The Cinderella Theorem Read online

  (4a) He decided that whoever fit the shoe would be his wife, not considering the fact that people can have the same size feet.

  Then (4b), he blindly assumed (because of his faith in the shoe) that each of the step-sisters must be his mystery girl, even though neither of them looked anything like the woman he danced with.

  And just when I thought I couldn’t be more annoyed by the story, (5) there was the violence. Cinderella’s scary bird friends peck out the step-sisters’ eyes at the wedding. Eww. According to the story, the birds pecked out one eye of each girl on the way into the church, and one eye of each girl on the way out of the church. Apparently, no one sought medical attention for them, and the pain and shock of losing the first eye in no way lessened their ability to attend the wedding. How mathematical.

  I can totally understand how Ella stays Less than Happy; her life is completely abnormal. If she had grown up in a normal way, if she had talked to people instead of birds, if she had worn leather footwear instead of golden, she would be more normal and able to be happy. But that is not reality. The reality is that she was this weird crying slave who talked to birds and put glass (or gold) on her feet.

  I looked at the Happiologists’ reports. There were only seven. Ella hadn’t dropped low enough to need a visit often. Calo had only been to see her twice in his time. His reports were typical and very Calo: he got her happy, then left her alone. I compared the dates of his visits to the printouts of her monitor history. A week was the longest she’d maintained Happy after a visit from him.

  My father, who was her Happiologist before Calo, also visited her twice. His methods showed more creativity than Calo’s. Calo gave her a bird the first time he visited and paintbrushes the second time. My father combined her love of cleaning with her need to be useful; he asked her to come clean his office, saying his usual maid was too busy. Another time they painted pictures of her friendly, eye-pecking birds. She stayed Happy two weeks after my father’s visits.

  Her first Happiologist, however, was the most successful. (Additionally, she must have also been fictionally created, because two hundred twenty-three years separated her second and third visit.) Miranda (the Happiologist) just went over to Cinderella’s castle and talked to her. The report said they talked about all kinds of things: birds, the weather, cleaning supplies, Aven, Ella’s disdain of the need for maids in the castle (apparently, she preferred to do the cleaning herself). Miranda wrote, “Ella seems lonely. She probably just needs a friend. Her levels even went up a little when I mentioned I might drop by again. Also, I think Ella needs to be doing something. Anything.” Ella was Happy for a month after Miranda suggested that she take up painting as a career.

  Questions:

  (1) If Miranda was fictionally created, and, really, living that long can only be explained by being fictional, was she still a Happiologist? Why did Ella stop being her client? Citizens get to choose their Happiologists. Ella seemed very content with Miranda. What had changed?

  (2) Why were my father and Calo satisfied with only a few weeks of Happiness, if a whole month was possible?

  (3) What happened to the painting career?

  I flipped to the front of the file folder. (Essential facts were typed on a sheet stapled to the cover.)

  Name: Cinderella/Ella

  Marital Status: married to Prince Avenant

  Children: none

  Creator/Collector: Brothers Grimm

  Address: #35, Fourth Wood

  Favorite Color: Blue

  Fairy Godmother: Glenni

  Things proven to raise Happiness: birds, painting, cleaning, fruit salad, sleeping by the fireplace, being useful.

  There was no listing for career or profession. I was surprised, however, to find her fairy Godmother was Glenni.

  Next, I looked through the monitor history printouts. Ella was very consistent. She was almost always at Less than Happy. And only rarely, did she get Happy without the help of a Happiologist.

  I looked at my notes about her abnormal life. I looked at the Happiologists’ reports. I looked at the line graph I had quickly made to chart her happiness. After thinking about all of these things, I got out a new sheet of paper and made an equation.

  H = ln.

  Where H = her Happiness, and more especially, being Happy,

  l = her actual Happiness level, which is dependent upon n, and

  n = her normalness.

