This story arose when I told my granddaughter the Rapunzel story when she was poorly. She listened politely and told me that I was making up most of it as I went along. True enough.
A day or so later I found myself writing it down, not for six-year-olds but for adults. There is no sex in this version (unlike the nineteenth century version I read in which Rapunzel had a quiverful of children around her skirts when the wicked witch showed up. Despite this lack, there are adult themes enough. I had fun with it. I hope you do too.
I am grateful to Colin the dogg for his advice and editorial help. I can't say he didn't warn me.
ps. I used to write as Potsherd, but I am re-branded as Potsherd22. Different name, same old stuff.
Rapunzel – a modern fairy tale.
1. The fairy Kingdom
Not too long ago, and in a galaxy very close by, there lived a trans-national company named Fixxit PLC. Fixxit was a very successful PLC, and it had gradually expanded to fill the ecological niche in which it lived. There was scarcely a product group that it did not touch, however tangentially, and from which it did not derive a profit.
George Catthorpe, the founder and CEO if this company was a happy man. His talent was the talent of Midas without the annoying side-effect of turning his loved ones into garden ornaments. He had a beautiful sweet-natured wife and an adorable two-year-old daughter named Rapunzel, who delighted the hearts of nearly everyone she met. He also had a Personal Assistant named Goldie, whose memory and judgement were impeccable, and whose management skills equalled his own. But more of her later.
Catastrophe lies in wait in the shadows of our lives. Four days after Rapunzel's third birthday, her mother went the way of fairy-tale mothers, and died of an aneurysm. Six difficult months later, George sacked all but one of the nursemaids and nannies and married his devoted former P.A. Less than a year later he rejoined his first and best love, and Goldie found herself de facto Chief Operating Officer of Fixxit PLC, now renamed Fixxitcorps. One of the wholly owned subsidiaries included in this transaction was the adorable Rapunzel.
Fixxitcorps was a nation bereft of its monarch. Goldie assumed the role of Regent, with Rapunzel the heiress in waiting. Goldie had eighteen years of effective rule before she had to see her stepdaughter ascend the throne. Meanwhile her Nobles, the territorial magnates who governed parts of her kingdom, would respond to strength and competence, qualities she had in plenty. Only if she showed weakness or catastrophic lack of judgement would they resort to civil war.
Goldie was not naturally a nurturing person. With a lover, a fiery sexuality can conceal the lack of affectionate warmth. With a child the lack cannot be hidden. Rapunzel pulled away from her stepmother and rejected her half-hearted approaches. It became easier for both of them to build barriers. Soon Rapunzel lived away from the financial district in a walled estate of her own, with Matilda, her devoted nanny. whilst Goldie lived in the luxurious penthouse suite at the top of the Fixxitcorps building.
2. The Captive Princess
Rapunzel grew up away from other children, well cared for but solitary. She insisted in dressing in the long dresses she saw in fairy-tale books, and refused point blank ever to have her hair cut. It grew into a long plait that hung down her back right down to the point, in her mid-teens, where she could sit on a coil of gleaming black hair.
Rapunzel was terrified of leaving the security of her walled garden, but fascinated by the world beyond. She would sit for hours atop the wall, seeing but unseen by passers-by, who, whether walking or driving, seemed never to look up. She made up fantastic tales of the policeman on his horse and the man with the push-cart who sharpened knives and scissors. The day the fire engine went racing by, lights flashing and bell ringing, her excitement knew no bounds,. She did not sleep a wink that night, but told nobody of the event.
She was now almost sixteen, and her unappeased curiosity about the world grew to becoming an obsession. Nanny and housekeeper, both female, had taught her the facts of life, a necessity as she reached pubescence, but they had no permission to teach her about male and female, sex and sexuality.
One hot, languorous summer's morning Rapunzel sat atop her wall and looked down at the few people passing by. They looked hot and sweaty in the humid heat, made the more stupefying by the loud humming of the bees on the honeysuckle that surrounded her as she sat.
A sudden spirit of devilment made her pick up her heavy black plait, and lower it down the wall towards the ground ten feet below. Two couples and a solitary postman walked by preoccupied, noticing nothing. Then a big red Ducatti motorbike drove by; it rider a slim young man in blue and green leathers whose featureless black helmet denied her any impression of him.
3. The Handsome Prince
Out of the corner of his eye the rider saw the plait uncoil and slide down the rough stone. Intrigued he turned the bike around in a wide circle on the empty road, and pulled into the kerb. He removed his helmet, smoothed back his shock of black curly hair and looked up with soft, hazel-brown eyes in a thin high-cheeked face centred with a thin beak of a nose. He smiled broadly and waved.
"Hello, fairy-tale girl. Is that my magic ladder? Shall I climb it?"
She started back in fear. "No! Please. It's my hair – you will pull it out."
Seeing she was close to panic, he tried to soothe her.
"I was only joking. How about I climb up there beside you. We can talk and watch the people go by."
"Can you really do that? I have to use a ladder to get up."
"I'll push my bike up close to the wall, and stand on the saddle. I can easily jump up from there."
Two minutes later he was up beside her.
"Hi. My name's Florian, what's yours?"
"Rapunzel."
Florian knew the name from somewhere, but couldn't dredge it up from his memory. As they chatted, he became more and more mystified. Rapunzel was a very pretty young woman, but she was weirdly dressed in a long straight ankle-length dress in green figured velvet, with long trailing sleeves that fell down over her hands. Her feet were shod in what looked like dancing slippers, and her hair – well it was just one great, monstrous plait. Odder still, he was used to girls who used their charms and flirted constantly, talking in sexy innuendo, thrusting out their bosoms, fluttering their eyelashes and talking with a strange, forced vivacity.
