CHAPTER 3:
The building was strangely situated in the town, not actually aligned to the street it was on, but located effectively in the middle of the cobbled road. It was an old house, with wooden frames and stacked overhangs that betrayed its origins in the age of ars nova. Gaston's family had lived there for generations — well before the street was laid or the town was built around it. His abode was on the second floor.
Belle knocked at the upstairs door. The handsome mound of meat opened for her, wearing upon his face a weird smile that he seemed to have rehearsed in many a mirror. He was expecting her.
Belle smiled back flatly. "Bonjour, Gaston," she said. She stepped inside. The place looked like some kind of charnel house: everything in it was made from bone, ivory, antlers and fur, including the windows which were cut from thin strips of horn. Still, she was relieved to see that Gaston's rotund little crony, LeFou, was in the room. It probably meant Gaston wasn't planning another marriage proposal — or worse. "Been… up to anything interesting?" she asked, hoping to keep things amiable.
"I've been killing animals!" Gaston answered oh so proudly.
"Animals? Like, rodents?"
"No!" Gaston said with a frown. "Just shot me a lion! They're extinct in Europe now — thanks to me!"
"Ah. I see," said Belle, revolted by the thought. "So… what is it you wanted to say to me today, Gaston?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.
Gaston was truly a little puzzled for what to say. Articulating his feelings — especially if they betrayed any vulnerability — was not his strong suit. There was plenty he wanted to communicate to the beauty before him, but his conversational track record with the girl was grim.
"I want to remind you," he began, "any girl in town would be glad to have me for a husband."
Belle sighed in dismay. This again. "I'm sure you'll be very happy with one of them, Gaston," she replied.
"Women camp around my doorstep just to get a look at me. I find peep-holes drilled in my bedroom walls. And yet you think you can just turn me down, when I ask you to marry me — and then run off? No word? No explanation?" He stepped towards her, his thick hands on his slender hips.
"Gaston, it was a proposal. I have every right to say yes or no."
"And toss me in the mud while you're at it?" he growled irately.
Belle knew what he referred to. She had observed the incident from the window. Her amusement over the matter had long since faded. "I'm very sorry about that, Gaston, really. The pond isn't anywhere near the front door. I didn't think you'd fly two-hundred feet from the porch to land in it. Now, I'm sorry if you took it badly — but I really don't think we're a good fit for each other."
"What do you mean?" he asked, bemused. "I am the best looking fellow in this town. You're the best looking girl in town. We're a perfect pair!"
"But I want something more than just someone to look at," said Belle. She was already eyeing the door, knowing this conversation was going nowhere.
"Like what?" asked Gaston. "Strength, money, social connections, hunting prowess, body hair?"
"He is the only guy in town with all his teeth," added LeFou.
"Yeah," Gaston admonished, "don't underestimate the teeth!" He suddenly raced to the mirror to check their condition.
Belle was exasperated. "I just want… something I've never been able to find in this town. Something else. A freedom I haven't ever been able to find here."
Gaston smiled confidently, now that he knew his teeth were okay. "So we'll move away!" he said. "Problem solved."
"No, really," protested Belle. "It isn't that at all. I… just don't see how you and I would be happy together." She tried to think of a way to explain it in a manner Gaston could understand. "I mean — what will happen once we're both old and ugly?"
Gaston's eyes widened in shock, like this was a notion that had never crossed his mind before.
LeFou jumped in. "Gaston's not going to get old," he protested. "I mean, who lives to be older than thirty-five around here, anyway?"
"Well," said Belle with a smile, "my papa has lived a long time, and I probably am going to carry on likewise. So, really, you see what the problem is. Now, I have to get going — I have to start dinner — but please try to understand, Gaston?" Belle was able to force a friendly gaze and give him a quick farewell pat on the shoulder. "I'm sure you'll find the right girl someday. Someone as beautiful as you," she reassured. She then turned and hurried out the door before he could think of a retort.
As she bolted like a bat out of hell, she heard that booming voice call behind her:
"Think it over, Belle!"
She couldn't believe it. He still wasn't completely put off. She groaned. How could he not see that she simply didn't want him?
When she arrived home from the unprosperous visit, her father directed her attention to a mysterious package that awaited on the kitchen table. It was wrapped in brown paper. In green ink was overwritten To Belle.
She tore open the wrapper, already anticipating what was inside. As she had been promised, it was a large, expensively bound book. The pages appeared to be blank; but she closed it, and said as if addressing the object: "I'd like to read Aucassin and Nicolette, please."
