Chief Medical Officer's Personal Log

I intend to undertake a sort of anthropological experiment, inspired by a conversation with my friend Elim Garak. I happened to tell him the old story of the boy who cried wolf, in an attempt to persuade him that his repeated departures from the truth were a mistake. After first objecting that the story was 'rather graphic for children,' he went on to astound me by saying that the real moral of the story was not that if you keep lying, soon nobody will believe you, but rather that one should never tell the same lie twice.

This little chat stuck with me for some time, not merely because it was startlingly illustrative of my friend's attitude to the truth, but because it seemed to remind me of something; I just couldn't think quite what. Eventually it came back to me; I was thinking of an article my Eng. Lit. teacher had given me to read when I was studying Hamlet in the sixth form. 'Shakespeare in the Bush' was the account of an American anthropologist who, in the 1960s, had gone to live with and study a West African tribe, and to test the idea that Shakespeare's tragedies are universal in their themes, told them the story of Hamlet. She was startled to find that because of their culture's different beliefs concerning the existence and significance of ghosts, the propriety of marrying one's brother's widow, the nature of insanity and so on, they interpreted the story quite differently.

Inspired by this, and with Garak's agreement, I've decided to test a variety of Earth's fairy tales and folk tales on him, and see what he makes of them. Of course, one Cardassian's responses can't be taken as representative of Cardassians in general, but perhaps others can undertake similar experiments with more individuals or larger groups. I have access to just one Cardassian, so I want to make the most of him. I think this could be a useful approach to greater understanding between our peoples, and hopefully to less conflict between us in the future.

We initially attempted this during one of our weekly literary lunches, but when I played back the recording I found that the background noise from the Replimat and general Promenade area was very distracting. Also, we were interrupted by various people and it rather disrupted the flow of both my storytelling and Garak's responses. Accordingly, I asked if we could start again, either in his quarters or in mine, and the transcripts I'll present are taken from those sessions.

Session 1, Stardate Xxxx.xx, Dr Julian Bashir's quarters, Deep Space Nine.

[JB = Julian Bashir, EG = Elim Garak]

JB: There, it's on. I'll leave it here on the table. Would you like anything to drink?

EG: Red leaf tea, if it's no trouble.

JB: Good idea. I'll join you. Tea, red leaf, hot, two cups - one extra sweet.

EG: I have never understood why you don't say 'Two cups of hot red leaf tea.' Surely the speech recognition technology would be equal to that.

[some clinking of teacups on saucers and the table]

JB: It's just how it's done. The early replicators did have to be instructed that way - start with the general category of food or drink, then get more specific - and everyone got into the habit. Have you ever looked at the text input layout on our touchscreens? How the top row goes QWERTYUIOP? That's a hangover from mechanical typewriters that jammed if you typed too quickly. The layout was designed to slow typists down. We still use it because everyone's learned to type that way since, oh, the late nineteenth century.

EG: Preposterous.

JB: I suppose so. Now, shall we have another crack at Snow White, since I didn't get very far with that, or would you like something different?

EG: No, by all means, continue with Miss White.

JB: All right. Are you sitting comfortably? [EG nods.] Then I'll begin. Once upon a time, in a land far away, lived a king and queen who were expecting their first child. One day in winter, the pregnant queen sat by the window working on her embroidery, and looking out the window at the beauty of the snow that covered the country. She became a little distracted, and accidentally pricked her finger on her needle. She was struck by the vividness of the red blood on the white cloth, outlined by the embroidery frame of ebony wood, and prophesied that her child would be a daughter with hair as black as ebony, lips as red as blood, and skin as white as snow. And so it was.

EG: Rather unnatural colouring. Or are there completely white-skinned humans, and I just haven't seen any?

JB: All right, it's an exaggeration. For poetic effect. Don't quibble on the little things.

EG: My apologies. Please continue.

