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| The next evening the young man took a walk through the château’s grounds. The lands lay peacefully. Bees were humming between the flowers and a soft breeze stirred the hedges and trees. The air was filled with the sweet scent of roses, for roses were everywhere in this garden. The day before the young man had watched the Beast from afar. The creature had spent a long time in this part of the gardens, inhaling the sweet fragrances, tenderly touching the delicate petals, carefully plucking yellow leaves here and there. How strange this creature was, the boy mused, this Beast who loved nothing more than his roses. Who could be soft and quiet at times, but savage and extremely short-tempered at others. And whose moods were changing just as quickly as the clouds flew by. But then, how must it be to be locked up in the body of a monster? Orlando walked on, deep in thought. After a while, he came to a wall with a small door, partly hidden under ivy and honeysuckle. Curiously, he opened the door and found himself in another part of the gardens with tall hydrangea bushes and a silent pond. On the opposite side of the pool the Beast knelt, lapping up water like an animal. It seemed quite a chore for the Beast. Bent over uncomfortably, he was lapping ineffectively at the water, his tongue not really adapted to the task he was trying to perform. Watching the creature this time was different; the young man felt like an intruder; as if he were watching something forbidden. Quickly he turned back and closed the door behind him. The youth began making his way to the château. Meanwhile the sun was setting and the park sank into a milky twilight. Shortly afterwards, the Beast appeared among a row of grotesque-looking stone statues and walked up to him. "I thought you would be dining already?" The Beast's face was just as unmoving as those of the stone statues behind him, showing no expression. He stood in the shadows, his bearing regal; nothing about him reminded Orlando of the animal the young man had witnessed only a few minutes before. Yet there was an air of infinite sadness about him. Orlando studied him intently. He certainly wasn't born this way. How long had he been leading this life? Did he once have a family? Now he was an outcast living all alone at his splendid château. Did he feel lonely? So many questions, but he did not dare to ask the Beast about it. Instead he said, "I am not hungry. I would rather walk with you." With that answer the Beast's features softened, an expression of perplexed surprise lit up his face, as if he couldn't believe what he had heard. He nodded, his hand pressed flat against his chest. "You do me a great honour, Orlando. A very great honour." Wordlessly they walked down the long alley until they came to a pavilion. There the Beast stopped. "Orlando, I hope you do not find the days too tedious." The young man had spent long hours reading. He was not used to idling the time away or spending countless hours in a library, the tedium of waiting was more exhausting than a day on horseback. "It is true," he said. "I do find the days long. Time passes so slowly over here. And there is no one to talk to." As you probably know he was almost tempted to add, but he feared to address the Beast on such personal matters. "This evening I was actually looking forward to seven o' clock." The Beast hid a small smile. "You are so kind tonight that I can hardly bring myself to ask you the question that torments me so." “You may ask, but I shall always give you the same answer. Let us be friends, Beast. Do not ask any more of me." The Beast shook his mighty head as if wanting to shake off his indignation and suppressed a low growl. The young man pretended that he did not notice. "Tell me, Beast, how do you spend your days?" In that instant a deer broke through the bushes in front of them. The Beast stared at it, transfixed, as it ran off into the woods. "Did you hear me, Beast?" the youth asked anew. "I am talking to you." The Beast looked at him miserably. "Forgive me …" The young man put his hand on the creature's arm. "What is it?" The Beast inhaled deeply. “Don’t worry. It is nothing.” But his face was troubled and his eyes forlorn. For a moment the young man hesitated. All of a sudden, his heart filled with pity for this misshapen, forsaken creature and he offered the Beast his hand. Again, the Beast looked at him in wonder. Taking the boy's hand he led him deeper into the park until they came to a fountain. There the Beast sank down on his knees, covering his head with his monstrous claws. Confused, the young man looked down on him. “What troubles you so, Beast?" "I am thirsty, Orlando, but it is ugly to kneel and lap water as a dog.” He looked away. "I don't want you to see me like this." Kneeling down next to the creature, the young man filled his hands with water. "This is nothing to be ashamed of. Here, drink from my hands." "Thank you." The Beast drank hastily, slurping loudly. When he finished he gazed at the young man. "Doesn't it revolt you to let me drink from your hands?" Orlando met the Beast's glance openly. "No, Beast, it does not. Maybe I am beginning to understand things I did not see before. I do not wish you any harm." The Beast's mouth quivered slightly while his eyes grew cold again. "Yet you wish nothing more than to be far, far away from here." *** The following evening, Orlando found himself again in the Great Hall. Dressed in dark green velvet, he was restlessly pacing to and fro, looking toward the clock on the mantelpiece ever so often. The marble busts on both sides of the fireplace turned their heads and looked at each other questioningly. Finally it rang eight o'clock. In the mirror above the fireplace Orlando beheld the Beast coming down the stairs and the young man walked eagerly to meet him. "You are late tonight." "Thank you, Orlando, for noticing." "Yes, I was waiting for you." With that he threw himself on his knees and grabbed the Beast's cloak."What is