Читать книгу A Thousand Forests in One Acorn - Valerie Miles - Страница 22

A THOUSAND FORESTS

FROM OLFIDADO REY GUDÚ

(THE FORGOTTEN KING GUDÚ)

[A NOVEL]

CHAPTER VIII: GUDÚ, KING

1.

Queen Ardid was not a timid woman. Since celebrating her spectacular and unusual marriage to the late King Volodioso at the age of seven, she proved that this virtue had not diminished during the six years of her confinement in the East Tower. On the contrary, she confirmed the resolve of her character and the cunning of her methods. She enjoyed the unconditional support of Almíbar and his small army led by Randal. The soldiers of Olar were willing to act on her behalf, even though the treatment they received was by no means equal to that given to Almíbar’s men.

While the nobility were generally quite mortified by Volodioso’s behavior—although they never dared openly express this mortification—they felt their hopes for war revive when they surmised that the future King Gudú was still very young and that, if they played their cards right, his mother’s regency could be beneficial to them. And from the start Ardid did not waver for even a moment in showing herself to be benevolent and generous with them, and even went so far as to reinstate certain privileges and rights, which Volodioso had seized from them all at once. And so, the new stance, proclaimed with great solemnity by the interim Queen—which she would defend during the years of her rule as though it were as important as keeping the country at peace, without engaging in costly and senseless wars that would benefit no one—filled every spirit with a warm hope of well-being.

And while the seed of intrigue blossomed in many hearts—this was inevitable and normal—the development of this seed required years of contemplation, observation, and patience, which were essential for all. In turn, the Queen did not dismiss the Counselor in any capacity—thus playing an important card in her favor, for in addition to being brave and not in the least bit timid, cunning was one of her primary characteristics. She showed herself to be full of amity for that figure who, deep down, was repulsive and ridiculous in equal measure. But she knew, as much from her Master’s teachings as from personal experience, that an alliance with the enemy, if it did not solve the root of the problem, at least brought about a truce that was clearly both beneficial and necessary. So to everyone’s surprise, she did not make Prince Almíbar her official Counselor or her husband—she had bitter experiences with marriage. Instead she simply gave him distinctions and absolute power over such dealings as the exchange of goods in neighboring countries. Similarly, she announced a friendlier relationship with the opulent Kingdom of Leonia. She appointed Almíbar something akin to ambassador of the Realm, since he was without a doubt a refined and charming man, and women always—or almost always—tend to be vulnerable in negotiations with people possessing such qualities. With that they all remained, for the time being, happy and relieved, and, understandably, Count Tuso and his protégé Ancio most of all. Their hopes of continuing their machinations were renewed, and although Ancio was initially consumed by indignation, Tuso advised patience and tact; and so he was placated little by little.

Demonstrating a magnanimity that left everyone amazed, the Queen declared that she was putting her personal treasure—which she had slowly and meticulously collected during her brief reign with Volodioso, who had been extremely generous with her—at the service of the Realm. And the first thing she did was to send Almíbar to negotiate trade with Leonia, with a view toward general improvement.

The return of the first expedition from the island of coveted riches was received with great delight, because, thanks to a highly favorable agreement with the Queen of that picturesque southern land, Almíbar had brought very fine goods, credit, countless rich fabrics, and other luxurious novelties that filled the ladies, and more than one gentleman, with excitement and pleasure. In this way, the Queen enjoyed the favor of the nobility, and then after ordering flour and wine to be distributed to the people, the jubilation spread, and her name gained a certain popularity among the commoners as well, although in truth, with less trust than among the nobility.

Not content with all this and to further prove her magnanimity, she extravagantly worshipped the memory of her unkind husband. In the Monastery of the Abundios—to whom she also demonstrated a benevolence unprecedented in the Realm—she had an extraordinary Royal Cemetery constructed, where they buried him beneath his own stone effigy—she’d commissioned a sculptor from the Island of Leonia, where the arts flourished abundantly, according to Almíbar and his nostalgic wonder—in which in every light, he appeared younger and more dashing than he ever was. And he himself declared that, like any proud King, he should have an epithet describing his nature, so, from that moment on he was known as Volodioso I the Aggrandizer. And this made everyone feel, beyond any logical explanation, grander and richer. Everyone, that is, except the Wretched, because the Queen, in the magnificent beginning of her reign, forgot about them.

