The Snow Queen

Story Two - Boy and Girl

The big city is swollen with people, a few rattle in large hollow houses but most are stuffed into small dwellings, one atop of another among constant chatter in disparate languages, the whir of televisions, the drone of passing traffic. The polluted air sits above them like a sagging cloud. Some work from dawn till dusk just to eat and sleep, to block it all out in a world of dreams. These homes are not their own, they must cough up the fruits of their labours to fat, croaking frogs which press down on the city with ever increasing weight. The meniscus of this bubble is quite strong, it will not burst, not for now at least, many folk will suffocate yet.

Every plot of land is now swallowed and choked with buildings, there are few gardens, small ones, paved and lacking in the lush green colours so primed to restore our anxious minds. Most people are obliged to be satisfied with a potted plant or a window box, if they have the 'give' to take care of such a living thing after their days work is done. A few are fortunate enough to have a balcony; two poor children, Kyle and Gila were not brother and sister but next door neighbours, their apartments each having patio doors opening onto adjoining balconies.

Gila's mother and Kyle's grandmother each provided containers of soil in which they could grow herbs; mint and thyme, a few marigolds. Kyle's would always die but that didn't matter. The children would meet after tea on summer evenings to water their plants from a plastic jug and put crumbs out for the birds. They were not to climb the railings for they were four storeys from the earth. They would play quietly and share toys, sometimes they would drop objects onto the heads of passers-by below them and then duck and hide, stifling their laughter through short, sticky fingers. In winter this fun would come to an end and instead the children would meet on the staircase and roll little cars on the bannisters but they were not to go into the lift; the lift had a smell and occasionally a large striped dog which glared at them and panted.

'Jack Frost is on his way,' said Kyle's grandmother, 'You children must go inside, into the warm.'

'Where is his wife?' asked Gila.

'She is busy sowing the patterns for the windows, at midnight she will come and stick them to the glass. Have you seen the patterns?'

'Yes, we have seen them,' said the children.

'They are on the inside too, in my flat,' said Gila, 'My flat is so cold. Mum said the landlord is a ......crook.'

One night the wicked man we met in story one, who was Kyle's real father, came into their home in a terrible rage. Kyle awoke to hear the crack of a smashed bottle against the wall and angry voices, shouting, screaming. His heart jumped in his chest but he was too frightened to get up, time passed,  minutes, an hour, the voices went quiet, he went back to sleep. In the morning his grandmother was  on her hands and knees cleaning up the broken glass with a dustpan and brush.

'Your mother has gone,' she said sadly, 'Now put on your shoes, the glass will cut your feet.'

Kyle looked out at the pigeons on the balcony, eating the biscuit crumbs he'd left out for them before he'd gone to bed. He opened the glass doors and went outside in nothing but his thin, white vest. The cold air bit at his flesh but it didn't hurt him, indeed he derived pleasure from it and he gripped the frozen balustrade; small white particles stuck to the palm of his hand, was it snow? No just flaking white paint.

'Will you come inside right now Kyle!' said the grandmother, 'Look you've put your foot on the glass. I told you Kyle! And feet, how they like to bleed, they like to bleed and bleed and bleed. As if I haven't enough to do!'

Kyle drifted off into a daydream, his grandmother's voice faded away. The next thing he awoke to find himself on the sofa wrapped in her arms with his foot coated in plasters. 'I phoned the school,' she said, 'I told them you were sick.' The rest of the day passed by in a haze. Something had changed, the air was different, even the wallpaper looked different. Kyle was different.

That evening it snowed. Kyle and Gila both stood in their windows watching the flakes come down, occasionally catching a gust of wind and flying straight at  the glass. Gila grinned and clasped together her slender fingers. Kyle was stoney faced, his pulse slow, his body still. After dinner Gila knocked their door in her special way, two knocks and then three. Kyle didn't stir or move from the window. 

'Kyle!' his grandmother said, 'Aren't you going to let in your bosom friend?'

She threw down her paper and got up tutting. 'Come in my love. I don't know what's wrong with that boy.'

Gila's eyes were shining. 'Kyle, the snow! My mum said we could go out into the grassy bit outside and build a snowman. She will watch us from the window to make sure we are safe.'

Kyle didn't turn around, something caught his eye and he opened the patio door and stepped out. There was a lady out there, a tall attractive woman with blond hair pulled back into a tight bun. He'd seen her before, he'd seen her with his father.

'Kyle, we can go outside my mum says!' pleaded Gila.

'It's alright Kyle, you can go,' said the grandmother, 'I will watch too.'

Gila stepped out onto the balcony too and grabbed Kyle's cold hand, pulling it back and forth. 'C'mon,' she said, 'this snow may stop soon, who knows how long it will last!'

He pushed her hand away, 'Get off me!'

She stared at the side of his head, the dark curls of hair against his skin and then stepped forward to see what he was staring at. The tall women below looked up, lifted her hand and waved.

'We musn't talk to her Kyle, my mum said we must never......'

'Sshshs,' he said, 'Why don't you go home Gila.'

Gila face dropped, the happy shine in her eyes turned to one of sadness. She stepped back, thoroughly deflated, then she bit her thin, pale lip, trying hard to think of something to save the moment. 'Let's put a bowl of water out for the birds!' she said, 'Warm water that won't freeze...and food too. They'll be so hungry in this weather...'

Kyle exhaled. 'Let's not,' he said, 'Who cares about the stupid birds.' He watched as the tall lady walked off out of sight, with a man now, arm in arm. Stepping back inside he said angrily, 'Why don't you go home now Gila, watch Cbeebies with your sister.'

Gila's eyes filled with tears. The grandmother stood up, 'I'm sorry Gila, he isn't himself. Why don't you come back tomorrow, the school may be closed if this snow keeps coming.'

That evening marked the end of an innocent and beautiful friendship, something rare and divine now smashed into indecipherable fragments. The boy and girl still spoke to each other but he would no longer speak of nature and the things they had previously loved and shared, indeed if she mentioned the birds and their old games he would shrug and frown as if he didn't understand her. He spent more and more time outside on the streets with his skateboard and local boys which he had previously avoided. Gila saw little of her childhood friend. She watched him from her window, he grew taller, changed his dress and his voice became hard and loud.

The tall, blond lady began to frequent the estate again and she was drawn to Kyle and he to her. He followed her further and further from home to different parts of the city. In her he saw the most beautiful face and the sound of her voice intoxicated him, he believed everything he told her. She took him away to other worlds where everything was magnificient; colours more vivid, music more beautiful, taste and smell otherworldly. When she touched him it was intense, he felt as if he was dying when he was with her but dying felt so good he couldn't leave or break away. Anything his grandmother said went unheard, she was just an obstacle now, together with Gila, trying to rein him in, to stop the running of his life.

Many seasons passed by. Kyle's grandmother's hair became grey and wiry. One night he didn't return home and she was frantic with worry but he was careful to send messages, that he was fine and not to bother him. One night turned into two nights and then a whole week. He dropped in for money and clothes but then that stopped and he just sort of vanished. The memory of him faded, recent memories were replaced with older ones of when he was small and full of life and love. In Gila's mind he became almost like a dream, an imaginary perfect companion. Sometimes she saw the outline of his figure out on the balcony putting crumbs out for the birds but these were just shadows of the night. She began to question whether he was ever really there at all.