XXThe Hiss Quarterly || Volume II, Issue 3

That, my dears, is a crock if I ever heard one.

There I was, teaching kindergartners, and the headmistress had given me strict instructions to tell them fairy tales like the one I'd just finished. See, we didn't have TV then like you do, so we sang songs and told tales to amuse ourselves. The grown-ups' tales were a little different, but some of the priests were downright weird about sex, so they insisted we keep the kids from hearing about it at all. By the time I was ten, of course, I knew pretty well what Rapunzel and that creep did when he clambered into her window, and couldn't wait for my prince to come along.

But this isn't my story, it's Rapunzel's. You probably know the drivel about the witch locking Rapunzel up in a tower. She lets down her long, thick hair, which reaches all the way to the ground, so when a prince happens to come knocking he can hang onto it and climb into her chamber. Naturally they fall in love--wouldn't be much of a story if she kicked him out. But the witch cottons on to what's afoot, cuts off Rap's hair, and then trails it down to fool the prince. He jumps out the window when she grabs him, gets his eyeballs scratched out, and stumbles around for a while until he finds poor old Rap where she's been exiled to the desert.

So the prince and Rapunzel, finally reunited, his sight restored, get on a horse--there's always a horse wandering around loose, right?--and you can tell immediately what's coming next. She rides behind; he drives. They zip back to the castle, jump off the horse, and right away get married.

But that's old news. What I heard last week never got spread around; you know how those publishers are, they just want chick lit that'll rake in the wampum, and those Grimm boys up in Hesse knew how to make a buck. But this came straight from the horse's mouth: my grandmother, who worked at the castle, gave me all the lowdown, and believe me, it's not formula romance.

By the time they get back his daddy's died, so now she's a queen. Jewels, fancy gowns from the couturier down the street, everybody waiting on her hand and foot. Besides, it's been ages since she got any, and he's a prime stud. She's ecstatic. Then he toddles in one afternoon and tells her this:

"Hey, girlie! How ya' doin'? I just wanted to let you know I won't be around for a while. The boys in the next county got some kind of weapons nobody's supposed to have but us, so I gotta go wipe 'em out."

"Oh, dear," she says, "how shall I manage without you?"

"Well, you know how it is. Men fight. That's what we're for."

"All right, dear," she answers, being a good wife and all that crap. "I shall keep the homes fires burning, and knit and unravel until you come marching home a hero!"

Knit one, purl two, ad infinitum. He's gone six months. But this woman is only sixteen. She finds sitting around in the castle a terminal bore, so about the third day she takes up birdwatching, walks in the forest with her ladies, and pretty soon that's boring, too. Nana has to tag along, carrying the picnic basket, so she hears everything. One of the girls is having an affair with the chief steward, who's 4-F and doesn't have to go fight, so Rap hears all about that and she's shocked to the core. You don't learn a hell of a lot locked up in a tower, you know? But she doesn't much like the steward, anyhow, so she figures it's none of her business.

Then she decides killing a few boars would be fun. She's sick of eating beans. Nobody hunts when the guys are all off winning medals, so the meals get a little skimpy. Rap is not about to live off salad greens, and she doesn't give a damn about the food pyramid, since it hasn't been invented yet. The peasants left behind to tend the few nags that didn't go prancing off to war are a little dubious about letting her and her ladies ride off on those spirited steeds, but she tells them she'll cut off their heads with a carving knife. They get moving, and she gets her horses. First thing you know she's a crack shot with a mini-bow, and the chow gets a lot better fast.

One of her ladies turns out to be a little unusual, if you know what I mean, and clueless ol' Rap lets her get pretty close.

"I love you, my queen!" That sounds pretty good, so Rap allows a little kiss, and then a big kiss, and the nice little babe rubs her just the right way. They end up in bed, and Rap learns some more about the way the world works. This is interesting, she thinks, but actually she prefers boys, so she finds one that's not quite military age to play with a little. She has an idea that won't go down too well if the news gets around, so she makes sure everybody thinks she's teaching him French. Which she is, in a manner of speaking.

She also takes up playing chess with the head gardener.

By time hubby gets back, looking a little beat up, Rap's got things pretty well organized. He sleeps for four days and feels better, so they get it on, and then she tells him all about life in a manless castle.

"Poor me! All I could do was play chess and learn to hunt. I'm utterly delighted you came back!"

