Anitole's Red Riding Hood

"Dear me, but you are going along the path too fast, Persephone."

Persephone was at the top of a small hill when she turned to look back at the hunched and small frame of her elderly grandmother taking the trail slowly, her stout stick making little dents in the sod of the trail as she moved.

"These hills," she muttered under her breath before looking up to meet Persephone's gaze. "I swear one of these days I'm going to give up coming to fetch you all together, Persephone. You'll be forced to stay in the village with your mother and father all the days of the week. I don't care if they think they should have one day free of you."

Persephone walked over and set on one of the broad roots of a large oak tree to wait for her grandmother—who was indeed moving slower and slower with each passing Sunday. She wrapped the hem of her faded green cape around her and sighed. It was growing colder this time of year and her old cape was growing too small to do any good in fighting the chill. "Please, Grandmother, do hurry. I'm freezing my tits off up here."

Her grandmother stood bolt upright. "Persephone! Where in the world did you learn such talk?"

Persephone waved a hand. "That doesn't matter. The point is I'm fucking cold!"

"I get the picture Persephone, no need to use further vulgarities." Her grandmother continued walking up the path. "I swear, children are growing up too fast these days. No sense of decorum. You could simply say, child, that you are 'feeling a chill,' or that you're 'quite cold.' Anything so long as it isn't profane."

Grandmother had by this time crested the hill and was now taking the time to rest her aged flanks next to her granddaughter on the root of the old tree.

"But the profanity, Grandmother," Persephone said, shivering. "The profanity denotes an imperative. I am so cold that it warrants profanity. I do wish mother would let me buy a proper hood and cape."

"Nonsense," the grandmother said. "That one I made for you especially when you were 10 and it isn't at all overworn."

Persephone looked down at the blue knit fabric of her cape. There were several patches and tears that had been mended with blue thread. It was a cape that had never been fashionable and was now too threadbare and too small to even be functional. Her grandmother was farsighted to the point of being blind if she actually believed the old blue cloak wasn't "at all overworn."

"Still, I am very cold."

"Well then why are we dawdling here then, child?" The grandmother rose and began walking again. "We've only one more hill before we reach the clearing and it's growing dark, don't you know?"

"Yes, Grandmother."

"And it's never good to be in these woods after dark, dear."

"I know, Grandmother, you've told me a million times."

"And even in the daylight you should always come along with me or with someone from the village and never, under any circumstances should you ever..."

"Stray from the path," Persephone echoed along with her grandmother. "I'm not a child anymore, Grandmother, I'm 15, for the love of Chri—"

Persephone's grandmother wheeled and leveled an angry expectant gaze.

Persephone got the point and modified her speech in midsentence. "For the love of Christopher?"

Persephone's grandmother considered and shrugged. "I only reiterate because it is very important."

"I know."

"And I love you, dear, as do your parents..."

"I know."

"And you can't trust these woods. They're full of dangerous creatures, both natural and unnatural."

"Grandmother, please, not again..."

"Wolves!" The grandmother waved her cane in the air violently. "Great monstrous wolves bigger and more ferocious than any you've ever seen near the village. More cunning than any animal God put on this earth. I tell you they are the work of some other, darker force, dear—these wolves, I mean. They lure you away from the path, they lure you with your heart's deepest, darkest desires, and when they have you off the trail, far from any help that can save you, they snatch you away and you'll never be heard from again."

"Then why do you live all the way out here by yourself if they're so dangerous?"

The grandmother stopped walking and turned to face Persephone, her eyebrows knit in a mixture of anger and confusion. "What?"

"If you're so afraid of the wolves, if they're so dangerous, why do you live all the way out here? Why don't you take a cottage closer to town? Make everything easier on everyone, prevent an incident involving wolves..."

"Shut up, girl." The grandmother wagged her cane and Persephone ducked just in time to dodge a blow to the side of her head. "Nobody likes a smartass."

Persephone cocked an eyebrow at her grandmother.

The grandmother met the incredulous look with one of derision. "I mean, 'smart aleck.' That is what I meant to say, Persephone. You know that, don't you? A slip of the tongue, a slight mistake in speech..."

