| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
.
| Written by Elizabeth Kate Switaj / Artwork by Holly Eddy |
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| Dun White |
My life is a sham, and I'm damn proud of it. I didn't want to spend my whole life as the housekeeper for those
awful dwarves. Would you?
I know you're thinking I'm unfair to them. After all, they gave me a place to stay and enough money to hit the
only bar in the forest on my night off, but other than that one night a month when they condescended to eat
a cold dinner, I had to work constantly. Between scrubbing the floor after they tracked in mud from the crystal
mines and washing the clay dust out of their clothes (and no, they didn't have a washing machine), I was
getting four hours of sleep per night at most.
It was on one of my rare nights off I met the queen's woodsman in the bar. He was sitting in a dim corner,
nursing a pint of stout, and I sat down across from him with a matching glass.
He whistled low. "It's been a long time since I've seen a lady drink anything other than rose hip tea."
"I'm not a lady. I'm just a maid for seven filthy dwarves."
"With dark hair like that, you could've fooled me. Oh well, here's to lousy jobs then."
As we clinked glasses, I asked him what he had to complain about. He told me about all manner of depravity
at court and strange demands placed upon him by the queen. "I didn't work my way up through the ranks at
the palace to gather pigeon shit, you know?"
"Pigeon shit?"
He shrugged and stroked the stubble on his cheek. "The queen thinks it'll keep her skin fair. That's not even
the worst of it. Now, don't get me wrong, I love hunting bears, but there's something wrong about
slaughtering them just to take a gall bladder." When I told him I didn't even know what that was, he
explained that it was a tiny sac under the liver. "And the queen thinks it's an aphrodisiac..."
"Do I want to know why she needs it?"
"All I'm going to say is it's not for the king."
We were on our second beers when he asked me if I wanted to know what really happened to the princess
everyone thought had been killed by boars after wandering off alone. I nodded and smiled but wasn't really
paying attention; it had been years since a man had talked to me at such length.
"I killed her for the queen. I brought the old witch the girl's heart in a box."
I looked up into the woodsman's eyes. "The queen's her step-mother, right? Still, that's pretty awful."
"The worst thing is the reason. It wasn't about inheritance; the queen has no children of her own. It was
because her mirror told her Snow White was more beautiful. I mean, of course a younger woman is better
looking, but a talking mirror? The witch is delusional."
That was when I had the idea that would change both our lives. I took another sip of stout before explaining
how I could make a princess out of me and a hero out of him. I had him write a letter to a prince in a
neighboring kingdom (one much poorer than this one, as it insured his interest) claiming that, after being
ordered to kill the princess, he had taken her to a safe house owned by seven dwarves and given a pig's
heart in a box to the old queen. The woodsman invited the prince to ride to the house and bring the princess
back to the castle to claim a crown and eventual kingdom.
Meanwhile, I had arranged things with the dwarves. (Promised ownership of the mines in which they toiled
was enough to win their cooperation.) When the prince approached their house, I lay down in a glass coffin in
front and pretended to be dead. The dwarves explained that the queen had somehow learned of Snow
White's survival and come disguised as an old beggar woman selling apples. I had bought one, bitten it, and
fallen into a dead sleep.
The prince very nearly rode away in his disappointment. The dwarves, however, suggested the prince try
kissing me since it always worked in fairy tales. The prince followed this advice, and I woke up. He carried me
on his horse to the palace, where the king embraced me as if he were genuinely reunited with his daughter.
The king wanted to sentence his wife to dance to death in red hot shoes but acquiesced when I begged him
to show her mercy and make her a servant in the castle laundries instead. The woodsman now officially works
for me but only goes out to amuse himself. I kept my promise to the dwarves; their employees dig the
crystals now. As for the prince, I wouldn't say I love him, though he does what I say, so we do well enough.
I've even managed to get pregnant in order to secure the succession, and the child may be his in more than
just the legal sense.
awful dwarves. Would you?
I know you're thinking I'm unfair to them. After all, they gave me a place to stay and enough money to hit the
only bar in the forest on my night off, but other than that one night a month when they condescended to eat
a cold dinner, I had to work constantly. Between scrubbing the floor after they tracked in mud from the crystal
mines and washing the clay dust out of their clothes (and no, they didn't have a washing machine), I was
getting four hours of sleep per night at most.
