Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

In the winter, a queen sat sewing at a window with a frame of black wood. She pricked her finger, and three drops of blood fell on the snow outside. “How I wish I had a child,” she said, “with skin as white as snow, and lips as red as blood, and hair as black as that wood.” Not long after, her wish came true. She had a daughter, and she named her Snow White. But the queen grew weak, and before the baby could walk, she died.

The king married again. The new queen was beautiful, and she knew it. Her mirror knew it too. Every morning she stood before it and asked, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of us all?” And the mirror answered, “You, my queen, are fairest of all.” Then she smiled and went about her day.

Years passed. Snow White grew up, and the castle grew bright around her. One morning the queen asked her question, and the mirror said, “You are fair, my queen, but Snow White is fairer than you.” The queen’s face went still. She said nothing. She turned and walked to the window, and looked down at the garden where Snow White was singing.

That night she called a huntsman to her room. “Take the girl into the forest,” she said. “Kill her. Bring me proof.” The huntsman stared at the floor. “My queen,” he said, “she is only a child.” The queen looked at him until he stopped speaking. “Do it,” she said. And he bowed and left.

***

The huntsman led Snow White into the forest the next morning. He carried a knife, but he did not want to use it. She walked beside him, talking about the birds, and the way the light came through the leaves. When they were deep among the trees, he stopped. “I cannot do this,” he said. “The queen wants you dead. Run, Snow White. Run and do not come back.” She did not understand at first. Then she understood, and she ran.

Branches caught at her dress. Roots tripped her. The trees grew close and dark, and the birds stopped singing. She ran until her legs ached and her breath came short. Then she saw a light between the trunks. She followed it, and came to a cottage with a small door and seven small windows.

She knocked. No one answered. She pushed the door open and went in. Inside, everything was tiny. Seven little beds stood in a row, seven little chairs around a table, seven little plates and seven little cups. The plates were clean, and the beds were neat.

Snow White was too tired to wonder. She ate a bit of bread from one plate, and drank a sip from one cup. Then she climbed onto the beds and tried each one. The seventh bed fit her. She pulled the blanket up and fell asleep.

When the dwarfs came home from the mountain, they found her there. They gathered around the bed with their lamps held high. “Who is she?” one whispered. “She is beautiful,” said another. “She is sleeping,” said a third. They spoke softly so they would not wake her. Then they sat down and waited for morning.

Morning came in grey and gold. Snow White woke to seven small faces watching her from the end of the bed. She sat up quickly.

“Please don’t be frightened,” said the oldest dwarf. His beard was the longest. “We found you sleeping. Who are you?”

“My name is Snow White. My stepmother sent a huntsman to hurt me. I ran into the forest.”

The dwarfs looked at one another. “You can stay,” said the oldest. “We work in the mountain all day, digging for silver and stone. You can keep the house if you like.”

Snow White nodded. She made the beds and swept the floor. She washed seven cups and set seven plates. The dwarfs came home at dusk with their picks over their shoulders. The cottage smelled of bread and woodsmoke, and they were glad.

That night the oldest dwarf stood by the door with his lamp. “Listen,” he said. “While we are gone, open this door to nobody. Not for a peddler. Not for a beggar. Not for anyone at all. The forest has long ears.”

“I promise,” said Snow White.

The dwarfs went out in the morning. Snow White was alone with the broom. The sun moved across the floor. Then came a knock at the door.

***

An old woman stood on the step with a basket on her arm. Her back was bent, and her hood hung low. “Good day, dear,” she said. “Such a pretty thing, all alone. Let me lace your dress. It is hanging loose.”

Snow White remembered the rule. “I cannot open the door,” she said.

“Then I will do it through the gap,” said the old woman. Before Snow White could step back, the lace was around her, pulled tight as a rope. Her breath stopped. She fell to the floor.

The old woman laughed and went away into the trees.

The dwarfs came home and found her. “She has not opened the door,” said one. “She is just lying here.” They cut the lace with a little knife, and Snow White sat up and breathed.

