Girl in the Ashes part 2

(FATHER returns. The family gathers around. CINDERELLA is dressed in rags and covered in ashes.)

FATHER.
I have returned from the fair! For my beautiful step-daughter, the most beautiful dress in the kingdom!

STEPSISTER 1.
Oh thank you Step-Father!

FATHER.
And for my other beautiful step-daughter, a string of pearls fit for Neptune’s Wife!

STEPSISTER 2.
Oh they’re lovely! Thank you!

FATHER.
And for my beautiful – Christ, what happened to you?

CINDERELLA.
Father, I –

STEPMOTHER.
The child has turned against us, husband. No doubt from prolonged grief over the death of her beloved mother.

STEPSISTER 1.
She won’t sleep in our room any more!

STEPSISTER 2.
She thinks she’s better than us!

STEPSISTER 1.
She thinks she’s a princess!

STEPSISTER 2.
She’s a sickening little twerp!

STEPSISTER 1.
She sleeps in the fireplace, Step-Father! She sleeps in the ashes!

STEPSISTER 2.
She calls herself Cinderella!

FATHER.
Dear Lord. Wife, is this true?

STEPMOTHER.
I’m afraid it is dear Husband, my daughters do not lie.

FATHER.
Well then, Cinderella, since that is now your name, here is your present: a stick. Funny, I don’t remember you being such a strange, conceited, perverse little girl before. Good thing I have other daughters now. Come embrace me, daughters!

(The STEPSISTERS embrace him.)

STEPSISTER 1.
We love you, Step-Father!

STEPSISTER 2.
Oh so very much, Step-Father!

STEPMOTHER.
Husband, you must be so thirsty after your long ride. How about a nice draft of grog for the Great Provider?

FATHER.
Well, I’m not one to turn down a nice draft of grog. Thank you Wife. To Upward Mobility!

(He drinks, chokes, dies.)

CINDERELLA.
Father! No! Father!

STEPMOTHER.
Oh dear, he’s dead. What a terrible tragedy. Daughters, don’t touch the dead body. Cinderella, see if you can’t get him in the ground before dinner. And for God’s sake, wash up before you touch our food.

(They exit. CINDERELLA takes the stick to her mother’s grave.)

CINDERELLA.
Mother, oh Mother, help me please! You’ve got to help me! I don’t think I can go on any longer! They’ve killed your husband now; I’m condemned to a life of slavery! You said you would watch over me; where are you! All I have left in this world is a STICK. If it will make you help me, I now give it to you.

(She thrusts the stick into the ground and collapses in tears. Unseen by CINDERELLA, the stick grows into a tree.)

Please, Mother, please. HELP me. HELP me. I can’t do this by myself.

(STEPMOTHER enters.)

STEPMOTHER.
Cinderella! Cinderella! Wonderful news! — Zounds, I don’t remember that tree being there before. Oh well – Wonderful news, Cinderella!

CINDERELLA.
My father isn’t dead? My mother has heard my prayers?

STEPMOTHER.
Uh…no. No, the King is giving a Grand Ball! And we are all invited!

CINDERELLA.
A, a Grand Ball? What holiday is it?

STEPMOTHER.
That’s just it, it isn’t one! I hear that the real reason for the Grand Ball is so that the Prince can choose himself a bride!

CINDERELLA.
Oh, that is wonderful news! Then we must get all dressed up, and look our best, and –

STEPMOTHER.
Yes we must, and so we’re going to need your help. After you bury your father and serve us our dinner, you must start in on making us the most beautiful dresses you can think of. And we’ll have to sell off all your father’s possessions so that we can buy some decent jewelry. That is the way to catch a man; you must look as though you don’t need the money, then he will shower you with riches. Packaging is everything. Imagine me: the mother of a princess! And once the King is out of the way, QUEEN MOTHER. ME.

CINDERELLA.
But Step-Mother, what am I going to wear?

STEPMOTHER.
Wear? When?

CINDERELLA.
To, to the Grand Ball.

STEPMOTHER.
You? Dear, you’ll have so much to do with getting your sisters ready, I doubt you’ll have the time or energy to go to any Grand Ball. Now what is that dead man still doing in the kitchen? Are you going to mourn him all day?

INTERPRETER. (to AUDIENCE)
The Grand Ball. The Grand Ball. At the Grand Ball, the Prince will choose his bride. Well, where I grew up, we didn’t have Grand Balls. We had School Dances, but the School Dance was an event for which I was singularly ill-suited. I could not dance, I would not dance, my clothes were ugly and years behind the fashions, I was funny-looking and asexual and incompetent. I was one of the army of geeks and clowns who stood at the edge of the gymnasium and sneered at the others, the Farrah-haired cheerleaders and the blow-dried jocks, who fooled themselves into thinking they were having a good time. No, these were not the Grand Ball. The Grand Ball, for me, took place in a much larger arena. The Grand Ball was the complicated superstructure of society, the innumerable transactions and negotiations with teachers and girls and parents and friends and enemies. This is the Grand Ball to which I was not invited. The World. The World was the Grand Ball to which I was not invited.