Persephone heard the snap of a twig over her shoulder and she jumped and turned forgetting her grandmother and the long banter that seemed to be receding in the distance. Persephone looked back up the path to the top of the last hill. She imagined for a moment she'd seen a shadow by the oak where they had stopped to rest, she felt a tad uneasy but then she was drawn back by the calling over her grandmother.

"Persephone? Persephone! Are you listening to me? Stay close!"

Persephone turned to see her grandmother already far ahead of her on the trail, she shivered a bit and ran to catch up. "Yes, Grandmother."

The two of them took only a moment before they laughed at the situation and they continued on until they had reached the cottage and Persephone helped her grandmother off with her shoes and the two of them ate a supper of soup and bread before it was night and time to put out the candles.

"Persephone," the grandmother called out from her chair by the fire. "Persephone, help me up will you?"

Persephone came from the kitchen table where she had been reading from her book of fairy tales to find her grandmother already standing, a large smile on her face. She held up a magnificent red cape and hood, both of them the proper size for a woman fully grown. Persephone's eyes lit up as she ran to take the cape from her grandmother's hands.

"There we go. You'll forgive my taking so long making it for you. My hands don't work as fast as they used to, and there was so much more of you to account for with this one. Do you like the color?"

"Oh, Grandmother!" Persephone put the cape around her shoulders immediately and went to the glass to examine herself. The cape came down to just above her ankles, the hem was embroidered with black and silver thread, the pattern was beautiful. The best part was, as Persephone looked at her reflection, she noticed that the red of the cape brought out some of the red in her eyes making them look less blue and much more like the Persephone color that had been the reason for her namesake. "It's wonderful, Grandmother. Fantastic! I shall adore it always. Oh, thank you!" She rushed to give her grandmother a hug.

The grandmother, running a hand over the embroidery, whispered into her granddaughter's ear, "I will not always be around, you know, to protect you and so the best I can do is give you this."

Persephone kissed her grandmother, the two of them with tears in their eyes. "Oh, Grandmother, don't say things like that. You know I don't want to think of a time without you."

The grandmother patted her granddaughter and pushed her away slightly. "We must not fear the future, Persephone. One day you'll grow up and you'll find someone special to take care of you, and then you'll have daughters and sons and granddaughters and grandsons all your own to worry about and care for. And though I'll be long gone by that time, you'll live on without me, and you'll find happiness I'll wager."

With that the grandmother took Persephone up into the loft where there was a bed for her. The grandmother left the candle so that Persephone could watch it burn down as she passed slowly into sleep.

"Good dreams, sweet Persephone," the grandmother said, kissing her grandchild's soft sable hair before taking the ladder back down into the main room and creaking across the floorboards to her own bed.

Persephone watched the candle and listened to the sound of her grandmother changing out of her dress and into her nightgown. As her eyes grew heavy she looked at the red cape and hood on the hook by the ladder. She snuggled up in the covers thinking how wonderful she would look in it walking through the village with her basket on market days. She imagined boys walking up to her, running their hands over the embroidery and perhaps—Persephone half thought as she smiled lapsing into dreams—underneath the hem onto her body.

~o~

Well, as the years have a way of doing in fairytales, they passed quickly and it wasn't long before Persephone was quite grown up indeed. By the age of 19 she had grown quite beautiful, her face a picture with lovely full lips and a clear complexion, her frame small and lithe with just the right amount of rounded flesh here and there to give her a grace of form that was utterly feminine. She was considered a beauty in the village and many of the young men and boys thought of her when they were alone, where nobody could see. Though she was a bit pale, her cheeks were often flushed with exercise for she was fond of hard work, running fast, and even climbing trees. There was something spritely, or perhaps monkey-like about her, it was at once innocent and yet fascinating.

Persephone knew quite a few boys who liked her in the village, but she wasn't of the mind to give them a second thought, for though many of them were handsome and strong they didn't seem at all interesting or mysterious.