Rapunzel reminded him of his ten-year-old sister; still a child and secure in her childishness. Florian was attracted, and at the same time struck with pity at her sweet guilelessness.
He was very experienced sexually, both with young women of his own age and, on occasion, with their mothers, but he was sadly aware that he had never been touched by the softer emotions. Now this odd little slip of a thing was twining herself around his heart. He wished he could remember where on earth he had heard that name...
After an hour he realised that he needed to be getting some work done. Bidding farewell to Rapunzel, jumped to the ground making her gasp, turned his head into a featureless black globe, and roared away. She clutched to herself his promise to come back in a day or two, and resumed her solitary watch.
Florian went to his office and spent three fruitless hours reading consultants' reports on aspects of the business. He was disgusted to find that they had nothing to offer beyond the tired old nostrums of reducing costs and wages, reducing quality and giving short weight. One agency had spent a whole report on a proposal to reduce the weight of chocolate in their chocolate oranges by making each individual segment concave, so that whilst from the outside it looked like solid chocolate, twelve percent of the chocolate had been pared away.
The organisation Florian was proud to work for, and might one day lead, had been founded on the principle of seeking for market opportunities and providing lasting value, educating the consumers to the value of durability and serviceability. What a travesty this third generation of managers was with their cost-paring short-sightedness. He left his desk in disgust, and rode home thinking about Rapunzel.
He spent that evening with his younger sister Klara playing board games with her, admiring her dolls and their clothes and applauding her as she demonstrated the new dance she had been learning. Klara had a wonderful evening with her big brother, and as she chatted about the books she had read and enjoyed she revelled in his full and undivided attention.
The following morning was wet, so there would be no chance of seeing Rapunzel. Florian was at work by eight and put in a long productive day, but he made time in the afternoon to slip out and visit a nearby toy and bookshop. He spent a pleasant hour in the evening with Klara, very gently and discreetly picking her brains.
The next fine morning, Florian was at his desk soon after dawn, and by mid-morning he could take a well-earned break. He changed back into his motorbike leathers and threw a satchel over his shoulder. Turning into her quiet street he looked along the long, blank wall until her saw her sitting and watching the street. Seeing him, she grinned broadly and threw her plait down until it ended just a couple of feet above the pavement.
"Hello, motorbike man. Are you going to climb up my hair?"
"No. I might pull you off the wall. I'll use my bike as a ladder again."
As soon as they were sitting side by side atop the wall, Rapunzel began to chatter animatedly.
"Just before you arrived, guess what went by. It was a mounted policeman on a beautiful big black horse. I call him Midnight because he is so black and glossy. I call the policeman Mr. Hair because he has big black side-whiskers and a big black moustache, his face is all hair. It is very funny. Sometimes there are two of them, a big bay with three white stockings. I call him Chocolate, and I call the rider Mr. Grey because he has such pale grey eyes and a pale face. Mr Grey is always looking around. He looks straight at me as he rides by, Mr Hair never looks round, he always looks straight ahead. When they go by in the mornings they are always going that way – towards the city. I hardly ever see them come back in the afternoons because Miss McGinn comes to give me lessons, and then it's teatime.
"Oh? What lessons would those be Rapunzel?"
"Well, it used to be French and Italian. I liked them, especially Italian. It tastes so good in the mouth, and Dante is just so beautiful. I love the songs too. Do you know Ecco la primavera? Did you know that poor Landini was blind, but he wrote such lovely songs. Listen I'll sing it to you."
Utterly unselfconsciously, she sang the lovely lilting song of welcome to Springtime in a clear, sweet voice:
"Ecco la primavera, Che'l cor fa rallegrare,
Temp'è d'annamorare E star con lieta cera.
Noi vegiam l'aria e'l tempo Che pur chiam' allegrezza
In questo vago tempo Ogni cosa vaghezza.
L'erbe con gran freschezza E fior' coprono i prati,
E gli albori adornati Sono in simil manera.
Ecco la primavera Che'l cor fa rallegrare
Temp'è d'annamorare E star con lieta cera.
But now that's all finished and I can't do lovely Italian, I have to do German. I hate German, it is so growly and spitty, and half an hour of it gives me a putrid sore throat."
Suddenly she turned around and pointed, "Look that's the summer house. That's where I have my lessons. It's very unusual. It's built as a regular pentagon, with plain early English lancet windows, and a lancet door. Each window had sixteen pieces of glass, thirteen in a rectangle, and three to make the point of the arch. It's in Pevsner. I could show you. The tiles are lovely minty green and can't be replaced so I have to be very careful not to throw my ball up on the roof."
"It's very pretty, Do you like it? Apart from the wall, it's my favourite place. I could show you if you like. We must always tidy up and put things away after us. Putting away is part of the play, Matilda says."
She said the little mnemonic in a Highland Scots accent so clear and precise that he could almost picture Matilda. Mimicry was clearly one of her skills. He recalled the pure Italian accent she had used to sing the song.
'Let's be honest,' he thought, 'I have been wondering all along if she were a sandwich or two short of a picnic. But the more I listen to her the more her intelligence shines through the childishness.' Florian did not know what to make of her. But she clearly needed a friend, and he was elected.
"Yes, I should like to go and see the summerhouse."
She climbed down the ladder and he jumped and landed lightly at her side. He put down the crash helmet by the ladder, she took his hand and they walked hand-in-hand to the open lancet door. Around the inside were padded, upholstered benches and a wicker table built in two parts, one of three sides, one of two, which fitted together would make a pentagon to fit the contours of the little room. The smaller table was pulled close to the benches, so that two people could sit side by side and face to face.
Florian opened his backpack to reveal three brown-paper parcels.
"These are for you."
"Thank you very much," she responded, minding her manners. "May I open them now, or have I to save them?"
"Open them now, then we can look at them together."
