(no subject)
Sydney, do you remember this book?
The Rose and the Beast by Francesca Lia Block?
When Rose Red and Rose White are little, they tell each other, We will never need anyone else ever, we are going to do everything together. It doesn’t matter if we never find anyone else. We are complete.
Rose White is smaller and thinner and her hair is like morning sunlight; it breaks easily. Rose Red is faster and stronger and her hair is like raging sunset and could be used to hang jewels around someone’s neck. Rose White is quiet and Rose Red talks fast, she is always coming up with ideas- they will go ride the rapids, climb down to the bottom of the canyons, travel to far off lands where babies wear nothing but flowers and their feet can never touch the floor. Rose Red’s voice evokes volcanoes, salt spray, cool tunnels of air, hot plains, redolence, blossoms. Rose White listens and smiles. Yes- worlds, waters, rocks, stars, color so much color. She can see it all when Rose Red speaks. She can see herself balanced on steep precipices or swimming through churning waters- with Rose Red.
Rose Red gives Rose White courage and Rose white gives Rose Red peace. Rose White brushes out the fiery tangle of Rose Red’s hair, helps her pick out her dresses, makes her sit down to eat meals. Rose White makes pumpkin soup, salads of melon and mints and edible flowers. She makes dresses out of silk scarves. When Rose Red’s heart quickens and her skin flushes like her hair, Rose White listens until she is quiet, tells her she is right- the world is a strange and mad place, it isn’t Rose Red who is mad. Rose Red’s world is where she wants to live.
When Rose White gets too quiet, too cold, too deep within herself, afraid to speak, afraid to be seen, Rose Red puts a hat on her head, takes her hand, and brings her out where it is warm and bright. Even though they have not traveled far, with Rose Red it is always an adventure. She knows places to go where you can dance to live drums, eat spicy foods with your hands, but magic talismans.
One day Rose Red takes Rose White farther away than they have been before. They are in the woods gathering berries- which they eat till their hands and tongues are purple- burying their faces in the pine needles, practicing bird calls, chasing butterflies. They climb trees and bathe in a stream and adorn themselves with moss and vines and wildflowers. They lose track of time. Rose Red does because she wants time to be lost and Rose White does because she trusts Rose Red and so forgets to worry. But then it is suddenly night and the trees become hovering specters and the wind is lost ghosts and the owls are mournful phantoms. Rose White is afraid and Rose Red is becoming afraid, not of the night but because she is not sure she can console Rose White this time, or regain her trust. We’ll be alright, she says. We have each other. But she knows that, as the night goes on, Rose White is not content with this- she wants to be rescued, she wants someone from the outside who has a light and strength that Rose Red does not have. Rose White is crying and her dress keeps getting caught on branches and her face is scratched and she is cold. Rose Red gives her her sweater but it doesn’t help much. Rose White is shivering. She says, How could this have happened? What were we thinking? We’ve got to get help. This is how girls die. She is sobbing.
Then Rose Red sees the light shining in the trees. To Rose Red the light is like Rose White, it is made for Rose White. Her relief is not for herself- if it wasn’t for Rose White, Rose Red would stay out in the forest until dawn, maybe for days and nights, maybe forever, growing wilder and wilder until she is a part of the trees and dirt and darkness- but Rose White is more important to her than all the freedom and all the wildness she desires. She has to raise her voice so that Rose White will stop crying and hear her- There, see the light, there, for you.
They go toward it and when they see the little cottage they are not afraid, even Rose White is not afraid because the cottage is made of round stones with a thatched roof and a smoking chimney and moss growing on the walls and a carefully tended garden. They go up the little stone path among the hollyhocks, morning glories, the carrots and tomatoes and strawberry vines, and Rose Red peeks through the lace-curtained window. She sees a room warmed by firelight, a wooden floor, cushions, a small table with a blue-and-white-checked cloth and a milk pitcher full of daises and honeysuckle. Come on, Rose Red gestures, and she gently pushes the door open.