Of course, the passing years had been hard on Persephone. Her mother had died and her father was struggling to adapt to life after the loss. It was difficult for Persephone, for she wanted to comfort her father, but nothing she did seemed to help him. It was his grief that often forced him to tell her to go away from the house and leave him alone.

Persephone didn't blame him. She knew that she looked enough like her mother to make it very painful for her father.

This meant much more time spent in the solitude of her grandmother's cottage in the woods. Persephone found all manner of excuses to go and visit, especially since her grandmother's health was failing with each passing season. In the summer there were summer colds, in the autumn there was the flu or allergens from the rotting leaves. Winter was a time of sharp chills and head colds. And no matter what the temperature, grandmother always complained about her joints. "They ache so, Persephone. Oh, do they ache."

It was on one nice autumn Saturday when Persephone was walking along the path to her grandmother's house when she heard the noise of rustling in the bushes. She froze in place on the little trail and listened carefully, her heart seeming to have jumped from her chest into her ears. She took a tentative step in the direction of the bushes when suddenly a red bird leapt and fluttered through the air, startling her as it twittered and chirped, circling her hooded head before lighting on a branch not far off the path. Persephone laughed at the idea of being afraid of something so small and harmless. She whistled at the bird and the bird, hopping on its perch, whistled back.

Persephone smiled. "How do you do, little red bird?"

The bird chirped prettily and hopped in the air, circling and landing on a branch slightly further off the path.

Persephone took a step to follow, smiling. "What's the matter, don't you think you owe me an apology for scaring me the way you did?"

The bird chirped and leapt into the air, fluttering up to land on the low branch of a tree some twenty feet off the path. Persephone took another step to follow but paused, looking down to find both her feet in the undergrowth of the forest. She had officially, for the first time in her life, left the path. She turned to find the path was still behind her—only a half a pace behind her in fact.

She smiled to herself. The way she'd always imagined it from her grandmother's stories and warnings, the trail was supposed to have disappeared the moment she'd left it. It was hilarious to think such things could happen in the real world. Persephone looked around her; the sun was high in the early afternoon sky, the light streaming through the half-bare branches of the trees. She saw no harm in walking just a short distance off the path. After all, the stories had always been just that, right? Stories to keep her from wandering off and getting lost or hurt...

The red bird chirped and sang a song that was beautiful. Persephone walked steadily toward the bird, smiling and whistling at it, cooing, hoping to get close enough to offer it some crust of the bread loaf which she had in her basket. She was only a few feet away when the bird grew quiet and eyed her carefully. Then, Persephone paused. She thought she could hear something from behind the tree trunk, a sort of soft breathing. She backed away a pace but froze when a hand came out from behind the tree and the red bird, unfrightened by its presence, acquiesced to being cradled in the palm of this hand and alighted from the branch gently.

"Hush now," a man's soft voice said and, from behind the tree, stepped the figure of the rather stately and handsome owner of the hand. He was dressed humbly in an old brown tunic and britches; his feet were bare and for some reason that didn't strike Persephone as odd. He smiled at her and then held the little red bird up to his lips. He seemed to whisper something and the bird chirped as if in understanding. The man released the bird and it landed right on Persephone's shoulder, sidling close to peck her softly on the cheek before fluttering away into the bright sunlight above.

Persephone laughed to see the bird go and then looked back to the man as he leaned by the tree and seemed to close his eyes taking the sun's rays on his gaunt but florid face.

Persephone tried to think of something to say to the man. But instead she took in his frame. He was tall, but not broad or overfed, he actually seemed a bit undernourished; his stomach flat and his cheeks a bit on the hollow side. His skin was a dark sort of russet, a tone earned from a life spent almost exclusively outdoors. His hair was like iron, though he was not old by any means. In fact, he was made quite appealing by the fact that he was very close to Persephone's age and he wasn't anyone Persephone had ever met in the village. She took a step closer to him and he opened his eyes and spoke, looking not at her but up into the sky as if still watching the bird though it had long flow out of sight.

"In all the years," he began, and then he lowered his gaze to meet hers. "In all the years you've walked these trails with your grandmother you still feel a need to rebel against good advice, I see?"