Once these issues were all resolved, the Queen settled comfortably into the South Wing, where she rested and rejuvenated her weary bones. She appointed Dolinda and Artisia duchesses, and then royal ladies-in-waiting, which, as was to be expected, pleased the girls greatly. Unfortunately, from that moment, they too forgot their relatives in the coal regions, the Wretched. In turn, they married two noblemen, twice their age, but also twice as rich.

And so, all these matters attended to, the time came for the Queen to gather together her advisors in a very private assembly to disclose to them something that had remained dormant in her mind and heart through her long years of thought and confinement.

Once they were gathered in her private chambers, the Sorcerer, the Goblin of the South, and the handsome Almíbar—although he was not essential, since in such circumstances he usually fell asleep: it was only a matter of courtesy—the Queen addressed her true—and perhaps her only—friends:

—Dear friends, the time has come to make an important decision regarding Gudú to emphatically and definitively secure the crown and the glory of the Realm for him. And as your lessons and my own experience have taught me, an essential condition has become very clear for endowing him with a unique virtue in this regard.

She was silent for a moment, one of her few weaknesses was a penchant for solemnity. Her friends listened attentively:

—My dear friends, she repeated, with her customary sweetness and strength, the matter is simple and complicated at the same time, and that is why I am in great need of your arts and wisdom. The decision is to, once and for all, render Gudú completely incapable of any form of love for others.

—Dear girl, the Sorcerer said, I do not wish to contradict you, since you know well my thoughts on this matter, but I think that you exaggerate your aversion to that impulse: no one knows better than you that it can yield as many delights as disasters. But rest assured that if we find a potion or something similar to achieve it, I can already tell you that it will not be perfect: one cannot remove the capacity to love partially, or that is to say, conditionally, but rather, if it is possible, it will have to be removed in all its forms.

—I know that, she said, patiently. I see no disadvantage.

—It’s just, said the Goblin, that he will also be denied the capacity for friendship, and the capacity for any affection. And therefore, he will not love you either. I say this because you humans generally appreciate that sentiment, while in our species things work differently, dear girl, and it is my duty to warn you of this.

—I have already considered it, Ardid replied, this time forcefully and dispensing with any sweetness, which in the moment she considered superfluous. I have no objection to him not loving me: it is enough for Gudú that I love him.

They discussed the issue some more, but given Ardid’s unwavering resolve, the Sorcerer and the Goblin agreed to study the matter with great caution and care. Almíbar had already fallen asleep, and might have missed the heart of the matter; in any case, he would have forgotten it. He forgot almost everything, except his love for Ardid, since it was so ingrained in him and had become rooted throughout his entire being in such a way that little space remained for other things.

Some time later, the Sorcerer and the Goblin informed the Queen of the fruits of their lengthy investigation. Ardid herself went to the dungeon where the old Master was so at ease. He had refused to occupy a more comfortable place, since for him there was no better spot in the Castle of Olar. The three, alone this time, gathered around a fire that reawakened ancient times in their hearts, when they hid in the ruins of the Castle of Ansélico. Finally, the two elders informed Ardid of the following:

—Indeed there exists the possibility of removing King Gudú’s capacity to love. Just as we warned you, the procedure is extreme and total. If you persist in your plan, we must clarify several aspects of the matter. As you know, there is no sorcery, enchantment, or contract with the Higher Powers that is not subject to some requirement, which (depending on the circumstances) may or may not ultimately turn out to be counterproductive. In the case at hand, the detail or stipulation is that if a being’s capacity to love is removed, the ability to weep is simultaneously taken from him.

—I see no disadvantage, she said. All the better: he will not know that humiliating sensation.

—True, said the Goblin, but there is a more complicated issue in this case that seems so simple: if for some strange or unexpected reason (which cannot be foreseen, as our powers are limited), the subject treated with such procedures were to one day shed a tear, not only he, but every place his feet had touched, and all those who had shared his existence, would disappear forever from Time and Earth, into Oblivion.

