so ugly! There's nothing the matter with me. Ah," said he at once, "that rose is cankered! And look, this one is quite crooked! After all, these roses are very ugly! They are just like the box they are planted in!" And then he gave the box a good kick with his foot, and pulled both the roses up.
"What are you doing?" cried the little girl; and as he perceived her fright, he pulled up another rose, got in at the window, and hastened off from dear little Gerda.
Afterwards, when she brought her picture-book, he asked, "What horrid beasts have you there?" And if his grandmother told them stories, he always interrupted her; besides, if he could manage it, he would get behind her, put on her spectacles, and imitate her way of speaking; he copied all her ways, and then everybody laughed at him. He was soon able to imitate the gait and manner of everyone in the street. Everything that was peculiar and displeasing in them--that Kay knew how to imitate: and at such times all the people said, "The boy is certainly very clever!" But it was the glass he had got in his eye; the glass that was sticking in his heart, which made him tease even little Gerda, whose whole soul was devoted to him.
His games now were quite different to what they had formerly been, they were so very knowing. One winter's day, when the flakes of snow were flying about, he spread the skirts of his blue coat, and caught the snow as it fell.
"Look through this glass, Gerda," said he. And every flake seemed larger, and appeared like a magnificent flower, or beautiful star; it was splendid to look at!
"Look, how clever!" said Kay. "That's much more interesting than real flowers! They are as exact as possible; there i not a fault in them, if they did not melt!"
It was not long after this, that Kay came one day with large gloves on, and his little sledge at his back, and bawled right into Gerda's ears, "I have permission to go out into the square where the others are playing"; and off he was in a moment.
There, in the market-place, some of the boldest of the boys used to tie their sledges to the carts as they passed by, and so they were pulled along, and got a good ride. It was so capital! Just as they were in the very height of their amusement, a large sledge passed by: it was painted quite white, and there was someone in it wrapped up in a rough white mantle of fur, with a rough white fur cap on his head. The sledge drove round the square twice, and Kay tied on his sledge as quickly as he could, and off he drove with it. On they went quicker and quicker into the next street; and the person who drove turned round to Kay, and nodded to him in a friendly manner, just as if they knew each other. Every time he was going to untie his sledge, the person nodded to him, and then Kay sat quiet; and so on they went till they came outside the gates of the town. Then the snow began to fall so thickly that the little boy could not see an arm's length before him, but still on he went: when suddenly he let go the string he held in his hand in order to get loose from the sledge, but it was of no use; still the little vehicle rushed on with the quickness of the wind. He then cried as loud as he could, but no one beard him; the snow drifted and the sledge flew on, and sometimes it gave a jerk as though they were driving over hedges and ditches. He was quite frightened, and he tried to repeat the Lord's Prayer; but all he could do, he was only able to remember the multiplication table.
The snow-flakes grew larger and larger, till at last they looked just like great white fowls. Suddenly they flew on one side; the large sledge stopped, and the person who drove rose up. It was a lady; her cloak and cap were of snow. She was tall and of slender figure, and of a dazzling whiteness. It was the Snow Queen.
"We have travelled fast," said she; "but it is freezingly cold. Come under my bearskin." And she put him in the sledge beside her, wrapped the fur round him, and he felt as though he were sinking in a snow-wreath.
"Are you still cold?" asked she; and then she kissed his forehead. Ah! it was colder than ice; it penetrated to his very heart, which was already almost a frozen lump; it seemed to him as if he were about to die--but a moment more and it was quite congenial to him, and he did not remark the cold that was around him.
"My sledge! Do not forget my sledge!" It was the first thing he thought of. It was there tied to one of the white chickens, who flew along with it on his back behind the large sledge. The Snow Queen kissed Kay once more, and then he forgot little Gerda, grandmother, and all whom he had left at his home.
"Now you will have no more kisses," said she, "or else I should kiss you to death!"
Kay looked at her. She was very beautiful; a more clever, or a more lovely countenance he could not fancy to himself; and she no longer appeared of ice as before, when she sat outside the window, and beckoned to him; in his eyes she was perfect, he did not fear her at all, and told her that he could calculate in his head and with fractions, even; that he knew the number of square miles there were in the different countries, and how many inhabitants they contained; and she smiled while he spoke. It then seemed to him as if what he knew was not enough, and he looked upwards in the large huge empty space above him, and on she flew with him; flew high over,the black clouds, while the storm moaned and whistled as though it were singing some old tune. On they flew over woods and lakes, over seas, and many lands; and beneath them the chilling storm rushed fast, the wolves howled, the snow crackled; above them flew large screaming crows, but higher up appeared the moon, quite large and bright; and it was on it that Kay gazed during the long long winter's night; while by day he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.
THIRD STORY. Of the Flower-Garden At the Old Woman's Who Understood Witchcraft
But what became of little Gerda when Kay did not return? Where could he be? Nobody knew; nobody could give any intelligence. All the boys knew was, that they had seen him tie his sledge to another large and splendid one, which drove down the street and out of the town. Nobody knew where he was; many sad tears were shed, and little Gerda wept long and bitterly; at last she said he must be dead; that he had been drowned in the river which flowed close to the town. Oh! those were very long and dismal winter evenings!
At last spring came, with its warm sunshine.
"Kay is dead and gone!" said little Gerda.
