Free The Magic Circle by Donna Jo Napoli Page B

the bed?”
    “There’s nothing wrong with the bed,” shouts Hansel. “I’m sleeping in the bed.”
    “No, you’re not,” says Gretel. “There is only one bed. It is for the Old Woman.”
    I laugh. “Oh, Gretel, let me tell you a secret.” I lean forward and whisper. “I never sleep. I will be just as comfortable in the rocking chair all night.”
    “You never sleep?” says Hansel, his eyes growing round.
    “Never,” I say.
    “Why not?” says Hansel.
    “Don’t be nosy,” says Gretel, but her eyes are as round as his.
    I am charmed by her protective behavior toward my privacy. It moves me to speak openly. “I am afraid of what may come to me in my sleep.”
    Gretel stares at me.
    “Our father had nightmares,” says Hansel.
    “Yes,” I say to the boy, “nightmares. Many people suffer from nightmares.” I smile kindly. “To bed now.”
    The children strip and climb into the rough cotton sheets I have woven myself.
    “That bowl,” says Gretel, pointing, “did you make it?”
    “Yes.”
    She looks at the bowl with a flicker of longing. But the words that come out do not betray her desire. “It is a good size. It could have many uses.”
    “I keep it empty,” I am saying. “I keep it pure.”
    Gretel’s face lights up. “Yes, it looks pure.”
    “Do you think it’s pretty?” I ask.
    “Pretty? I suppose it is,” says Gretel thoughtfully. “But it is pure. That’s what counts.”
    “Tomorrow,” I am saying, “tomorrow I will make a fresh batch of caramels.” I am thinking that I would love to feed this girl chocolate—the rich milk chocolate that Asa loved so much. But cacao beans are impossible to come by without going into a village store. Even making caramels means I must lure a farmer’s cow away from the herd so I can rob her of a bucket of milk. Almost nothing is without its risks. But I need to make Gretel candy. “Would you like fresh caramels?”
    Gretel doesn’t answer, nor does Hansel; both children sleep already.
    I quickly boil a vat of water. I collect their clothes and empty their pockets. I set Gretel’s wishbone on the tablebeside the pile of odd sticks and beetle shells from Hansel’s pockets. I throw the clothes into the boiling water with peppermint leaves. After a while, I lift them out. I realize I am holding these scalding hot clothes in my bare hands. I look quickly over my shoulder to make sure the children have not seen. They are fast asleep. I must learn to be careful. I wring out the children’s clean clothes and hang them on a grapevine cord across the room.
    Then I grab my broom and search carefully in every nook and cranny. I find a potato bug that must have traveled in with the last batch of beets. I take no chances, but throw it into the boiling vat. I find some ants, dining on crumbs from our dinner bread. I crush them. There are no other living creatures on the floor. Nevertheless, I open my jug of vinegar and splash the floor liberally. I get on hands and knees and rub the pungent acid into every floorboard.
    My eyes scour the walls now. Nothing.
    The ceiling. Nothing.
    But, oh, what was that? I move closer. The delicate leg of a hairy spider protrudes from a niche between the logs near the ceiling. If I smash with the broom, the spider may pull itself entirely into the niche and escape. And who knows what powers that spider may answer to? I must entice the creature from the niche. I walk calmlyto the hearth and set down my broom. So long as no devil knows that these children are here, so long as no devil can speak within my head, these children may live here with me. I can take care of them. I have lived in isolation for nine long years. Surely it is time for me to have companionship again. We can be a family of sorts. After all, their stepmother is cruel beyond belief and their father is an obvious coward. They can’t be worse off with me. They can’t, so long as the devils do not know they are here. I must face that spider. If it has