Cloud Cuckoo Land by Anthony Doerr Page B

inside the walls, and to water drip from the long white threads of thousands of rootlets, down through the tiers of plants, into channelsbeneath the floor where it is collected to be resprayed once more, and the Argos hurtles another ten thousand kilometers through the emptiness.
    â€œWill you tell some more of the story, Father?”
    â€œIt’s late, Zucchini.”
    â€œJust the part when the witch changes herself into an owl. Please?”
    â€œAll right. But only that.”
    â€œAlso the part where Aethon turns into a donkey.”
    â€œFine. But then sleep.”
    â€œThen sleep.”
    â€œAnd you won’t tell Mother.”
    â€œAnd I won’t tell Mother. I promise.”
    Father and daughter smile, playing their familiar game, and Konstance wriggles inside her blanket, anticipation rolling through her, and the roots drip, and it is as if they drowse together inside the digestive system of a huge and gentle beast.
    She says, “Aethon had just arrived in Thessaly, Land of Magic.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œBut he didn’t see any statues come to life or witches flying over rooftops.”
    â€œBut the maid at the inn where he was staying,” Father says, “told Aethon that that very night, if he knelt at the door to the room at the top of the house, and peeked through the keyhole, he might see some magic. So Aethon crept to the door and watched the mistress of the house light a lamp, bend over a chest full of hundreds of tiny glass jars, and select one. Then she took off her clothes and rubbed whatever was inside the jar all over her body, head to toe. She took three lumps of incense, dropped them into the lamp, said the magic words—”
    â€œWhat were they?”
    â€œShe said, ‘goobletook’ and ‘dynacrack’ and ‘jimjimsee.’ ”
    Konstance laughs. “Last time you said it was ‘fliggleboom’ and ‘cracklepack.’ ”
    â€œOh, those too. The lamp grew very bright, then—poof!—went out. And though it was hard to see, in the moonlight that spilledthrough the open window, Aethon watched feathers sprout from the mistress’s back, from her neck, and from the tips of her fingers. Her nose grew hard and turned downward, her feet curled into yellow talons, her arms became big beautiful brown wings, and her eyes—”
    â€œâ€”they grew three times as large and turned the color of liquid honey.”
    â€œThat’s right. And then?”
    â€œThen,” says Konstance, “she spread her wings and flew right out the window, over the garden, and into the night.”

FIVE
    THE ASS

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    Cloud Cuckoo Land by Antonius Diogenes, Folio E
    Tales of a man unwittingly transformed into a donkey, such as Apuleius’s well-known picaresque The Golden Ass, proliferated in western antiquity. Diogenes unabashedly borrows from them here; whether he improved any of them remains up for debate. Translation by Zeno Ninis.
    As soon as the owl flew out the window, I crashed through the door. The maid opened the strongbox and rummaged among the witch’s jars while I removed every stitch of clothing. I rubbed myself head to toe with the ointment she chose, took three pinches of frankincense, just as I had seen the witch do, and dropped them into the lamp. I repeated the magic words and the lamp flared, just as before, then went out. I closed my eyes and waited. Soon my luck was going to change. Soon I would feel my arms transform into wings! Soon I would leap from the ground like the horses of Helios and soar among the constellations, on my way to the city in the sky where wine runs in the streets and tortoises circulate with honeycakes on their backs! Where no one wants for anything and the west wind always blows and everyone is wise!
    From the bottoms of my feet, I felt the transformation begin. My toes and fingers bunched and fused. My ears stretched and my nostrils grew huge. I could