She opened the book, and found the original text of that very chantefable before her. She smiled, closed the book, and tested once again. "Let me see the greatest book that's ever been written." She opened the cover and found inside a handwritten manuscript — perhaps never published — of an obscure but, from the looks of it, utterly fascinating tale.
Thrilled with the new toy, Belle shut and tried again with various requests: "Show me my favorite book! Show me a book about a princess who fights a dragon! Show me a book from China! Show me a book that never uses the letter E!" Every time, her request was fulfilled instantaneously.
Laughing, she wondered if she ought to thank the Enchantress for such a wonderful gift, even if it was, perhaps, not given with the most generous of intentions. She could tell it was only meant to keep her from returning to the castle.
With her thoughts suddenly upon her old friend, she asked the magical tome: "Show me the Prince's favorite book!"
A copy of Diderot's Bijoux Indiscrets appeared upon the pages. Belle was intrigued. She began to blush as she realized just what sort of a book it was. It was the kind of melding of fairytale and erotica that a head-in-the-clouds girl like her could only dream of. So this had been the Beast's favorite book? She regretted that the two of them had never become close enough for him to have revealed this information to her. She could imagine the conversation that would have been: the pair of them in the library, or sitting by the fireside, giggling and blushing as they discussed the naughty tale and read aloud each other's favorite passages.
With a sigh of remorse, she figured that at least, after all he had suffered, he was finally happy with his Enchantress wife. And she was happy for his happiness.
…
Two weeks passed. The monotony of the village went on unchanged: Belle strolled out for errands every few days and met with the gawks and commentaries of the townspeople. Gaston persisted in his outrageous attempts to "happen upon her" and show off his strong points, such as octopus wrestling. Papa toiled away at another invention that would probably cost more to build than it would ever bring in, no matter how good an idea it was. Every day like clockwork, turning and turning but going nowhere.
It was about midday when the tireless monotony was disrupted by a knock at Belle's front door. Before she opened, she checked her father's spy-viewer to make sure that the visitor wasn't going to be Gaston yet again. To her relief, she viewed instead an older woman whom she recognized from around town; a younger man was behind her, but he was too obscured in the distorted lens to identify.
Belle opened to the gray haired lady's greeting.
"Bonjour, Belle," the woman piped affably. "This might seem a bit odd, but there's a mute young man who was wandering about the downtown, and he — "
Suddenly, without letting the woman finish, the mute young man sprang forward like a ballet dancer, boldly darted into Belle's house, and slammed the door in the woman's face without another word.
"What on earth —" Belle began. She required a moment to recognize the gentleman, whom she had only seen once before. "…Beast?… Prince?" she asked.
It was indeed the Prince. His tall, strong body and enormous cowlick was unmistakable. She would have expected to see him happy, well dressed and collected after his recent good fortune; but instead he appeared sickly, weary and distressed. His long hair hung loose and tangled. The clothes he wore, though of fine material, looked dirty and somewhat thoughtlessly combined, as if he had dressed himself in great haste and then — undoubtedly — wandered through the woods for several hours.
For a moment, he only stared at her, without saying a word. His big blue eyes were pleading for something.
Belle was taken aback. "What's wrong? Is something the matter? What are you doing here in the village?"
The Prince looked helpless. He seemed as if he made several false starts at saying something, but there were no words. At last he tapped his throat.
"You… can't speak?" asked Belle, attempting to discern his meaning.
The Prince nodded excitedly.
Belle immediately put her mind to solving this problem. "Can you write?" she asked.
The Prince nodded again. She led him to the table and brought forth a quill, ink, and some paper. Standing over the papers, he dipped the quill.
In his ten years as a Beast, the Prince had known little opportunity to practice writing. His penmanship thus remained a childlike scrawl. It added an extra layer of pathos to everything he put down. As Belle stood next to him, she noticed that his ears had been pierced and were adorned with small gold rings; her eye also caught a glint of a gold necklace peeping from the collar of his white shirt.
With pen and ink he intently wrote out:
THE ENCHANTRESS IS EVIL
SHE DROVE THE SERVANTS AWAY
SHE USES MAGIC TO FORCE
He suddenly stopped writing and crossed out the last two words. He looked as if he were too ashamed to finish the thought. He resumed:
TOOK MY VOICE BY MAGIC
Belle almost smiled at that, guilty as she felt for it. Knowing the Beast as she did, she could well imagine he had lost his temper and yelled at the Enchantress, who then retaliated. He might have deserved it. But any amusement she found was quickly felled when he added the next lines:
TOLD HER I WILL NOT MARRY HER
SHE REFUSES TO RELEASE ME
I FLED - BUT SHE WILL FIND ME
He underlined the last line for emphasis. Belle read, her horrified frown pulled deeper by each word. The Prince put down the quill and gripped her arm, pleadingly.
