‘Don’t know,’ said the mirror.
‘You don’t know?’ replied the queen crossly. ‘Of course you know. It’s your job to know.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who said so?’
‘The writer of the fairytale said so. This is a fairytale, you know.’
‘Oh I see,’ said the mirror, warming to the challenge. ‘But there’s still a problem. Well, three problems actually.’
‘Which are?’
‘Firstly, you said “fairest of them all.” But I haven’t seen them all, have I? I might be a thousand years old, but in all that time I’ll bet there haven’t been more than about fifty women who’ve stood where you’re standing now. Hardly “all” is it?’
The queen rolled her eyes.
‘Secondly,’ continued the mirror, ‘it all comes down to personal taste. The last woman – no, the second last – was that frumpish old dowager, the King’s grandmother. She was ugly as a warthog with acne, but somebody, somewhere probably thought her the pinnacle of feminine attractiveness. And even the pretty young ones would all appeal differently to different potential suitors.’
The Queen huffed and puffed and tutted, and said: ‘Well, just answer the question on the basis of the ones you have seen using your best judgement.’
‘Third problem,’ intoned the mirror with the merest hint of triumphalism beginning to rise in his voice, ‘I’ve never seen anybody standing in front of me.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked the Queen incredulously. 'You saw them all, just as you’re seeing me now.’
‘Precisely,’ said the mirror. Just as I’m seeing you now. But I’m not seeing you, am I? I’m seeing a mirror’s image, in which everything is reversed. And no face is ever completely symmetrical, so no mirror image is ever accurate. Will that be all, your royal highness?’
The Queen was too angry to respond. She hurried away with a face dark as thunder to find a bottle of sleeping sickness poison and the rosiest apple she could lay her hands on.
No comments:
Post a Comment