“The old woman,” she said. “She was quick. I did not let her in.”

“Do not speak to anyone through the door,” said the oldest dwarf. “Not even a voice.”

The next day the sun was warm. A knock came, and another old woman stood there, this time with a comb in her hand. “Your hair is a nest, dear,” she said. “Let me fix it.”

“I cannot,” said Snow White.

“Just the one side,” said the woman, and reached through the gap. The comb caught in Snow White’s hair, and a sharp sting ran down her neck. She fell again.

The dwarfs found her and pulled the comb free. She woke with a gasp.

“She came back,” said Snow White. “She comes as someone else each time.”

The oldest dwarf sat down and put his head in his hands. “Then we must be more careful,” he said. “And so must you.”

The oldest dwarf drew a map in the dust with his finger. “Mountains here,” he said. “That is where we work. You stay inside. Door shut. No matter what the voice sounds like.” Snow White nodded. “I will not open it,” she said. “Not even a crack.” The dwarfs left with their picks and their lanterns, and the cottage grew very quiet.

Midday came, and with it a knock. Snow White stood still. “Apples,” called a voice. “Sweet red apples, dear. Just one for your supper.” She did not answer. “The window, then,” said the voice. “You can pass the coin through the gap.” Snow White opened the shutter a finger’s width. An old woman stood there with a basket of apples, red as a heart. “Take one,” she said. “No coin. A gift.” Snow White shook her head. “I cannot,” she said. “I promised.”

“One bite,” said the woman. “Look how ripe.” She cut an apple in two and ate the pale half herself. “See?” she said. “Safe.” Snow White took the red half. She bit. The piece caught in her throat, and the room tilted, and she fell onto the floor like a dropped coat. The old woman laughed and went away through the trees.

The dwarfs came home at dusk. They found her by the window with the shutter open. “Snow White,” said the oldest. “Wake up.” He shook her shoulder. Nothing. They lifted her onto the bed and tried everything they knew. Warm water. A feather at her nose. A song. She did not move. “The apple,” said the youngest. “She ate it.” The oldest dwarf looked at the bitten fruit on the floor. “We cannot get the piece out,” he said. “It is too far down.” They sat with her all night. In the morning they built a coffin of glass, long and clear, and laid her inside. They set it on the hill among the wildflowers, where the sun would find her first. “We will visit,” said the oldest. “Every day.” They did. For a long time, they did.

***

Years passed. Snow White did not change. She lay in the glass with her hands folded, and the dwarfs brought fresh flowers each week. One morning a young man came up the hill with a small company of riders. He stopped when he saw her. “Who is this?” he asked. The oldest dwarf stepped forward. “Our friend,” he said. “She sleeps. The apple did it.” The young man looked at her for a long time. “May I take her?” he said. “I have a garden. She would be safe there. I would not wake her, but I would not leave her alone.” The dwarfs spoke among themselves. “She is not ours to keep,” said the oldest at last. “Go gently.” They lifted the coffin onto a cart and covered it with a green cloth. The road was rough. At a stone in the path the cart lurched, and the coffin shifted, and Snow White coughed. The piece of apple flew from her mouth and landed in the grass. She opened her eyes. “Where,” she said. “The dwarfs,” said the young man. “They are behind us.” She sat up. “I had a dream,” she said. “A long one.” The dwarfs came running. They laughed and cried and touched her hands. “You came back,” said the youngest. “We kept the flowers.”

There was a wedding that summer. Snow White wore a dress the color of the sky, and the seven dwarfs sat in the front row. Among the guests came a woman in a dark cloak. She stood at the back and watched. When the music began she slipped away to her room and spoke to her mirror. “Mirror,” she said. “Who is fairest?” The mirror answered. “You are beautiful,” it said. “But Snow White is fairer, and she is kind.” The woman sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked at her own hands. “I knew it,” she said. “I knew it all along.” She did not go back to the hall. She went out into the night and was not seen again. Snow White asked after her once. Nobody knew. So she let it go, and danced, and the dwarfs danced too, and the hill was full of lanterns until the morning.