"That I don't believe," said the Sunshine.
"Kay is dead and gone!" said she to the Swallows.
"That I don't believe," said they: and at last little Gerda did not think so any longer either.
"I'll put on my red shoes," said she, one morning; "Kay has never seen them, and then I'll go down to the river and ask there."
It was quite early; she kissed her old grandmother, who was still asleep, put on her red shoes, and went alone to the river.
"Is it true that you have taken my little playfellow? I will make you a present of my red shoes, if you will give him back to me."
And, as it seemed to her, the blue waves nodded in a strange manner; then she took off her red shoes, the most precious things she possessed, and threw them both into the river. But they fell close to the bank, and the little waves bore them immediately to land; it was as if the stream would not take what was dearest to her; for in reality it had not got little, Kay; but Gerda thought that she had not thrown the shoes out far enough, so she clambered into a boat which lay among the rushes, went to the farthest end, and threw out the shoes. But the boat was not fastened, and the motion which she occasioned, made it drift from the shore. She observed this, and hastened to get back; but before she could do so, the boat was more than a yard from the land, and was gliding quickly onward.
Little Gerda was very frightened, and began to cry; but no one heard her except the sparrows, and they could not carry her to land; but they flew along the bank, and sang as if to comfort her, "Here we are! Here we are!" The boat drifted with the stream, little Gerda sat quite still without shoes, for they were swimming behind the boat, but she could not reach them, because the boat went much faster than they did.
The banks on both sides were beautiful; lovely flowers, venerable trees, and slopes with sheep and cows, but not a human being was to be seen.
"Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay," said she; and then she grew less sad. She rose, and looked for many hours at the beautiful green banks. Presently she sailed by a large cherry-orchard, where was a little cottage with curious red and blue windows; it was thatched, and before it two wooden soldiers stood sentry, and presented arms when anyone went past.
Gerda called to them, for she thought they were alive; but they, of course, did not answer. She came close to them, for the stream drifted the boat quite near the land.
Gerda called still louder, and an old woman then came out of the cottage, leaning upon a crooked stick. She had a large broad-brimmed hat on, painted with the most splendid flowers.
"Poor little child!" said the old woman. "How did you get upon the large rapid river, to be driven about so in the wide world!" And then the old woman went into the water, caught hold of the boat with her crooked stick, drew it to the bank, and lifted little Gerda out.
And Gerda was so glad to be on dry land again; but she was rather afraid of the strange old woman.
"But come and tell me who you are, and how you came here," said she.
And Gerda told her all; and the old woman shook her head and said, "A-hem! a-hem!" and when Gerda had told her everything, and asked her if she had not seen little Kay, the woman answered that he had not passed there, but he no doubt would come; and she told her not to be cast down, but taste her cherries, and look at her flowers, which were finer than any in a picture-book, each of which could tell a whole story. She then took Gerda by the hand, led her into the little cottage, and locked the door.
The windows were very high up; the glass was red, blue, and green, and the sunlight shone through quite wondrously in all sorts of colors. On the table stood the most exquisite cherries, and Gerda ate as many as she chose, for she had permission to do so. While she was eating, the old woman combed her hair with a golden comb, and her hair curled and shone with a lovely golden color around that sweet little face, which was so round and so like a rose.
"I have often longed for such a dear little girl," said the old woman. "Now you shall see how well we agree together"; and while she combed little Gerda's hair, the child forgot her foster-brother Kay more and more, for the old woman understood magic; but she was no evil being, she only practised witchcraft a little for her own private amusement, and now she wanted very much to keep little Gerda. She therefore went out in the garden, stretched out.her crooked stick towards the rose-bushes, which, beautifully as they were blowing, all sank into the earth and no one could tell where they had stood. The old woman feared that if Gerda should see the roses, she would then think of her own, would remember little Kay, and run away from her.
She now led Gerda into the flower-garden. Oh, what odour and what loveliness was there! Every flower that one could think of, and of every season, stood there in fullest bloom; no picture-book could be gayer or more beautiful. Gerda jumped for joy, and played till the sun set behind the tall cherry-tree; she then had a pretty bed, with a red silken coverlet filled with blue violets. She fell asleep, and had as pleasant dreams as ever a queen on her wedding-day.
The next morning she went to play with the flowers in the warm sunshine, and thus passed away a day. Gerda knew every flower; and, numerous as they were, it still seemed to Gerda that one was wanting, though she did not know which. One day while she was looking at the hat of the old woman painted with flowers, the most beautiful of them all seemed to her to be a rose. The old woman had forgotten to take it from her hat when she made the others vanish in the earth. But so it is when one's thoughts are not collected. "What!" said Gerda. "Are there no roses here?" and she ran about amongst the flowerbeds, and looked, and looked, but there was not one to be found. She then sat down and wept; but her hot tears fell just where a rose-bush had sunk; and when her warm tears watered the ground, the tree shot up suddenly as fresh and blooming as when it had been swallowed up. Gerda kissed the roses, thought of her own dear roses at home, and with them of little Kay.
"Oh, how long I have stayed!" said the little girl. "I intended to look for Kay! Don't you know where he is?" she asked of the roses. "Do you think he is dead and gone?"
"Dead he certainly is not," said the Roses. "We have been in the earth where all the dead are, but Kay was not there."