That is when they see the Bear. Rose White steps back but Rose Red reaches for her hand and they stand very still. The Bear blinks up and them with his flickering fire-lit brown eyes. The tip of his snout quivers. His breathing is labored. He shifts his weight and his front paws sway in the air. His claws are long and sharp. Rose White and Rose Red hold their breath.
He’s hurt, Rose Red says. Yes, there is a large wound in the Bear’s side. His blood is pooling onto the braid rug. Rose Red moves slowly toward him. It’s alright, she says, we won’t hurt you. Let me see you.
She kneels down and they look at each other. The Bear smells of forests, smoke, berries. After a long time, Rose Red moves closer. She puts out her hand, palm down. The Bear sniffs it, licks it with his long, rough, pink tongue. Yes, there, it’s all right, Rose Red says.
Rose Red goes and fills a basin with water from the well outside. She gives it to the Bear to drink. Rose White takes some berries from her pockets and holds out her hand. The Bear nuzzles her palm with his damp snout, tickles her as he eats. Rose White rips a piece of cloth from the bottom of her dress. She and Rose Red wash the wound and gently bandage it. The Bear lies back awkwardly heavily, on the cushions and watches them. That is when Rose White realizes what it is he reminds her of. She can’t stop thinking this. She is less surprised by the thought than by the realization that she does not want to share it with the person who has known every single thing about her since the day they were born.
After a while Rose Red and Rose White fall asleep. In the morning the feed the Bear again and help themselves to bread and honey and cheese, milk and berries. They go out into the woods. Neither of them mentions the idea of going home. They forage for food for the Bear. Roots, nuts, more berries. A little ways from the cottage they find a beehive that someone has been tending, and Rose Red pus on the beekeeper’s suit and collects some of the honey to replenish the Bear’s supply. They bathe in the stream and wash their dresses, dry them in the sun. When they dress, Rose Red notices that Rose White seems to be taking more care than usual. Her hair is sunlight in the sunlight. Her cheeks are pink. She makes herself a wreath of wildflowers. She is wearing the dress with the torn hem out of which she made a bandage for the Bear.
Rose Red knows what is happening, a part of her knows. She remembers what she and Rose White used to say to each other when they were young. She touches her hair- it feels coarse. She looks at her freckled arms and her big strong calves. She looks at Rose White admiring herself in the stream, casting white petals over her reflection.
The Bear is better that night. His breathing is more regular and he eats more of the food they give him. Rose Red builds a fire in the fire place. She sees the way the Bear stares at Rose White while she cleans and rebandages his wound. His eyes are full of dark firelight. Full of light and strength. Watching the Bear and Rose White, Rose Red feels the way she felt when she and Rose White first discovered the Bear- she can’t breathe, her body seems to have frozen.
Days go by. Rose White and Rose Red spend them in the woods. Rose White’s skin is glowing and her body seems to be filling out. Neither she nor Rose Red ever talk of leaving. At night they watch over the Bear.
One night it es especially cold. Rose Red wakes in the little bed with the carved headboard painted with blue hearts and yellow birds. Rose White is not there. Rose Red goes into the front room. The Bear is sleeping by the fireplace where he always sleeps. His wound has completely healed. His coat gleams. Rose White is curled up in the curve of his haunches. Rose Red stops breathing; she freezes. She knows that what Rose White told her once would now be a lie. She goes back to her bed and stares into the darkness where transformations are taking place.
In the morning when Rose Red comes in for breakfast she sees a man sitting with Rose White at the little table with the blue-and-white-checked cloth. He is tall and strong, with a shiny brush of brown hair and fierce spellbinding brown eyes. He is staring at Rose White, whose hair is like the honey sunlight pouring in thorough the leaded glass window; she has berry-stained lips and hands and is wearing her flower wreath and her dress that is half the size it once was because it has been turned mostly into bandages.
Rose White turns to Rose Red and kisses her with her berry-stained lips. Rose Red swallow a trickle of salt in her throat and smiles. She says, This is what is supposed to happen, I’m so happy for you.
Rose White wants to tell her, maybe he has a friend, you have to stay with us, things don’t have to change that much, but she doesn’t say anything. She knows that things have changed. When Rose Red sets out to leave she holds his hand and lets her go.
