The stage stood empty and silent. The backdrop was of hills, yellow and green, painted on wood panels. Other panels slid forward, dropping one after another in layers, giving the impression that she was moving over the land at a fast pace. Then, the movement slowed and a hawk dipped overhead. A doe and fawn ran from one side of the stage to the other. They were painted, but it had been done so well that the animals looked half alive.
A coyote loped across the stage. Rather, it slid, as its legs were neither jointed nor independently mobile. But the movement of whoever operated the creature created the exact likeness of a coyote loping across a field.
There was a woman now, but she was large and earth-colored. Hutash, Astrid thought, though she didn’t know how she knew the name. She must have learned it from one of her grandfather’s books. Over Hutash stretched the sky snake, the Milky Way, with a tongue that flicked in and out. Alchupo’osh. He was made of undulating cloth, like a Chinese dragon, painted indigo with gleaming iridescent stars over his entire length. His lightning tongue touched the earth and struck tiny orange fires.
Then there were people. They emerged from the ground head-first. A man and a woman with dark skin and hair. The man wore a loincloth and the woman had a something like a skirt wrapped around her hips. The woman’s breasts were bare, with nipples painted dark brown, but something about her was so comfortable, so completely unashamed, that Astrid knew that no one would complain to the park management about it. The woman did not seem nude at all, and she was far from being lewd or tantalizing. She and the man both gave the feeling of being both completely real and completely constructed.
The man lifted his jointed arm in a gesture and then left the woman alone. The man and woman must have been operated from below, like puppets, but Astrid could not see how it was done. There were panels standing upright on the stage to signify hills and grass, but they were only a foot or two in height, not large enough to conceal a grown person. There must be some kind of hidden panel beneath.
The coyote returned from the side of the stage and the woman spoke with him. It was only then that Astrid heard the drums. They were soft, like a heartbeat, but instead of a one-two, one-two beat, they had three beats. One for the man, one for the woman, one for the coyote, she thought.
And then it happened. The coyote split into two. He was still one thing, a puppet, an object. But at the same time, there was a life to him, a spirit. The same thing was true of the woman, who now was speaking with the man as the coyote watched from a distance. She was different. Astrid had to pause to think of the right word. She was—ensouled.
The grass swayed now, and swished just like real grass rubbing against itself. Astrid could even hear the sound of the surf, hissing in and out over the sand. But the sound wasn’t coming from the actual beach behind her, but from the stage. The grass existed in two pieces now also, but it had no ensouled quality like the woman, the coyote and the man. Astrid stared at the grass, and saw it twice. Once, it was the painted representation of grass, and the second time, it was real grass, fragrant and alive. Both occupied the same space.
What was going on here? This was not simply a good puppet show or even an amazingly artistic one. This was different.
The woman had children, living babies with milk-sweet breath who grew into children with dirty feet and tangled black hair. Then there were more people, each unique, each alive. And they filled the land, which Astrid now saw was an island. They were loud, and there were so many of them.
Hutash appeared again, and now she was both larger and more magnificent than before. She teemed somehow. Like an anthill. Or the sea. Her hair was rivers, and grass, and air. Her arms were snakes and tree trunks and the strong arms of a mother, a husband, a lover. She raised her arm, and then a bridge appeared, stretching from the tallest peak of the island to a mountain peak across the sea. It was composed of every color, fading on the edges out of the range of human vision. Astrid could feel the other colors, and was filled with longing to see them, but they were just out of her reach.
Hutash wanted the people to cross this rainbow bridge, but they were afraid. They cowered. She grew smaller and spoke to them. She told them they had to cross, that they should not look down. They understood, they lost some of their fear and they stepped upon the rainbow bridge. They crossed, but of course, some looked down. Of course. For what sort of story would it be if they had not?
These people fell, and they cried out as they plunged toward the water, their voices mingling with those of their sisters, their fathers, their children who stood above, reaching their helpless arms toward them. The waves enveloped their bodies, but instead of finding death, they were transformed.
They became dolphins, and Astrid saw both the paper mache props bobbing up and down in a row, as well as the real dolphins. Their bodies were sleek and strong, knifing through the cold ocean water. She felt their power, their delight, their joy. And there was the loss, the loss of their families, their humanity, the pleasure and the comfort of being warm and dry.
They lived between now. The dolphins could drown, so the very water that was now their home could kill them. But they could not live on land, as that meant death as well. Water was like fire, death and life from the same source. The dolphins were two-natured now. Otherkind. They were the brothers of humanity, sprung from the same source.
On the shore stood the coyote, so small that Astrid almost did not see him. Or it. How she felt it was male, she could not tell. But he was watching, pondering, smiling.
The dolphins dove into the waves while the people moved over the hills and into the distance. The coyote turned and trotted away, tail high until it was only a point, slipping through the yellow grasses until even it was gone.
The drums stilled, the sound of the sea and the grass vanished, and now there were only wooden representations. Props. Nothing more.
