Chapter XIX: Lost in the realm of dreams

Spectre de la rose, detail
Copyright © Cheryl Mandus 1988.
Used with permission.

I was lying in my bed on one of these endless sleepless nights, when at least, I closed my eyes. Sighing with ease, I tried to relax so that I wouldn't have to hear the clock ringing every hour in the night. Then a divine silhouette appeared in front of me and I recognised her very well: it was Shuqra. Sheepish, I remembered that I had been angry with her and I bent down the head, ashamed.
She came toward me with her dancing pace and put gently her hand on my shoulder.
"Don't be so humble, child," she said softly. "Everybody can be mistaken, the gods like the human beings. Thou wast angry and thou wast quite right to be so, for I hadn't been very nice to thee, had I?"
"I chose thee with full knowledge of the facts, o Shuqra," I replied without looking up.
She laughed lightly.
"What is thy sorrow, child?" she asked me then, quite seriously.
At least, I looked up at her with my sorrowful eyes.
"Thou wast wrong, o Shuqra. I'm able to love, but it made my life worse than Hell!"
"So thou lovest?"
"Yes, Shuqra, I love. Is that enough for thee?" I asked bitterly.
"May I ask who thou lovest?" she insisted quite strangely, for I was sure she knew it perfectly.
"So thou wantst thy victory to be complete! Very well, then... I love Beauty, Shuqra, I love her more than life itself and I ask thee: why this suffering when love is supposed to make you happy?"
"Oh child!" sighed Shuqra. "If only it was so simple! But it isn't... Thou complainest, but then, thou hast not suffered half of what Beauty suffered. And she is still suffering..."
"Why did she leave me, Shuqra? Tell me, why?"
"To spare thee more suffering, child," said simply Shuqra.
"How?" I howled, unable to control myself.
"By taking thy suffering on her shoulders, to hide her tears to thee... She had to be strong in front of thee, for she is as proud as thee, and she wanted more than everything else to hide from thee everything she felt, to keep for herself the cries and tears she wanted to let flow away..."
I bent down the head again and Shuqra left me, leaving me to my sleepless night, my eyes open on the emptiness of the darkness.

The following morning, I went in my gardens and remained frozen on the spot when seeing my roses garden almost devastated. It was not like the time the fairy, under her monstrous shape, had clawed one of my rose trees. It was as if they were all dying a natural death, withering slowly as flowers did normally. But my gardens weren't normal ones and then, I didn't want them to wither, for they were my only link to Beauty now.
Frantically, I began to care for them, but as the days passed by, they withered more and more until they died. The black rose tree stood valiantly in the middle, not in a very good state, but still alive, but all the others, so beautiful and so rare, died in my hands. I almost wept when one of the most beautiful, of a red so dark that it was almost crimson, died too.
Beauty had so well cared for them and she was such a good green witch that my rose gardens were immense. The losses I was suffering didn't affect them all, but the most rare species, the ones Beauty had cared the most for, were the first to die and I felt my heart sinking in my chest each time I saw a dead rose tree.
One week after the first rose tree died, I had at least a night during which I could sleep, but it was a sound sleep, so sound in fact that I wouldn't have remembered to have slept hadn't it be for the strange dream I had that very night. I was under the hideous shape of a monster, not exactly the same as the fairy had chosen, but very similar - excepted that now that I was that very monster, I didn't see myself like I had seen the fairy's monster, and I preferred to call myself a beast rather than a monster. Facing me was Beauty, so near, so beautiful that I felt a sharp pinch in my heart just by seeing her. I wanted to reach for her but then, I remembered what I was become and didn't move. I bent down the head, had a good look at myself and despised all that I saw.
My little Beauty was huddled against the wall, looking at me with a quite terrified air, even if her pride forbade her to show it. I tried to say something to her but I only managed in uttering something that sounded more like a growl than a human voice. She was so afraid, and she was afraid of me, that, ashamed, I fled from her torturing sight, limping heavily without knowing why. I sheltered in my rooms, exactly similar to those I had always known, except that there wasn't any portrait on the wall, even not Rose Line's, and that was for the better. It recalled me that I had burnt Rose Line's portrait when I had discovered the fairy's betrayal.
I curled up in my favourite armchair, hiding my hideous head in my enormous paws armed with powerful claws. My mirror was hanged on my wall, but I hadn't the courage to look up in it and see what I really was. Seeing what I could see of myself was enough already to fill me with shame and horror, what feeling could have Beauty when facing me? She was seeing my face, this cursed face of mine, most probably as hideous as the rest of my body, if not worse. I would have wept for bitterness if beasts were allowed to weep. Instead of that, I curled up a bit more and wished deep down to be dead, so that this shame would end.