-Francesca Lia Block
The Rose and the Beast by Francesca Lia Block?
When Rose Red and Rose White are little, they tell each other, We will never need anyone else ever, we are going to do everything together. It doesn’t matter if we never find anyone else. We are complete.
Rose White is smaller and thinner and her hair is like morning sunlight; it breaks easily. Rose Red is faster and stronger and her hair is like raging sunset and could be used to hang jewels around someone’s neck. Rose White is quiet and Rose Red talks fast, she is always coming up with ideas- they will go ride the rapids, climb down to the bottom of the canyons, travel to far off lands where babies wear nothing but flowers and their feet can never touch the floor. Rose Red’s voice evokes volcanoes, salt spray, cool tunnels of air, hot plains, redolence, blossoms. Rose White listens and smiles. Yes- worlds, waters, rocks, stars, color so much color. She can see it all when Rose Red speaks. She can see herself balanced on steep precipices or swimming through churning waters- with Rose Red.
Rose Red gives Rose White courage and Rose white gives Rose Red peace. Rose White brushes out the fiery tangle of Rose Red’s hair, helps her pick out her dresses, makes her sit down to eat meals. Rose White makes pumpkin soup, salads of melon and mints and edible flowers. She makes dresses out of silk scarves. When Rose Red’s heart quickens and her skin flushes like her hair, Rose White listens until she is quiet, tells her she is right- the world is a strange and mad place, it isn’t Rose Red who is mad. Rose Red’s world is where she wants to live.
When Rose White gets too quiet, too cold, too deep within herself, afraid to speak, afraid to be seen, Rose Red puts a hat on her head, takes her hand, and brings her out where it is warm and bright. Even though they have not traveled far, with Rose Red it is always an adventure. She knows places to go where you can dance to live drums, eat spicy foods with your hands, but magic talismans.
One day Rose Red takes Rose White farther away than they have been before. They are in the woods gathering berries- which they eat till their hands and tongues are purple- burying their faces in the pine needles, practicing bird calls, chasing butterflies. They climb trees and bathe in a stream and adorn themselves with moss and vines and wildflowers. They lose track of time. Rose Red does because she wants time to be lost and Rose White does because she trusts Rose Red and so forgets to worry. But then it is suddenly night and the trees become hovering specters and the wind is lost ghosts and the owls are mournful phantoms. Rose White is afraid and Rose Red is becoming afraid, not of the night but because she is not sure she can console Rose White this time, or regain her trust. We’ll be alright, she says. We have each other. But she knows that, as the night goes on, Rose White is not content with this- she wants to be rescued, she wants someone from the outside who has a light and strength that Rose Red does not have. Rose White is crying and her dress keeps getting caught on branches and her face is scratched and she is cold. Rose Red gives her her sweater but it doesn’t help much. Rose White is shivering. She says, How could this have happened? What were we thinking? We’ve got to get help. This is how girls die. She is sobbing.
Then Rose Red sees the light shining in the trees. To Rose Red the light is like Rose White, it is made for Rose White. Her relief is not for herself- if it wasn’t for Rose White, Rose Red would stay out in the forest until dawn, maybe for days and nights, maybe forever, growing wilder and wilder until she is a part of the trees and dirt and darkness- but Rose White is more important to her than all the freedom and all the wildness she desires. She has to raise her voice so that Rose White will stop crying and hear her- There, see the light, there, for you.
They go toward it and when they see the little cottage they are not afraid, even Rose White is not afraid because the cottage is made of round stones with a thatched roof and a smoking chimney and moss growing on the walls and a carefully tended garden. They go up the little stone path among the hollyhocks, morning glories, the carrots and tomatoes and strawberry vines, and Rose Red peeks through the lace-curtained window. She sees a room warmed by firelight, a wooden floor, cushions, a small table with a blue-and-white-checked cloth and a milk pitcher full of daises and honeysuckle. Come on, Rose Red gestures, and she gently pushes the door open.
That is when they see the Bear. Rose White steps back but Rose Red reaches for her hand and they stand very still. The Bear blinks up and them with his flickering fire-lit brown eyes. The tip of his snout quivers. His breathing is labored. He shifts his weight and his front paws sway in the air. His claws are long and sharp. Rose White and Rose Red hold their breath.
