LAURA MULLEN Read pillsout of hermother s houselikea bright dropof- don'tsay ■■I it!Grandmother s raisedpalmcommandssilence.She'sbrought herbedsidemannerto thebiglecturehall- thatshorthairreally suits her- shes justbackfrom France.Shecirculates, shecontinues: thelittle girl vanishes intotheforest andreappears, setting outagainonherorbit through everychildhood, bright flashofbravery, look ,and innocenceso we'retold- on a loop. Read itagain,we saysleepily, whenthestory is finished. Knownand namedforherappearance, instructed as to her behavior, our heroinecrossesagainthatbad patchof disputedturfaccompaniedbyherbreathless , invisible, audience.Whichofus hasn't identified withherloneliness-andassumedtheviewpoint ofthewolfř Who seesherthere inthewoods,pausingtogather flowers: making that gesture ofloveorisitdistraction... he'dlikehertobe evenmorelegible, I think.He comes carefully upon her,tailtuckedintohis pants,pretendingto be a famousBotanist, or anotherEminence.Pickbluebells forgratitude, he tellsher,and daffodils to saythe sun shines when I amwith you though a wind blows. Rippingouta fewsampleshimself, he makeswhat heinsists areonlysuggestions: Bring herlupines, he smirks, andmaybe, maybe, rhododendrons. He wouldliketoseethechildas symbolic, a part oftheriveting story he tellsto himself, abouthimself. Itis timeto take thisstory back,or rather giveitback:timeto findthegiveinthisstory andpress.... Startwithan image:a pale youngwomanplaying a fearful and muted gameofherown invention in a houseofmourning or illnessor some imposedsilence.Shssshhhh. Listento theheavyticking ofan ancient clock, andherwhispers: shedoesthedollsindifferent voices,mumbling endearments. Footsteps, thedoor opens,she'scalledto don againthe frayed and fadedcap or cloak,a sortofangry pinkbynow,muchtoo 126 smallortooshort, andtoldtostandon thehearthrug, askedto"makean exhibition of"herself, surrounded byhermother s friends, thesemore orlesspolite,and morethanslightly plastered, adults.Shehasto recite againandmakevivid, entertaining, eventsshedrather forget. Showush, thedistinguished critic urges, a little fuzzily, don't(hie) tellush. The story is thestory ofthewoods,in someway:thestory ofa space between girlhood andoldage,thespaceofa sexuality defined interms of socialusefulness-fecundity, ofcourse.The spaceofvisibility (and vulnerability ) toa predatory gaze.Bythetimeshearrives atGrandmother s house she ishergrandmother (thickskin,blastedveins,wrinkles, the wholenineyards, as we say, youknow- whats thatflapping as I move myarm- agh,its myarmitself),horrible (or so theculture isquickto inform her). In between?Chops are licked, wolfwhistlesrendtheair aroundher, andsheispawed- a "toothsome morsel." I couldeatyouup! The menactlikeorare"animals." (Thoughthey might vanish- andyou can'tfindhidenorhairof em- ifyougetpregnant, offhowling at the moonorrunning away, withtheir tailsbetweentheir legs,andso forth.) Dense undergrowth ofclichés, thicket. Bythetimeshearrives sheunderstands thatshehasarrived ata placeofinvisibility (youdontexist, or onlyas a cautionary tale:This iswhathappensifyoudon'tmoisturize!), untilsheisreplacedbytheimageofthesexualhunger thatwillconsume her,waitingtherewitha readyanswerforeach question,gaze fartoo avid,interest toospookily intense. Is anyonein the storyshockedbyanything? Grandmapats herhair, touchesherthroat, lookingoutat theaudience.Myrecollection is that no one is.Of coursethefairy talespaceis a dreamspace,inwhicheveryodd unfolding actionseemsconnected somehow, so thatstrangeness flows intofurther, widerandwilderstrangeness withhardly a rippleand nevera splash- andyet.. .andyeta wolfinthewoodsisworthtwointhe bed,n'est-ce pas?Or,a wolfinthewoodsstartles less,islessofananomaly , thana wildbeastinGrandmother's house?"Wildbeast"isa courtesy: withhisgraduate degrees, hisevening glassoflightly oakedchardonnay, hishigh, gleaming forehead andthoseexpensively maintained teeth, his 127 passionforfirst editions orsomething likethat, hismonographs on Eliot or Yeats...- eh bien,beastly butnotinfacta beast,hélas.I saynothing againstactualwolves!Butwe shouldremark thetendency to readthe dialogueas a logicalresponseto...chaosand danger:a roomindisarray, a dragonindrag,a grandmother s notable(denied) absence.Evenifwe caninhabit, briefly, thePOV ofthepredator, we return tothesituation ofthepowerless: we meeta wolf, andagainwe meeta wolf..andwe are askedtobelievethatthevery lackofknowledge thatendangers usmight keepussafe.Butwhohasn'tbeendeceivedanddevoured?* Grandmother gently asks,removing herglasses.She is patientwithoururgent desire fora story thatrunsrigidly alonglaid tracks, understanding aboutour desireforthefeeling offorward movement within a reassuring structural stasis.I myself havea memory ofwanting tohearthesamesongover andover, lifting andputting theneedlebackdownon theglossy blackof thespinning vinyl disc- thattechnology (Oh mydears,we calledthem "records"! Hilarious!)now chicbecause out-of-date: its meaningwill be lost.We wantto memorizethewordsthatseemso fineto us:to go through a controlled version ofthetrauma again- inordertosurvive it, I suspect.Butlets stophereand considerhersituation. Stalledon the threshold a dangerous gameis playedout,inwhichthepasswordliterallyallowsthespeakertopass ,topassaway, tobe consumed, tomeet,as we say, herdeath.Of coursewe wishshewerestronger, braver, smarter, faster orjust... prepared. Itisourconstant wish. I wasn't fooled ,sheasserts, speaking distinctly intothemicrophones, flanked byhandlers and imageconsultants, foraninstant! I wasjustnoticing how smartthefairy taleis aboutthestepsthatcould potentially lead us to normalize a situation bothstrange anddangerous. Instressful situations, itturnsout,unlesswe haveimaginedwhatcould happenand whatto do in "theeventofa possibledisaster"ofsome sort,thefirst reaction is stasisand denial- shock.What standsout about LittleRed Riding Hood s confrontation withthewolfis howon topofitsheis,orcould seem:ableatoncetoarticulate herobservation ofdifference. We could seeheras intrepid andbold,a heroine, butwe canalsoseeheras having been raisedin a madhouse,educatedto debatewolves,or trained, like 128 an airlinestewardess, topretendthatthings arefinewhentheyarenot. Really! That'sa wolfinmygrandmother sbed!?!Youopenthedoor,you see there'sa wolfin Granny's queen-sizedPosturepedic, and youhaul yourassoutta there-fast.But,beingafraid...