The Igloo
Once upon a time there was a man who was obsessed with beautiful things.
He spent his lifetime collecting beautiful things- beautiful objects, everything- in order to find the epitome of what he believed was beauty. His house- no, his mansion- for it had to be the best house that there ever was- was filled to the brim with this collection of his.
There was nothing substandard in the entire household, from the carefully maintained (rococo) furniture to the (oriental) carpets stretched out over the (Macassar ebony) wood floor.
His maids and servants were hand chosen, the best in their business, immaculately dressed and presented. His butler was dressed to the nines, with his pinstriped suit and his carefully parted hairdo. The man himself was careful to inspect his own face (flawless) in the mirror (bought at an outrageous price from a heritage museum) every morning. For if such a beautiful collection of objects were to have a less than beautiful owner, what would become of the world?
The mansion had an extension attached to the back of it. It was large and metallic- carefully cleaned and shined every day. Shaped like a long rectangle, it was something akin to a ballroom-sized freezer. This was called the Igloo.
Out of all the beautiful treasures in his collection, the man would place his most favourite things inside the igloo. The Igloo was kept at a deathly cold temperature in order to preserve the man’s most beautiful objects. In order to enter the Igloo, one had to put on a specially designed suit and glass helmet to protect themselves from the cold. The door to the Igloo also had multiple layers of insulation to stop the cold from seeping into the mansion. The door had to be opened and closed immediately when the Igloo was to be entered.
Despite all the magnificent artworks, marble statures and incredible ice sculptures collected in the Igloo, the man was unsatisfied. For he had yet to find the most beautiful object in the world. He did not know what this object would be, whether it would be living or alive, and whether he could fit it into his Igloo.
Then the man fell in love.
Marianne was the most beautiful girl in the world. Her skin was like porcelain and the colour of her eyes like the deepest blue opal. The man immediately brought her to live with him in his mansion. He gave Marianne all that she could possibly want, luxurious gowns to match her beauty, expensive and exotic gifts and all the servants she needed at her service.
But Marianne was unhappy because the man would not touch her.
Indeed, although he showered her with gifts, the man acted as if she were poisonous to him. He refused to stand closer than one metre to her, and would not touch her, not even when he was wearing his specially tailored silk gloves. She wondered if it was because he was afraid of soiling his gloves, but in fact he was afraid of soiling her.
The man was scared of ruining her beauty, he was afraid of dirtying his beautiful Marianne. He would not embrace her, for fear of injuring her delicate frame. He would not hold her hand, for fear of marking her thin hands. He would not touch her face, for fear of bruising her pale skin.
Marianne grew more and more depressed. She thought that she was not beautiful enough to be loved, because the man would not touch her, or walk close enough to look at her properly, like the way he did with his Venus di Milo and the other artworks he owned.
Now Marianne knew that the objects the man treasured the most were kept inside the Igloo. But she had never seen the inside, so she believed she was not precious enough to enter. She thought, if only she was beautiful enough, if only the man loved her enough, she could go inside too. She thought that if she could only peek inside, she would know what she needed to be for the man to love her.
One afternoon, the man came home to find Marianne’s room empty. He checked all her usual spots, but she was nowhere to be found. Panicking, his heart jumping into his throat, he ordered all his servants to search the mansion for her.
The man sat upright in his armchair, his fingers clenched into fists, unable to relax, unable to appreciate any of the decorations or artwork or furniture in the room. All he could think of was Marianne and where she could be, what had happened to her, her beautiful face, her beautiful smile…
Then the butler stepped gravely into the living room. He was dressed in the special suit made for the Igloo. He took off the glass helmet in order to speak:
“Sir, I’ve found the lady. She… She’s in the Igloo.”
“Marianne!” The man leapt to his feet, running through the living room towards the Igloo, knocking over gorgeous vases and polished ceramics as he went. “Marianne, my love!”
“Sir!” His butler cried out, running after him. “Wait, sir!”
The man forgot about the icy temperature, about putting on the suit and helmet before entering the Igloo, so concerned about the love of his life was he. He saw Marianne in the middle of the Igloo, so beautiful was she; only she did not move and would never move again, frozen perfectly under the clear ice, like a monument behind glass.
He threw his arms around her, only before he could even touch that perfect icy skin of hers, he too, froze solid.
The butler, so concerned over his master, had not put his helmet back on while following him.
There was nobody to close the door to the Igloo, and so the coldness seeped into the living room, and then spread throughout the entire mansion like a cancer. And all the maids and all the servants froze in the midst of what they were doing, and all the beautiful possessions in the world crusted over with ice until everything in the mansion was perfectly preserved, beautiful, glittering and untouchable.
