by Sara Shilo
‘You didn’t say what she was wearing. Tell us about her clothes!’
‘Thanks for reminding me,’ I said, and they looked pleased, concentrating even harder to make sure I didn’t forget anything. ‘The woman had long, smooth, brown hair, and everyone wanted to touch it. And her clothes were all sorts of colours. She had a dress in every colour you can think of: red and blue—’
‘And yellow!’
‘And green!’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and turquoise and purple and violet. And they were covered with every type of pattern: flowers and hearts and circles and triangles.’
‘And stars, Etti. You didn’t say stars!’
‘And stars. Every pattern there is. And this woman also had children and a husband. But one day, something bad happened. A witch came into the woman’s house. She had one wobbly tooth – just one – and a long, twisted nose with a disgusting wart on the end. She flew around looking into people’s windows, and what do you think she saw in this woman’s house? She saw this woman had everything she wanted, and she got really cross. Why is that woman so happy when I’m not? she thought. Why does she have such pretty clothes when I have horrible clothes with holes? Why does she have pretty long hair when my hair is horrible and green? Why does she have a husband and sweet children when I have—’
‘Why can’t she get married, too?’
‘All the womans that are married have got children, don’t they, Etti?’
‘She wanted to get married, she really did, but no one wanted to marry her.’
‘Because she was horrible!’
‘And because she was bad!’
‘Yes, because she was bad and horrible. So the witch decided to put a spell on the woman’s husband, so he’d die. In less than a minute.’
In the stairwell we could hear heavy steps. Perhaps the Dahans’ grandmother had come to visit.
Oshri stood up on the bed. ‘He fell down. Boom, dead. Like that, Etti? Look how I do it.’ He walked to the end of the bed and let his little body fall forward.
‘Ow! You fell on my foot!’ Chaim said. ‘That’s not how people die! It’s not, is it, Etti? I’ll show you. You don’t jump when you die because you haven’t got any strength, so you just slide down onto the floor.’ Chaim got off the bed to demonstrate. He ran two steps, then slipped and let his body fall backwards. ‘Did you see how my head bumped? That’s how people die! And your tongue comes out, doesn’t it?’ He tried to talk and stick his tongue out at the same time, mangling the words.
‘That’s enough,’ I said. ‘If you don’t sit on the bed with your hands on your knees, I won’t tell you the rest.’ They sat down on the bed again, clasping their knees and waiting for me to continue. I hoped my voice wouldn’t shake.
‘No one saw how the man died. He was alone when it happened. Only the witch was watching, laughing her evil laugh. She laughed and laughed until she almost died: hee-hee-hee, ha-ha-ha …’ As always, they were clinging to each other by this point in the story.
‘OK, that bit’s finished,’ I said. ‘You can take your hands off your ears.’
They each took off one hand, only removing the other when they were sure the witch’s laugh had stopped.
‘The witch flew up into the sky on her broom: buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz, buzzzzzz …’
‘Buzzzzzz,’ they joined in. ‘Buzzzzzz.’
‘After the woman’s husband had died, the woman threw away all her pretty, colourful clothes and would only wear black and blue. That’s what you do when someone dies – you don’t wear colours any more. But the witch lifted the top of the rubbish bin and put her hand in—’
‘Disgusting!’
‘Stinky!’
‘— and she took all the woman’s pretty clothes out of the bin – her dresses, her blouses, her skirts. But they didn’t fit her. She didn’t look pretty wearing them.’
‘Because she was all twisted!’
‘Because of her twisted legs!’
‘Yes, it was because the clothes weren’t her size. The woman had lots and lots of work now. From early in the morning until late at night she had to cook and clean and do the laundry all by herself, as well as go to work. She had to do everything by herself.’
I stopped for a moment, and they waited quietly for the next bit.
‘When the children got sick,’ I continued, ‘she took them to the doctor, and she went to the bank and the supermarket, and to the market every Thursday, and she did it all by herself.’