The dream didn't end with the sunrise. One night of sound sleep covered something like a week in the dream, so I had the impression to wake up seven times under the shape of a beast. Beauty was still there, captive in my castle, and I didn't know why she had to stay here, with the monster I was now. She was hostile and didn't even try to hide it. So great was my shame that I was more willing to flee than to remain and fight against fate that the things didn't progress very much between us during this first dream week.
After that, I had six sleepless nights and somehow, I preferred that to this night of sound sleep, with this dream haunting me so much and disturbing me for the rest of the week. But this dream was so strange that I couldn't help to think of it during all those sleepless nights. I tried to imagine what would happen next and, of course, I fancied the most stupid things, all in my favour, and in my daydreams - even if they happened during the night - Beauty wasn't afraid anymore of me and she hadn't anymore this haughty attitude with me. She was kind and understanding and she had forgotten her love for her monster, giving it to me instead.
When I stood up with the sun in the morning, each time I sighed because my daydream wasn't true and would never be: I was not silly enough to think that someday, I would see Beauty coming back to the castle, repented, begging for my forgiveness and my love. She was far much too proud and willing for that.
And then, the second dream night happened. The dream wasn't at all like those I had made by myself, but I was expecting it. Even if I was sound asleep, I was somehow aware of the dream and I could think freely during the dream. In the dream, then, I managed to overcome a bit my shame and to hide a bit less. I discovered that my gardens were still there, almost in the same state as the real ones, except that the blue rose trees I was creating weren't there. Looking at my huge paws, I understood quite clearly that I was unable, under this awful shape, to create something so fragile.
Each time I was in the same room as Beauty, I was trying to hide in the shadows as much as possible, so I would frighten her less, but even so, she felt my presence and it made her uncomfortable. As long as she could see me, I was trying to walk with that regal walk that was normally mine - my huge stature helped a lot for giving that impression - but as soon as I was sure she couldn't see me anymore, I gave up all pretences and continued my way limping heavily. I didn't know why I was suddenly lame, but I couldn't help it and it made me suffer so much that it was difficult for me to hide it to Beauty without showing the pain it caused me. But I didn't want her to pity me.
Two weeks with Beauty and I still hadn't managed to utter a decent word. I trained very hard to articulate correctly, but every try ended up in a growl and I closed my eyes, ashamed, so I wouldn't see Beauty's frightened look. My gruff voice didn't sound adapted to say gentle words and my long sharp fangs forbade all help from the look I could have had. At least, if I could have looked gentle, even with a gruff tone, perhaps she could have understood that I wasn't that bad, but with this accursed face even worse than my voice, what to do? How did her beast to manage to make her love him?
The waking up was painful and, in the same time, it was quite a relief. I was still human and it was only a nightmare, except that Beauty's presence almost made it a lovely dream. I wondered if I would have preferred to be a beast with Beauty - a beast she would have loved - than a man without her. I wasn't really willing to conclude and, deciding firmly that the question was stupid, I got this idea out of my head, that is, I tried to do so. It came to haunt me quite regularly and I sometimes wondered if I wouldn't have give up my human shape in exchange for Beauty's love, and gladly! This idea made me smile bitterly.
Of course, Beauty had already loved a beast - and still loved him - but it didn't mean she could - and would - love another one. Without saying that I was awfully bad-tempered and, even if she had a temper to match my own, no woman could want to spend her whole life with someone as bad-tempered as I was. In a certain way, I almost pitied Rose Line, who had escaped this terrible threat only because she was somehow lucky.
I shook the head. I was mixing so much my real life with the one I led in the dream that I was beginning not to know anymore if I was beast or man. But what I knew, beast or man, was that I loved Beauty. Strange how, whatever appearance one could have, his heart was still the same. Beast or man, my heart was still belonging to Beauty, each breath I breathed was hers, every thought I had was for her. One heart, two shapes. But between her and my different me, there was the ghost of another beast, whose power came from Beauty's love he had won.
I tried to forget all those wild thoughts by working harder on my poor roses. I did really weep when a rose tree giving roses of the most delicate peach colour lost its last leaf just before my eyes. Shuqra's soft voice didn't even startle me.
"How strange are the men!" she said. "Thou couldst not weep when thou hast lost Beauty, but now, thou weepst for a flower!"