"Many thanks!" said little Gerda; and she went to the other flowers, looked into their cups, and asked, "Don't you know where little Kay is?"
But every flower stood in the sunshine, and dreamed its own fairy tale or its own story: and they all told her very many things, but not one knew anything of Kay.
Well, what did the Tiger-Lily say?
"Hearest thou not the drum? Bum! Bum! Those are the only two tones. Always bum! Bum! Hark to the plaintive song of the old woman, to the call of the priests! The Hindoo woman in her long robe stands upon the funeral pile; the flames rise around her and her dead husband, but the Hindoo woman thinks on the living one in the surrounding circle; on him whose eyes burn hotter than the flames--on him, the fire of whose eyes pierces her heart more than the flames which soon will burn her body to ashes. Can the heart's flame die in the flame of the funeral pile?"
"I don't understand that at all," said little Gerda.
"That is my story," said the Lily.
What did the Convolvulus say?
"Projecting over a narrow mountain-path there hangs an old feudal castle. Thick evergreens grow on the dilapidated walls, and around the altar, where a lovely maiden is standing: she bends over the railing and looks out upon the rose. No fresher rose hangs on the branches than she; no appleblossom carried away by the wind is more buoyant! How her silken robe is rustling!
"'Is he not yet come?'"
"Is it Kay that you mean?" asked little Gerda.
"I am speaking about my story--about my dream," answered the Convolvulus.
What did the Snowdrops say?
"Between the trees a long board is hanging--it is a swing. Two little girls are sitting in it, and swing themselves backwards and forwards; their frocks are as white as snow, and long green silk ribands flutter from their bonnets. Their brother, who is older than they are, stands up in the swing; he twines his arms round the cords to hold himself fast, for in one hand he has a little cup, and in the other a clay-pipe. He is blowing soap-bubbles. The swing moves, and the bubbles float in charming changing colors: the last is still hanging to the end of the pipe, and rocks in the breeze. The swing moves. The little black dog, as light as a soap-bubble, jumps up on his hind legs to try to get into the swing. It moves, the dog falls down, barks, and is angry. They tease him; the bubble bursts! A swing, a bursting bubble--such is my song!"
"What you relate may be very pretty, but you tell it in so melancholy a manner, and do not mention Kay."
What do the Hyacinths say?
"There were once upon a time three sisters, quite transparent, and very beautiful. The robe of the one was red, that of the second blue, and that of the third white. They danced hand in hand beside the calm lake in the clear moonshine. They were not elfin maidens, but mortal children. A sweet fragrance was smelt, and the maidens vanished in the wood; the fragrance grew stronger--three coffins, and in them three lovely maidens, glided out of the forest and across the lake: the shining glow-worms flew around like little floating lights. Do the dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? The odour of the flowers says they are corpses; the evening bell tolls for the dead!"
"You make me quite sad," said little Gerda. "I cannot help thinking of the dead maidens. Oh! is little Kay really dead? The Roses have been in the earth, and they say no."
"Ding, dong!" sounded the Hyacinth bells. "We do not toll for little Kay; we do not know him. That is our way of singing, the only one we have."
And Gerda went to the Ranunculuses, that looked forth from among the shining green leaves.
"You are a little bright sun!" said Gerda. "Tell me if you know where I can find my playfellow."
And the Ranunculus shone brightly, and looked again at Gerda. What song could the Ranunculus sing? It was one that said nothing about Kay either.
"In a small court the bright sun was shining in the first days of spring. The beams glided down the white walls of a neighbor's House, and close by the fresh yellow flowers were growing, shining like gold in the warm sun-rays. An old grandmother was sitting in the air; her grand-daughter, the poor and lovely servant just come for a short visit. She knows her grandmother. There was gold, pure virgin gold in that blessed kiss. There, that is my little story," said the Ranunculus.
"My poor old grandmother!" sighed Gerda. "Yes, she is longing for me, no doubt: she is sorrowing for me, as she did for little Kay. But I will soon come home, and then I will bring Kay with me. It is of no use asking the flowers; they only know their own old rhymes, and can tell me nothing." And she tucked up her frock, to enable her to run quicker; but the Narcissus gave her a knock on the leg, just as she was going to jump over it. So she stood still, looked at the long yellow flower, and asked, "You perhaps know something?" and she bent down to the Narcissus. And what did it say?
"I can see myself--I can see myself I Oh, how odorous I am! Up in the little garret there stands, half-dressed, a little Dancer. She stands now on one leg, now on both; she despises the whole world; yet she lives only in imagination. She pours water out of the teapot over a piece of stuff which she holds in her hand; it is the bodice; cleanliness is a fine thing. The white dress is hanging on the hook; it was washed in the teapot, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, ties a saffron-colored kerchief round her neck, and then the gown looks whiter. I can see myself--I can see myself!"
"That's nothing to me," said little Gerda. "That does not concern me." And then off she ran to the further end of the garden.
The gate was locked, but she shook the rusted bolt till it was loosened, and the gate opened; and little Gerda ran off barefooted into the wide world. She looked round her thrice, but no one followed her. At last she could run no longer; she sat down on a large stone, and when she looked about her, she saw that the summer had passed; it was late in the autumn, but that one could not remark in the beautiful garden, where there was always sunshine, and where there were flowers the whole year round.