Persephone was puzzled. "I-I'm sorry?"

The man clicked his tongue against his teeth. "You've strayed from the path," he said, pointing to the still visible ribbon of trail that ran through the wood. "After you were told hundreds of thousands of times not to, you deliberately left the path, I mean, really..." he sighed. "If I were of a mind to do anything to you; know it would be natural selection, you realize. I'd really be helping the human race by weeding you out of it."

Persephone smirked. "Why don't you get it over with, then? I've got places to go. Or are you all bark and no bite?"

The man smiled, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "You are such a cocky little sprite—I'll give you points for that. And my, what big pretty eyes you have."

"Now I know you're dangerous."

"Oh?"

"The devil has a sweet tongue and yet bares a sharp tooth."

"Did your granny tell you that?"

"As a matter of fact she did. Do you know my grandmother?"

"I've seen her and I know her reputation. She was once a very beautiful woman and then she grew old and had children and those children had children, one of which is you. She also is very fond of weaving stories just as she wove the wool to make your red cloak. And might I say it's very fetching, my compliments to her."

"Do you live here in the woods?"

"I live where I am and for now I'm in the woods."

"Do you always talk in flattery and riddles?"

"Only when talk is cheap and no other passers-by traverse our spooky old wood."

"I'm Persephone."

"I know. I've watched you a long time, Persephone. Coming and going, going and coming. Not to sound as though I've been following your every move, but I have marked you, you understand?"

"No. Do you have a name?"

He uncrossed his arms and put his hands up to grip a branch of the tree. "Why do you want to know my name?"

"Because you know mine, it's impolite to hold the advantage over someone, you know?"

"Impolite or cunning?"

"Well both, I suppose."

"Well I'm of the mind to keep up cunning at all costs. To be polite means to submit to expectations and I endeavor to do the unexpected. You won't hold it against me I hope?"

"In that case I'll be going. My grandmother told me never to talk to strangers."

Persephone turned to head back to the path only to hear the laughter of the young man as he followed her. "Ah, yes, but your grandmother also told you never to leave the path, didn't she and you've broken that rule."

"I'm going to unbreak it." Thus saying, Persephone stepped back onto the path, turning to look at the young man who smiled a rather broad grin that showed a few too many teeth. "Now," she said. "I'm going to leave now."

She began walking briskly, her chin held high as she went up the path toward the hill with the tall oak tree. She heard the rustling of bushes and looked over her shoulder to find the young man keeping pace with her, walking through the low bushes beside the trail.

"Are you following me?"

"Yes."

"Well stop it." She turned and walked on up the hill, feeling a slight satisfaction of victory in the fact that the rustling was no longer behind her. She imagined him behind her, standing beside the trail, watching her walk up the hill and away from him, a look of disappointment on his face. She reached the top of the hill and turned back to look down on him but her glib smile fell when she saw that he was gone.

She squinted at the brush and looked through the trees but saw nothing, no movement whatsoever. "Hey!" she called. There was nothing but the sounds of birds fluttering away at the sound of her voice. She tried again, "Hey, where'd you go!"

There was suddenly a shadow of movement in her peripheral vision and she wheeled to find the young man on the side of the trail right next to her, leaning against the old oak playing with a bit of a twig. "I didn't go anywhere. Was there something you wanted?"

She took a step away. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"How did you get up here so fast without me hearing you or seeing you move?"

"You're nothing but questions, you know that?"

"You're nothing but evasive."

The young man reached out and ran a hand over Persephone's cheek. "Does anyone ever call you Red? I must admit I've always been curious about whether or not anyone calls you Red since you got that cape."

Persephone adjusted her grip on her basket looking down at the stranger's feet. "My mother used to," she said. "She died last winter."

The stranger's eyes seemed to focus on hers. She looked up to find not an expression of sympathy but one of confusion.

"She went in the night," Persephone explained. "Very sudden; we hadn't even known she'd been sick."

The young man nodded and then looked down at Persephone's hands clutched around the handle of her basket. He reached out and touched one of them. "I'm very sorry. You loved your mother, yes?"