‘Because her husband was dead.’
‘He fell down – boom, dead!’
‘And one winter’s day, when it was freezing cold, they didn’t have enough money to buy oil for the heater. The woman’s strength had gone. She was tired. Her whole body ached. That night, when everyone was sleeping, she sat and cried and cried and cried. Her tears soaked her dress and dripped onto the floor, washing the floor and then slipping under the door—’
‘And down the stairs—’
‘And into the street, Etti?’
‘And then the witch saw the woman’s tears flowing down the street, and she laughed—’
‘You’re not going to make her laugh again, are you, Etti?’
‘We’re scared of her laugh, Etti—’
‘She flew on her broom: buzzzzzz, buzzzzzz—’
‘Buzzzzzz! Buzzzzzz!’
‘I’m waiting …’
‘Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzz …’
‘Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzz …’
I looked at them enjoying the sound, their little teeth bared, and waited until they’d tired of it. I wanted them to listen to me, really listen to the truth, not just the story.
Then I remembered I’d promised them a happy ending; they’d insisted on it. They settled down at last – I didn’t have to ask – and fixed their eyes on me again, as if they’d just noticed something.
‘The witch’, I went on, ‘disguised herself as an old woman in a headscarf, a very pretty scarf, actually. She came to the woman and asked, “What’s the matter? Why are you crying?” The woman said, “I’m fine. Just something in my eye.” Then she invited the witch to sit down, gave her tea with sage, and peanut and jam cookies. The witch ate everything – she didn’t leave a single cookie – and as she drank her tea she said, “To your good health.” She spoke so nicely that the woman thought she was a good person. Then the witch asked again: “What’s the matter? You can tell me anything. I’m an old woman and I’ve heard lots and lots of stories in my life. I can keep a secret.” So the woman told her everything. It did her good to tell someone, because that’s what you do when something happens to you. You even tell me what happens to you in pre-school, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ they said together.
‘The woman didn’t have anyone to talk to about what was hurting her. Since her husband died she was all alone. There was no one except her children. The witch listened to her from start to finish, wiped her tears and calmed her down. Then she said, “I’ll help you because it’s my job. I’m a fairy—”’
‘Liar! Liar! Don’t listen to her!’
‘She’s lying. She’s not a fairy. She’s bad!’
‘The woman didn’t know she was a witch. How was she to know? You can’t always tell people are bad just by looking at them. And she spoke in such a sweet voice, like sugar or honey. She said, “I’ll help you. I know a magic charm that will give you two more arms to help you do your work – to cook, wash the dishes, sweep, clean the wall panelling, hang out the washing, everything!”’
I paused. They were tense, ready to jump in with the answer to whatever question I asked. I could see Oshri was about to interrupt – he never gets the timing quite right – and went on, ‘“After I attach two more hands to you you’ll have—”’
‘Four hands!’
‘I wanted to say it!’
‘Go on, say it now,’ I said to Oshri. ‘Pretend he didn’t say it.’
‘But he did say it! I wanted to be the first!’
‘So you
can be first at the end. That’s important, too. Some people always want to be last, to say the last word, because then everyone will remember what they said.’
‘You’re just saying that! You always take his side!’
Oshri lay on his stomach and pummelled the mattress, as he always does, and for a moment I forgot today wasn’t an ordinary day. When he started hitting Chaim, too, I separated them and put them either side of me, hugging Oshri close but he wouldn’t calm down.
‘OK, I’m not telling the rest until you’re quiet,’ I said, turning my hand in front of my mouth as if I was turning a key.
‘My mouth is locked!’ said Chaim.
‘My mouth is stuck together with glue!’ said Oshri. ‘Now I’m first at the end!’
I went on. ‘The woman was pleased by the idea of having two more hands. But, suddenly, the witch, still in her nice voice, said something that was not very nice at all. She said, “There is a condition. You have to give me a part of yourself before I give you more hands.” The woman thought and thought and thought, until she realised what she could give to the witch.’