"Dear me, how long I have staid!" said Gerda. "Autumn is come. I must not rest any longer." And she got up to go further.
Oh, how tender and wearied her little feet were! All around it looked so cold and raw: the long willow-leaves were quite yellow, and the fog dripped from them like water; one leaf fell after the other: the sloes only stood full of fruit, which set one's teeth on edge. Oh, how dark and comfortless it was in the dreary world!
Pairing: House/Cuddy, Foreman/Cameron
Author: Alanwolfmoon[Unknown site tag]
Rating: PG-13
Summary: House treats some odd diseases, but even he doesn't know the cure to the one affecting PPTH
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Notes: Reviews and flames alike are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast) this one is ridiculously long (split posts..), but there's a reason for that. I've been thinking about putting this in for a long time, because it obviously makes the chapter very long, but it fits so well I can't resist.
House sighed, as not one, but two, and then three children wandered into the bedroom, complaining of bad dreams or the inability to go to sleep in the first place. Endless parades of burn and trauma victims tended to do that.
He asked them if they remembered their parents doing something specific to end bad dreams–his memories didn’t help much, given his bad dreams were *about* one of his parents–to which Chase didn’t answer, Wilson stuttered something unintelligible that he was obviously embarrassed about, and Cuddy said they had read stories.
House was silent for a long time.
There were some books, shoved way back into a corner, in a locked box, in a file box, taped shut, with a label that read “Lucky underwear–DO NOT WASH.”
They were from when he was really little, maybe three or possibly four or five, because after that he got told that he had to learn to read before he got anymore stories–something that had taken a while, given they were living in India and the only books not in Hindi that he could find were his dad’s military manuals. But the ones in the box were some his mom had read to him, a very, very long time ago. He hadn’t looked at them since he was nineteen, and he didn’t know why he still had them.
He did nothing for a long moment. It was oddly scary, thinking about reading those books to the kids surrounding him, cuddling and trying to fall asleep. The memories of those books were so deep, so private, that not even his mother knew he still had them, or the books. Reading them to someone was like... sharing that deep, private part of himself with someone, someone that could hurt him if he shared to much.
House blinked, and felt like hitting his forehead on something. The kids were three-, four- and five-year-olds. They were not going to think that deeply about what he was reading them, and even if one of them *cough*Wilson*cough* did, it was a book. It wasn’t him, it was a book.
And even if it was him. So what? Did he want to be scared of what a three-year-old might do to him for the rest of his life?
He got up, pulled down the box with the aid of a stepstool, unearthed the key from under on of the legs of his piano, and stuck it in the lock.
None of the kids seemed to find having a locked box of story-books odd.
He looked through the books inside, considering each in turn. Eventually he decided on a Hans Christian Anderson story, one of the most dog-eared and well used of the books. He figured Wilson had probably loved this story.
“Listen, this is the beginning. And when we get to the end, we shall know more than we do now.”
Chase laughed, which House ignored.
“Once there was a wicked demon–one of the worst: it was the devil.” House wondered if this was really a good story for calming nerves, but rolled his eyes internally and continued, “he was very pleased with himself because he had made a mirror that had a strange power.” of course it had a strange power, it was in a fairy tale... “anything good and beautiful reflected in it shrunk away, while everything bad and ugly swelled up.” swelled up? No wonder doctors didn’t read fairy tales very often. “The loveliest countryside looked like boiled spinach; the prettiest people looked horrible, and seemed to be standing on their heads or have no stomachs at all.” he had believed this? “As for faces, the mirror twisted them so that you couldn’t even recognize yourself. One single freckle would turn into a great blotch over your nose and mouth.” doctors *really* should not read fairy tales... “that’s the devil’s idea of a joke!”
House glanced down at the kids between paragraphs, and was unsurprised to find them looking a little disinterested. Whatever, if he was going to read a story, he might as well finish this one.
“If a good thought went through anyone’s mind while he was looking in the mirror, it pulled a face at him. The devil had a good laugh at that, too. All the pupils at his school for demons said it was a miracle.” that must be where Tritter and von-Lieberman went to grade-school... “this is the real world, they said; this mirror shows what people are really like. And they ran around with it until there wasn’t anyone or any place that hadn’t been twisted by it.” they had a point... “then the demons wanted to fly up to heaven, to make fun of the angels and even of god himself. The higher they flew, the more the mirror grinned like a gargoyle. They could scarcely hold it still. The mirror shook and grinned, and grinned and shook, till they dropped it, and it fell straight down here to earth and broke into a million pieces.” and the demons had seven years of bad luck? “That was only the start of the trouble. Some of the splinters were scarcely the size of a grain of sand, and they blew everywhere, getting into people’s eyes and making them see everything ugly and twisted. Some splinters even got into people’s hearts, and that was awful, because their hearts turned into blocks of ice.”
House paused again, seeing that the kids had gotten over the disinterest stage, and were now rather enthralled.
“Some of the pieces were big enough to use as windowpanes, but it didn’t do to look at your friends through that sort of window. Others were made into spectecals, and the people who wore them could never see things straight.” kind of the opposite of rose-colored glasses? “The devil laughed so much he nearly split his sides. And he’s laughing still, because there are plenty of those splinters flying about right now, as you will hear.”