"Oh, Shuqra! Please don't let them die! I need them so much!" I cried through my tears.
"I would have thought that thou wouldst have been less selfish," Shuqra reproached me.
"But they are all that I have left of her!" I cried again. "Please, don't let the fairy take that from me!"
"I don't understand," said Shuqra, quite disturbed.
"Those rose trees... Beauty created them. The fairy destroyed her portrait, I have only those flowers as the proof she had been here. I need them! I need them so badly to believe!"
"To believe what?" asked Shuqra and her voice was soft again.
"To believe she will return..." I almost sobbed.
Shuqra sighed deeply.
"I can't intervene in that, child," she said regretfully. "Only thou canst do something..."
And then, she was gone, but my sorrow remained.

I was now waiting my dream night with impatience, for it was for me the only way to see Beauty and to have the impression to be near her. It allowed me too to forget my poor devastated roses garden. I soon noticed that the roses garden in the dream was withering in the same way as the real one and, in fact, I could see in the dream how my rose trees would die. It gave me a kind of prescience but, instead of making me happy, it only increased my sorrow for I saw my gardens dying twice.
During this third week, Beauty got used to my gruff tone and began to show her own temper. At the time of our first real conversation, after one or two banalities, she said brutally:
"How long will I stay here as your captive?"
"You're not my captive!" I protested, shocked to the very core. "You're my guest!"
"Your guest!" she repeated, sneering. "Are you used to steal your guests' freedom? Is it how you live? By stealing?"
I was normally seated in the dark, so that she would almost not see me. When hearing her last remark, I stood up and stepped forward.
"So, for you, I'm a robber. Just a mere robber? I would have expected you to treat me like a monster, since that's what I am indeed; I thought that was what you would have seen first. Or do you forgive me for being a monster?" I asked ironically.
"My lord..." she began, suddenly very embarrassed.
"'My lord'! That's nice indeed! Do you give me this title because I'm living in a castle - that I have probably stolen, haven't I? - or because you fell I am from a noble birth?"
"My lord," she said again, "I'm sorry for being so rude. I'm... I'm your guest and I don't have the right to criticise you like I just did."
"You have the right," I corrected her. "You're the mistress here, you can say - or do - whatever you want. Who would bother that a monster had been hurt in his pride? He's only a monster after all and monsters are doomed to die."
This acceptation of fate seemed to enrage her and she exclaimed fiercely:
"You're not a monster! Your clothes are a man's clothes, you speak like a man..."
"Growl..." I murmured bitterly.
"You speak like a man," she continued as if she hadn't heard me. "And it seems to me that your gaze is the one of a man..."
In a way, her words were kind and I stepped forward again; I was nearer her than I had ever been and she became uncomfortable at once.
"No, please... Don't come closer..." she said of a choked voice.
I bent down the head, ashamed to have forgotten who - what - I was and my gaze fell upon my left paw I had put on a chair's back. Seeing this ugly huge paw, I reddened violently, but fortunately, my fur hid it.
"I'm going away, since I'm frightening you," I said rather sadly. "Good bye, Beauty."
And I left the room where she was, using one of the many dark corridors. Once in the shadows, far from the frightening light of the candles, I gave up all pretence and limped again, not caring anymore to let Beauty see this new disgrace of mine.
This very day, I forced myself to look at myself. I went in front of my mirror; this one, magical of course - and it was quite natural for me to have this magical mirror - at first refused to reflect anything. I begged it, ordered it and ended by yelling at it. Finally, it yielded and accepted, quite reluctantly, to show me what I wanted. I hardly believed my own eyes when I saw my image; I almost looked away, but then I thought that Beauty had to look upon my face all the time so I better had to do it.
My ugliness would have brought tears in my eyes if beasts had been allowed to weep. I had thought that Beauty's monster was really an ugly one, but I was far more ugly than him. I deserved more the name of monster than he did. I was really a monster and he was - had been - a beast. No, no beast could look like me and, if one had had, it would have committed suicide, for it would have been too ashamed to live.
I couldn't turn my gaze away now; so much ugliness was almost fascinating. And what was more 'normal' for a beast was so much exaggerated, so huge, that nobody could gaze at it with anything else but horror. The more I looked at myself in the mirror, the more I was horrified and disgusted. At the end, as if it was able to understand my feelings, my mirror turned off by itself, stopping this torture. But it was already too late: harm was done. As soon as I closed my eyes, I only saw this horrible face of mine, this accursed face that never stopped to haunt me from that moment on.