(The Day of the Grand Ball. CINDERELLA, STEPMOTHER, STEPISTERS.)

CINDERELLA.
Step-Mother, the Grand Ball is tonight. Are you all satisfied with your dresses?

STEPMOTHER.
Girls, are you satisfied with your dresses?

STEPSISTER 1.
Oh yes! Mine is more beautiful than the sun!

STEPSISTER 2.
And mine glitters and sparkles like the stars!

STEPSISTER 1.
We’re sure to catch the Prince’s eye with these outfits!

STEPSISTER 2.
Yes, it seems that, that girl over there is quite talented, for a monkey anyway.

STEPSISTER 1.
Oh you mean that girl in the ashes? Our Princess?!

(They laugh.)

STEPMOTHER.
Oh you little golliwogs, you do make me laugh! Yes, Cinderella, it appears we are satisfied.

CINDERELLA.
Then, since I’ve made the dresses, and you have your jewelry, and my chores are all done for the day, would it be all right if I went to the Grand Ball?

STEPSISTER 1.
Go to the Grand Ball? YOU?!

STEPSISTER 2.
Yeah, you’re a disgusting little mudskipper, what would you do at the Grand Ball?

STEPMOTHER.
Now girls, remember what I told you, excessive cruelty is unladylike. Cinderella, you can’t go to the Grand Ball, you’re unclean.

CINDERELLA.
Oh, I can wash up in no time!

STEPMOTHER.
But you have nothing to wear.

CINDERELLA.
Well I thought maybe I could borrow one of my step-sisters old dresses. If-if it’s all right with them.

STEPSISTER 1.
Oh sure you could – in your dreams!

STEPSISTER 2.
Cooties! Cooties! Cooties!

(They exit laughing.)

CINDERELLA.
Or I could make a dress, you know, out of leftover scraps. And things. It won’t take me long.

STEPMOTHER.
Really. Well. Yes, well I suppose, if you can get yourself cleaned up and make yourself a presentable dress, I suppose –

(She suddenly hurls a cup of linseeds into the fireplace.)

Oh drat, look what I’ve done, clumsy me, I’ve spilled a cup of tiny linseeds into the ashes. We can’t have that, can we? All right Cinderella, look: if you can pick every one of those linseeds out of the ashes in an hour, then you may go to the Grand Ball. Okay? Wonderful.

(She exits. CINDERELLA, despondent, goes to her mother’s grave.)

CINDERELLA.
Mother, where are you?! This is my only chance for happiness and I’m all alone! You’ve forsaken me! You’ve abandoned me! You’ve –

(MOTHER enters in the guise of a bird.)

BIRD.
No I haven’t, Cinderella. I’m right here in the form of this bird. I will never forsake you. I will never abandon you. Here: follow me.

(They go into the kitchen.)

Watch: I will pick up those seeds by myself in no time at all. You just watch.

(And she does. It takes no time at all.)

There: here is your cup of seed. Call your step-mother.

(BIRD flies off away from the action.)

CINDERELLA.
Step-Mother! Step-Mother!

(STEPMOTHER enters.)

STEPMOTHER.
What is it, you urchin? I haven’t got all day.

CINDERELLA.
Here are the linseeds. I picked them all up from the ashes. It didn’t take long at all.

STEPMOTHER.
Really? Let me see.

(She takes the cup.)

My God. They’re all here. How did you do this?

CINDERELLA.
Oh. Well, a little bird helped me.

STEPMOTHER.
A little bird indeed!

(She throws them into the fireplace again.)

Pick them up again!

(She throws in another cup as well.)

And pick up those as well! I’ll teach you to smart off to me! Little bird!

(STEPMOTHER exits. BIRD flies to the fireplace and picks out the seeds again while CINDERELLA bemoans her fate.)

CINDERELLA.
Oh no! Two cups! What a disaster! I could never pick up two cups! Not in a million years! Now I’ll never go to the Grand Ball! My life is ruined! Ruined! Ruined!

BIRD.
Daughter –

CINDERELLA.
Ruined!

BIRD.
Daughter –

CINDERELLA.
Ruined! What?

BIRD.
There are your seeds, back in their cups. Call your step-mother.

(BIRD flies away.)

CINDERELLA.
Step-Mother! Step-Mother!

(STEPMOTHER enters.)

STEPMOTHER.
Oh for Heaven’s sake, what is it now? I still have to put my face on, I can’t be traipsing back and forth on every whim –

(CINDERELLA holds out the cups.)

