They lived happily ever after

She was eight years old and she loved good stories. She considered "Once upon a time..." as a good beginning. It was the best wake up call for listeners I should come up with. "And they lived happily ever after..." she detested. That was really a bad ending.
A can't remember her name (Lina? Judit? Martine?), but I do remember her big brown, inquisitive eyes watching me, telling me that whenever you finish a story with that horrible phrase, you leave something very important out.

Maybe you should tell the next story? I suggested. No, not a good idea. Of course not. I was the teller of stories, wasn't I? She was just a simple listener. I nodded humbly. A clear distinction in roles there must be.

Perhaps... if she should choose a good story, I could start...? I even could lead my hooked audience to the end (almost that is)? Then maybe... even before I should find the improbable courage to vocalize those disgusting words, she could take over, couldn't she? That was a much better idea.

What story my gracious listener would like? It didn't matter. Any good old story would do. As long as it would start with the magic words ... "Once upon a time..."

Any story? I asked to be absolutely sure. 
Any story! She confirmed solemnly. You know why? I did not. Because all stories tell about heroes and their magnificent deeds and the great treasures they gain in the end.

I really can't recall what story I told my eight years' old audience that afternoon. Of course it started with "Once upon a time…"! There must have been a real hero in the story, who did great deeds and who was ready for gaining so much.... 
I didn't dare to change the course that was laid out for me so clearly. Still I do know myself; I can't stick to much to the obvious. So I guess my hero started as some sort of anti-hero... a little poor, a little weak, a little stupid... very main stream. I am positive that while living his story this anti-hero of mine became heroic and more heroic in every sentence I told.

She listened gravely, intensely. I was just allowed to... Suddenly she raised an eyebrow. Wrong!  I must have been too much going astray. As fast as I could I went back on track. My hero (our hero) performed marvelous deeds. Possibly he saved the country, or even better he killed a dragon and liberated a damsel in distress.

Then finely she took over. No chance for me to say forbidden words. No time for happy living. Even women need to prove themselves.

In this country there also lived a king. Naturally this king had a beautiful daughter, too. 

Well, the king went up to his daughter and said, within a few days a real hero will visit our palace. He did magnificent deeds. He  almost magically completed his superhuman tasks. I, the king, will be as grateful as a king can be. I will honour him as best as I can.  I will give him my daughter, the only one I've got.

So, my daughter, do you think you are worthy enough to marry a real hero? Shouldn't it be right then you have to prove yourself to be worthy?

As modest as princess can be, she responded with a whispered "yes!"

The king, her father, provided her with a bucket, a sponge, a broom, and lots of soapy water. He showed her the biggest hall in the palace and ordered her to clean the floor. When that hero should enter this hall the floor ought to be shining as a mirror. Then this hero would know his bride to be was the treasure he deserved.

So the princess started right away. It took her seven hours till she recognized her own reflection in the polished floor. 
Her father the king hummed softly not dissatisfied. Still, he wasn't totally convinced. Besides his future son in law and possible heir was still on his way to the palace. The king looked around in his palace and found a slightly smaller hall but more difficult to polish. He just looked at his daughter, raised one eyebrow en left.

Then the princess knew. She sighed and started to polish again. Yes, this floor was harder to work on, but she managed (in 8.5 hours).

Then the king knew another hall, smaller and harder. After that he knew another one again. And after that... It was really hard to convince this king. 
Besides after six shiny floors the hero still didn't show up. The princess almost cried her eyes out with fatigue. Her knees were red of moving across the floor. Her hand were red as well from the use of soapy water. Her beautiful royal dress was ruined. But our princess kept her tongue. She understood her responsibilities as a princess.

Her father the king gently stroked her hair. He smiled. He almost was proud of her. He just needed this last proof (he inclined to think). One more royal hall floor to polish. A not that large hall, but the floor was quite uneven. To make those cobbled stones shine like a mirror would rather be.... he couldn't find the right word. But he trusted her to make it happen. And the king left.

The eight year old looked me straight in the eyes. Slowly she bent her knees till those touched the floor. She mimicked a sponge, a brome and a bucket full of soapy water. 

I think, she said. I think, this princess did not want to be this hero's wife so much that she was willing to polish one extra floor.

Then she left. I mean, both the princess and the eight years old left the scene. I suppose they started their own adventures with many great heroic deeds and invaluable treasures to receive.

I do hope they lived happily ever after.

(Marcel van der Pol, Keridwen)