  So, when you multiply l and n you get H. But the product, H, is made up of both the monitor level and being normal. Raising the amount of normal in Ella’s life could only result in her becoming more Happy.

  I would help Ella become normal. Then, she would be happier, and I could prove for my paper that fairy tales don’t live Happily Ever After. I could prove to Calo that the best way to raise Happiness is to help the citizens become normal. I could prove to my parents the vital necessity of normality, and they will stop making me do abnormal things, and everything will be like it was before. Normal.

  I decided to call my efforts The Cinderella Theorem. One day, when my mathematical brilliance is recognized all over the world, and I win the Nobel Prize, my biography will say something like “Sparrow began her career with The Cinderella Theorem, a unique study into the importance of normality.”

  I smiled. Everything was going to be perfect and perfectly normal now.

  Discovering my mathematical genius made me hungry, so I went downstairs to get some pretzels.[41] As I poured the pretzels into a teacup (teacup = an easy way to transport the salty sticks), I became aware of the music my parents were listening to. More accurately, I became aware that my name was in the song. I stood there, listening for a moment.

  We’ll be seeing that Levi less and less,

  Because of the return of our Princess…

  Lily, oh yeah, Princess Lily, Lily.

  I went into the living room. My parents had moved the furniture and were dancing together in the middle of the room.

  “I’m in a song?” I asked, disbelieving, even when faced with the chorus repeating my name.

  My mother stopped spinning. “Yeah, isn’t it great? The BTM wrote a special tribute for you.”

  “The BTM?”

  “The Bremen Town Musicians. The cat has some killer vocals on the second verse. Do you want us to start the song over?” My father moved toward the stereo.

  “No, thanks,” I said, quickly. “I’ll listen another time; I’ve got a lot of work to do.” I took my pretzels and escaped upstairs, trying to forget the sound of my father singing along. I consoled myself by thinking that when The Cinderella Theorem is finished, abnormalness like being memorialized in song will no longer happen.

  I sat at my desk again and looked over the Cinderella stuff I had spread out. As a reward for discovering the secret of Happiness, I decided to spend some time examining The Candlemaker’s Daughter. I gathered up the contents of Cinderella’s file and (with the notes I had made) put them back into the folder.

  This file was much thicker than Ella’s (Regarding file thickness: The Candlemaker’s Daughter > Cinderella). I started organizing the contents, like I had done with Cinderella’s and immediately discovered the reason for the thickness. Cinderella’s file only held the paperwork related to Ella. None of the other characters were represented. The Candlemaker’s Daughter file held the paperwork for everyone in the story. In addition to copies of the story, Happiologist notes, and monitor printouts for all the characters, there were also vanishing reports for each of them, and the essential facts sheets for everyone were stapled to the inside of the folder.

  I decided the best place to start was with the story, so I took out a clean sheet of paper for making notes.

  Once upon a time, a poor candlemaker lived alone with his daughter. His wife had died when the girl was young, but the candlemaker tried to be both mother and father to his little girl.

  The daughter, whose name was Celdan, was pleasant and cheerful, never happier than when she helped her father in his shop.
In the fall and winter, she kept their cottage warm and cozy. In the spring and summer, she picked flowers and herbs to scent and color her father’s candles.

  One sunny, spring day, when Celdan was 18, she went to a hilltop to find daffodils to dye the candle wax yellow. As she gathered the flowers and sang softly to herself, a young man, leading a white horse, came over the hill, singing the same song. Celdan and the young man looked at each other, smiled, and continued singing. When the song was finished, he sat next to Celdan and introduced himself.

  His name was Colin, he told her, and though he was a prince, he was not proud or boastful. They talked for hours, occasionally moving to different spots on the hill to gather more flowers. Celdan told him about life as a candlemaker’s daughter, and Colin told her about life as a prince. When the sun began to set, Colin helped her onto his horse and led her home. In that one afternoon, they had quite fallen in love with each other.