—But if you eliminate the capacity to love and with it the ability to weep . . . such a disappearance logically cannot occur.

—That’s what I think, said the Sorcerer, but without much conviction.

—This is what everything would lead one to believe, if our investigation has not failed in its calculations, added the Goblin. But that clause is recorded in the Tractate: and if it appears there, there must exist some loophole which we may not be able to foresee.

—I see no logic in your fears, repeated Ardid, impatiently. You yourselves have said that the one entails the other: if he does not love, he shall not weep. If he does not weep, there is no cause for concern.

The Queen’s two friends nodded in silence, but doubt—vague and remote, but doubt nonetheless—lingered in their eyes.

—Keep in mind, the Goblin finally said, that our power is not an absolute power. Not even safe from contamination do goblins have knowledge of All Possibilities. This is especially true in the state—although mild—of contamination in which I find myself. There is something, perhaps, that we have forgotten or failed to see.

They discussed the matter at great length, and at daybreak when it seemed to them that it was only a matter of human doubt rather than something probable, they reached an agreement to perform the delicate operation on the boy Gudú. And in the course of the discussion, they clarified some important details. The Queen noted that although Gudú would not love anyone, she could not deprive the King of attraction to the opposite sex, since he must have offspring and avoid the cursed question of succession, which had put the child’s rights in such danger as well as, in the view of all, the Realm.

—Yes, this is possible, said the Goblin, after a brief consultation with the Sorcerer. Although it does not occur very often among humans, it can be arranged for him to lust after creatures of the opposite sex a great deal, without loving them in the least.

—And there’s something else, said the Queen, and it’s that we must prevent this attraction from controlling him. Keeping in mind his father’s last passion, I think this can be as harmful as love itself.

—Very wise, said the Sorcerer. We will make it so no woman is capable of holding onto him for too long. Let us look into it, and we’ll tell you the result of these inquiries later.

They soon returned to the Queen with the following news:

—Although it may seem strange, dear girl, this last bit is more difficult than any other. There are no recipes for it. But don’t be alarmed: we have found a very clever and cunning solution, although the Goblin, in order to indulge you, may find himself in a difficult and unpleasant situation.

—Tell me at once. Ardid grew impatient.

—We have pondered the issue, coming to the conclusion that if we obtain a woman who takes thousands of different forms, who would be responsible for satisfying the carnal desires of the King, distracting him with each unique form, but only for a short time, it’s clear that it won’t be possible for the King to take a fancy to anyone. The wives he may have, of course, do not count, the old man clarified. With them, at any rate, he can do whatever he wants. We already know that they pose no danger to what concerns us.

—Of course, said the Queen, with a trace of sorrow or resentment. In the long term or the short, the wife negates herself. We are in agreement, for that negation there is no better prescription than marriage. But . . . where is this miraculous creature? I don’t know anyone who meets these conditions. And even if they are met, years pass, and she who is fresh today, for all that she disguises herself, tomorrow will be old and lose all her appeal.

—I know of someone, dear girl, said the Goblin, who is spared from these miseries. Obviously, of course, she is not of your species.

—Well then, it doesn’t work, said the Queen. A being that is not of the flesh does not attract the flesh.

—Leave it to me, said the Goblin, with a laugh that smelled too strongly of new wine, in the opinion of his two friends. Leave it to me: she must not be of the flesh, but she can take human form, when it suits her, although only for a short time. A short time is precisely what this is about, isn’t it? As many human forms as she desires, and the most seductive, he made a condescending gesture. According to human standards, of course.

—Well then, be that as it may, attend to this creature as soon as possible.

—Here is the great sacrifice of our dear friend, said the Sorcerer with great sorrow. We are going to expose him to an encounter that he doesn’t like at all and which he’s been avoiding the entire time he’s been contaminated: he must go in search of Ondina, she who lives at the bottom of the Lake. And while he maintains an excellent relationship with her, it is not so with her grandmother, the Great Lady. And the Great Lady, High and Most Pure Power par excellence, detests the contaminated. And to make matters worse, she dwells at the source of the Water, which she so wisely conducts.