‘Her hair!’ they chorused, looking pleased with themselves.
‘Yes. The woman thought: My hair will grow. I can give it away and it’ll come back as long and as pretty as before. Anyway, I don’t have time to comb it every day with all the work I have. But the witch didn’t give her a nice hairstyle, like they would at the hairdressers. She took all her pretty hair and the roots, too, so it wouldn’t grow any more. She was left with little bristles, like the witch. Then the witch put the woman’s beautiful hair on her own head like a wig, and flew out of the window.’
‘She flew on her broom. Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzz—’
‘Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzz—’
‘Yes. Now the woman managed to do lots of things that she couldn’t do before. With four hands she could hang out the washing in a flash, put two pots on the stove at the same time, and four chairs on the table, so she could mop. She could wash two children at a time – two soaps in each pair of hands – and dry them in two towels. She even went to the market on Thursday before work with four baskets: one for vegetables, one for—’
‘Fruit!’
‘One for fish and the last one for—’
‘For Makhlouf’s odds and ends!’
‘Yes, that’s right. But one day – a day just like this, even the weather was the same – she felt two kicks in her tummy, and that’s how she knew there were two babies inside.’
‘Twins?’
‘Like us?’
‘Yes, just like you. Two boys. She was pregnant and started to get fat. Every day she grew fatter and fatter, until she could hardly move. Luckily she had four hands to do all the work. Without them she would never have coped. After nine months the woman went to the hospital and the twins were born. She took them home, and even though they were lovely, she was—’
‘Sad again!’
‘She had no strength!’
‘That’s right. She didn’t have a single drop of strength. Even her four hands weren’t enough to manage all the work she had with the twins. She sat down to cry again. She cried and cried and cried, until her tears—’
‘Went down to the street.’
‘Yes, her tears flowed all the way down to the street.’
‘And the witch came again, didn’t she, Etti? Don’t do the laugh, Etti.’
‘I don’t care. I’ll put my hands over my ears and I won’t hear a thing!’
‘I promise I won’t do the laugh if you promise you won’t do the broom.’
‘We won’t.’
‘The witch disguised herself as a nice person again, and this time she didn’t have to say much. As soon as the woman saw her she thought: What wouldn’t I give for two more hands? I’ll have to give her something. She thought and thought and thought, and decided to give her the middle of her body – including her tummy and her back. I’m not going to have any more children, thought the woman, so why should I care if she takes my belly? And I can’t sleep at night, so what use is my back? I can give the babies milk in a bottle like everyone else. And I don’t need the middle of my body, either. So the woman—’
‘I’ll say how many hands this time!’
‘Go on then, say it—’
‘Now she had five hands!’
‘Not five! Not five!’
‘Six. Six. It’s all your fault! I was afraid you’d say it first.’
‘Yes. Now she got six hands.’
‘She had six hands, not got. But she didn’t have a belly or a back, although she did still have her heart. The woman didn’t cry any more. She held on to each baby with two hands, gave them milk in bottles and changed their nappies at the same time. And she still had two hands to fold the washing and mend the torn clothes of the older children—’
‘Like us, when our trousers got torn—’
‘On the slide!’
‘And when the twins went to sleep,’ I said, looking at their innocent, unsuspecting, trusting faces, ‘and the big children went to sleep, too, she could wash the floor in ten minutes with three mops and three rags. It was easy. But she wasn’t happy—’
‘Sad again!’
‘Crying and crying and crying!’
‘That’s right. She was crying and wiping the tears away with her hands, but even six hands weren’t enough, because this was the day that the woman looked at herself in the mirror for the first time. And what did she see?’
‘A scary animal with lots of arms!’
‘Yes. In the mirror was a scary animal with a head and six arms and two legs. She sat on her bed that night and cried and cried and cried—’
‘The street!’
