Page 47 of Hansel and Gerhardt
Hansel stopped dead in the field, raising the axe, which wilted in his hold.
The whole thing had gone flaccid, and with it, changed colour.
The handle, once brown and lacquered, had turned red, a thick and twisting vine of strawberry licorice. The axe head, sunk deep into the tip of the candy, was nothing more than a delicate wafer.
Astonished, he turned back to Gerhardt, who stood tall and breathless as the cool of evening wrapped around his frigid shoulders. And Gerhardt shook his head. The slightest, smallest shake.
Feeling the eyes of a predator at his cheek, Hansel looked back at the window.
Herr Candy watched him a moment, almost as if he was making sure Hansel could see the sick satisfaction on his face—the knowledge that he had just prevailed over Hansel for the third time that day. Then he reached forward, opened the window latch, and called, “Almost time for dinner, boys. Come wash up!”
Gerhardt's Body
They were in a small bedroom upstairs. White, sugar-powdered walls, exposed beams of biscuit, a little, chocolate-framed, clear-sugar window, and one small but cozily decorated single bed.
Hansel was relieved to touch it and find that the blanket at least felt real. It didn’t feel like candy, at any rate. But then the axe had felt real. And standing there, on the second level of the house, Hansel began to wonder if the floor beneath his feet was any more solid than that, or if it was simply an illusion. Would it fall through with one wrong word, tumbling him and Gerhardt to their deaths?
“I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty,” Herr Candy was saying to Gerhardt, his infuriating fingers pressing into the luscious skin of his naked biceps. “I saw you’d lost your shirt, so I’ve laid out some new clothes for you.”
He stepped back, a flourish of his hand highlighting a not-before-seen outfit displayed across the foot of Gerhardt’s bed. The breeches were tight, green and velvet, not that Hanselknew what velvet was. This came with a billowy, bright white shirt, and a green vest, of the same rare material as the pants, embroidered at the edges with delicate gold designs.
“Why, Herr Candy!” Gerhardt exclaimed. “I couldn’t possibly!”
“Oh, yes, you can.” Herr Candy then addressed Hansel, without half the warmth his voice had held for Gerhardt. “And you’ll find the same in your room. Off you go.” He turned back to Gerhardt. “I’ll help you get changed.”
Hansel took one look at the steaming bowl of water Herr Candy had brought up, at the hot sponge soaking in the middle of the washbowl. As Herr Candy stepped towards it, Hansel moved his full body in front of him. “He doesn’t need your help.”
His long neck tilting with a sarcastic air, “Doesn’t he?” Those sly, white teeth. “Shall we ask him?” His head snapped across to Gerhardt. “Dearest, would you like me to help you get clean?”
Gerhardt stood strangely still, eyes on Herr Candy. There was a flex of muscle about his still-bare shoulders, and the fingers of his left hand twitched. His lower lip shook. For a time, no sound came. His eyes pressed closed, as if he were speaking with great effort. “Y… y-nn-no.”
“What was that?” Herr Candy asked. Hansel caught the violent flash in his eye.
“You heard him,” said Hansel.
Herr Candy loitered, a vein beneath his right eye ticking. Then he slapped his hands together in a fast clap, smashed a wide smile onto his face, and laughed, “Of course he doesn’t. He’s a grown boy!”
“He’s not a boy!” Hansel snapped.
“No, he’s not,” Herr Candy sniped back with twice the acidity. “Do you think I can’t see that?” Here, he ran eyes over Gerhardt again, over his pecs, his abs, lingering around his waistline, allwhile Gerhardt remained frozen and quieter than Hansel had ever seen him. Herr Candy licked his lips. “No, he’s not…”
Hansel felt the urge to kill him just then. To reach out and strangle him in cold blood right there on the bed in front of Gerhardt.
But Gerhardt suddenly piped up, “You too, Hansel. Off you go. Everyone out, or I’ll never get clean.” His words were cheery, bright—far too bright for the sullen look of him.
Herr Candy followed his instruction just as calmly as if he wasn’t a maniacal, magical, woodcutter-napper. He stepped into the hall and directed. “Your room is just across the way, Hansel.” And there he remained, unwilling to leave Hansel and Gerhardt alone, while Hansel was unwilling to turn his back on the two of them for even a second.
Gerhardt walked to the washstand, running hot rivulets between his fingers as he squeezed the sponge. “Run along, Hansel. I’ll be down soon.”
“Are you sure?” Hansel asked softly.
But Gerhardt only turned away from him and commenced washing.
Hansel couldn’t bring himself to go. Herr Candy was watching them both. Would he leave if Hansel left?
But what could Herr Candy possibly do, anyway? One shout from Gerhardt and Hansel would barge in and snap the man’s neck.
The decision was made for him when Gerhardt very suddenly shouted, “Get out!” The anger in his voice was such that Hansel jumped. His immediate urge was to go to his side, try to talk some sense into him, but Gerhardt’s head spun around and he pierced Hansel with such a look of disgust, disdain, that Hansel hesitated to approach.