it?" the creature asked surprised. "Please, you must listen to me. I understand that you are lonely and perhaps even more desperate that I can imagine. But…you must understand me too…I cannot live another day without knowing how my father and my sisters are. Please let me go. I beg you." The Beast shook his head. "Ah, get up, Orlando." He pulled the young man to his feet and led him to the table, sitting down next to him. "Remember we have an arrangement. Remember, you agreed to pay for your father's crime." Hastily the young man seized the Beast's claws. "Yes, I know. And in return you spared my father's life. But .. ", he took a deep breath, "I am sure you know about the magic mirror in my room. I am inclined to believe you let me have it for a reason. So I looked into it, time and again, to see how my father and my sisters are." The Beast made no comment on this; he sat frozen, so Orlando continued. "It seems my father has fallen ill, so seriously ill that I am not sure whether he will survive the next months. What is to become of my sisters if he dies? Please, let me go, I must see how things are at home. I promise I will return after a week." The Beast studied him with a blank face. "And will you grant my wish upon your return?" Instantly sobered, the young man drew back his hands, shaking his head. "You are torturing me." "As you are torturing me," replied the Beast and left the young man in front of the fireplace. *** Later that night the youth heard strange noises. There were loud roars, sounds of a fight and then someone crying out in pain. Some bushes rustled and stirred, but apart from that the park was quiet again. The boy moaned; he'd rather not know what had happened down there, he dreaded what he might find under the trees. Yet at the same time, his feet, as if they had a will of their own, carried him down to the Great Hall. The last embers smouldering away in the fireplace were the only source of light under the high ceiling. "I need light," Orlando said and immediately the two candelabra on the mantelpiece lit themselves. He stood in the flickering light, barely daring to move, and listened. Turning his head, he gasped in horror. A few steps away from him the Beast stood motionless in the shadows. "What are you doing down here at such a late hour?" the Beast hissed. "I … I heard noises," the young stammered. Slowly the Beast stepped into the light. "My God," the youth cried. "You're covered in blood!" "Yes," roared the Beast loudly. "I am a Beast, a wild animal. Have you forgotten?" Orlando stood petrified, his mind was racing. How could he calm down the creature? “But you are not really a beast, you …” he began. “What do you know, you silly boy? You know nothing!” the Beast almost shouted, baring his fangs. The young man's heart beat madly, but he did not move, staring at the Beast in horror as he saw smoke rising from the creature’s hands. "Get back in your room!” the creature snarled. “So you won’t have to look at me.” At this the youth backed off, his eyes fixed on the Beast as he walked back up the stairs. His mind was spinning. He could not sleep now. So instead of going back to his room he wandered aimlessly around the château as the moon rose over the forest. For a long time he sat in one of the salons on the second floor, an almost empty room with nothing more than a fireplace and a moth-eaten chaise lounge. Cobwebs hung from the mirrors and the paintings showing noble men and beautiful ladies in all their finery were covered with a thick sheen of dust. One painting in particular caught his attention. It showed a handsome young man with seagreen eyes standing in a park, a hand resting leisurely on a fine sword, his head raised proudly. Those eyes … Orlando mused, cautiously wiping off the dust from the face on the portrait. They seemed familiar, yet how could it be? Judging from the style of the dresses the man must have died long ago. The moon had wandered from the East to the West and white clouds had come up. Orlando was still sitting in the dark, lonely room, musing, when he heard a piano playing from afar. Immediately, he jumped up, as if he had just woken from a dream, and ran to where the music came from. On the threshold of the room he stopped. With his back to Orlando, the Beast was sitting at a harpsichord. He was still wearing the blood-stained, torn clothes; his mane was matted and unkempt. Leaning his head against the black ebony top, the creature watched the keys go up and down on their own. The piano played a slow, sad tune, full of melancholy and yearning. The Beast sat very still. It looked as if he had even closed his eyes, entranced by the dreamy tunes. The music ended with the last notes quietly sailing down to the ground. Orlando wondered whether he’d not better make his presence known, but a quiet whimper made him stop in his tracks. Was the Beast crying? He should go over to the Beast and say … well, what should he tell him? The youth swallowed thickly. All of a sudden, there was a lump in his throat and his hands felt very cold. At that moment the Beast’s fist abruptly came down on the piano, causing the keys to give a shrill discordant noise. “I cannot stand it anymore. I cannot. Not even music comforts me any more.” Rising abruptly, the creature kicked over the stool he had sat on. “Don’t go away!” Orlando cried out, running up to him and holding him back. The Beast was breathing heavily. “You again,” he groaned, but this time the youth heard desperation in his voice, not anger. “Why do you not sleep?” Orlando looked into the Beast’s miserable, grotesque face. “I could not. I was thinking … about you.” "Please forgive me," murmured the Beast, averting his eyes. "For what?" The Beast moaned quietly. "For being a beast." Before Orlando could answer, the Beast tore himself away and stormed out of the room through a door at the opposite end. Orlando sank back against a wall, listening to the gradually diminishing sounds of retreating footsteps and doors falling closed. A single tear ran down his face. |