CINDERELLA’S SISTER

Town people were calling her Dearie. Watching that little girl bound across a courtyard, dodging imaginary dangers, nobody would ever think of calling her by the solemn name chosen by her mother: Alma.

Her knees were constantly covered in scratches, her voice was as clear as nightingale’s.  She loved to play alone and roam through the old town, its backyards, passages and forgotten corners. She had a number of favourite places: a roof low enough for her to climb up on from the branch of a gnarled apple tree growing next to it, an abandoned shed, the stairs full of flower pots, leading up to a walled-in door. But the place she loved above all was the stone paved outer courtyard of the castle, echoing with voices of merchants and coachmen, filled with dogs barking, with hoofs stomping, and with the sound of her own voice, raising above all the noise.

She had her secret treasures, as varied as goings-on in the courtyard of the castle. Whenever she came across something new, she would carefully hide her old treasure and then forget it. Among her treasures was a broken tambourine, repaired with a piece of ribbon, an old leather purse full of the most beautiful pebbles, a piece of wood shaped like a bird. And then she found an old mirror. The face she saw reflected in its cracked and misty surface wasn’t her own.

«You’re not me», she whispered, «but you can be my friend».

And from then on, whenever she had something serious to think about, she would silently discuss it with the face in the mirror.  She also liked the mirror because the back of it was covered in thick soft paper, turned yellow by time but nice to touch. She never thought of parting from her mirror, so she started carrying two treasures around with her, a lasting one and one she was fond of at the moment.

She had a father and a stepmother and two stepsisters, but nobody at home cared much about her. Yet, as soon as she was big enough to do household chores, they shut her in the house and set her to work. And while she was working, she wasn’t allowed to sing.

“Stop screeching!” shouted her stepmother. “I can’t stand your voice!“

And Alma was silent, but she kept singing a silent song.

The first time her stepmother called her Cinderella, it was meant as a joke – soon it turned into a habit.

Sometimes Alma would manage to escape from all the work forced upon her but she was no longer free to wander and roam around carelessly. Now she thought in advance about what she would do with the half-hour of stolen freedom. Not that she needed to think very hard, she chose the same place almost always. She kept coming into the castle courtyard, because of all hustle and bustle, voices and echoes – yes, but now there was yet another reason.

People rushed across the courtyard, eyes on their barrels and their coaches, but Alma never walked hurriedly. She would stop to take in the sight and her eyes would roam around. And so, one day, she noticed the Prince standing on the terrace above the arcades. Thereafter, she kept looking for him. And sometimes she saw him standing at a window or on the same terrace again, and sometimes even in the courtyard and up close. A glance at his face brought smile on hers, and her silent song grew louder.

And then, one day, the Queen was passing through the town. Riding in her carriage, she stopped at each house in search of girls for her choir. She was looking for twenty loveliest voices to sing at the court festivities and all the girls in the town were supposed to greet her with a song.

And all the girls did, except for one. Alma was sent to her tiny room and ordered to stay there, quiet. Her stepsisters sang for the Queen, but their voices faltered; the older sister’s voice went to high, the younger sister’s voice too low.

“Do you not have one more daughter?” asked the Queen and Alma’s stepmother didn’t dare to lie to a royalty.

“She is not my daughter”, she replied quite truthfully.

“Summon her, all the same”, said the Queen.

Alma was brought in, but she greeted the Queen with a silent curtsy. She was forbidden to sing, so she remained silent. Perhaps she felt rebellious, perhaps she felt sad – it was hard to guess, because she would not utter a word.

“Are you to be the only one who does not wish to sing for me?” said the Queen. This brought a smile to the stepmother’s lips, as she detected annoyance in the Queen’s voice.

“Or maybe it is that you cannot sing here?” added the Queen, and the smirk disappeared from the stepmother’s face.

«Come to the castle and we’ll see what comes out of it.»

«Sing here, sing now, Cinderella!» screamed the stepmother, realizing her mistake. The colour drained from her face and she turned as white as a sheet, she turned so white that she faded away and out of this story. And Alma was already being driven off in the royal carriage.

