McKillip, Patricia A - The Snow Queen

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The Snow Queen

Patricia A. McKillip

Kay

THEY STOOD TOGETHER WITHOUT TOUCHING, watching

the snow fall. The sudden storm prolonging winter had surprised the

city; little moved in the broad streets below them. Ancient filigreed

lamps left from another century threw patterned wheels of light into

the darkness, illumining the deep white silence crusting the world.

Gerda, not hearing the silence, spoke. "They look like white rose

petals endlessly falling." Kay said nothing. He glanced at his watch,

then at the mirror across the room. The torchieres gilded them: a

lovely couple, the mirror said. In the gentle light Gerda's sunny hair

looked like polished bronze; his own, shades paler, seemed almost

white. Some trick of shadow flattened Gerda's face, erased its

familiar hollows. Her petal-filled eyes were summer blue. His own

face, with sharp bones at cheek and jaw, dark eyes beneath pale

brows, looked, he thought, wild and austere: a monk's face, a

wizard's face. He searched for some subtlety in Gerda's, but it

would not yield to shadow. She wore a short black dress; on her it

seemed incongruous, like black in a flower.

He commented finally, "Every time you speak, flowers fall from

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The Snow Queen

your mouth."

She looked at him, startled. Her face regained contours; they were

graceful but uncomplex. She said, "What do you mean?" Was he

complaining? Was he fanciful? She blinked, trying to see what he

meant.

"You talk so much of flowers," he explained patiently. "Do you

want a garden? Should we move to the country?"

"No," she said, horrified, then amended: "Only if— Do you want

to? If we were in the country, there would be nothing to do but

watch the snow fall. There would be no reason to wear this dress.

Or these shoes. But do you want—"

"No," he said shortly. His eyes moved away from her; he jangled

coins in his pocket. She folded her arms. The dress had short puffed

sleeves, like a little girl's dress. Her arms looked chilled, but she

made no move away from the cold, white scene beyond the glass.

After a moment he mused, "There's a word I've been trying all day

to think of. A word in a puzzle. Four letters, the clue is: the first

word schoolboys conjugate."

"Schoolboys what?"

"Conjugate. Most likely Latin."

"I don't know any Latin," she said absently.

"I studied some… but I can't remember the first word I was taught.

How could anyone remember?"

"Did you feed the angelfish?"

"This morning."

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The Snow Queen

"They eat each other if they're not fed."

"Not angelfish."

"Fish do."

"Not all fish are cannibals."

"How do you know not angelfish in particular? We never let them

go hungry; how do we really know?"

He glanced at her, surprised. Her hands tightened on her arms; she

looked worried again. By fish? he wondered. Or was it a school of

fish swimming through deep, busy waters? He touched her arm; it

felt cold as marble. She smiled quickly; she loved being touched.

The school of fish darted away; the deep waters were empty.

"What word," he wondered, "would you learn first in a language?

What word would people need first? Or have needed, in the

beginning of the world? Fire, maybe. Food, most likely. Or the

name of a weapon?"

"Love," she said, gazing at the snow, and he shook his head

impatiently.

"No, no—cold is more imperative than love; hunger overwhelms it.

If I were naked in the snow down there, cold would override

everything; my first thought would be to warm myself before I died.

Even if I saw you walking naked toward me, life would take

precedence over love."

"Then cold," she said. Her profile was like marble, flawless,

unblinking. "Four letters, the first word in the world."

He wanted suddenly to feel her smooth marble cheek under his lips,

kiss it into life. He said instead, "I can't remember the Latin word

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The Snow Queen

for cold." She looked at him, smiling again, as if she had felt his

impulse in the air between them. His thoughts veered off-balance,

tugged toward her fine, flushed skin and delicate bones, something

nameless, blind and hungry in him reaching toward another

nameless thing. She said,

"There's the cab."

It was a horse-drawn sleigh; the snow was too deep for ordinary

means. Had she been smiling, he wondered, because she had seen

the cab? He kissed her anyway, lightly on the cheek, before she

turned to get her coat, thinking how long he had known her and how

little he knew her and how little he knew of how much or little there

was in her to know.

Gerda

They arrived at Selene's party fashionably late. She had a vast flat

with an old-fashioned ballroom. Half the city was crushed into it,

despite the snow. Prisms of ice dazzled in the chandeliers; not even

the hundred candles in them could melt their glittering, frozen

jewels. On long tables, swans carved of ice held hothouse berries,

caviar, sherbet between their wings. A business acquaintance

attached himself to Kay; Gerda, drifting toward champagne, was

found by Selene.

"Gerda!" She kissed air enthusiastically around Gerda's face. "How

are you, angel? Such a dress. So innocent. How do you get away

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McKillip, Patricia A - The Snow Queen

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