House stopped, flipping through the book to see how long the story was. It was pretty long.
“How about you go get something to drink.” he suggested, realizing that he had accidentally hooked them with the story, thereby making it unlikely that they would fall asleep before the end. Stupid...
They all nodded and the boys followed Cuddy out to the kitchen–she was the only one who could climb onto the counter for cups.
A few minutes later they came back, and House held the cups while they climbed up.
Once they were settled in, he started again, “story two. A little boy and a little girl. In the city there are so many houses, not everyone can have a flower garden. Most people make do with a few flowers in a flowerpot. But once there were two children who did have a garden a bit bigger than a flowerpot. They weren’t brother and sister, but they loved each other just as if they were.” House could see he was losing Cuddy and Chase to a bit of boredom, but as he had guessed, Wilson was still fascinated. “Their families lived next door to each other, right up into the attics. Where their roofs joined, they each had a little window, face to face, and you only had to clamber over the gutter to get from one window to the other.” House stopped, smirking. Wilson was gripping the sheets so hard his hands were white. “No, they don’t get hit by the mirror and fall.” Wilson sighed with relief.
“Their fathers each put a wooden box across this gutter, to grow herbs for the kitchen. There were little rose trees, too, one in each box, that grew like anything. What with the sweat peas trailing over the sides of the boxes, and the rose trees twining their branches over the windows, the garden was just perfect. Of course, it was so high up, the children weren’t allowed to climb on the boxes, but they often went out to sit under the roses and play together.”
House got up, sighed, sat down in the wheelchair next to the bed, and got himself a drink.
When he came back, Wilson was waiting anxiously, Chase looked mildly interested, and Cuddy looked kind of bored.
He sat down, picking up the book again.
“In the winter, these games had to stop. The windows were all iced up. But if you warmed a coin on the stove and put it to the frozen pane, it made a round peephole, and behind each peephole was a friendly little boy or little girl. He was Kay and she was Gerda. In summer they could meet with one jump, but in winter they had to climb down a lot of stairs and then climb up a lot of stairs, and all the time the snowflakes were falling outside.“Those are the white bees swarming,” said the little girl’s old grandmother. “Have they got a queen?” asked the boy, because he knew that real bees have one. “Yes they have,” said the grandmother. “She flies at the heart of the swarm, she’s the biggest of them all. *She* never lands on the ground; she soars up again into the dark cloud. Many’s the winter night she flies through the streets of the very town and spies through the windows, making them freeze over with patterns like flowers.” “I’ve seen that,” cried both children, and so they knew it was true.“could the snow queen come in here?” asked the little girl. “Let her try!” said the boy. “I’d put her on the hot stove and melt her.” but the grandmother stroked his hair and went on to other stories.”
House cleared his throat, feeling stupid. He was actually enjoying this. He was imitating an old lady. It was stupid. Chase looked fascinated. Cuddy looked slightly less bored. Wilson was watching him with wide brown eyes that were about to pop out of his skull in anticipation. He sighed.
“In the evening, when little Kay was at home, and half undressed, he climbed up on the chair by the window, and peeped out of the little hole. A few snow-flakes were falling, and one, the largest of all, remained lying on the edge of the flower pot.”
Chase handed him his empty cup to put on the table.
“The flake of snow grew larger and larger; and at last it was like a young lady, dressed in the finest white gauze, made of a million little flakes like stars. She was so beautiful and delicate, but she was of ice, of dazzling, sparkling ice; yet she lived; her eyes gazed fixedly, like two stars; but there was neither quiet nor repose in them. She nodded towards the window, and beckoned with her hand. The little boy was frightened, and jumped down from the chair; it seemed to him as if, at the same moment, a large bird flew past the window.
The next day it was a sharp frost--and then the spring came; the sun shone, the green leaves appeared, the swallows built their nests, the windows were opened, and the little children again sat in their pretty garden, high up on the leads at the top of the House.
That summer the roses flowered in unwonted beauty. The little girl had learned a hymn, in which there was something about roses; and then she thought of her own flowers; and she sang the verse to the little boy, who then sang it with her:
"The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet,
And angels descend there the children to greet."
And the children held each other by the hand, kissed the roses, looked up at the clear sunshine, and spoke as though they really saw angels there. What lovely summer-days those were! How delightful to be out in the air, near the fresh rose-bushes, that seem as if they would never finish blossoming!
Kay and Gerda looked at the picture-book full of beasts and of birds; and it was then--the clock in the church-tower was just striking five--that Kay said, "Oh! I feel such a sharp pain in my heart; and now something has got into my eye!"
The little girl put her arms around his neck. He winked his eves; now there was nothing to be seen.
"I think it is out now," said he; but it was not. It was just one of those pieces of glass from the magic mirror that had got into his eye; and poor Kay had got another piece right in his heart. It will soon become like ice. It did not hurt any longer, but there it was.
"What are you crying for?" asked he. "You look so ugly! There's nothing the matter with me. Ah," said he at once, "that rose is cankered! And look, this one is quite crooked! After all, these roses are very ugly! They are just like the box they are planted in!" And then he gave the box a good kick with his foot, and pulled both the roses up.
"What are you doing?" cried the little girl; and as he perceived her fright, he pulled up another rose, got in at the window, and hastened off from dear little Gerda.