JB: And so it was. The king and queen loved their little daughter and she grew to be a healthy and happy child with a kind and generous heart. Because of her colouring, they called her Snow White - or in some versions, Snowdrop, which is a little white flower. Sadly, her mother died when she was still quite young, and in time the king married again. Here was where Snow White's troubles began. Her new stepmother was a woman of great beauty, but also of great vanity and pride. She resented and disliked the little princess for being such a favourite with her father. She was also secretly a witch, and possessed a magic mirror.

EG: Why did the king marry her?

JB: The story doesn't say. Perhaps she enchanted him. Or perhaps it was just because she was beautiful.

EG: One should have a better reason for marriage than that, particularly with a child to consider.

JB: Anyway, every night the wicked queen would stand before her magic mirror, and repeat the spell: Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all? And every night the mirror, which was enchanted to tell only the truth, would tell her that she was the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. Thus, she was content.

EG: How sad that she had nothing else upon which to base her self esteem.

JB: In time, the king, too, passed away, and the queen ruled as regent until Snow White should come of age.

EG: Why did he die?

JB: The story doesn't say. It's not important.

EG: It sounds enormously important! Was it a natural death? Had he many enemies?

JB: Look, is the story called 'Political Assassination in Fairyland'? No, it's not. It's called 'Snow White.' So please pipe down so I can get on and tell you what happens to Snow White.

EG: Oh, were they fairies?

JB: No... no. Bear with me. Anyway, the queen couldn't help noticing that as Snow White grew up, she was becoming increasingly beautiful, and a terrible fear grew in her heart that soon the princess would surpass her. She convinced herself that Snow White thought herself superior to her, and tried to humble her by making her dress in rags and work in the castle as a servant. The princess bore all this with patience and remained cheerful and loving, believing that her stepmother had her best interests at heart. Even in dirty, shabby clothes she was still radiant. And one night, the worst happened. The wicked queen stood before her glass and intoned 'Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?' And the mirror replied 'O Queen, though fair indeed thou be, Snow White is now more fair than thee.'

EG: I bet she didn't like that!

JB: She did not like that. She ranted and cursed and stormed, and she made an evil plan. In the morning, she woke Snow White and spoke to her sweetly, giving her pretty new clothes to put on. She told her she was to have a treat for working so hard, and that her own chief huntsman would escort her to the meadows near the forest to stroll and pick flowers. She had secretly instructed the huntsman that once he had Snow White alone, far from anyone who might see or hear, he was to kill her, cut out her heart, and bring it back to the queen so she would know that her rival was dead.

EG: Excuse me, this is Political Assassination in Fairyland.

JB: Anyway, the huntsman obeyed instructions up to a point. When they were in an isolated meadow near the forest, he drew his knife and approached the princess, who was kneeling and gathering flowers, planning to present her stepmother with a bouquet when they went home. She saw his shadow and turned in horror, begging him not to hurt her.

EG: Never approach a target with a strong light behind you. I would think a hunter would know that.

JB: The huntsman had never wanted to kill the princess. Only his fear of the queen had overridden his conscience. Now, with Snow White weeping before him, he knew he could not do it. 'Run away, my lady, run into the forest and never return, for your stepmother wants you dead!' he cried. 'I will cover for you, but that is all I can do.' Thanking him, Snow White vanished among the trees, and the huntsman killed a young deer instead, and took its heart back to the queen, who was fooled for the time being.

EG: Then she was a very ignorant woman.

JB: Let's assume she hadn't much anatomical knowledge. In triumph, she cooked the heart and ate it.

EG: Ugh!

JB: She was wicked.



EG: Oh, of course, that accounts for the cannibalism. Again: this is a story for children, yes?

JB: It didn't do me any harm. Anyway, back to Snow White, who was wandering, hopelessly lost, in the deep forest.

EG: So, assuming that princesses learn little of woodcraft, it appears that the huntsman has merely abandoned her to a slow death rather than giving her the mercy of a quick one.

