The Story That Cannot Be Told

by J. Kasper Kramer

  The two men looked at each other.

  “A trade?”

  “With us?”

  I nodded. “I know where the manifesto is. And I’ll tell you, but first you have to let everyone go.”

  I wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d both started laughing, but I didn’t expect the smaller man to swing around his rifle.

  “How about you just tell us and we don’t kill you?”

  “For God’s sake, she’s a child!” my father shouted behind me.

  I stared down the barrel, breath catching in my throat. The weight of the folded papers in my pocket grew and grew.

  “Will you let them go after?” I managed to ask.

  The man cocked the gun. “I don’t think so.”

  “Ileana, tell them where it is this instant,” my father said.

  The Securitate hadn’t cared about my Great Tome. They hadn’t cared about any of the stories I’d told, because I was just a young girl. The only real danger I posed wasn’t what I might do to someone else, but what someone else might do to me—how my safety might be played like a card.

  Sometimes, though, who you are is the disguise.

  Sometimes you have to take risks.

  And the truth was, if I could only say the words, I might still change the end of this story.

  Ileana is brave. Ileana does what she thinks is right. Ileana saves the people she loves.

  “I can’t just explain where the manifesto is,” I started slowly. “I have to… I have to tell you something first. You’ll have to listen real close.”

  The smaller man tapped his ear with the gun. “Listening. Go ahead.”

  I stood up straighter, fire hot at my back. I licked my chapped lips and tasted blood.

  I had promised never to tell it, not even for my life, but my life was not the only one now at stake.

  “Long, long ago, there lived an ancient, noble people. Among them was a priest with white hair and a white beard and white, unseeing eyes. He would travel from village to village, helping those in need and spreading the word of their god. But since he was blind, he would often get lost in the woods and have only the animals to preach to.”

  The smaller man’s mouth fell open. “Is she telling us a story?”

  The bigger man smirked, crossing his arms and shushing his partner.

  “One day,” I continued, “the god decided to offer the priest a deal. The wolves, who loved the blind man best of all, needed someone to lead them. If he would agree to live with them and guide them till the end of all time, the god would give the priest back his sight. The blind man wanted so badly to see the world, and he cared for the wolves dearly, so he agreed to let their god do his will. In a flash of light he was turned into a great white wolf that would rule over all the land, and with a lap of milk from a wild red goat, he was able to see.”

  In the distance outside, a wolf’s howl echoed over the monastery.

  The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. The soldiers’ eyes went wide. Both of them glanced out into the woods. Distracted, the smaller man lowered his gun.

  “The people who worshipped this god,” I said, speaking faster, “they loved the wolves too. They cried just like them in battle. They carried blazing flags with a white dragon’s body and a wolf’s head. They carved pictures of wolves into their doors. But though they were great warriors, there was one enemy too strong for them to defeat. The enemy’s armies invaded their villages, burning their homes to the ground. Out of fear, the people betrayed the wolves, offering them as animal sacrifices, and lost the protection of their god. In return the enemy let them live, but they forced the people to look and act and think just like they said.”

  I narrowed my eyes, gritting my teeth. “There was one village, though, up high in these very same mountains, that refused to surrender. Instead of betraying the wolves, they fought beside them, retreating farther and farther north. Finally, hiding at the top of the world, they believed they were safe.”

  The soldiers were facing me again, listening closely, but I could still see through the opening in the wall behind them. A snowy blur darted across the clearing outside.

  “But one evening, a hunter went out in the forest, and through the trees he saw the White Wolf.” My voice dropped to a whisper. Movement again. Nearer this time. “He ran back to his people to warn them, and the villagers agreed it was a sign from their god. They prepared for battle at once. Sure enough, that very night, the enemy reached the peak of the mountain and attacked. They were more savage than ever before, determined to slaughter the last of the villagers.”