His Highness the King gives her a funny look.

"You played chess? But that's a man's game!"

"My goodness! I never knew that!" Like hell.

"Well," he says, "you know it now, and you damn well cut it out! And hunting! Who do you think you are?"

"We were hungry, my King, and I just pulled a little pork so we wouldn't starve. I'm terribly sorry you're upset." Actually, she isn't, but she's figured out that men need to feel big, so she pours on a little syrup and falls into his manly arms.

"Ah, my sweet!" He kisses her twice and tosses her on the bed yet again, and the storm is over. For the nonce.

Later that day she goes to see the old queen, her mother-in-law, and asks for some advice.

"My lady, I fear I don't understand this royal business very well. Your son was mighty miffed when he found out I'd been playing chess and skewering wild pigs, but I need something to do besides knit. What did you do when you were queen?"

"Yeah, I knew you'd get in trouble when I saw you with your little bow. You're supposed to make tiny gowns for the eighteen kids you'll have real soon now. You need exercise, you play croquet with the ladies-in-waiting and use your energy to knock somebody else's ball all the way to Fort Worth. This is the Middle Ages--no dancing the Charleston and flying airplanes for the likes of us. Minuets and then babies."

"Babies? Where am I going to get any babies?"

The dowager smiles. "My little boy's been tupping the parlormaids since he was about twelve, and they've produced a goodly flock. I expect you'll be in the family way any day now. If you're not already."

"My, my," says Rapunzel. She thinks for a minute, and then asks for details about this baby production stuff, which her elder supplies with great glee, rhapsodizing on the labor process at some length.

Rap thanks the lady, retires to her room, climbs into bed and sulks. But the next day she goes back and gets the complete poop on what's expected of a royal wife. The list is long. She's not thrilled, but Mama-in-law likes her a lot, and they get to be thick as thieves.

The Queen Mother is right, of course. Rap gets sick one morning, and that afternoon, and also in the evening. She does get into a croquet habit, and when the snow comes she frequently plays whist with her entourage, but mostly she just gets bigger and bigger until she finally produces a fine baby boy. The King is unavoidably detained on some battlefield that June, but when he hears the news he sends her a big painting of St. George snitched from a plundered castle. She thinks the dragon is cute.

The little male heir tends to raise hell if nobody pays attention to him. Cooing and suckling the kid is fun for a while, and Rap loves him madly, but she can't spend all her time being a mommy. The women fight over the chance to change his diapers, though, so she has two wet nurses and round-the-clock minders, and he shuts up most of the time. Rap plans to get him a tutor ASAP and have him reading Aristotle and Sappho by the time he's five. She wants to do right by her dear child.

But rations get short once again as the summer wears on, and so does Rap's temper. By the end of July she finds life just about insupportable. Back to the stables she goes, along with ten of her ladies who also had greatly enjoyed hunting during the summer before. And Nana, of course--some woman always has to do the dirty work.

Then hubby comes back, and hell breaks loose. The campaign hasn't gone well after all, and the King has to take out his disappointment on somebody.

"Listen, you," he says. "You haven't simpered once since I got back from the field of glory. You hunt! All the guys are going to think I'm pussy-whipped if you don't shape up and act like a real woman."

"But my love," she says, "I'm only trying to do my duty as a proper queen!"

He slaps her once across the face, and then again for good measure. She cries and runs right back to her bed.

The little lady who comforted her before comes around and sympathizes, and so does the Queen Mother a little later.

"Look, my dear, you haven't quite got the picture. I warned you--you have to act helpless, unless there's woman's work to be done, in which case you sweat buckets. You gotta get more interested in hair styles and the latest fashion. Plan some parties for the nobility. Start a whist tournament. Invite all the local intellectuals in and give 'em lots to drink; they'll show up, don't worry. And one thing's for sure--when my boy's around, vamp him like one of those sluts you see when the strolling players come through."

Rapunzel, not as slow off the mark as she might have been earlier, learns to play her role to perfection. Four months later, when mayhem season starts again, she has a distinguished salon and her man is purring like a big tiger kitty. The King slugs her now and then just to keep her in line, but nothing puts her out of action for more than a few days. Still, she's restless. Let's face it--some women just aren't cut out for an idle life, and Rap, it turns out, finds the bullshit level way too high when those philosophers and writers and painters get together.