  Colin stayed for supper with Celdan and her father. Since Colin was a prince, Celdan had been a little afraid he would find the meal too simple; it was only bread and cheese, but Colin thought it was wonderful–the best bread and cheese he’d ever had. He wanted to stay with Celdan forever but knew he must return home before his mother worried.

  At the door, Colin said goodnight to Celdan; her father followed him outside. The candlemaker wanted to say something to this prince who loved his daughter, but he couldn’t find the right words.

  Colin spoke first: "I love Celdan, sir. May I come again tomorrow and ask her to marry me?” The candlemaker readily agreed. He had never seen his daughter so happy, and her happiness was all that mattered to him.

  Colin returned to his castle slowly. He wanted to savor the memories of Celdan, and he wondered what he should tell his parents. His mother was a proud and haughty woman. She wanted Colin to marry a princess, or, at the very least, a high born lady. But Colin could only listen to his heart. He decided not to tell them yet.

  The next evening, he returned to the candlemaker’s cottage. After another simple supper, Colin and Celdan sat together under the window, and he asked her to be his wife. Without hesitation, she said yes.

  Colin wished to be married right away, and since he knew his mother would never agree, he made arrangements to return the next day and be married in the village church.

  After the ceremony, Celdan packed her belongings and said goodbye to the cottage and her father. The castle was not far away; she would see her father often, but it was still sad to think of him alone in the cottage.

  When Colin introduced Celdan as his wife, the king was surprised, but pleased his son had chosen a clever, industrious girl. The queen, however, was outraged, but she hid her anger and laid plans to destroy Celdan later.

  In time, Celdan gave birth to her first child. The queen had offered to assist Celdan during the delivery, and no one else was present in the birthing room. After the baby, a boy, was born, Celdan slept deeply, tired and exhausted. While she was sleeping, the queen took the child and hid him in her room.

  Later, Celdan awoke and asked to see her son, but since no one else had witnessed the birth, the whole castle had believed what the queen told them: the child had lived for but a few minutes, then died. The queen also said she had him buried quickly, so as not to upset Celdan.

  The entire kingdom went into mourning. Celdan and Colin were very sad. The candlemaker came to the castle daily to try to cheer his daughter.

  The queen had planned to kill the baby herself, but found that she couldn’t when the time came; he looked too much like Colin. So she took the baby boy out to a distant hillside and left him there to die. She returned the next week to see what had happened. Bloody clothes and tiny entrails were strewn about. He was dead, mauled by wild animals. No one suspected the queen, because she seemed just as sad as the others.

  But one night, a magical fairy, who was both wise and good, sent a dream to Colin. The dream revealed to him the truth of what had happened to his son. When he awoke the next morning, Colin was disturbed by the dream, but he did not believe it; he did not believe his mother could do such a thing. The fairy sent the dream twice more, and on the third morning, Colin knew that the dream was true.

  Colin convinced his father and Celdan of the truth, and they confronted the evil queen. She did not deny what she had done, and she told them angrily that she was glad the child had died alone on the hill. While everyone was still shocked and surprised, the queen fled from the castle and was never seen again.

  Colin and Celdan held another funeral on the hill for their baby, and in time, the pain lessened and they began to heal. Eventually, they had more children, and though they were occasionally sad about their first son, they still lived

  HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

  Typical. The “happily ever after” stood out like it was the all important thing. Never mind only Colin and Celdan have names, never mind the queen had some serious issues regarding her son, and never mind the candlemaker let a total stranger marry his daughter. They lived “happily ever after” so everything’s fine.

  I sighed. I wasn’t surprised these characters had dropped low enough to vanish. After the early happiness on the daffodil-covered hill, things only got worse and worse.

  Next, I read the vanishing reports. Celdan went first. She told Colin that she was going to the hill where their son had died. The Ugly Duckling, who was flying overhead, testified that he saw her vanish while she stood beside the grave. The monitor printouts confirmed the times. Colin, the candlemaker, and the king followed soon after. They were sad about Celdan, and with so much grief already in their lives, it didn’t take long for them disappear. The queen, according to her report, held out as long as she could. Her final despondency was fueled by the thought of Colin in a dungeon.