—At the bottom of the Lake? Ardid marveled at such a significant revelation.

—Not at the bottom, thankfully, said the Goblin, taking a swig to lift his spirits. If that were the case, it could not be done. But yes, a little higher up, in the Cave of the Spring. And with luck, she won’t happen to travel the watery paths to visit her granddaughter while I am talking with her.

Having said that, he drank more than usual, got almost scandalously drunk, and his nose took on a shade of such vivid crimson as had never been seen on him before. Which, as might be expected, filled his two friends with unease.

But the decision had already been made.

2.

Ondina of the Depths of the Lake had lived in the loveliest spot in the Lake of Disappearances for four-hundred-and-thirty years. Ondina was extraordinarily beautiful: smooth floating hair the color of seaweed coming down to her waist, large eyes ranging from the softest gold to dark green, as changeable as the light, and bluish-white skin. Her arms waved slowly between the deep roots of the plants, and her legs moved like the fins of a carp. A steady and shining smile, which transitioned from the pearlescent white of a shell to the liquid pink of a sunrise, floated across her lips. Any human would have felt a captivating desire to study her in all of her details—with the exception of her ears, which, like all of her kind, were long and pointed at the tips, although of a soft color between rose and gold.

Despite being the granddaughter of the Great Lady of the Lake, she did not possess a shred of her wisdom, not even a speck of the slightest intelligence—as often happens with water nymphs. On the contrary, she was so sweet and gentle, and exuded such innocence, that her profound stupidity could very well be mistaken for more poignant charm and enchantment. Like all water nymphs, she was exceedingly capricious, and her great whimsy was her Collection at the Bottom, where she had cultivated her garden of Intricate Greens with care. Ondina’s collection consisted of an already considerable display of men, young and handsome, between fourteen and twenty years of age. She liked them so much that she would often drag them to the bottom, and there she preserved them, rosy and unharmed, thanks to the sap of the maraubina plant that grows once every three thousand years among the wellsprings. But soon she grew tired of them, and however much she adorned them with flowers from the lake and crowned their heads with all sorts of glittering stones, and caressed their hair, and kissed their cold lips, they said and did nothing; and so she always needed more and more young men to distract her with variety.

Every so often, cautiously approaching the shores of the Lake, she had seen how young peasant couples caressed and kissed one another, and it filled her with envy. She had confessed as much on more than one occasion to the goblins, who, out of pity, sometimes pushed men to the bottom. Among them was the Goblin of the South, to whom she had confided her wayward obsession. “This is foolishness,” the goblins told her. “Choose a dolphin from those that roam the Southern coasts to take as your husband and stop this. Considering your youth, you can be forgiven, but tread carefully so your grandmother doesn’t find out: she doesn’t tolerate human contamination, and you can only play safely with the drowned.” “That’s what I’ll do,” she said then, contritely. “I promise not to forget.” But since she was stupid to the most remote depths of her being, she not only forgot, but persisted in her foolish desire to receive caresses and kisses from a living man. “But what for?” the Goblin of the South asked her, who, after his libations had given him his post in the Castle, the Northern region of which grazed the waters of the rising Lake, had long conversations with her. “I see no reason.” “Nor do I,” responded Ondina. “I see no reason, but so it is.”

This was the state of things when the Goblin opportunely remembered about her, her naïve nature and her foolish whimsy. This is how water nymphs were, it was said. He had met another, in the South, who had taken a fancy to donkeys, and also another, farther East, who had a penchant for red-bearded soldiers. Anything could be expected from a water nymph, except common sense.

He waited for a propitious night—that is to say, a night of a waxing moon—and burrowing into the recesses of the earth, he opened a passage to the Fountainhead of the Lake.

—It’s been some time since you’ve come, Goblin of the South, said Ondina, who preferred him, without knowing it, for the whiff of humanity that was gradually consuming him. I want to show you the last one who entered. The Goblin of the Alamanita Region sent him to me, he’s quite handsome. I have yet to tire of decorating him: look, I put seashells on his ears, bouquets of maraubina everywhere, and here, this pearl that an oyster from the Drango Sea gave me. What more can I do now, to keep from growing bored?