She tries hard, she really does, but pretty soon she sneaks back to her summer pursuits. The royal evenings continue, and she becomes adept at starting major debates between the Stoics and the Epicureans, but every morning she jumps on her horse and goes out to spear a few pigs.

Unfortunately, the King shows up unexpectedly, having burned twenty-six villages and razed five castles in less than two months, only to be soundly defeated in a battle with the barbarians. He and his army ride in three minutes after she finishes her early hunt, and there's Rap, with boar's blood on her jodhpurs and dirt on her face, watching a peasant skin her day's prey.

"God's whiskers!" shouts the King. "I thought I told you to cut this stuff out!"

"I was just--" She barely gets her mouth open before it gets shut by a roundhouse right, and she falls witless into a barberry bush. She's all scratched up when two footmen carry her back to the castle.

After downing a few mugs of mead, or whatever that stuff was they drank in those days, the King comes roaring into her room, where she's lying on her bed moping.

"By God, I'm through with your impudence," he says. "Get up! We're going hunting for real, and I'll show you how it's done."

"May I clean up just a bit, Sire?" She struggles out of bed and faces him. "Surely you wouldn't want your queen to set a bad example for the other ladies."

"Damn straight. And no jodhpurs. Wear a dress, like a woman!"

"Of course, my love, and I'll be ready in a trice."

Actually, she wears a nice blue gown, not a trice, but she does look a picture when she turns up in the courtyard an hour later.

"Took you long enough," the King says, "but you look pretty good. Get a better horse than that loser you've been riding--we're going all out on this one."

So off they go, with just six of the King's best men.

Being a very tough guy, he leads them through briar patches and scrub, obviously figuring he'll make Rap sorry she ever thought about getting on a horse. He won't quit. And then they start a bear in a copse about ten miles from home.

"Halloo!" the King shouts. Bows stretch, and seven arrows leave their strings before the posse even slows down. They all miss, of course, because these idiots start letting go long before they're in range.

Turning to his lady, the King says, "Why didn't you shoot? Everybody else did."

"I didn't think I could hit him from here," Rap says. "I need to get a little closer."

"Oh, we'll get closer, all right." The King smirks and spurs his horse. The bear looks at the lot of them in confusion, undecided on which ones to eat first.

The horses, being fairly stupid, gallop straight for the bear. Rap, being fairly smart, holds hers to a fast trot and falls a little behind the pack, which converges as they near the animal.

"I'll get the bastard!" the King shouts. He drops his bow, pulls a long sword from his scabbard, and closes on the beast. Just as he rears back to get a good swing, the bear reaches out a paw and lurches forward. When the dust clears, the bear lumbers off toward the deep woods, and the King lies flat on the ground missing an arm. His horse stands alongside looking decidedly puzzled.

The Queen leaps from her mount and runs to her mate. "Oh, dear! You are in a bad state, and I love you so much!" She leans and clasps him in her arms, taking care not to block the flow from his bloody stump. She screams for a tourniquet, but it takes a few minutes for one of the horsemen to produce a scarf. He ties it carefully around the King's shoulder just as the artery gives one last squirt.

Naturally Rap is prostrate, suffering from a bad case of the vapours, and has to take to her bed, where she lies with two of her ladies eating chocolates until it becomes necessary for her to put on a public face and appear before her subjects in full dignity.

Of course I need to tell you what happens next. Generally things are peaceful, but seldom boring. Rapunzel stays in power by keeping her courtiers mad at each other all the time, and decapitates only a few completely inexcusable upstarts; she encourages trade, and arranges just enough small wars to keep the big strong louts happy without producing a deficit. Her domain becomes a haven for writers, artists, genial confidence men, and women looking for something a little different.

Kings and princes come to court Rapunzel, but she is so stricken by the loss of her dear husband that even after she tries out three dozen of them, keeping several around for months, none talks her into getting married. She's tried that, and it sucks. Small sponges soaked in vinegar, accompanied by prudent counting of days, keep her from producing another dear child, but she is able to bear up under this deprivation. By the time her son reaches maturity and is crowned his father's successor, she is ready to retire to the small estate she has carefully prepared for her later years. There she and her ladies live in luxury, playing croquet, holding soirees for her dear philosophers, and hunting whenever they damn well please.