  A massive, white, fur-covered beast appeared at the gap in the wall, crawling over the fallen stones. Through the shadows, his yellow eyes glinted. The White Wolf. My mouth went dry, my limbs stiff. Silently, he crept closer.

  “What? And what then?” asked the big man.

  The smaller one rubbed his arms, the spell breaking. “Oh, come on! She’s just stalling. She doesn’t know where the papers are.” He stepped forward, raising his rifle. “Story’s over.”

  My hand darted into my pocket, heart pounding as I revealed the manifesto.

  “Stop!” I shouted, holding the papers over the flames. My mitten caught fire almost at once, and the soldiers stepped back instinctively. I switched hands, got off the double pair of mittens, and tossed them, smoldering, to the floor. I dangled the papers higher. Behind the men, the wolf had gone still, but through the break in the wall was more movement—others closing in. “You want the manifesto? It’s right here. But if you don’t let me tell the rest of my story, I’ll drop it into the fire. I swear that I will.”

  “All right, little girl, all right,” said the big man. He put his hand on his partner’s gun, pushing it down, and forced a smile. “Go on. We’re both listening. You can finish.”

  My breath was shaking, my arm already growing tired. The heat from the flames was too much. My skin turned pink, burning. But the wolf was so close. He lowered his head into a prowl. Behind him, more white beasts appeared in the snow. My eyes filled with tears and everything blurred.

  “Just when the people thought all hope was lost, a great cry came from the forest,” I said, voice rising in pain. “The White Wolf had come, and with him was an incredible army—a thousand wolves at his back.”

  Another meter. Another few moments.

  “The animals crashed into the enemy and ripped them to shreds, winning the battle.”

  The skin on my hand started to blister. The papers started to smoke.

  “And ever since that day, when the people of our village see danger on the horizon, they whisper his name.”

  The beast was in place now, teeth bared. His brothers and sisters crept in through the wall at his back.

  “Because they know that, every time, the White Wolf will save them.”

  The edge of the manifesto caught fire, and I couldn’t hold it any longer. The papers dropped into the flames. The smaller man cried out, diving forward, but the wolf leaped, snatching him by the throat.

  I blinked, shocked, unsure of what I was seeing.

  He wasn’t a wolf at all.

  A big, gruff, potbellied resister in a white sheepskin coat was choking the soldier, shaking him like a rag doll.

  “Mr. Bălan?” I gasped through tears.

  The second, larger soldier cried out, reaching for his gun, but he was too slow. Another resister tackled him to the floor, pinning his arms.

  I dashed to the nearby table and grabbed the knife. I fell to my knees by my father, cutting frantically at his ropes. My hand was burned so badly that I couldn’t stop sobbing, but I kept sawing.

  “Hurry!” my father yelled. “Hurry, Ileana!”

  When he was free, Tata took the knife from my hand and pushed me behind him, staggering to his feet. He held out the weapon before us.

  But there was no need.

  The smaller officer took his last breath, falling to the floor on the other side of the fire. The bigger man was already g
agged and bound.

  The resisters had reclaimed their mountain.

  Cunning Ileana and the Sugar Doll

  In the depths of the mountain castle’s darkest dungeon cell, Cunning Ileana awoke with a start. Someone was there, kneeling at the door, staring at her through the iron bars. At first she was sure it was a ghost, but then the figure offered some water and bread, and Ileana realized it was her father.

  I’m so sorry, he said. In the moonlight she could see tears running down his long nose. I thought he would hurt you if I didn’t do as he wanted. For so long, I believed I could protect our family by helping the monarch, but I can see now that I was wrong.

  Princess Ileana climbed to her knees and crawled over. She ate the bread, drank the water, and tried to speak, but still the words wouldn’t come. The princess tapped her throat, shaking her head, and her father went to get parchment and a quill.

  Sometimes it isn’t easy being so clever, she wrote. After you betrayed me the first time, I knew you would do it again. The emperor’s head sank to his chest, but then Ileana continued. I still love you, though. I always will.