The Goblin thoughtfully studied the young man with dark hair and a golden complexion, fixed in an expression of terror—he hadn’t had time to close his eyes. It seemed like the epitome of ugliness and absurdity to him, but he kept his opinions to himself, to better win over Ondina. He looked warily from side to side, and finally muttered:

—You’re not expecting a visit from the Great Lady, right?

—Oh, no, she said. She’s too busy preparing for the next thaw. She hasn’t seen the last three, and although she doesn’t like them very much, she tells me if I’m satisfied with drowned men, she has nothing to reproach me for.

—Well then, I’ve thought a lot about you, beauty, said the Goblin. And it so happens that we have found a solution, without you incurring the anger of your wonderful Grandmother who Inspires Such Respect from Me—he could only speak of her in capitalized words.

—Really? Ondina exclaimed, with great interest. Tell me, Goblin of the South.

—The thing that I’m offering you is an opportunity: we have found a potion that will allow you to take human form, for a short time—ten days, at most—without risk of contamination. Of course if you maintain this human form a single minute longer, you would be contaminated, and in such a dangerous way that there will be no remedy for it. But since you are fickle, as I see it, you are not going to spend more than two days entertaining human men, with whom you can cavort as you please during that time. And this way the danger will dissipate, to your great advantage: you can drink the elixir as many times as you’d like, and take, for ten days, the very useful figure of a woman (always different from the one before) . . . As I see it, you will enjoy nice things, and you will not get bored, which, through the past centuries, has never been said.

Ondina somersaulted twice in the water. It was her ultimate expression of glee, given that her smile was fixed.

—Quickly! she cried. And the surface of the Lake trembled suddenly, as if under a strong wind—quickly! Give me this potion!

—One moment, beauty, said the Goblin. Sorry to say it, but everything has its price.

—Tell me your conditions.

—Here it is: over the course of these delights, you’ll enjoy the caresses and kisses and however much you like from as many young men as you see fit. But . . . —and here he picked his words very carefully—that’s provided that you continue, time and again, to attract a certain man, who although in his day will be young and maybe even handsome, with time he will gradually become old and even ugly or repulsive. Only with this condition, under solemn oath, will I give you the potion.

—Alright, she said, it hardly matters. I will know exactly how to console myself with the others, for as long as the human race exists and produces such delightful creatures—and she pointed to the Garden of Drowned Youths.

—Very well. I will communicate your consent to the others involved, said the Goblin. And leaving her very excited, he returned from where he had come.

Queen Ardid was quite pleased to learn of this. Nevertheless, she said:

—My dear friend, are you sure Ondina will not grow tired of waiting for the promised potion? Keep in mind that many years have to pass until Gudú is of an age to appreciate her charms.

—Oh, dear girl, said the Goblin, what are a few years to those who live submerged for ages upon ages? Nothing, dear girl, nothing.

And he drank with gusto, still trembling, a big gulp of a certain light, rosy wine that he reserved for special occasions. The fear that the Great Lady inspired in him was comparable only to the affection he felt for Queen Ardid.

It was decided that since the birthday of the young King would take place in a few days, this would be the appropriate moment to perform the agreed upon procedures.

Gudú, meanwhile, roamed freely about the Castle without hindrance, quite oblivious to the plot being woven around him. His brother Predilecto followed him everywhere, and he took care of him with such tenderness and affection that Queen Ardid took notice. One day she called him aside. She felt an overwhelming affection for that boy, so different from his brothers, and said to him:

—Prince Predilecto, I have observed that you feel great tenderness for our beloved Lord and King.

—That’s right, said the boy. In truth, he is the only one of all my brothers for whom I feel genuine affection . . . a true fraternal bond.

—From now on, said the Queen, I appoint you as his Protector and Guardian, because you do not ignore the many dangers lying in wait for my son in this Castle: in spite of all appearances to the contrary, not everything here is as it seems.