JB: He wasn't good at plans. Well, Snow White, having expected only a pleasant outing to the meadows, was quite lightly dressed and shod, and had no food, weapons or tools with her. It was growing dark and creatures of the night were beginning to stir among the trees and underbrush. She quickly grew cold, and hungry, and very frightened.

EG: Is something going to eat her up? I want to be prepared.

JB: Of course not.

EG: Oh, I see, because she hasn't told any lies. Continue.

JB: She walked on, because she could not see any good place to stop, and in time came to a clearing, where to her surprise she saw a little cottage, with its front door built so low that she would have to duck her head to go through. Hoping that there would be kind people inside, she summoned up her courage and knocked at the door. There was no answer, but it swung open, for it was not locked and the latch was broken. 'Hello?' Snow White called out. Hearing no answer, and preferring the unknown cottage to the unknown forest, she walked in. She found a low-ceilinged kitchen with a cooking hearth, a long, low table and seven low stools. Everything was dusty and in some disarray, and there were dirty dishes piled in the stone sink.

Still calling out to see if there were any occupants, Snow White ventured upstairs, where she found seven small beds. She wondered very much at this - were seven children living here alone, without any parents? She was afraid of what even children might say if they came home to find a housebreaker, but she was so exhausted from her fright and the long trudge through the forest that she decided she would just deal with that if it happened, and lay down across the beds, pulled the blankets over herself and fell fast asleep.

EG: Now that she's broken into a house, is she at risk of being eaten up for her sins?

JB: I don't think so. She hasn't damaged anything or tried to rob the house. Remind me to tell you about Goldilocks one day. After a refreshing sleep, Snow White awoke to find that the occupants of the cottage were standing around her, looking at her in great puzzlement and surprise. They were not children, but dwarfs - seven little men with long white beards.

EG: And they ate her up.

JB: Stop that. Snow White was afraid of them at first, but they spoke to her kindly and asked her how she came there. When she had told her story, they were most sympathetic, and told her that she was welcome to stay with them.

They came to an agreement. Because the dwarfs left early each morning to work in their mine deeper in the forest, digging precious jewels and metals from the earth, and came home late each night, worn out, they had been doing a very half-hearted job of housekeeping. Because of her recent experiences in the castle, Snow White was a competent cook and cleaner. Therefore, in return for her room and board, she would clean the cottage and have a hot dinner waiting for the dwarfs at the end of the day.

EG: Now, was this just for the time being, to ensure she had a safe place to stay while she planned her return to the castle, her revenge on the queen and her retaking of the kingdom?

JB: Um... I don't think so.

EG: I don't call that a very good princess. She's quite content to leave her subjects at the mercy of an evil cannibal witch just so long as she's safe?

JB: She's only a young girl.

EG: That's no excuse. Noblesse oblige.

JB: Well, this story is German, not French. May I continue? Because meanwhile the queen was discovering the huntsman's deception.

EG: Ooh, good.

JB: For some time after eating the heart, she was filled with a sense of great wellbeing and confidence, and did not bother to consult her mirror. Eventually, however, her vanity and insecurity began to prickle at her, and she thought she would just reassure herself that she was the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. And so she asked it - you can do this part -

EG: Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?

JB: Very good! And the mirror replied, 'O Queen, though very fair thou be, Snow White is still more fair than thee.' The queen was confused. 'But Snow White is dead,' she objected. 'I have eaten her heart.' At this, the mirror showed her exactly what had happened in the meadow by the forest, and she flew into a towering rage.

EG: I don't like the huntsman's chances after this.

JB: I actually can't remember whether she executed him, or he had run off before she could discover the heart switcheroo. He's not important any more, anyway. The queen commanded the mirror to show her where Snow White was now, and it showed her the image of Snow White in the dwarfs' cottage, her sleeves rolled up and her hair tied up in a scarf, busily cleaning the kitchen.

EG: Well, wouldn't she be rather pleased that Snow White was still stuck doing skivvy's work?