‘And the witch came again—’
‘Yes, the witch came again. Now she wasn’t even pretending to be nice. She didn’t care if the woman was crying, and she wouldn’t agree to give the woman back what she had taken from her. Instead she said, “If you don’t want to be a scary animal, something no one’s ever seen before, then give me your legs and I’ll give you two more arms. Then you’ll be an octopus, and everyone knows what that is.” The woman said, “Octopus? What’s an octopus?”’
‘Not like that! Make her scared: “What’s an octopus? Why an octopus?”’
‘Yes. Now the woman didn’t know what an octopus was. She was scared of the word she didn’t know, so the witch explained what it was, showing her a picture of one, and calming her down.’
‘Just like the picture you brought us.’
‘I put it in my pocket. Here’s an octopus! Eight arms.’
‘He tore it!’
‘I didn’t tear it! It was like that before, wasn’t it, Etti? Tell him it was torn when you gave it to me.’
‘It’s my turn to keep the octopus, isn’t it, Etti?’
‘I’ll give it to you when the story’s finished.’
‘No way. You’ll tear it even more, won’t he, Etti?’
I promised I’d glue the picture afterwards, and they both settled down to listen again.
‘The woman looked at the picture of the octopus. In the blue sea it looked beautiful, not at all like a strange and ugly monster. The woman agreed. She didn’t think twice. So she let the witch take away her legs and give her two more arms, and now she had—’
‘Eight!’
‘Eight arms, that’s right. Just like an octopus. And that’s how she was turned into an octopus. She had a head and eight arms, and that’s what she saw in the mirror. And then the witch, who now had her hair and her face and her whole body, looked exactly as the woman used to, as identical as a drop of water. The woman looked at herself in the mirror again, and she was frightened. That’s it, she thought, I’ll never go back to the way I was. So she said to the witch, “You know what, take my heart, too. Why would I need it? It just causes me pain. Take it, take it. Why would I need it?” And she gave away her heart.
‘Now what was left of the woman? Just a head and eight arms. All she could think was:
What do I have to do now? What do I have to do now? That’s the only thing left to think about because I don’t have a body any more. I have no legs with which to dance, no tummy with which to enjoy a delicious cake or an ice cream cone or some chocolate, no mouth to laugh at a joke, no heart to want to hug my children with all eight of my arms, or to tell them stories they loved. Now her arms just did what her head thought they should do – work and work from morning until night.’
I was so caught up in the description that I didn’t notice their faces falling. In a small, disappointed voice, Oshri said, ‘And the witch was laughing, wasn’t she, Etti?’
But Chaim sat up. ‘You said it would be a happy ending, Etti,’ he insisted. ‘This isn’t a happy ending at all!’
‘It’s a bad end!’
‘It’s scary and horrible!’
‘Wait, I haven’t finished,’ I said, although I’d forgotten my promise and had no idea how to carry on. ‘I’ll go on until we have a happy ending,’ I said confidently. ‘Just sit quietly.’
‘I’m always quiet. He started it.’
‘Not true. Liar!’
‘Etti, he said I’m a liar!’
‘That’s enough. Now you should both be quiet and listen, because this is the most important part of the story. Something happened which you’ve forgotten: the witch took the heart for herself, didn’t she? The woman gave it to her, and she took it, OK? So what do you think happened next?’
‘The woman died because she didn’t have a heart!’
‘You can’t live without a heart! Boom-boom, you’re dead!’
‘The woman didn’t die,’ I told them, although I still didn’t have an ending and knew I somehow had to make a u-turn so the story would finish differently this time. ‘The witch made it so that the woman could live without a heart.’
‘She turned her into a fish,’ said Oshri helpfully.
Chaim said, ‘In the supermarket, we saw fish that still jump about after they’re dead.’
‘And an octopus doesn’t have a heart, does it, Etti?’
‘What do they need a heart for?’
