Weird. Especially because Cinderella didn’t belong to anyone. To be sure, the dog meant most to Elise, but Elise had already given up her baby brother’s coffin. Otherwise, only Pretty Rosa and Jon-Johan were left, and why should giving up Cinderella’s head mean more to either of them than to the rest of us? Holy Karl insisted. “Oh, come on, Karl,” said Otto. “Cinderella’s head,” Holy Karl demanded. “Get serious, Karl!” said Elise. “Cinderella’s head,” Holy Karl demanded. “Quit fooling around, Karl,” said Maiken. “Cinderella’s head!” Holy Karl demanded, and continued demanding regardless of what the rest of us were saying. Truth be told, we knew why. Ever since Jesus had been dragged onto the heap of meaning, five days ago now, Cinderella had been using the rosewood cross as her personal toilet, both for one thing and another. Jesus on the Rosewood Cross had already lost a good deal of his sacredness with the broken legs and all, and now with the dogged efforts of Cinderella there surely wasn’t much hope left for Jesus.