Astrid glanced at Elliot, who blinked and then met her eyes.
“Great, huh?” he said.
What had he seen? Was it the same thing she had, or was she going mad?
An old woman appeared on stage, wearing a long pale yellow skirt and matching flowing top. Long hunks of dried grass hung from both hips, and intricate patterns of seashells were sewn into both top and skirt. Astrid studied her face, but did not recognize her. Neither could she say for certain that this woman was not the Red Fawn she had met years ago. It had simply been too long ago, and she had been so young.
“Thank you for coming to see our show,” the woman said. “We have a special treat today, which is not a part of our regular show.”
She left the stage without another word. She had not introduced herself or given Astrid any hint if she was the Red Fawn who ran the show. Astrid was becoming frustrated. Not only was this show strange in the extreme, which unnerved her, but the entire purpose of her visit had been to see this Red Fawn person.
And then, the Asian woman stepped out on stage. It was the woman from the pretzel cart, but now she was in a traditional kimono, all pink and white. Her face was painted white, with her lips blood red and smooth curves of black eyeliner giving her a catlike appearance. But no, it was not catlike, but it was most assuredly animal. She moved forward in tiny steps and stopped at the center of the stage.
Astrid was close enough to the stage to see the woman’s eyes as they swept the crowd. They passed over her, but the moment the woman saw Elliot, she stopped. Her ruby lips parted in an expression of recognition and surprise. She pulled her eyes away and looked out over the crowd.
Astrid didn’t glance at her cousin, but she felt him shift beside her. Oh please, did he think this crazy woman was attractive? If he had met the woman earlier and he had been taken in by her, Astrid would have to set him straight later.
There was music then, a soft, lilting melody played on a stringed instrument. And there was the sound of water, but it was not the sound
of surf on sand this time. This was the sound of stream water pouring over pebbles. A bridge appeared next to the woman, arching and red, crossing the stream.
The woman danced. And when she did, Astrid saw things twice once more. The bridge was real, in a village in Japan. It was a fishing village with ox-drawn carts and old-fashioned clothing. The small white stone shrine with the fox god statue was real, as were the curls of scented smoke rising from the sticks of incense standing upright in a bowl of sand. They were props, she was sure, but she could not see them as props. The woman bowed at the shrine and raised her eyes to look straight into the face of the fox god. Inari. That was his name.
Astrid thought of something. Throughout both segments of the show, she had not heard any sounds from the audience. No one had applauded or spoken a word. The people in front of her had not moved. Ice cream melted over fingers and no one noticed. She glanced over her shoulder, and the people behind her were similarly transfixed. They blinked and moved a little, but they seemed stuck somehow. But wasn’t that was how all people looked when they watched a movie or television? She was simply not used to seeing people in broad daylight so mesmerized by a puppet show or a dance.
She turned back, and now the woman was on a steamship, headed to a land far across the Pacific. Astrid could feel her anticipation, and another emotion. Fear. Then she was in San Francisco, though there was no Golden Gate Bridge then. She slipped through streets, and Astrid knew she was alone, hungry. There was a cabaret, its walls painted red and gold. There were paper pictures of women, all clothed but looking at the viewer with languid, alluring eyes. The cabaret was hiring.
The woman stood with her hand on the door. Her kimono now was simple and brown. Her sandals were worn and falling apart. Her hair was lank and unwashed, yet she was so achingly beautiful, so graceful. She was tiny and feminine, vulnerable, there and not there. And yet she was strong, ferocious as a mother animal. She pushed open the door, and then turned back, a small movement of her shoulder and head.
The light changed over her and she was back on the little bridge, dancing with the stream gurgling beneath. The cherry blossoms dropped their petals, a drift of soft pink, falling like waves, like confetti, like snow. They poured from the stage out over the people, but now they were both purple and pink. jacaranda blossoms and cherry blossoms at the same time. Places separated by a sea. Pouring over the people like rain and ocean waves and tears.
Chapter 13
The heavy curtain swung closed, but no one clapped. Elliot watched the sway of the fabric and he could think of nothing other than the girl, the way the light had fallen on her, or rather, how light had seemed to emanate from her, like the radiant skin of a nude woman in a Reuben painting.
“What the hell was that?” Astrid said to him.
“What?”
“What was that? How did they do that?”
“Do what?” he asked and looked down. He brushed petals off his pants. “Did you like it? I told you it was good.” It had been good. He loved watching the show, but it had made him a little sad somehow. But all of the best music and books and art did that to him.
The people gradually filed out, the looks on their faces distant. Elliot knew what they were experiencing. Like him, they were satisfied at a deep level by what they had seen. But there was sadness also. The satisfaction had opened up a new longing, a deeper longing that was farther down than they had known. The beauty they had felt through the window into the puppet world had fed their hearts. But it had also brought a wound. The bitter sweetness of it demanded a few moments of silence afterwards.
Elliot and Astrid left the stage area, heading toward the arcade and Astrid’s pretzel stand. Astrid looked out over the water, as if searching.