"Prince," she said. "That's terrible! But what do you want me to do?"
The Prince gave her the most desperate, imploring stare she had ever had the misfortune to see. He seemed on the verge of tears. Then suddenly he winced in frustration and looked away. He plainly didn't know what was to be done, himself.
Belle hugged him around the shoulders, trying to provide some comfort. "It's alright… everything is going to be fine…" she said.
Not knowing what else there was she could do for him, she invited him to stay for lunch.
The Prince could only accept.
The fact was, when he had escaped from his own castle during the night, he had not particularly intended to flee to Belle's house; in fact he would have preferred not to involve her in the matter. He was extremely ashamed of the whole affair. He wished he could handle it himself. It should not have become a problem — had he not been so cowardly — had he not been so weak — had he not been so stupid — had he not been so unworthy of love when Belle was at the castle —
But there were no towns any closer, and he had no other friends. He had to turn to Belle.
When Maurice came upstairs from his workshop, Belle introduced their visitor as the former Beast, and provided her father the brief explanation of his distress. At this, the Prince turned crimson in a double humiliation — firstly that another person should know about his problem, and secondly for shame at how he had treated Maurice the last they met. Without power of speech, he could not even apologize for it.
Maurice retained his terror of The Beast to this day, but seeing him in the form of a troubled young handsome had a way of softening his negative opinions. It truly seemed like a completely different person — and in this instance, it was a young friend of Belle's who was suffering from some domestic problem. He began to reason out the same kinds of solutions he would offer any person in that situation: why don't you stay with us till you get back on your feet, we can go with you to collect your things, etc.
The Prince could only sit silently, and shake his head.
When food was ready, Belle took the pot from the fire and placed it on a trivet in the middle of the table. She passed out wooden bowls.
Belle ladled up her dish, Maurice did the same with his. They sat and waited for their guest to do likewise, but the Prince only sat motionless.
"Are you not eating?" Maurice finally asked.
The Prince appeared puzzled.
Belle suddenly realized that this was a Prince who had never had to prepare his own plate in all his life. The thought didn't even occur to him. She swiftly took his bowl and filled it for him, giggling as she did.
The Prince managed a brief smile of gratitude as he accepted the dish.
When the Prince raised his spoon to his lips, Belle noticed his sleeve fell back, and revealed dark bruises on his wrist. It seemed that the Enchantress was not merely scaring him or humiliating him. With a frown, she tried to think of a way to help her friend. "Is there anything that could make her go away?" she asked.
The Prince offered a helpless shrug. In his best attempt at mimery, he conveyed that he had indeed tried to physically fight her, but lost the battle. He then slumped and put his hands to his head in frustration, a look of pain upon his youthful face.
"Just give her a stern talking-to," said Maurice, well-intentioned and useless as always. "Really make it known you mean business. I know you have it in you," he said.
The Prince hung his head in shame. He already knew that the Enchantress cared little for his threats or fury. And neither Belle nor her father comprehended how bad the situation had truly become.
…
After eating, Maurice returned to the cellar, leaving Belle and the Prince alone to confer. Belle brought out more writing paper.
"There has to be something we can do," she said. She already looked worried, but her countenance tightened to the breaking point as she asked, "Did you… already marry her?"
The Prince shook his head. He then sighed wretchedly and added to the paper:
TOMORROW
Belle winced. "Well, maybe she'll have a last minute change of heart?"
He shook his head again. On the paper he wrote:
SHE PLANNED THIS FROM THE BEGINNING
Then, without any warning, there was a third person in the room. Not entering the room — in the room. It was the Enchantress.
Her small, twisted figure seemed far too frail to inflict harm upon such a strapping young man as the Prince. Yet the moment he perceived her, he jumped to his feet and tried to run as if his life depended on it.
"There you are!" she cried. "I've been looking all over for you!" She reached out with her hand.
Though the Prince was situated several feet away from her, an invisible force gripped him in imitation of the Enchantress's gesture. It lifted him from the floor, like a child might lift up their pet gerbil to force it into playtime.
Belle was astonished. It took her a moment to gather her wits, but when she understood what was happening, she leapt to the defense of her friend. "Let him go!" she demanded. She stiffened, instinctively attempting to look resolute and stand up to the bully before her.