JB: She was still alive, though, and still more beautiful than her. It had become an obsession, you see. So the queen formed another evil plan, and this time she decided to carry it out herself, so that she could see the death and know for certain that it was done.

EG: Sensible, at last.

JB: She disguised herself as an old peddler, dressing in a shabby cloak, putting on a white wig, and staining her face with walnut juice. She filled a basket with pretty things that a young girl might like to buy, and went into the forest, finding her way to the cottage, where the dwarfs had gone out to work and Snow White, having cleaned up after breakfast, was baking pies. She was surprised to see the old woman, but invited her in, gave her a drink and looked at her wares. In the basket were many pretty ribbons and shawls and stays, which the disguised queen told her would suit her very well. 'Go on, my dear, try these on,' she coaxed. 'They'll help your figure so.' Snow White allowed her to lace her into a set of stays, and the queen promptly pulled the strings so tight that the girl couldn't breathe and fell lifeless to the floor. Exulting at her success, the queen gathered up her things and left.

EG: So the moral of the story is, don't leave assassinations to underlings of uncertain competence. All right.

JB: No, it's not over. When the dwarfs arrived home, they were dismayed to find Snow White apparently dead on the floor. Noticing the stays drawn tight around her ribs, they cut the strings, and with a gasp she began to breathe again.

EG: Oh, come on!

JB: Look, that's just what the story says. The dwarfs asked her what had happened, and she told them the story, and they thought the peddler must have been an agent of the wicked queen. 'If you see that old woman again, don't let her in,' they told Snow White. 'You must be very careful.' Meanwhile, at the castle, the wicked queen scrubbed the brown stains from her face, brushed her hair, put on her royal gown and went to the mirror, and asked...

EG: Mirror, mirror, on the wall, etcetera. And got the usual reply?

JB: Precisely. After a bit of the usual rage, she formed a new plan. Clearly, the stays alone had not been enough. She put together a different disguise and filled a basket with brushes and combs. She returned to the forest the next day. Because it wasn't the same peddler, Snow White decided that it should be all right to let her in. Again, the disguised queen talked her into trying her wares. This time she brushed her hair with a poisoned comb, and once again Snow White fell down lifeless. The queen exulted, left, etcetera.

EG: Given that in the past she required an actual bloody heart to convince her the enemy was dead, why doesn't she even check for a pulse now? Wait, what, a poisoned comb? How would that work?

JB: Your guess is as good as mine. Anyway, the dwarfs came home, removed the comb whereupon Snow White was revived, much consternation, they told her that if anyone else came to the cottage while she was there alone, she absolutely must not let them in. Meanwhile at the castle the queen was going through the whole post-attempted-murder routine too. Rage, gnashing of teeth, new disguise. This time she meant business. She carefully prepared an odourless, tasteless poison, and taking an apple that was red on one side and green on the other, painted the poison all over the red half. She prepared yet another disguise, and carrying a basket of apples, went into the forest again the next day.

EG: I bet Snow White falls for it. She would, the ninny.

JB: Yes, well, she had a very trusting nature. She did remember the dwarfs' warning not to let anyone into the cottage, but thought it would be all right to talk to the old woman, as she appeared, through the kitchen window. The old woman coaxed her to accept one of the apples as a gift. Here, at least, Snow White showed some common sense, hesitating to accept food that might have been tampered with. 'Oh, my dear, there's nothing wrong with it!' the old woman assured her. 'See, I'll take a bite myself.' And she did, from the safe, green side of the apple. Reassured, Snow White accepted the fruit and took a bite from the red side. And she fell down dead.

EG: Look, is she really dead this time?

JB: You wait and see.

EG: I quite want her to be.

JB: The dwarfs came home to find her once again lifeless on the floor. This time there was no sign of anything that could have caused her death, and they could not revive her. Weeping for the murdered princess, they carried her body a little way into the forest and built her a coffin of rock crystal, where they laid her to rest. Every day they would visit to place flowers around her and weep for her innocence and beauty, so cruelly cut down. She lay there for a year and a day, unchangingly lovely.

