The Magic Curtain

by Roy J. Snell

  CHAPTER XXV THE BEARDED STRANGER

  Though that which happened to Jeanne on this very night could scarcely becalled an adventure, it did serve to relieve the feeling of depressionwhich had settled upon her like a cloud after that dramatic but quiteterrible moment when the irate director had driven her from the stage. Itdid more than this; it gave her a deeper understanding of that mystery ofmysteries men call life.

  Between acts she stood contemplating her carefully creased trousers andthe tips of her shiny, patent leather shoes. Suddenly she becameconscious that someone was near, someone interested in her. A sort ofsixth sense, a gypsy sense, told her that eyes were upon her.

  As her own eyes swept about a wide circle, they took in the bearded manwith large, luminous eyes. He was standing quite near. With suddenimpulse, she sprang toward him.

  "Please tell me." Her voice was eager. "Why did you say all this was 'aform of life'?"

  "That question," the man spoke slowly, "can best be answered by seeingsomething other than this. Would you care to go a little way with me?"

  Jeanne gave him a quick look. She was a person of experience, this littleFrench girl. "He can be trusted," her heart assured her.

  "But I am working." Her spirits dropped.

  "There are extra ushers."

  "Yes--yes."

  "I will have one called."

  "This man has influence here," Jeanne thought a moment later, as, side byside, they left the building. "Who can he be?" Her interest increasedtenfold.

  "We will go this way."

  They turned west, went over the bridge, crossed the street to the south,then turned west again.

  "Oh, but this--this is rather terrible!" Jeanne protested. Scarcely fiveminutes had passed. They had left the glitter and glory of jewels, richsilks and costly furs behind. Now they were passing through throngs ofmen. Roughly clad men they were, many in rags. Their faces were rough andseamed, their hands knotted and blue with cold. Jeanne drew her long coattightly about her.

  "No one will harm you." Her strange companion took her arm.

  The street setting was as drab as were those who wandered there: cheapmovies displaying gaudy posters, cheaper restaurants where one mightpurchase a plate of beans and a cup of coffee for a dime. The wind wasrising. Picking up scraps of paper and bits of straw, it sent them in aneddy, whirling them round and round. Like dead souls in some lost world,these bits appeared to find no place to rest.

  "See!" said her companion. "They are like the men who wander here; theyhave no resting place."

  Jeanne shuddered.

  But suddenly her attention was arrested by a falling object that wasneither paper nor straw, but a pigeon.

  One glance assured her that this was a young bird, fully grown andfeathered, who had not yet learned to fly. He fluttered hopelessly on thesidewalk.

  "A beautiful bird," was her thought. "Such lovely plumage!"

  A passer-by with an ugly, twisted face leered up at her as he said:

  "There's something to eat."

  "Some--"

  Jeanne did not finish. To her utter astonishment she saw that a veryshort man in a long greasy coat had captured the pigeon, tucked it underhis coat and was making off.

  "He--he won't eat it?" she gasped.

  "Come. We will follow." Her companion hurried her along.

  The short man, with the bird still under his arm, had turned south into adark and deserted street. Jeanne shuddered and wished to turn back. Thenshe thought of the pigeon. "He is beautiful even now," she whispered."What must he be when he gets his second plumage? How proudly he willstrut upon the roof-tops.

  "Tell me truly," she said to her companion, "he would not eat him?"

  There came no answer.

  Having traveled two blocks south, they crossed the street to findthemselves facing a vacant lot. There, amid piles of broken bricks andrusty heaps of sheet-iron, many camp fires burned. Moving about from fireto fire, or sitting huddled about them, were men. These were more raggedand forlorn, if that were possible, than those she had seen upon thestreet.

  Then, with the force of a bullet, truth entered the very heart of herbeing. These men were derelicts. These piles of broken bricks and rustingiron were their homes; these camp fires their kitchens. Soon the youngpigeon would be simmering in a great tin can filled with water.

  "Wait!" she cried, leaping forward and seizing the short man by the arm."Don't--don't cook him! I will pay you for him. Here! Here is a dollar.Is that enough? If not, I have another."

  Blinking back at her in surprise, taking in her long coat, her jauntycap, the man stared at her in silence. Then, as the bearded man hurriedup, he blinked at him in turn.

  "I didn't mean to eat him," he protested. "Honest I didn't. But if youwant him--" he eyed the dollar bill eagerly "--if you want him, here heis."

  Thrusting the pigeon into Jeanne's hands, he seized the bill andmuttered:

  "A dollar--a dollar, a whole cartwheel, one big iron man! I didn't knowthere was one left in the world!" He seemed about to shed tears.

  As he turned his face up to Jeanne's she noticed that he had but one eye.

  "What's your name?" the bearded one asked.

  "Mostly they call me the one-eyed shrimp."

  Pocketing the money, he walked away.

  "This, too," said the bearded one solemnly, "is a form of life."

  "But why such cruel, cruel contrasts?" In her mind's eye Jeanne wasseeing jewels, silks and furs. There were tears in her voice.

  "To that question no answer has been found," the bearded man answeredsolemnly. "The world is very old. It has always been so. Perhaps it isnecessary. It gives contrast. Lights and shadows. We must have them ornothing could be seen.

  "I am a sculptor, a very poor one, but one nevertheless. Perhaps you mayvisit my studio. There you will find things I have done in lovely whitemarble, yet the beauty of the marble can only be brought out by shadows.

  "Come! You are cold." He turned Jeanne about. "We will go back to theOpera House. Always we must be going back."

  Strange as it may seem, Jeanne did not wish to return. That magnificentpalace of art and song had suddenly become abhorrent to her.

  "The contrasts," she murmured, "they are too great!"

  "Yes. There you have discovered a great truth. Come to my studio someday. I will show you more." The bearded one pressed a card into her hand.Without looking at it, she thrust it deep into her trousers pocket.

  In silence they returned to the Opera House. Once inside, Jeanneexperienced a miracle. The dark, cold, bitter world outside had vanished.In her mind, for the moment, not a trace of it remained. For her, now,there was only light and life, melody, color--romance in fact, and operaat its best.