As soon as they had reached the courtyard, Alma sang for the queen. She joined the choir and was given new things for a new life, but something she kept from the old one: her magical mirror.

She sang in the choir for a year, and her voice grew more and more beautiful. But then the castle became too small for her; even though her heart still fluttered whenever she saw the Prince, she decided to go out into the world. It wasn’t an easy decision to make. Night after night she gazed in her misty mirror searching for advice until she had made up her mind.

During her year in the castle, the Prince was feeling very happy. He was living surrounded by Alma’s voice, but it had never crossed his mind that he had the girl and her voice to thank for his happiness. He was engaged to a Princess from another kingdom, but he did not really love anyone.

The night when Alma left, the Prince had a strange dream: he was lying on a golden mist, but a gust of wind dispersed the mist and he found himself falling into some kind of murky abyss. Deeply impressed by the dream, he tried to find an explanation of it. He asked the wise men at court, and when they could not give him an answer, he too went out into the world.

Alma traveled around looking for the best singers. When she found one, she learnt from her or him, but she learnt even more by travelling around and discovering the diversity of the world. She traveled without money. When she needed a place to sleep, she sang, and when she needed to eat, she sang again.

She sang in squares flooded by the glow of evening light, she sang for people whose eyes shone in gratitude. She sang about everything she had seen and she sang about love of it. She managed to sing about love without uttering a single love word, and yet everyone understood her. And no matter how dangerous the roads she traveled, nobody ever hurt her. Maybe this was because she never had anything that would cause greed; maybe because already as a young girl she had to become both strong and nimble, both fearless and cautious.

The Prince also traveled, constantly searching for an explanation to his dream. He heard many interpretations, and he learnt a lot, but he came no closer to finding the answer he could believe in.

And then one day he heard Alma singing in a square, and when he came closer he saw the golden mist around her and knew that he no longer needed an explanation. He stopped her in mid-song.

“Young lady, will you be my wife?” he asked her and went on to tell her how he would break off his engagement and that he was a prince.

“I am the queen of my country “, she sad, “and although it is everywhere and nowhere, I do not wish to abandon it.”

“But I want you to marry me”, said the Prince, bewildered by her reply.

“It is not fitting for the wife of a prince to sing on the street”, she said.

And so they parted.

The Prince went back to his castle, but his life felt empty and grey. He wouldn’t say much about his adventures, but now there was always a tinge of sadness in his eyes. He stayed in his rooms and thought. He thought and thought and thought, and finally he concluded that neither his castle, nor his future throne was worth anything without Alma. So he went out to look for her again.

“If you will not come with me”, he said, interrupting her in mid-song again, “I will go with you, wherever you choose!”

“It is not fitting for a prince to travel dusty roads”, Alma said, and so they parted for a second time.

The Prince’s life at the castle didn’t change much apparently, but Alma’s singing changed a bit after he had left. There was a new kind of longing in it, heard and understood by the people of her ever-changing kingdom. Fearing they would soon lose her, they loved her even more.

And then one day the Prince decided to look for Alma again. If nothing else, he wanted to see her one more time.

He found her singing and it seemed to him that he had never heard her sing so beautifully. He listened, lost in the multitude of people; and he walked up to her only once the song was over and the people had started to leave.

“What do you want of me?” he asked her. “A travelling castle with a stone square on wheels? I’d make it for you if I could!”

She did not reply. Instead, she took the old mirror out of her pocket. What should I do? she asked in her inaudible voice. And the misty image spoke back silently: I guess it’s time now.

«Do you have a pen?» she finally asked.

Although surprised, the Prince handed her his golden pen, and she turned her mirror over and wrote the following on the back: «I may come and go as I please. And I do not have to wear any crown.»

By this time the Prince had become a wise man, so he signed this condition without hesitation. She added her name, and so the contract was made.

As he signed, the Prince knew that his love and then their children and even time itself would keep her by his side. As she signed the contract, Alma knew that this decision, with everything it might bring, would be good for her song. Both of them were right, but only up to a point, and if they are still alive – well, they might have some trouble understanding each other occasionally.

(from the book of tales for children Sunshine, translated by the author)