Free Tales from the Brothers Grimm and the Sisters Weird by Vivian Vande Velde Page B

would turn to her husband and ask, "You, dear?"
    And he always patted his stomach and echoed, "Not a bite more."
    Then Beast would say, "Do you at least notice how neat my clothes are and how calmly I'm talking?"
    "Yes, dear."
    "So may I please come home?"
    "Not quite yet, dear."
    At which point he'd growl or kick over a lawn chair or, just to spite his mother, tear off a sleeve of his shirt.
    The visit always ended with Beast pleading with his father to talk his mother into lifting the spell, and his father saying, "I'll try, but you know how your mother is."
    This had gone on long enough that when, one day, Beast heard someone in his castle's courtyard, he assumed it was his parents, even though it was a freezing, rainy day. But when he went outside, he saw that it was a stranger in a dead faint on the stones. The man had obviously traveled long and hard, for he had just barely made it through Beast's gate before collapsing.
    Beast carried the poor man inside, but as he was ashamed of his appearance—which he knew was somewhat alarming—he set the man down on the bed in one of the guest bedrooms, and he told the room, "Take care of the man. Provide a fire to warm him and candles so that he can see where he is when he wakes. Cover him with warm, diy blankets while he sleeps and lay out rich clothes for him to wear when he gets up."
    Then Beast walked down the hallway to the dining room, calling up lights all the way. "Dining room," Beast said, "fresh tablecloth, best dishes, flowers for the center."
    In the kitchen he said, "Warm and savory food on the dining-room table thirty seconds before the man gets there."
    Later that evening Beast heard the man coming down the hall, calling, "Hello? Is anybody here?"
    Desperate for company but afraid to be seen, Beast hid behind a half-closed door on the upper landing as the man came into the dining room.
    "I say," the man said, "this is very nice." He raised his voice. "Hello. Where is everybody?"
    Beast didn't answer, and of course the castle didn't answer. One of the chairs pulled away from the table invitingly, so after a while the man realized that the feast was set out for him.
    Hesitantly the man sat down on the chair, which immediately pulled itself closer to the table. A fork jumped into his hand.
    "Well," the man said, "thank you, whoever you are. Wherever you are."
    After dinner the castle—following Beast's instructions—led the man to the library, where the man had shelves and shelves of books to choose from; and a harpsichord, should he be musically inclined; and a chess set, which played the black pieces when the man moved one of the white pawns. Beast hid behind a tapestry and watched. After two games of chess (the castle let the man win both times), several books, and a midnight snack (apparently the man was
not
musically inclined), the man yawned and stretched.
    The candles in the hall lit the way back to his room, where the bed was freshly made and a silk nightshirt lay under the pillow.
    Beast returned to the kitchen, where he had his own dinner, happier than he'd been in a long time. Even though he hadn't dared show himself or speak to the man, it had been good to see somebody—anybody—he wasn't related to.
    The following morning Beast arranged for breakfast to be on a tray on the man's nightstand thirty seconds before he awoke.
    Beast was hoping that the man would be having such a good time at the castle that he would stay. Beast was planning that, after a day or two, he would show himself to the man and the two of them would be best friends for the rest of their lives, despite Beast's unfortunate appearance.
    But, after breakfast, dressed in Beast's best suit, the man called out, "Thanks for everything," and he headed outdoors.
    Beast locked the gate, planning to force his visitor to stay. Still, Beast was mightily annoyed as he watched the man walk out the front door and down the front steps. But then, rather than going to the gate, the