Afterwards, when she brought her picture-book, he asked, "What horrid beasts have you there?" And if his grandmother told them stories, he always interrupted her; besides, if he could manage it, he would get behind her, put on her spectacles, and imitate her way of speaking; he copied all her ways, and then everybody laughed at him. He was soon able to imitate the gait and manner of everyone in the street. Everything that was peculiar and displeasing in them--that Kay knew how to imitate: and at such times all the people said, "The boy is certainly very clever!" But it was the glass he had got in his eye; the glass that was sticking in his heart, which made him tease even little Gerda, whose whole soul was devoted to him.
His games now were quite different to what they had formerly been, they were so very knowing. One winter's day, when the flakes of snow were flying about, he spread the skirts of his blue coat, and caught the snow as it fell.
"Look through this glass, Gerda," said he. And every flake seemed larger, and appeared like a magnificent flower, or beautiful star; it was splendid to look at!
"Look, how clever!" said Kay. "That's much more interesting than real flowers! They are as exact as possible; there i not a fault in them, if they did not melt!"
It was not long after this, that Kay came one day with large gloves on, and his little sledge at his back, and bawled right into Gerda's ears, "I have permission to go out into the square where the others are playing"; and off he was in a moment.
There, in the market-place, some of the boldest of the boys used to tie their sledges to the carts as they passed by, and so they were pulled along, and got a good ride. It was so capital! Just as they were in the very height of their amusement, a large sledge passed by: it was painted quite white, and there was someone in it wrapped up in a rough white mantle of fur, with a rough white fur cap on his head. The sledge drove round the square twice, and Kay tied on his sledge as quickly as he could, and off he drove with it. On they went quicker and quicker into the next street; and the person who drove turned round to Kay, and nodded to him in a friendly manner, just as if they knew each other. Every time he was going to untie his sledge, the person nodded to him, and then Kay sat quiet; and so on they went till they came outside the gates of the town. Then the snow began to fall so thickly that the little boy could not see an arm's length before him, but still on he went: when suddenly he let go the string he held in his hand in order to get loose from the sledge, but it was of no use; still the little vehicle rushed on with the quickness of the wind. He then cried as loud as he could, but no one beard him; the snow drifted and the sledge flew on, and sometimes it gave a jerk as though they were driving over hedges and ditches. He was quite frightened, and he tried to repeat the Lord's Prayer; but all he could do, he was only able to remember the multiplication table.
The snow-flakes grew larger and larger, till at last they looked just like great white fowls. Suddenly they flew on one side; the large sledge stopped, and the person who drove rose up. It was a lady; her cloak and cap were of snow. She was tall and of slender figure, and of a dazzling whiteness. It was the Snow Queen.
"We have travelled fast," said she; "but it is freezingly cold. Come under my bearskin." And she put him in the sledge beside her, wrapped the fur round him, and he felt as though he were sinking in a snow-wreath.
"Are you still cold?" asked she; and then she kissed his forehead. Ah! it was colder than ice; it penetrated to his very heart, which was already almost a frozen lump; it seemed to him as if he were about to die--but a moment more and it was quite congenial to him, and he did not remark the cold that was around him.
"My sledge! Do not forget my sledge!" It was the first thing he thought of. It was there tied to one of the white chickens, who flew along with it on his back behind the large sledge. The Snow Queen kissed Kay once more, and then he forgot little Gerda, grandmother, and all whom he had left at his home.
"Now you will have no more kisses," said she, "or else I should kiss you to death!"
Kay looked at her. She was very beautiful; a more clever, or a more lovely countenance he could not fancy to himself; and she no longer appeared of ice as before, when she sat outside the window, and beckoned to him; in his eyes she was perfect, he did not fear her at all, and told her that he could calculate in his head and with fractions, even; that he knew the number of square miles there were in the different countries, and how many inhabitants they contained; and she smiled while he spoke. It then seemed to him as if what he knew was not enough, and he looked upwards in the large huge empty space above him, and on she flew with him; flew high over,the black clouds, while the storm moaned and whistled as though it were singing some old tune. On they flew over woods and lakes, over seas, and many lands; and beneath them the chilling storm rushed fast, the wolves howled, the snow crackled; above them flew large screaming crows, but higher up appeared the moon, quite large and bright; and it was on it that Kay gazed during the long long winter's night; while by day he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.
THIRD STORY. Of the Flower-Garden At the Old Woman's Who Understood Witchcraft
But what became of little Gerda when Kay did not return? Where could he be? Nobody knew; nobody could give any intelligence. All the boys knew was, that they had seen him tie his sledge to another large and splendid one, which drove down the street and out of the town. Nobody knew where he was; many sad tears were shed, and little Gerda wept long and bitterly; at last she said he must be dead; that he had been drowned in the river which flowed close to the town. Oh! those were very long and dismal winter evenings!
At last spring came, with its warm sunshine.
"Kay is dead and gone!" said little Gerda.
"That I don't believe," said the Sunshine.
"Kay is dead and gone!" said she to the Swallows.
"That I don't believe," said they: and at last little Gerda did not think so any longer either.
"I'll put on my red shoes," said she, one morning; "Kay has never seen them, and then I'll go down to the river and ask there."
It was quite early; she kissed her old grandmother, who was still asleep, put on her red shoes, and went alone to the river.