It was on one of my rare nights off I met the queen's woodsman in the bar. He was sitting in a dim corner,
nursing a pint of stout, and I sat down across from him with a matching glass.
He whistled low. "It's been a long time since I've seen a lady drink anything other than rose hip tea."
"I'm not a lady. I'm just a maid for seven filthy dwarves."
"With dark hair like that, you could've fooled me. Oh well, here's to lousy jobs then."
As we clinked glasses, I asked him what he had to complain about. He told me about all manner of depravity
at court and strange demands placed upon him by the queen. "I didn't work my way up through the ranks at
the palace to gather pigeon shit, you know?"
"Pigeon shit?"
He shrugged and stroked the stubble on his cheek. "The queen thinks it'll keep her skin fair. That's not even
the worst of it. Now, don't get me wrong, I love hunting bears, but there's something wrong about
slaughtering them just to take a gall bladder." When I told him I didn't even know what that was, he
explained that it was a tiny sac under the liver. "And the queen thinks it's an aphrodisiac..."
"Do I want to know why she needs it?"
"All I'm going to say is it's not for the king."
We were on our second beers when he asked me if I wanted to know what really happened to the princess
everyone thought had been killed by boars after wandering off alone. I nodded and smiled but wasn't really
paying attention; it had been years since a man had talked to me at such length.
"I killed her for the queen. I brought the old witch the girl's heart in a box."
I looked up into the woodsman's eyes. "The queen's her step-mother, right? Still, that's pretty awful."
"The worst thing is the reason. It wasn't about inheritance; the queen has no children of her own. It was
because her mirror told her Snow White was more beautiful. I mean, of course a younger woman is better
looking, but a talking mirror? The witch is delusional."
That was when I had the idea that would change both our lives. I took another sip of stout before explaining
how I could make a princess out of me and a hero out of him. I had him write a letter to a prince in a
neighboring kingdom (one much poorer than this one, as it insured his interest) claiming that, after being
ordered to kill the princess, he had taken her to a safe house owned by seven dwarves and given a pig's
heart in a box to the old queen. The woodsman invited the prince to ride to the house and bring the princess
back to the castle to claim a crown and eventual kingdom.
Meanwhile, I had arranged things with the dwarves. (Promised ownership of the mines in which they toiled
was enough to win their cooperation.) When the prince approached their house, I lay down in a glass coffin in
front and pretended to be dead. The dwarves explained that the queen had somehow learned of Snow
White's survival and come disguised as an old beggar woman selling apples. I had bought one, bitten it, and
fallen into a dead sleep.
The prince very nearly rode away in his disappointment. The dwarves, however, suggested the prince try
kissing me since it always worked in fairy tales. The prince followed this advice, and I woke up. He carried me
on his horse to the palace, where the king embraced me as if he were genuinely reunited with his daughter.
The king wanted to sentence his wife to dance to death in red hot shoes but acquiesced when I begged him
to show her mercy and make her a servant in the castle laundries instead. The woodsman now officially works
for me but only goes out to amuse himself. I kept my promise to the dwarves; their employees dig the
crystals now. As for the prince, I wouldn't say I love him, though he does what I say, so we do well enough.
I've even managed to get pregnant in order to secure the succession, and the child may be his in more than
just the legal sense.
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Since receiving her MFA from the now-defunct New College of California Poetics
Program in 2004, Elizabeth Kate Switaj has published Creepy Crawly Love
(Wheelhouse Press), Magdalene & the Mermaids (Paper Kite Press), Shanghai
(Gold Wake Press), and The Broken Sanctuary (Ypolita Press). Her short
stories have appeared in Expanded Horizons, Colored Chalk, The Death
Mook, Ruins: Extraterrestrial, and Gratitude with Attitude.
She is currently researching James Joyce at Queen's University Belfast.
For more information visit www.elizabethkateswitaj.net
Program in 2004, Elizabeth Kate Switaj has published Creepy Crawly Love
(Wheelhouse Press), Magdalene & the Mermaids (Paper Kite Press), Shanghai
(Gold Wake Press), and The Broken Sanctuary (Ypolita Press). Her short
stories have appeared in Expanded Horizons, Colored Chalk, The Death
Mook, Ruins: Extraterrestrial, and Gratitude with Attitude.
She is currently researching James Joyce at Queen's University Belfast.
For more information visit www.elizabethkateswitaj.net