I was so ashamed that I hid from Beauty, even if her very presence put some balm on my wounds. The girl, who had grown accustomed to my silent presence haunting the darkness, was quite surprised by my disappearance and, when we met even so, I sometimes fancied there was a gleam of joy or relief in her eyes, as if only seeing me reminded her that she wasn't all alone in that dark and cold castle. But maybe would she have found it less dark and cold if I hadn't been in there.
The third dream night came at end and I woke up quite distressed. Those dreams were so vivid that I needed some time each time I woke up to realise who I was - the monster or the man - even though I was able to act like the beast when I was a man - but never the contrary. But I had to care for my dying roses and I forgot - for a while - those dreams... until night during which I saw the monster's face on my ceiling and I gazed at it during all the nightly hours.
Another rare and precious rose tree died in my hands and I wept again, as if I was crying under my human shape all the tears I couldn't shed under my monstrous shape. Once again, Shuqra was the only witness.
"Again tears for a rose tree, child?" she said rather sadly. "Thou wouldst better shed them for the human race..."
"I can't have Beauty!" I cried suddenly. "I can't have her, but why are the gods refusing me any consolation? She will never love me, but can't I have these rose trees she gave her love to?"
"She told thee how to win her love," remarked gently Shuqra.
"To be kind and sweet, that's it? But even if I was kind and sweet, she's not here to see it! And what's more, she already loves someone. If her love was still alive, I would have let them in peace; why would I try to make her be unfaithful to a dead? That's not fair. Even dead beasts deserve some considerations."
Surprisingly, Shuqra didn't laugh at me when hearing that. She simply said:
"I'm so proud of thee, my dear, dear child..."
And her voice did really sound proud. I nodded vaguely.
"What wilt thou do?" she asked me then.
"I don't know. I will probably fight all that I can for those poor rose trees and die with the last one. Dying to show his love is not only for beasts. Humans can do it too. Beauty said the fairy has the right to make me die of love - or sorrow. Why not both?"
"And me?" asked Shuqra quite indignantly.
"I beg thy pardon?" I said, surprised.
"Doest thou count me for nothing? Doest thou think I will let thee die of love, sorrow or I-don't-know-what because of the fairy? Doest thou think I will accept to be defeated by her?"
"I'm not thy champion, Shuqra. Thou hast lots of other believers, wiser than I, and they need their goddess of wisdom."
"Thou chosest me because I'm the goddess of knowledge too, so thou art one of my believers. I won't let thee die like that! And I claim thy life as mine as long as Beauty doesn't claim it as hers!"
"Then I'm thine for all eternity," I said bitterly.
Shuqra understood at once I wasn't in the mood to bear a philosophical discussion and she gave up the ground. But I knew she would come back, again and again, until she succeeded in convincing me I was of some use. I sighed mentally and looked down at my hands covered with soil.
Then I thought that, if Beauty wasn't there in real life, I was near her during the dreams and I could be kind and nice to her during those moments. Not because I wanted to win her love - no, what I had said to Shuqra was true: I hadn't the right to steal her love from another one, even he was dead - but simply because she deserved it. I loved her and my mother had always said to me that love could defy the impossible. So I could be nice to her, even with my bad-temper of a wild beast.
I had another idea then: Beauty had given all her love to create this beautiful garden, but most of her care was directed at that rose tree in the middle, that hateful black rose tree. I swore to the emptiness I would do my best to save at least this rose tree, just because she had tried so hard to create it, just because it was for him. It was the proof of her love for him and I hadn't the right to let it die. I didn't even think of the fact I would keep this famous - and so rare - rose tree, I swore it upon my life - for all it was worth - that I didn't think a single instant of that. For once in my life I truly had all my thoughts turned to someone else and I only wanted to do something for Beauty and her beast, for Beauty and her doomed love. To let this rose tree live would be my contribution to that.
I had a bitter smile. I knew - how could it be otherwise? - that Beauty would think the choice was because of my damned pride, but it wasn't the case at all. Truly! My own selfishness almost horrified me now and I wanted so much to make amends! From now on, each black rose coming from that rose tree would go on the beast's grave, as a present from Beauty, even if she wasn't here to give it herself. And perhaps magic could help to make them live longer or even perhaps let them as a rosebud.