"Is it true that you have taken my little playfellow? I will make you a present of my red shoes, if you will give him back to me."
And, as it seemed to her, the blue waves nodded in a strange manner; then she took off her red shoes, the most precious things she possessed, and threw them both into the river. But they fell close to the bank, and the little waves bore them immediately to land; it was as if the stream would not take what was dearest to her; for in reality it had not got little, Kay; but Gerda thought that she had not thrown the shoes out far enough, so she clambered into a boat which lay among the rushes, went to the farthest end, and threw out the shoes. But the boat was not fastened, and the motion which she occasioned, made it drift from the shore. She observed this, and hastened to get back; but before she could do so, the boat was more than a yard from the land, and was gliding quickly onward.
Little Gerda was very frightened, and began to cry; but no one heard her except the sparrows, and they could not carry her to land; but they flew along the bank, and sang as if to comfort her, "Here we are! Here we are!" The boat drifted with the stream, little Gerda sat quite still without shoes, for they were swimming behind the boat, but she could not reach them, because the boat went much faster than they did.
The banks on both sides were beautiful; lovely flowers, venerable trees, and slopes with sheep and cows, but not a human being was to be seen.
"Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay," said she; and then she grew less sad. She rose, and looked for many hours at the beautiful green banks. Presently she sailed by a large cherry-orchard, where was a little cottage with curious red and blue windows; it was thatched, and before it two wooden soldiers stood sentry, and presented arms when anyone went past.
Gerda called to them, for she thought they were alive; but they, of course, did not answer. She came close to them, for the stream drifted the boat quite near the land.
Gerda called still louder, and an old woman then came out of the cottage, leaning upon a crooked stick. She had a large broad-brimmed hat on, painted with the most splendid flowers.
"Poor little child!" said the old woman. "How did you get upon the large rapid river, to be driven about so in the wide world!" And then the old woman went into the water, caught hold of the boat with her crooked stick, drew it to the bank, and lifted little Gerda out.
And Gerda was so glad to be on dry land again; but she was rather afraid of the strange old woman.
"But come and tell me who you are, and how you came here," said she.
And Gerda told her all; and the old woman shook her head and said, "A-hem! a-hem!" and when Gerda had told her everything, and asked her if she had not seen little Kay, the woman answered that he had not passed there, but he no doubt would come; and she told her not to be cast down, but taste her cherries, and look at her flowers, which were finer than any in a picture-book, each of which could tell a whole story. She then took Gerda by the hand, led her into the little cottage, and locked the door.
The windows were very high up; the glass was red, blue, and green, and the sunlight shone through quite wondrously in all sorts of colors. On the table stood the most exquisite cherries, and Gerda ate as many as she chose, for she had permission to do so. While she was eating, the old woman combed her hair with a golden comb, and her hair curled and shone with a lovely golden color around that sweet little face, which was so round and so like a rose.
"I have often longed for such a dear little girl," said the old woman. "Now you shall see how well we agree together"; and while she combed little Gerda's hair, the child forgot her foster-brother Kay more and more, for the old woman understood magic; but she was no evil being, she only practised witchcraft a little for her own private amusement, and now she wanted very much to keep little Gerda. She therefore went out in the garden, stretched out.her crooked stick towards the rose-bushes, which, beautifully as they were blowing, all sank into the earth and no one could tell where they had stood. The old woman feared that if Gerda should see the roses, she would then think of her own, would remember little Kay, and run away from her.
She now led Gerda into the flower-garden. Oh, what odour and what loveliness was there! Every flower that one could think of, and of every season, stood there in fullest bloom; no picture-book could be gayer or more beautiful. Gerda jumped for joy, and played till the sun set behind the tall cherry-tree; she then had a pretty bed, with a red silken coverlet filled with blue violets. She fell asleep, and had as pleasant dreams as ever a queen on her wedding-day.
The next morning she went to play with the flowers in the warm sunshine, and thus passed away a day. Gerda knew every flower; and, numerous as they were, it still seemed to Gerda that one was wanting, though she did not know which. One day while she was looking at the hat of the old woman painted with flowers, the most beautiful of them all seemed to her to be a rose. The old woman had forgotten to take it from her hat when she made the others vanish in the earth. But so it is when one's thoughts are not collected. "What!" said Gerda. "Are there no roses here?" and she ran about amongst the flowerbeds, and looked, and looked, but there was not one to be found. She then sat down and wept; but her hot tears fell just where a rose-bush had sunk; and when her warm tears watered the ground, the tree shot up suddenly as fresh and blooming as when it had been swallowed up. Gerda kissed the roses, thought of her own dear roses at home, and with them of little Kay.
"Oh, how long I have stayed!" said the little girl. "I intended to look for Kay! Don't you know where he is?" she asked of the roses. "Do you think he is dead and gone?"
"Dead he certainly is not," said the Roses. "We have been in the earth where all the dead are, but Kay was not there."
"Many thanks!" said little Gerda; and she went to the other flowers, looked into their cups, and asked, "Don't you know where little Kay is?"
But every flower stood in the sunshine, and dreamed its own fairy tale or its own story: and they all told her very many things, but not one knew anything of Kay.
Well, what did the Tiger-Lily say?
