Jesse Ball - The Way Through Doors

The sound of bells as lepers ran around the edges of the pack. The rushing back and forth of the giants, trampling even into the crowd. The dwarves upon dwarves’ shoulders, lighting fires and shouting the names of all the great wizards of the past. At their heels, the patchcoat dogs, and at the fore, the ugliest of women.

She approached the makeshift dais, and mounted one by one the stairs, prodded by soldiers with bills and halberds. Her dress was already filthy from the dwarves’ Greek fire and the dirt of the street. She went before the empress and looked for the first time upon the Count M. He returned Kolya’s gaze, held it gently in his own and did not look away.

For that I thank you, thought the ugliest of women.

Up then the priest onto the dais, elbowing his way through the throng. Shouts and cries abounded, and though it was winter, the heat of the press made sweat run down the hungry faces.

The count was untethered and forced to the side of his soon-bride. A stave brought them both to their knees, and as they fell, the count whispered in her ear,

— Pretend that you love me. I will do the same.

The ugliest woman nodded. To herself, she thought, You will love me yet, and not in jest.

The priest pronounced over them a joining, and to it they gave their agreement. The count and his new bride were raised then to their feet. The empress climbed onto horseback, with the members of her court. A great quantity of hounds was brought then into the streets.

— My count, called out the empress. And for the first time the count turned his eyes upon her.

— My count, she said, we will harry you through the streets as once you and I followed prey on the paths in the country of my youth. Do you see the palace in the distance?

Turning, the count beheld a palace of ice at the edge of the city.

— To that you must go. Raising a horn to her lips, the empress blew a loud clear note.

The count took the hand of the ugliest of women.

— Do not stumble, he said.

— I am ugly, she said, but I am quick.

And they were off.

It is lucky that they had the parade of dwarves and giants and patch-skinned dogs between them and the hunt, for otherwise they would not have reached the palace in safety. Yet as it was, the hounds took great pleasure in ravaging the lepers, who rang their bells for all they were worth, but did not fare so well in the hounds’ sharp teeth.

Soon they were come, breathless and half-mad, to the ice palace. Rarely in the history of the great Russian Empire had such an ice palace been seen. A replica of the empress’s own, this palace had in addition to many of the other rooms a bedroom set apart from the rest, with a bed constructed of ice, and a viewing chamber beyond.

As the Count M. stepped onto the threshold of the ice palace, the empress dismounted with her court. Soldiers once more took charge of the count and his bride. Together they were delivered to the bedchamber and made to stand fast by the bed of ice, facing the viewing chamber.

Into the viewing chamber, then, the court in general, and at its head the empress. All the nobles, the lords and ladies that the count had known, now looked upon him with a cruel and sneering eye. But what they saw in the count was nothing they had seen before. He looked back at them as though he were a man staring up into the night sky, with nothing more than idling and evening in his hand.

Out of a small door, then, the third minister. To the soldiers, he said,

— Off with their clothing. Force them onto the bed.

The count closed his eyes, then opened them. Without a word, he removed his own clothing and stood, naked, shivering only slightly from the deep cold.

For her part, the ugliest of women could not remove her dress on her own, for she had been sewn into it. With sharp knives the soldiers cut it off, and all of her was soon visible to the count’s eye. He looked at her still and did not look away.

For this too I thank you, thought the ugliest of women. To him then she spoke.

— I am Kolya, she said.

— Think no more of the cold, Kolya, than of the audience, for they are the same. Here we will do what we must. If there is life beyond this, so be it.

The Count M. took Kolya to him then, and began to kiss her. In the viewing chamber the empress looked away. Tears started from her eyes, and she rushed from the room.

— Kolya, murmured the count. They lay upon the cold bed of ice, side by side. An hour had passed, and they were wrapped now in their rags and torn clothing. All the court had left, and all the soldiers too. They were alone, and had become inured to the ice.

— My count, said Kolya. My life has been till now a life of books. My father never took me out upon the street, to the marketplace or the promenade along the river. I never had schooling, or lessons on how to sew or cook. He kept me instead in his study and he told me, Learn all of this. Read every book and understand the things there writ. This will be your path to joy.

There was a book there, she continued, my favorite of them all. It constructed architectures, impossible places, dreams of impossible places. Of these a needle, larger than the tallest house, stabbed down into the sand at the sea’s edge. It rises from the sand only enough for a single plank, a walkway, to run out from its center. This plank runs out across the sea, inches above the shuddering waves. It runs for miles, and a curious thing begins to happen as the walkway tends farther and farther from the shore.

— I have read this book, said the count. Beneath the plank, the sea begins to fall away, and the plank becomes steeper and steeper, and harder to climb. Miles pass in this way. Finally, there begin to be handholds, and footholds, ladder rungs in the plank. For one has come so far that one must climb. At the top, one finds that one has reached another needle, this sunk into an island so far offshore from the first needle that it was not visible, though from the top of the second needle the first needle is plain in the far distance, as the path’s terminus.

— It is so lovely, said Kolya, how then there is another ladder, down along the side of the needle. One proceeds to the island of the anchored needle, where a small cabin sits, and someone is waiting with a bit of lunch and a pot of tea. Someone kind whom you have known a very long while. She comes to the door and plain upon her face is her joy at your arrival.

— You have come along the needle? said the count, in the voice of the someone-who-waits-in-the cabin. How long and tiring the route of needles, for it passes through the core of things.

— To this you say nothing, said Kolya, but only smile, admitting to the general truth of her words. And she brings you into the house and sets before you a fine meal. And afterwards, there is dancing and laughter, and it is the dancing one does when one is not observed, which is the best dancing of all.

— And all the while, said the count, someone murmuring, Who can say therefore where a certain person is, for what is it that anchors a person? Is it their place in the story to which you are a part? Many stories hereabouts run side by side, and you cannot be at pains to unpin them, for they are sharp, and you will only sting the tips of your fingers.

Their voices grew quiet, and they lay, staring up at the icy ceiling. The count ran his fingertips along the back of her neck, and a look of helplessness came over her face.

— The empress was right about you, she said.

— No one has ever been right about you, said the count.

— Not yet, said Kolya. Not yet. But this is my debut.

The count began to say something about the events of the day, but Kolya put her hand over his mouth and stopped him.

— Today we will speak only of absurd and improbable things, things far from us.