Predilecto kept silent, but the Queen did not fail to observe that a sadness, truly premature for his age, filled the boy’s eyes.

—Come with me, she added. I want, from this day onward, for you to see in me the mother you have never known.

Saying this, she kissed him. And from the strong blush that spread over the boy, she realized how much happiness her words had stirred in him. “I have here,” Ardid told herself, “someone who must not be conquered by fear, nor by force nor by greed; I have here someone who will only be conquered by love.” And thinking this, she led him to her bedchamber. Then she opened a small chest, where she usually kept the few treasures she had left, and found at the bottom a small stone that, years ago—as a child—she had discovered on the riverbank. It was blue, smooth, and elongated, and it appeared to have been slit through the center by a sharp blade. That small stone had been the only plaything in her austere childhood. A small hole opened at its center: she had brought an eye close to it to peer through and look at the reflection of the sun on the sea, for many years. Perhaps for this reason, she kept it. And though at times she was tempted to throw it away, without knowing why, there it remained. She took it between her fingers very solemnly and told him:

—My son, this, so simple in appearance, is one of my most prized heirlooms . . . I’m giving it to you, to keep as proof of my affection and as a token of this pact.

With devotion and reverence that she never would have expected, Predilecto delicately took the cleaved stone, and kissing it, said:

—Thank you, my Lady. I swear on my life that I will never forget it. This stone will never leave my side, and I will respect this pact until the end of my days.

And leaving the Queen mute with bewilderment and some regret—albeit not for long—Prince Predilecto strung the stone—by that hole through which Ardid had in the past stared at the sea—on a gold chain, a gift from his father. And he displayed it on his chest forever, with the pride and love that others showed their highest honors.

“Truly,” thought Ardid, when the boy disappeared from her view, “he is a naïve boy. It will be necessary to preserve this ingenuity, for as many years as possible.” And unable to help it, she sighed to herself: “Poor Prince Predilecto.”

But at once, more pressing concerns carried that sigh far away from her heart.

On Gudú’s birthday, the Queen took him to her bedchamber, and sitting him on a stool, she gave him a drink from a large cup containing poppy diluted in a sweet drink of mead along with some mysterious ingredients. Once the child was asleep, she called for the Goblin and the Sorcerer. With utmost care they laid him down on the floor. They fanned the flames of the hearth, and when the fire turned the color of the sunset over the Lake, the Wizard pronounced the words of his ritual. Then the Goblin took the child’s head with great tenderness, blew on his brow, and it opened with the delicacy and softness of a flower. He did the same over his chest, and when his heart emerged, the Sorcerer locked it up, with great skill, in a glass that was at once transparent and sturdy. The boy’s brow displayed dreams of horses, a large sun, harsh and red, the clashing of swords and a poplar swaying in the breeze. “Nothing dangerous,” said the Goblin. “Tell me, we still have time, should we remove something more from him?: Intelligence? Innocence?” Suddenly the Queen felt a deep sorrow, and covering her eyes with her hands, burst into tears:

—Enough, she said, enough. That will do.

The Goblin blew on the child’s brow and chest, which closed, seamlessly, and the fire went out on its own. An hourglass, on the hearth’s ledge, slowly shed its golden rain.

As if seeing it for the first time, Ardid’s eyes and thoughts traveled around the room. Through the window, and even through the stones, curtains, and walls of the Tower, the night, in all its fullness, reached her. It was a lovely night, which swelled with the slumber of some birds and the wakefulness of others. She seemed to even perceive the translucent quivering of the dragonflies over the stillness of the ponds. And down below, in the Lake of Disappearances, something or someone—Ardid partly knew, and partly guessed—skimmed the surface of its waters with invisible fingers. “How grand and mysterious, how tranquil and terrible a night can be . . .” she thought. Then she realized that her eyes were covered with a shining dampness that awoke distant memories. Achingly she broke away from that reverie, and turned back to her friends:

—The King is born, Ardid said, drying her tears. May we live to see his greatness! Wake him, and may all the bells of Olar ring at once.

And so it was done, and the King’s birthday was celebrated with a pomp and splendor never before known.

Translated by Lisa Boscov-Ellen