The Enchantress glanced at Belle, but addressed her words to the Prince. "Her again! You still pining for that one? Well, we can take care of this later…"
In a bright flash, and a wisp of smoke, both the Enchantress and the Prince had vanished from the room.
Belle was amazed. She immediately feared for what might have happened to her friend, and wondered where he was taken or what was being done to him. Then, she suddenly raced upstairs to her room.
The magic mirror was safely tucked in a drawer of her dresser. It had been presented with the intention that she could look fondly at the Prince. Now, it gave her a means to guard him. Whipping it out, she called aloud: "Magic mirror, show me the Prince!"
The mirror exploded with green light. The image upon the glass suddenly displayed the Prince, writhing against invisible bonds. It appeared he was back in his own castle. The Enchantress was before him, speaking to him with that erotic leer of hers.
"…and one who is a powerful fairy beyond that. Anyone else would be glad to have an interested bride like me! I should not have to work this hard to keep you. Is it that other girl, Belle, who's provoking this?"
The old woman waved her hand. Suddenly the Prince coughed, and could speak again.
"Belle has nothing to do with it," he protested. "It's you! You're a crazy, violent, cruel —!"
"Careful, you remember what happened last time you used that kind of language with me."
"I knew it from the start!" he screamed. He was outraged, violently writhing against the helpless position in which she held him. "It was never because I 'didn't have love in my heart' was it? I knew the first time I saw you that you were like this — that you were the most horrible creature under creation —"
"And I put down ten years of work to get you nice and submissive. What happened to all that? Where's my little Prince who is happy to obliterate his whole personality just to impress a girl?"
"I loved Belle!" he shrieked. "I'd have done anything for her! But you — I will fucking kill you when I have the chance!" he roared, writhing so hard against the forces that withheld him that he looked as if he would break his own bones.
"Good luck with that," laughed the old Enchantress, her bulging eye gleaming with a wicked joy. She extended a withered hand and grabbed him by the shirt. Something in the way she did it hurt him. He howled. Tears formed in his eyes. "But maybe I miscalculated some things," she said to the sobbing young captive. "Maybe what we need to do is erase all your memories? No more bad recollections about me, that way — and no more good recollections about that Belle, either. That's an easy enough spell to cast."
From her bedroom, Belle gasped. She didn't need another second of observation: she put down the mirror and bolted down the stairs. She had no plan, but she knew she needed to act immediately, before something terrible and perhaps irreversible happened to the Prince. Whatever the Enchantress was up to, it had the Prince plenty scared; and now she mirrored that sentiment.
Maurice had opened the cellar doors to let in some light; thus he observed Belle racing from the house with her cape on, headed for Philippe's stable.
"What is it?" he called up to her. "Where are you going now?"
"I have to go to the castle!" she cried back, a wretched distress evident in her tone. "The Prince is in trouble!"
"At the castle? But — wasn't he just here a minute ago?"
"The Enchantress took him away! He's in danger! I have to go now!"
Maurice dropped what he was doing and climbed up to meet her. "Now hold on there…" he began. He could see his daughter was genuinely alarmed, and she wasn't one to panic about nothing. Nevertheless, he perceived that her scheme had some issues with the engineering. "You say the Enchantress took him away to the castle, and you have to go to him. What are you going to do once you're there? If the Prince isn't able to reason with her, do you suppose you'll do any better?" He put his arm around Belle.
"I can't just do nothing!" cried Belle.
"Of course not," agreed Maurice. "But you need to have some kind of plan! I don't want to see you locked up in the dungeon out there again!" He spoke with real concern, and real fear.
Belle relented. She realized her father did have a good point. She knew the Beast. He was no milksop; any woman who was bullying him to this degree was a force to be reckoned with. On her own, the best she could hope to achieve was to help the Prince escape — and she had already witnessed that the Enchantress possessed the power to find him from afar. If she wanted to know a real success, it required that she neutralize the Enchantress in some way. But what kind of a person could go head to head with an evil, all-powerful Enchantress and win? And how could she find such a person at a moment's notice?
…
Belle burst through the tavern doors. The view offered her a direct line to that massive horned chair Gaston always liked to sit in. As was often the case, he was seated in it, drinking one of those crazy English style beers he was obsessed with.
"Gaston!" Belle called, hurrying into the room. "I need to talk with you, right now!"
The village's tavern was not terribly lively in the afternoon, but there were a few grizzled village folks sprinkled amidst the tables. They had just lucked into front row seats at the best show in town, starring its two most beautiful citizens.