Unremitting in the work of saving my rose trees - most of all, the black one - I didn't see the time passing by and my sleep-sound night almost caught me by surprise. I noticed almost at once the difference in my own behaviour: the previous week, I was still selfish, despite my love for Beauty, but now, I was trying to please her, even if I remained hidden most of the time. Now I knew how ugly I was and I didn't want to impose this ugliness to her. But once, in a corridor - dark and cold, as always - she stopped me by putting her little hand on my hand. I remained frozen on the spot, not daring to move anymore, and my eyes were opened on something I couldn't see, for my brain was stopped too.
"My lord," she said questioningly, "why are you avoiding me? Have I done something wrong?"
For the first time since she was here, she dared to look up, to look straight in my eyes so human and so sad. What she saw in them held her captive and she couldn't turn her own gaze away. Troubled, I moaned softly.
"Please, Beauty, don't look at me!" I pleaded, stepping back in my comfortable darkness.
But, moved by something she couldn't explain, Beauty stepped forward, as to follow me. I moaned again and tried to hide my face behind my arm; but she was still looking at me and even if it wasn't horror that I saw in her eyes, it was unbearable for me. I gave up the ground and fled pitifully, limping more heavily than before. Fortunately, Beauty didn't follow me so far and I could calm down the wild beats of my heart in the secure shadows of my rooms.
After that I moved even more cautiously in my own castle, afraid to meet Beauty again and to face her inquisitive gaze. But she was trying to be on my way as much as possible, as if solitude weighted heavily on her and she was seeking my company to forget it. Since that day she had dared to really look at me, she was now looking straight in my eyes and each time, I felt like a deer caught by the hunter. Her voice was now soft and almost tender when she spoke to me, as if she had seen in my eyes something that had made her understand how lonely and sad I was.
But I was proud and I refused her pity. Once again, I tried to hide my limping but she already knew it, I saw it at the tender glow in her eyes. And sometimes, enraged because of her pity, I fled in the depths of my garden to hide my anger. She found me here once and, without fear, she put her little hand on my shoulder, a bit shyly, because she was still respectful toward me, even if she was sometimes yelling at me. Feeling her hand on my shoulder, I thought fleetingly of her fear of contact, which seemed to have disappeared.
Slowly, I turned my huge head toward her and I involuntarily jerked back when I saw her face so very near mine.
"What are you doing, Beauty?" I asked with a choked voice, escaping her soft and torturing touch. "Am... am I not frightening you anymore? You're not repulsed by my face?"
She held out her hand toward my face, but gently, I caught her hand and, in spite of myself, I brushed softly my lips against her fingertips. Then, ashamed, I released her hand and stepped back. She stepped forward at once.
"How could I be repulsed?" she asked gently. "Aren't you kind and sweet with me? Perhaps you have huge paws, with powerful shining sharp claws, but your hand is like a bird's caress when you touch me, so light! A feather couldn't be lighter..."
I turned the head away with difficulty and bent down the eyes to stare at my huge ugly paws. Then a little white hand covered partly one of mine and Beauty's voice said softly:
"You asked me if you were not frightening me anymore, but I didn't ask you the contrary. Are you afraid of me, my lord?"
"Which prisoner cares about his gaoler's feelings?" I answered half-bitterly.
She reddened violently.
"Are you still thinking of that, my lord? I'm a stupid little goose and I beg you to forgive me for my rudeness this day."
"No! No, Beauty, you were right... I'm only your gaoler and I stole your freedom... I stole your freedom and I'm living from my theft."
"Don't say that! You're not my gaoler!"
"Then what am I, Beauty? Tell me what I am!"
"You're... you're..."
"You see, you don't find a word for me," I noted.
"That is... I don't think there's a word describing what you are for me... You're so kind, so gentle, you're always trying to give me something that would please me. You're here, near me, when I'm lonely and I know, without exactly knowing how, that you would be there for me if I needed help."
I closed my eyes and murmured:
"Normally, one calls someone like that a friend..."
"A friend? Yes... yes, that's right, you're my friend. Can one be friend with his gaoler?"
"Probably not, Beauty, probably not. What you offer me is beautiful, child, but... but even so... friendship is not enough for me..."
Without waiting for her answer, I left her, so distressed that I forgot to conceal my limping, and I knew, without needing to look back, that she was sorry for her poor beast who tried so hard to make her forget how much he was ugly. This very night, I curled up on my bed with what would have been tears if I hadn't been a beast. When I woke up in my own real bed, I had the same tears in my eyes and I cried them for the other me in the dream who couldn't do it by himself. I was losing Beauty with each day passing by and I couldn't do anything against that.