"Hearest thou not the drum? Bum! Bum! Those are the only two tones. Always bum! Bum! Hark to the plaintive song of the old woman, to the call of the priests! The Hindoo woman in her long robe stands upon the funeral pile; the flames rise around her and her dead husband, but the Hindoo woman thinks on the living one in the surrounding circle; on him whose eyes burn hotter than the flames--on him, the fire of whose eyes pierces her heart more than the flames which soon will burn her body to ashes. Can the heart's flame die in the flame of the funeral pile?"
"I don't understand that at all," said little Gerda.
"That is my story," said the Lily.
What did the Convolvulus say?
"Projecting over a narrow mountain-path there hangs an old feudal castle. Thick evergreens grow on the dilapidated walls, and around the altar, where a lovely maiden is standing: she bends over the railing and looks out upon the rose. No fresher rose hangs on the branches than she; no appleblossom carried away by the wind is more buoyant! How her silken robe is rustling!
"'Is he not yet come?'"
"Is it Kay that you mean?" asked little Gerda.
"I am speaking about my story--about my dream," answered the Convolvulus.
What did the Snowdrops say?
"Between the trees a long board is hanging--it is a swing. Two little girls are sitting in it, and swing themselves backwards and forwards; their frocks are as white as snow, and long green silk ribands flutter from their bonnets. Their brother, who is older than they are, stands up in the swing; he twines his arms round the cords to hold himself fast, for in one hand he has a little cup, and in the other a clay-pipe. He is blowing soap-bubbles. The swing moves, and the bubbles float in charming changing colors: the last is still hanging to the end of the pipe, and rocks in the breeze. The swing moves. The little black dog, as light as a soap-bubble, jumps up on his hind legs to try to get into the swing. It moves, the dog falls down, barks, and is angry. They tease him; the bubble bursts! A swing, a bursting bubble--such is my song!"
"What you relate may be very pretty, but you tell it in so melancholy a manner, and do not mention Kay."
What do the Hyacinths say?
"There were once upon a time three sisters, quite transparent, and very beautiful. The robe of the one was red, that of the second blue, and that of the third white. They danced hand in hand beside the calm lake in the clear moonshine. They were not elfin maidens, but mortal children. A sweet fragrance was smelt, and the maidens vanished in the wood; the fragrance grew stronger--three coffins, and in them three lovely maidens, glided out of the forest and across the lake: the shining glow-worms flew around like little floating lights. Do the dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? The odour of the flowers says they are corpses; the evening bell tolls for the dead!"
"You make me quite sad," said little Gerda. "I cannot help thinking of the dead maidens. Oh! is little Kay really dead? The Roses have been in the earth, and they say no."
"Ding, dong!" sounded the Hyacinth bells. "We do not toll for little Kay; we do not know him. That is our way of singing, the only one we have."
And Gerda went to the Ranunculuses, that looked forth from among the shining green leaves.
"You are a little bright sun!" said Gerda. "Tell me if you know where I can find my playfellow."
And the Ranunculus shone brightly, and looked again at Gerda. What song could the Ranunculus sing? It was one that said nothing about Kay either.
"In a small court the bright sun was shining in the first days of spring. The beams glided down the white walls of a neighbor's House, and close by the fresh yellow flowers were growing, shining like gold in the warm sun-rays. An old grandmother was sitting in the air; her grand-daughter, the poor and lovely servant just come for a short visit. She knows her grandmother. There was gold, pure virgin gold in that blessed kiss. There, that is my little story," said the Ranunculus.
"My poor old grandmother!" sighed Gerda. "Yes, she is longing for me, no doubt: she is sorrowing for me, as she did for little Kay. But I will soon come home, and then I will bring Kay with me. It is of no use asking the flowers; they only know their own old rhymes, and can tell me nothing." And she tucked up her frock, to enable her to run quicker; but the Narcissus gave her a knock on the leg, just as she was going to jump over it. So she stood still, looked at the long yellow flower, and asked, "You perhaps know something?" and she bent down to the Narcissus. And what did it say?
"I can see myself--I can see myself I Oh, how odorous I am! Up in the little garret there stands, half-dressed, a little Dancer. She stands now on one leg, now on both; she despises the whole world; yet she lives only in imagination. She pours water out of the teapot over a piece of stuff which she holds in her hand; it is the bodice; cleanliness is a fine thing. The white dress is hanging on the hook; it was washed in the teapot, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, ties a saffron-colored kerchief round her neck, and then the gown looks whiter. I can see myself--I can see myself!"
"That's nothing to me," said little Gerda. "That does not concern me." And then off she ran to the further end of the garden.
The gate was locked, but she shook the rusted bolt till it was loosened, and the gate opened; and little Gerda ran off barefooted into the wide world. She looked round her thrice, but no one followed her. At last she could run no longer; she sat down on a large stone, and when she looked about her, she saw that the summer had passed; it was late in the autumn, but that one could not remark in the beautiful garden, where there was always sunshine, and where there were flowers the whole year round.
"Dear me, how long I have staid!" said Gerda. "Autumn is come. I must not rest any longer." And she got up to go further.
Oh, how tender and wearied her little feet were! All around it looked so cold and raw: the long willow-leaves were quite yellow, and the fog dripped from them like water; one leaf fell after the other: the sloes only stood full of fruit, which set one's teeth on edge. Oh, how dark and comfortless it was in the dreary world!