  Oh, my baby girl, her father cried, reaching through the bars to put his palm on her cheek.

  Even if you’re not always brave, she wrote.

  Yes, well…

  And sometimes a bit of an idiot.

  Thanks. I get the point.

  Cunning Ileana smirked, but the light quickly faded from her eyes, I can’t marry the monarch’s youngest son. He’s the worst person on the planet, and he’s definitely going to try to kill me again. You have to help me escape.

  I don’t have the key to the cell, fretted her father. The monarch carries it around his neck, and he’s sworn not to let you out till tomorrow’s ceremony. He’s pretty upset about his boys getting dismembered and cursed and impaled. You… you didn’t really do all that, did you?

  I might have had some small part, wrote Ileana.

  I’ll help you however you ask, said the emperor, but I’m no good at these sorts of plans.

  The cunning princess looked across the cell at the fake body of her father, raising an eyebrow.

  Are the cooks still in the kitchen? she wrote.

  The next afternoon, the monarch sent the two elder sisters into the dungeon to dress Ileana in an outrageously ugly and glittering gown. When they were through, they led her upstairs to the ballroom, where a magnificent gathering of men and women from kingdoms far and wide had come to celebrate the holy union of the youngest prince and princess. In the hall outside the ballroom door, Ileana tugged her sisters to a halt and handed them detailed instructions. Their eyes widened as they read, and they glanced at each other in worry.

  You owe me, Ileana mouthed, glaring.

  During the ceremony, the guests were a bit surprised to find the youngest princess of the emperor entirely docile. Rumors said she was a rabid, unpredictable thing, so it was somewhat shocking to watch her smiling blankly at the priest for the whole wedding. When the prince and princess were announced husband and wife, the guests were equally surprised to see the monarch’s youngest son—who was half-covered in bandages and missing an eye—slide a dagger from his formal attire and drive it into the princess’s stomach.

  That’s for tempting me into your room so I’d fall into your father’s vault, he snarled. Then he raised the blade again and cut the princess’s throat.

  That’s for letting a balaur eat my elder brother’s arms.

  Then he slit the princess in half from head to foot.

  That’s for helping the Mother of the Forest to curse my middle brother.

  Like a madman, the prince hacked and slashed without heed.

  That’s for dropping me into the pit beneath the apple tree.

  Then the prince pulled back his blade a final time, offering his princess a cruel smile.

  And this, he said, this is for being a clever girl.

  With a scream, the youngest son of the monarch shoved his dagger straight into his wife’s heart. Laughing like he’d totally lost it, he leaned forward and kissed her, but he immediately pulled back, licking his lips in confusion.

  What’s this? he said. My love, Ileana! Sweeter in death than in life?

  By this point the wedding guests were in absolute chaos. They were running wildly all around the ballroom, yelling and knocking over expensive decorations. Of course, none of them thought to come help—not even when the prince figured out Ileana’s final trick and his furious eyes turned on the emperor. With a roar, the youngest son dove, meaning to murder the princesses’ father.

  The elder sisters were hugging and crying.

  The monarch was cackling at the back of the room, clapping his hands merrily.

  But then, just as the sun set over the mountains, Cunning Ileana appeared from behind a colorful tapestry at the wall, wearing nothing but her undergarments. The bride the youngest prince had stabbed to bits was only a sugar doll, made to look like the princess, which the elder sisters had dressed in her hideous gown.

  Stay away from my father, the real Ileana howled, voice finally returned, and from across the room her friend the knight tossed over a massive broadsword. The princess caught it mid-leap and in one swing beheaded her prince.

  Of course, the monarch and his two living sons fled right after, along with whatever remained of the permanently scarred wedding guests. The emperor embraced his youngest daughter, and after a moment the two elder sisters joined in, everyone sobbing and making a scene. When the family reunion was through, Ileana ran to the knight, who caught her in a big bear hug.

