© Chris Port, 2004
KAY IS IN THE SNOW QUEEN’S PALACE OF ICE. HE IS DRAGGING PIECES OF ICE TO AND FRO, REARRANGING THEM IN DIFFERENT POSITIONS, TRYING TO MAKE A CORRECT PATTERN. IT IS THE ICY GAME OF REASON.
‘Warning’. No, that’s not right.
HE REARRANGES THE SHAPES.
PAUSE. HE THINKS.
No, that’s not right.
‘Soon all lost’.
No, it’s still not right. This is worse than scrabble. What is the word I’m looking for?
ENTER THE SNOW QUEEN.
‘Eternity’. That is the word you are trying to make. But it will take you forever to do it. When you find this out for yourself, you shall be your own master. I will give you the whole world and a new pair of skates.
MUTTERING TO HIMSELF AS HE REARRANGES THE SHAPES.
Eternity… eternity… I just can’t seem to find the shape.
Look, little boy. Look all around you. Here you are, at the roof of the world, on a frozen lake, the Mirror of reason. You are quite blue, almost black with cold. This is eternity. Alone in the icy certainty of waste. Do you feel… pain?
No, your Majesty. You have kissed those feelings quite out of me.
Good. I should not like for you to feel pain. In fact, I should not like for you to feel anything at all. Now, I must fly to warmer climes. I will go and look into the black craters of volcanoes and make them look white. Meanwhile, you carry on with your game. You have all the time in the world, my boy… and longer…
KAY SITS STILL, ALMOST FROZEN, PONDERING THE PUZZLE.
MUTTERING TO HIMSELF.Eternity… eternity… I must be able to see it…