EG: I am suspending my disbelief as hard as I can.

JB: Thank you. I do appreciate it. On that day, a prince came riding through the forest. He found the dwarfs tending Snow White's grave, and struck to the heart by her beauty, asked them what had happened. On hearing the sad tale, he wept as well, and asked their leave to give her one kiss, for he thought he would never again see such beauty.

EG: He wanted... to kiss... a corpse.

JB: Of someone he didn't even know! He's a catch, isn't he? And this is the great part, because you see, Snow White wasn't really dead! That bite of apple had just lodged in her throat, stopping her breathing, and when he kissed her, she sort of hocked it up! And she was alive again!

EG: Precisely how long was this prince's tongue? I mean, did he stimulate some sort of gag reflex?

JB: I don't know! So all the dwarfs ran around singing for joy, and the prince swept Snow White up in his arms and asked her to be his bride.

EG: But the apple was poisoned. I thought she was dead from the poison, and it's just another asphyxiation false alarm?

JB: And she accepted!

EG: They are all idiots.



JB: In some versions the prince asks the dwarfs if he can keep Snow White - apparently dead - in her coffin - as a sort of ornament. And they say yes, and when he has his servants lift up the coffin to move it, that's what ejects the apple.

EG: Idiots and necrophiliacs.

JB: And...

EG: There's more?

JB: Yep. All this time the wicked queen had been living in a fool's paradise, believing that her rival was gone forever. But one day, her mirror told her that although she was the fairest in her land, the new queen-to-be of the neighbouring kingdom was more beautiful still! Fuming, she went along to the royal wedding to get a look at the competition. When she saw that the bride was Snow White... well... some versions of the tale say that she just dropped dead from the shock. But others say that to punish her for her ill-treatment of his bride, the prince had the dwarfs make a pair of iron shoes, which were made red hot and placed before the queen with tongs. She had to put them on and dance until she died.

EG: I... am... flabberghasted.

JB: Now, to be fair, most children nowadays are only told the dropped dead version.

EG: Nevertheless, to think humans have the nerve to describe Cardassians as cruel and vindictive!

JB: This story is hundreds of years old, from a much more primitive time. That's like judging Vulcans on the fact that they used to run around the desert killing each other for looking at them sideways. So, Garak, for posterity, and for anthropology, what do you think is the moral of the story?

EG: Well, what's the conventional moral of the story?

JB: Oh, I want to hear your unguided impression.

EG: Well, I can draw various morals at different stages of the tale. Firstly, if you are a major political figure, a background check on any potential spouse is a very good idea, including a psychological profile. If the king had realised what sort of person he was considering marrying, he could have avoided a lot of trouble for everyone.

JB: Mm-hmm.

EG: I believe we've already covered the importance of making certain the people you want killed are actually dead.

JB: Is that a moral we want to instil in the young, though?



EG: It's something I'd tell my children - admittedly not until they're old enough to have developed good judgement. Otherwise it's all corpses in the kindergarten and angry letters home. Oh, and fear and distrust all door-to-door salespeople on principle. Yes?

JB: Umm...

EG: And if all else fails, marry a psychopath who will have your enemies tortured to death.

JB: I can't help feeling something's missing here...

EG: I can't help wondering, given that Snow White's survival was contingent in the end upon her beauty, how well things went once her looks changed with age... whether her husband felt quite the same about her... and how she may have responded to pretty young girls growing up to supplant her. Oh! I know! The moral is that family abuse is cyclical! I'm right, aren't I!

JB: The moral is, be good and people will help you and everything will be all right in the end.

EG: But that's not true.

JB: I know.

EG: You fascinate me, you know. You singular and you plural. We should definitely do this again.

JB: We really should.



To be continued.