  Thanks for always protecting me, said the cunning princess.

  That’s what best friends are for, said the knight.

  Later that evening, after the surrounding kingdoms received word that the monarch’s son had attempted to murder Ileana and her father, they decided to band together to take down the cruel tyrant. With the emperor himself leading the battle, it wasn’t long till the evil monarch was no more.

  For the rest of her days, Cunning Ileana and her family lived in peace and happiness. And if they haven’t died, they’re still living.

  To the Valley Below

  My whole life I’d changed the endings of stories.

  When I told them to my father on our walks to the park or to see movies in his student’s apartment, he would keep his brow lifted, nodding from time to time. When I got the nerve to ask my uncle to look at the things that I’d written, I would sit right at his feet, watching his eyes scan the pages, trying to predict the line he’d just read that made him bring a finger up to tap his scruffy chin. No matter who it was, though, when the story was over, I’d revel in the look of surprise on their faces.

  My father always gave gentle critiques.

  “Have you thought about how this fits with the tone of the rest of the piece? Kind of jarring, isn’t it?” he would ask. If we had reached our destination, if we had time, he’d take a seat and pull out the Great Tome from his bag. “Let’s look at places where you might foreshadow to help things along.”

  My uncle, more often than not, simply didn’t understand.

  “But she’s a princess.”

  “Yes,” I’d agree.

  “But she murdered her prince during their wedding.”

  “Yes. Isn’t it great?”

  “But that’s not how these sort of stories go. It’s a fairy tale. She’s supposed to forgive him. Live happily ever after and all that.”

  I’d tilt my head, quite concerned, and touch the last lines with a finger, like maybe he’d missed them.

  “She’s totally happy. See here?”

  Changing the endings of stories gave me control in a world where I had none. It gave me a voice where I’d have otherwise vanished. But I could not rewrite my life as it happened.

  And on top of that mountain, when dawn rose, clear as the spring, no one was fooled. The hardest months of winter were ahead, not behind.

  After my father and I and the other resisters helped
untie the rest of the hostages, we went through the crates for supplies and started taking care of the injured. Tata put ointment on my hand and wrapped it with a bandage. It still hurt, but I had stopped crying. While he gave his brother some water to drink, I helped tend Uncle Andrei’s wounds, packing snow on his swollen ankle and finding sticks and cloth for a brace. Tata kept looking over as if he’d never seen me before.

  “How did this happen without me realizing?” he asked. I glanced up from my work, confused. “When did you become such an adult?”

  I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hide my smile.

  As daylight returned color to the world, the resisters began to discuss going back down the mountain. Just like the Securitate, they had their own spies. After they’d gotten word of the hostages in the schoolhouse, they’d planned a simultaneous rescue. Now, though, they were worried about the state sending reinforcements. While the adults argued, I crawled under a table and came out with the dead soldier’s handheld radio. After twisting the dials through static, I turned up the volume when I found the Voice of America. Everyone in the vaulted room went quiet.

  That morning, we listened as the world below changed forever. The square in front of the palace in Bucharest flooded with protesters. The Leader declared martial law, but when our defense minister—who’d refused to order his men to shoot the civilians—turned up dead, our soldiers began to switch sides. The Romanians they’d been killing, they now armed with guns and supported with tanks. They fought back the loyalist Securitate. People were running to the soldiers in the streets with offerings of sweets and cigarettes.

  Everyone in the room turned to the big uniformed man tied up at the far wall. His eyes were wide and blinking. Mr. Bălan went over and ungagged him.

  “What is it?” the innkeeper asked. “Some sort of trick?”

  The soldier shrugged, looking helpless. “I don’t know. I just do what I’m told.”

  Mr. Bălan made a disgusted face. “I suppose nothing’s left but to see for ourselves.”

  I had to help Tata carry Uncle Andrei as we trekked back down the mountain.

  “I still don’t understand,” said my father, sunlight on his round glasses. “How did you get to us?”