  I didn’t get it. Everyone was either dead or vanished from this story. The candlemaker vanished. His wife died before the story. Celdan vanished. Colin vanished. The king vanished. The queen vanished. The baby was killed by wild animals. Everyone was accounted for, so why was the file still in The Archive?

  The probability of the file being in The Archive for the entire time they had been vanished was low. Kikika seemed too organized to let hundreds of years pass by without going through the files. Besides, other Happiologists would have been in and out of the drawer during that time. One orange sticker in a row of yellow ones sticks out.

  Conclusion: someone had been holding on to the file for a while and had only recently put it back.

  I realized this conclusion wasn’t entirely backed by evidence, but it made sense. And yes, there were a few holes in my theory. For instance why didn’t the file vanish like it was supposed to? And who in the kingdom would be evil enough to want to prevent a whole story from being rescued? I considered Colin’s psychotic mother, but that wasn’t probable. She’d already vanished, and not being rescued would only hurt her as well. Morgan Le Faye was pretty evil, or that Lady Potio with her death apples. But their evilness seemed to be focused only on their own stories. (Morgan seemed exclusively the enemy of Arthur, and as far as I knew, Lady Potio had only tried to poison her own step-daughter.)

  I sighed and turned on my desk lamp. Good lighting has not yet been proven to help you work and think better, but I don’t think it can hurt.

  I stared at the manila file folder, astonished.

  The extra lamplight exposed something I hadn’t seen before around the edges of the folder: Grease stains.

  16

  Don’t Eat Dulcita’s Mirror

  Not Levi. Again. Will we never be free of that grease ball? I sighed and began to examine the evidence. Levi clearly touched the file; his greasy hands are forever betraying him.

  But when had he touched it? When I went downstairs for pretzels? At HEA, when I left the file on my desk while I talked to Grimm? Or had he been the one who put the file back into the Archive? If that was the case, how did he get in there? He seems like the kind of person who would be banned from the HEA office.[42]
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  There was no evidence Levi had touched anything inside the folder. Perhaps he wore gloves? Perhaps he never opened it? (But that seemed unlikely. How could he have the folder for all these years and never once open it? I only had it a few hours, and I couldn’t help opening it.) Perhaps he…?

  I stopped myself from thinking any more about it. The greasy fingerprints would have to wait until tomorrow; I was too tired. I shoved the folder in my Smythe’s SFL bag and returned it to the top shelf of my closet.

  I brushed my teeth and went downstairs to say good night to my parents. They were still dancing, but managed to stop briefly for hugs without losing too much of their rhythm. The lyrics of the song followed me up the stairs:

  Oh, we live in a magic land.

  Protected by the Sparrow hand.

  There are fictional and natural–

  Citizens all are we! Yeah!

  As I closed my door, the rooster began crowing a verse about fairy godmothers. Those animal singers would forever be a mystery to me.

  I didn’t sleep well. I dreamt of eye-pecking birds and baby entrails. Glenni wielded a fork and chased me around the Archive shouting, “Eventually, they had more children, and though they were occasionally sad about their first son, they still lived HAPPILY EVER AFTER! HAPPILY EVER AFTER! HAPPILY EVER AFTER!”

  I woke at two AM, breathing hard and a little frightened of Glenni. I couldn’t get the sound of her voice out of my head. “Eventually, they had more children…eventually, they had more children…eventually, they had more children.” I sat up. Colin and Celdan had more children! If those children didn’t vanish when everyone else in the story did, that would explain why the file hadn’t vanished.

  I jumped out of bed and turned on my desk lamp. Hurriedly, I looked through the Candlemaker’s Daughter file again. There were no vanishing records for the extra children. In fact, there was no record of the mystery children at all. It was as if they never existed.