It was only a shame that nobody would ever see it.
He spent his lifetime collecting beautiful things- beautiful objects, everything- in order to find the epitome of what he believed was beauty. His house- no, his mansion- for it had to be the best house that there ever was- was filled to the brim with this collection of his.
There was nothing substandard in the entire household, from the carefully maintained (rococo) furniture to the (oriental) carpets stretched out over the (Macassar ebony) wood floor.
His maids and servants were hand chosen, the best in their business, immaculately dressed and presented. His butler was dressed to the nines, with his pinstriped suit and his carefully parted hairdo. The man himself was careful to inspect his own face (flawless) in the mirror (bought at an outrageous price from a heritage museum) every morning. For if such a beautiful collection of objects were to have a less than beautiful owner, what would become of the world?
The mansion had an extension attached to the back of it. It was large and metallic- carefully cleaned and shined every day. Shaped like a long rectangle, it was something akin to a ballroom-sized freezer. This was called the Igloo.
Out of all the beautiful treasures in his collection, the man would place his most favourite things inside the igloo. The Igloo was kept at a deathly cold temperature in order to preserve the man’s most beautiful objects. In order to enter the Igloo, one had to put on a specially designed suit and glass helmet to protect themselves from the cold. The door to the Igloo also had multiple layers of insulation to stop the cold from seeping into the mansion. The door had to be opened and closed immediately when the Igloo was to be entered.
Despite all the magnificent artworks, marble statures and incredible ice sculptures collected in the Igloo, the man was unsatisfied. For he had yet to find the most beautiful object in the world. He did not know what this object would be, whether it would be living or alive, and whether he could fit it into his Igloo.
Then the man fell in love.
Marianne was the most beautiful girl in the world. Her skin was like porcelain and the colour of her eyes like the deepest blue opal. The man immediately brought her to live with him in his mansion. He gave Marianne all that she could possibly want, luxurious gowns to match her beauty, expensive and exotic gifts and all the servants she needed at her service.
But Marianne was unhappy because the man would not touch her.
Indeed, although he showered her with gifts, the man acted as if she were poisonous to him. He refused to stand closer than one metre to her, and would not touch her, not even when he was wearing his specially tailored silk gloves. She wondered if it was because he was afraid of soiling his gloves, but in fact he was afraid of soiling her.
The man was scared of ruining her beauty, he was afraid of dirtying his beautiful Marianne. He would not embrace her, for fear of injuring her delicate frame. He would not hold her hand, for fear of marking her thin hands. He would not touch her face, for fear of bruising her pale skin.
Marianne grew more and more depressed. She thought that she was not beautiful enough to be loved, because the man would not touch her, or walk close enough to look at her properly, like the way he did with his Venus di Milo and the other artworks he owned.
Now Marianne knew that the objects the man treasured the most were kept inside the Igloo. But she had never seen the inside, so she believed she was not precious enough to enter. She thought, if only she was beautiful enough, if only the man loved her enough, she could go inside too. She thought that if she could only peek inside, she would know what she needed to be for the man to love her.
One afternoon, the man came home to find Marianne’s room empty. He checked all her usual spots, but she was nowhere to be found. Panicking, his heart jumping into his throat, he ordered all his servants to search the mansion for her.
The man sat upright in his armchair, his fingers clenched into fists, unable to relax, unable to appreciate any of the decorations or artwork or furniture in the room. All he could think of was Marianne and where she could be, what had happened to her, her beautiful face, her beautiful smile…
Then the butler stepped gravely into the living room. He was dressed in the special suit made for the Igloo. He took off the glass helmet in order to speak:
“Sir, I’ve found the lady. She… She’s in the Igloo.”
“Marianne!” The man leapt to his feet, running through the living room towards the Igloo, knocking over gorgeous vases and polished ceramics as he went. “Marianne, my love!”
“Sir!” His butler cried out, running after him. “Wait, sir!”
The man forgot about the icy temperature, about putting on the suit and helmet before entering the Igloo, so concerned about the love of his life was he. He saw Marianne in the middle of the Igloo, so beautiful was she; only she did not move and would never move again, frozen perfectly under the clear ice, like a monument behind glass.
He threw his arms around her, only before he could even touch that perfect icy skin of hers, he too, froze solid.
The butler, so concerned over his master, had not put his helmet back on while following him.
There was nobody to close the door to the Igloo, and so the coldness seeped into the living room, and then spread throughout the entire mansion like a cancer. And all the maids and all the servants froze in the midst of what they were doing, and all the beautiful possessions in the world crusted over with ice until everything in the mansion was perfectly preserved, beautiful, glittering and untouchable.
It was only a shame that nobody would ever see it.
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