CINDERELLA.
Here they are, Step-Mother. All done. Surely now I can go to the Grand Ball.

(Pause. STEPMOTHER strikes CINDERELLA so hard that she falls to the floor. The cups of seed go flying.)

STEPMOTHER.
You stupid crustacean! This isn’t about seeds, this is about you. You will never be suitable company for me and my daughters no matter how skilled you are, no matter how fast you work, no matter how many Little Birds you have working for you! Don’t you get it? Don’t you GET it? You’re a freak, Cinderella! You’re not fit to walk the earth! You have no soul! You would be better off if you were born dead! Forget about the Grand Ball! Forget about it! YOU ARE NOT WORTHY.

(And she exits. Pause.)

BIRD.
Daughter –

CINDERELLA.
Oh my God.

BIRD.
Daughter –

CINDERELLA.
She’s – she’s –

BIRD.
Dear –

CINDERELLA.
She’s right. She’s right. How could I be so blind. She’s absolutely right. I am worthless. I am worthless. I’m a blot on the landscape. I’m a fifth wheel.

BIRD.
No, Daughter –

CINDERELLA.
I’m a slug. I’m a frog. I’m a worm.

(BIRD exits.)

I’m dirt. I’m mud. I’m slime. I’m scum.

(BIRD enters with dress and slippers.)

I don’t deserve a life What was I thinking? Did I think I was human? Did I think I was likable? Did I think I was –

BIRD.
Daughter!

(CINDERELLA looks up.)

This is your dress. You will wear this to the Grand Ball. These slippers are made of gold. No one will be able to take their eyes off you. You will be special. You will be so special. You will be the Belle of the Ball.

CINDERELLA.
Oh. Oh. Mother, it’s, it’s beautiful. It’s so beautiful.

INTERPRETER. (to AUDIENCE)
My mother tried to buy my clothes, but I had the worst taste in fashions imaginable. I had no sense of color or pattern or style. I wore stripes with spots with plaids. The clothes I liked looked horrible together. The clothes I wore made me look retarded. The only reason I never worried about it was that I assumed that no one ever looked at me. I assumed I was invisible. I assumed I went unnoticed. So no, clothing was not my ticket to the Grand Ball. Clothing was not my disguise. I could not use clothing to hide the fact that I was unworthy, that I was undeserving, that I was an interloper, that I was a party-crasher, that I did not belong at the Grand Ball. I had to use something else. But I didn’t know what.

And one night, quite late, when I was still young and my mother was not yet sick with cancer, the two of us were up late watching television together, as we did sometimes, and I got on some self-pitying kick, griping and moaning about how no one likes me, everybody hates me, think I’ll eat some worms, yada yada yada, and my mother says look at this guy. And I look at the TV, there is Sammy Davis Junior. He’s singing. In a Nehru jacket. And beads. With rings like huge blisters on his fingers. And my mother says “Look at THIS guy. He’s black, he’s Jewish, he’s short, he’s ugly, he’s got one eye. Have any of those things stopped him?” No. They had not. He was singing on our TV, if they could see me now, that old-time gang of mine.

So that is what my mother gave me instead of a glittering dress and golden slippers. She gave me show business. She loved movies, loved movie stars, loved theater, loved musicals. She showed me that show business is the natural haven for losers like me, the natural disguise for all the humpback dwarfs, the two-headed girls, the freaks, the ninnies, the feebs, the dweebs, the screwheads. Show business could be my disguise for crashing the Grand Ball.
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Comments

4 Responses to “Girl in the Ashes part 2”
  1. mcbrennan says:

    I’m very interested in the outcome of this story.

  2. greyaenigma says:

    I keep trying to figure out how losers like me can succeed in the world. I keep wondering if aybe I didn’t suffer enough somehow. Or maybe just grandly enough.

    Also, I keep envisioning Cinderella as Jean Claude Van Damme and any moment now, she’s going start kicking the asses that so badly deserve it.

    It’s awfully hard to read the bits where she could save herself if she just spoke up. It seems so obvious, but then I’ve been in lots of situations myself where all I had to do was… something.

    • Todd says:

      Well, we would say that Cinderella does not speak up because she does not believe she is worthy, that on some level she believes what the stepsisters say about her. Which, we will see in Part III, is a crucial aspect of the character and narrative, one often overlooked in retellings.

  3. ndgmtlcd says:

    Cendrillon repart au bal

    While reading part one a few of the images and a lot of the comic tricks of “Ella Enchanted” (2004) kept pressing themselves towards me. I was reading it as something that just had to be done in a fast paced comic delivery mode.

    But sometines the mood of “The Tender Story of Cinderella Penguin” (1981) was pressing itself against me.

    In this second part it’s all “Cinderella Penguin”, which means that though it is funny it’s more neutral, with a slightly slower pace and more levels of interpretation available.