Hans and Greta

by Ronald Wetherington

“This story about us is almost entirely wrong!” I said, slapping the book closed. I was sitting with my grandson in the small Hessian village of my youth, reading him fairy tales from my German childhood.

Andreas looked at me skeptically. I had just read our family story as written by the brothers Grimm, scoffing occasionally. At nine, he would soon abandon the mythic realm of youth. “They’re just stories, Omi,” he said, using the intimate term for grandmother. “They’re not supposed to be true!”

“They all carry truths, Andi,” I said with some firmness. I would not tell him these were originally intended for adults, told at firesides after children were abed.

“What’s wrong in your story, then?”

“Much!” I answered. “Hans and I were not banished to the forest. We were not abandoned by our father! Our mother was not wicked!”

“In the story, it’s your Stiefmutter.”

“See, that’s part of the problem, Andi; stories get changed during the telling.” I clutched the book tightly. “It was mutter originally. It got replaced by ‘stepmother’ to preserve the virtues of motherhood.” My heart tugged at my memory, at how mother’s memory had been sullied.

 “Tell me the true story, Omi,” he said.

“Mother and father doted on Hans and me,” I began. “But your great-aunt, Gretchen, had no children of her own and was forced to pay a childless tax each year. So, just before the tax collector’s annual visit to their cottage, Hans and I were sent to stay with them as their own children.” I hesitated. “It was a subterfuge, a trick to help them survive.”

“So, there was no evil witch in a gingerbread-house?”

“There was a loving aunt in a small cottage,” I said, placing my hand over his.

“One year,” I resumed, “our parents could not escort us the short distance to their village, so we were instructed to follow a winding path through the woods. Mother gave me strips of linen to tie to branches to find our way back.” I frowned, “Certainly not breadcrumbs!” He grinned at that. “We were well fed by my aunt—not fattened to be eaten—and we easily found our way back home.” I sat back, patting the old volume with authority. “End of story.”  

Andi went to his room soon after, satisfied, I believe, that our family is, indeed, respectable. He doubtless still clung to other tales of manly knights, maidens to rescue, dragons to slay. How innocent they appear to be! How often are they deceitful in their telling!

☙

Looking at the text in my lap, I recalled the fraudulent versions of other tales, before they, too, were sanitized for younger ears. Yet they remain dishonest! I thought of “Rapunzel” and “Little Red Riding Hood.” The original versions depict not innocent girls held captive by a witch or deceived by a wolf. The maidens here are depressingly gullible and morally weak. Rapunzel was not held captive by an evil witch, but by a good fairy who discovers that a nighttime suitor has despoiled her charge. “Why are my clothes becoming so tight?” she asks the fairy. Little Red is persuaded to disrobe and join the wolf in bed, who has designs beyond dining. Young maids are not to be trusted, these tales tell us.

Even the pious Cinderella was originally dark, and spoiled, and vengeful. These are all women who need watching! Cleansing the more lurid parts for the children safeguarded the lady’s virtue yet stressed her failings.

But what about Hansel and Gretel? Was it not I, Greta, who killed the wicked witch and freed the hapless Hans? Was I not the heroine? True, but you must remember that we are small children in this mistaken tale, not yet partitioned into our traditional roles by narrow-minded males!

And yes, I carry this burden bitterly, because while life amends, we remain repressed. We will have none of it!

And, so… the fairy tales! These, one by one, are now our targets. Their storytellers, each by each, our focus. Our spells, well-crafted and spun, will carry our slender weight. Our covens, redirected, will press their stubborn ounces! We will prevail!

BIO: Ronald Wetherington is a retired professor of anthropology. He has published a novel, Kiva (Sunstone Press), and numerous short fiction and creative nonfiction pieces. Read some of his work at https://www.rwetheri.com/