Ask The Stories

The Brothers

"And what are you doing here?" Tom asked.

They looked at each other, full of amusement which somehow embraced and included Tom.

"Why, we are writing down stories," Jakob said.

"What for?"

"To amaze. To terrify. To delight."

"Why?"

"For the sake of the stories," Jakob said. "That must be clear. Why, our very lives have been storylike. Even the mistakes have been happy. Boy, did you know that in our original story it was a fur slipper which the poor orphan girl wore to the ball? What an inspired mistranslation made it glass!"

"Yes, yes. And you remember the strange dream I had about you, my brother: I stood in front of a cage, on top of a mountain...it snowed...you were in the cage, frozen...I had to peer through the bars of the cage – so much like one of our treasures..."

"Which we were determined to show the world the wonder we felt in discovering, yes. You were terrified – but it was a terror full of wonder."

"These stories are not for every child – they do not suit every child. The terror is there, and it is real. But our best defense is nature, is it not?"

Tom said "Yes" because he felt them waiting for an answer.

"So you see. You learn well, child." Jakob set down the quill pen with which he had been toying. "Wilhelm’s dream – do you know that when Wilhelm was dying, he spoke quietly and cheerfully about his life?"

"You see, we embraced our treasures, and they gave us treasure back a thousandfold," Wilhelm said. "They were the country in which we lived best. If our father had not died so young – if our childhood had been allowed its normal span – perhaps we could never have found what it is to live in that country."

"Do you hear what we are saying to you, boy?" Jakob asked. "Do you understand Wilhelm?"

"I think so," Tom said.

"The stories, our treasures, are for children, among others. But..."

Tom nodded: He saw. It was not the personal point.

"No child can go the whole way with them," Wilhelm said.

"We gave our wings," Jakob said. "For our song was our life. But as for you..." The brothers looked at him indulgently.

"Do not idly throw away any of your gifts," said Jakob. "But when you are called..."

"We answered. We all must answer," Wilhelm said. "Oh, my, what are we saying to this boy? It is late. Do you mind stopping work until tomorrow, brother? It is time to join our wives."

They turned large brown eyes toward him, clearly expecting him to leave.

"But what happens next?" Tom asked, almost believing that they were who they appeared to be and could tell him.

"All stories unfold," Jakob said. "But they take many turns before they reach their ends. Embrace the treasure, child. It is our best advice. Now we must depart."

Tom stood up from the chesterfield, confused; so much of what happened here ended with a sudden departure! "Where do you go? According to you, where are we?"

Wilhelm laughed. "Why, Shadowland, boy. Shadowland is everything to us, as it may be to you. Shadowland is where we spent our busy lives. You may be within a wood...within a storied wood…"

"Or fur-wrapped in a sleigh in deep snow..."

"Or dying for love of a sleeping princess..."

"Or before a dwindling fire with head full of pictures..."

"Or even asleep with a head full of cobwebs and dreams..."

"And still you will be in Shadowland."

Both brothers laughed, and blew out the candles on their desks.

"I have another question," Tom said into the lively blackness.

"Ask the stories, child," said a departing voice.

A flurry of quiet rustling, then silence: Tom knew they were gone. "But they never give the same answers," he said to the black room.

Shadowland - Peter Straub