bellflower

the little girl listening stops the storyteller to ask, "when he climbs her hair, doesn't it hurt?"

bellflower & dragonfly, katsushika hokusai

once upon a time there was a girl in a tower & regardless of how she came to be up there, she did not want to leave. though she was very curious about the world outside, she did not even want to show her face at the window. often she would peek out of one side or the other, or hesitantly stick her hand out to feel the weather, but that was not her main interface with the world. what she liked to do was lay her head on the windowsill & let her braid hang outside. she would feel the breeze sway it, the sun warm it, or the rain dampen it, and sometimes when she drew it back into her tower garret, a bee or butterfly would be perched on it for her to examine. bc she was so withdrawn otherwise, the fine nerves of her scalp grew abnormally sensitive, & her hair grew unnaturally fast & full, & her hair gave her as much information as a cat’s whiskers or an insect’s antennae.

one day a prince came wandering by. let’s not question why he wanted to spend his time alone in the forest, or why, having met many women & seen many faces, it was the sight of her long braid swaying like a serpent climbing the length of the tower, disappearing into the window & suggesting the unseen woman, that made him finally fall in love. he approached the tower, navigating through the thornbushes that surrounded it, & gave her braid a tug. the girl felt her head jerked back.

though she was so abnormally sensitive that this hurt her more than the prince intended, the sensation was so new that it inflamed her curiosity, & being so understimulated generally she had perhaps more than the normal share of feminine masochism. maybe this is why she didn’t spool her braid back inside immediately. they spoke back & forth a little, & the prince played with her hair, & he slowly conceived the idea of climbing it to meet her.

it was nightfall by the time he reached her window. he couldn’t see her well; all he could dimly tell was that her sunless hidden life left her looking pale & made him think she was younger than her actual years. he promised to return with a rope to get her out, and he scrambled down.

he returned early in the morning. though he had feared it would be otherwise, he was relieved to see her braid hanging invitingly. this time he was less careful & secretive as he climbed, & it hurt. but it wasn’t until he had almost reached the top that she made any attempt at defense. when he was about to crest the windowsill, he saw her pale hand emerge above him with a silver knife. she slashed her braid just above where he grasped it, & he tumbled into the thorns, which pricked his eyes & blinded him. secure in her tower, she withdrew from the windowsill.