“It was good, wasn’t it?” he said.
“How did they do it? I saw things there and things that weren’t there.”
Now that was odd, Elliot thought. “What do you mean?”
“Like the people and the grass. They were real and fake at the same time. You know what I mean?”
He didn’t. He had enjoyed the show, but the people had been puppets all along. But then, when he remembered them, he thought of them as real people. The dolphins had looked real, though he knew they were props. So had the coyote.
“Not really,” he said. “But the people who put on the show definitely have a talent for it. I can imagine the old plays in Medieval times being like that. If you don’t have movies or TV, and that’s your only way to put on a show, you’d pour all your energy and creativity into it.”
“I guess,” she said.
They walked in silence until she stopped and turned toward him. “At the end, when the petals were falling, what color were they?”
“They were purple.”
“Not the pink ones from the cherry trees?”
He thought about it. The petals had come from the stage, where the pretty Japanese girl stood among the trees at the end. Then they had blown outward over the people. So they must have been pink. They had matched the girl’s kimono. But the petals that had been caught on his pants had been the lavender ones from the jacaranda trees nearby.
“They were both, weren’t they?” Astrid said. Her expression was a little wild, frightened. “They were pink and purple at the same time. See? Something is weird about that puppet show. And that Red Fawn woman and that Japanese girl had something to do with it.”
“It was just a puppet show.”
“That woman knew you. When she looked at you, she was surprised. Did you meet her earlier?”
“Nope,” he said. “Never seen her before. She was cute though.”
“She’s a basket case. She came to my stand and tried to pass off a leaf as money. Then she got mad that I wouldn’t give her change for the stupid thing. She’s a complete bonk job.”
Elliot didn’t know about that. The woman on the stage had been so sweet, so delicate and defenseless, but with an edge of steel to her. He found it captivating. Along with a certain innocence about her, she had also been sensual, especially when she had been in front of the cabaret. But his hunger for her was more than a sexual desire at the thought of her performing in a cabaret. There was something else to it. It was as if part of him had been given to her, but willingly.
They continued on until they arrived at Astrid’s pretzel cart. The other employee who had been covering for her during her lunch break left.
“When are you off?” Elliot asked. “I have your birthday present back at my place.”
“My birthday isn’t until Monday.”
“It’s a combo birthday and graduation present. Also, there’s something else I want to show you.”
Astrid glanced at him suspiciously at this last bit.
“What is it?”
“Just come by, okay? It’s kind of weird.” He could tell her about it, but describing it wasn’t going to do it justice. She had to come by anyway to get her present, and he wanted to show it to her. Having her see it, verifying that it was real, would help him.
“I opened, so I’m off at four,” she said.
“Me too. Will your mom be mad if you’re late coming home?” He made sure to watch her when he asked. She wouldn’t volunteer much information about what was going on at home, but he had known her too many years to be easily fooled. She shrugged and looked down, so he knew things were still bad.
“She won’t be home until late, so it’s okay.”
Elliot returned to the mirror house, where he took tickets and tried to stand in the shade. After work, he picked up his paycheck at Mr. Augustus’s office, deposited it at the ATM, picked up some groceries at the market and walked home.
The seashell wind chimes hanging beside his trailer door clicked together musically in the afternoon breeze. He unlocked his door and climbed in. The interior was cramped and old, but it
had a little table, a two-burner stove, a small refrigerator and a sleeping area in the back. He had just finished putting away the groceries when Astrid arrived.
“Hold on a minute while I get your present.”
He pulled a little box from the cabinet over the stove. It wasn’t properly wrapped, but to do that, he’d have to go and buy paper and then store the rest of the roll somewhere, and that was too much trouble. Astrid wouldn’t care anyway.
“Thanks,” she said and set it on the table.
“Well, open it.”
“You sure?”
“Unless you want to open it at home and listen to your mother tell you what an ugly piece of crap it is.”
“It’s not a piece of crap. Everything you make is good.” She must already know what it was. He made lots of little wire sculptures, most of which he sold online, so it stood to reason that he would give her one. Also the size and weight of the box were a pretty good tip off. She opened it and pulled out a wire rabbit, about the size of a golf ball. It had two green faceted glass beads for eyes and its tiny triangular nose was tucked into its paws. After he had made it, he had thought of her and set it aside.
“It’s adorable. Thank you,” Astrid said and hugged him. She felt so small and wiry when he hugged her. She had always been slight, but working long hours and eating too little had made her too skinny. Maybe some dorm food and New York pizza would fatten her up.
She plopped down into the seat facing the table. It was almost dinner time, and he had bought some macaroni and cheese as well as some pasta, frozen vegetables, cereal and things for sandwiches. He had an awful moment where he debated whether he should offer her anything. She was thin, but then so was he. And he had to make the groceries last until his next payday. Then he hated himself for being so selfish and got out the loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter.
The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series) Page 65