He’s hurt, Rose Red says. Yes, there is a large wound in the Bear’s side. His blood is pooling onto the braid rug. Rose Red moves slowly toward him. It’s alright, she says, we won’t hurt you. Let me see you.
She kneels down and they look at each other. The Bear smells of forests, smoke, berries. After a long time, Rose Red moves closer. She puts out her hand, palm down. The Bear sniffs it, licks it with his long, rough, pink tongue. Yes, there, it’s all right, Rose Red says.
Rose Red goes and fills a basin with water from the well outside. She gives it to the Bear to drink. Rose White takes some berries from her pockets and holds out her hand. The Bear nuzzles her palm with his damp snout, tickles her as he eats. Rose White rips a piece of cloth from the bottom of her dress. She and Rose Red wash the wound and gently bandage it. The Bear lies back awkwardly heavily, on the cushions and watches them. That is when Rose White realizes what it is he reminds her of. She can’t stop thinking this. She is less surprised by the thought than by the realization that she does not want to share it with the person who has known every single thing about her since the day they were born.
After a while Rose Red and Rose White fall asleep. In the morning the feed the Bear again and help themselves to bread and honey and cheese, milk and berries. They go out into the woods. Neither of them mentions the idea of going home. They forage for food for the Bear. Roots, nuts, more berries. A little ways from the cottage they find a beehive that someone has been tending, and Rose Red pus on the beekeeper’s suit and collects some of the honey to replenish the Bear’s supply. They bathe in the stream and wash their dresses, dry them in the sun. When they dress, Rose Red notices that Rose White seems to be taking more care than usual. Her hair is sunlight in the sunlight. Her cheeks are pink. She makes herself a wreath of wildflowers. She is wearing the dress with the torn hem out of which she made a bandage for the Bear.
Rose Red knows what is happening, a part of her knows. She remembers what she and Rose White used to say to each other when they were young. She touches her hair- it feels coarse. She looks at her freckled arms and her big strong calves. She looks at Rose White admiring herself in the stream, casting white petals over her reflection.
The Bear is better that night. His breathing is more regular and he eats more of the food they give him. Rose Red builds a fire in the fire place. She sees the way the Bear stares at Rose White while she cleans and rebandages his wound. His eyes are full of dark firelight. Full of light and strength. Watching the Bear and Rose White, Rose Red feels the way she felt when she and Rose White first discovered the Bear- she can’t breathe, her body seems to have frozen.
Days go by. Rose White and Rose Red spend them in the woods. Rose White’s skin is glowing and her body seems to be filling out. Neither she nor Rose Red ever talk of leaving. At night they watch over the Bear.
One night it es especially cold. Rose Red wakes in the little bed with the carved headboard painted with blue hearts and yellow birds. Rose White is not there. Rose Red goes into the front room. The Bear is sleeping by the fireplace where he always sleeps. His wound has completely healed. His coat gleams. Rose White is curled up in the curve of his haunches. Rose Red stops breathing; she freezes. She knows that what Rose White told her once would now be a lie. She goes back to her bed and stares into the darkness where transformations are taking place.
In the morning when Rose Red comes in for breakfast she sees a man sitting with Rose White at the little table with the blue-and-white-checked cloth. He is tall and strong, with a shiny brush of brown hair and fierce spellbinding brown eyes. He is staring at Rose White, whose hair is like the honey sunlight pouring in thorough the leaded glass window; she has berry-stained lips and hands and is wearing her flower wreath and her dress that is half the size it once was because it has been turned mostly into bandages.
Rose White turns to Rose Red and kisses her with her berry-stained lips. Rose Red swallow a trickle of salt in her throat and smiles. She says, This is what is supposed to happen, I’m so happy for you.
Rose White wants to tell her, maybe he has a friend, you have to stay with us, things don’t have to change that much, but she doesn’t say anything. She knows that things have changed. When Rose Red sets out to leave she holds his hand and lets her go.
-Francesca Lia Block