The Fool

She has never thought to welcome the seasons. They are an immovable force to most, indubitable axioms that the world relies on. But to her they are avoidable, and almost non-existent, as each season is spent in the castle, where nothing changes. To others they seem to deserve respect. That is what the Morris dance is for, she suspects. It is as simple as those that worship a deity and praise them for a good harvest.

She has ventured out into the town square after requesting it from her father repeatedly, and he stands a ways away, looking at some recent postage, though she can occasionally feel his eyes one her, monitoring.

The dance is aggressive and captivating as she stands in the circle of spectators, unnoticed.

The Morris dancers move as steadily and gracefully as snakes, with an almost carnal elegance. The fool leaps between them, his light footfalls doing little to ground him. He finds himself narrowly squeezed between elbows and hips, knees and feet. He dances around these limbs, jumping and twisting, always being where the others aren’t.

The beat settles in her chest; not a rattling force, but as firm as a heartbeat.

For her the moment is spinning and endless, a moment suspended in time as the drumbeat seeps into her bones and heart pounds with dizzying force.

She watches the fool, jealously, dancing up to spectators, holding out a hat for money. Many give him coins, some meager amounts, others decent payment. Some simply smile and watch the dance.

She alternately watches the fool and the dancers as the fool makes his way around the circle of the crowd. She does not realize he is so close until he is right in front of her.

The fool stands before her, feet tapping to the tune. Her feet tap out the same rhythm. She does not realize until he looks her in the eye that she is visible, that she has maintained such a vantage point for the dance because she has been seen, and some audience members have stepped aside to make room for her.

Amidst her sudden panic however she finds the courage to smile. She does not have any money, and holds up her hands, turning them over to show that they are empty.

The fool’s smile does not falter. Instead he takes a hand and gently turns it over, kissing her knuckle as though he is kissing a ring. Her face flushes as he smiles at her once more before leaping into the crowd.

She watches them as the crowd members come and go, as the minutes pass and she keeps thinking surely they are tired and will retire now, but they continue dancing. She only leaves when the men cease to dance, straightening their clothes, glancing inside the fool’s hat, which has been emptied into a locked case numerous times throughout their performance. She spots her father where she had seen him standing hours ago. He does not glance up as she approaches.

She glances back once to see the fool watching her as he reaches for a suitcase, an armload of leather-cased coins jingling in his arms.

Art by erin Morgenstern

Text by Lucie MacAulay