The Change 3: Paris

by Guy Adams

  He left. I waited for a few moments and then moved to the door. To my surprise it wasn’t locked so I stepped outside and worked my way back along the corridor. It smelled of damp and rot, old smoke and burned-out furniture.

  As I drew close to the foyer I became aware of the clicking sound of the puppets, they stood in a line between me and the exit. Clearly there was no way out that way.

  I retraced my steps, thinking there must be a rear exit, a stage door that might be unguarded.

  I tried a door opposite the dressing room I had been taken to. This was a larger space; rows of costumes and papier-mâché masks. Mirrors on the walls were cracked and spotted with mould.

  At the far end was another door, I tried the handle but it was locked. Just as I was about to leave, the main door opened and I ran and hid behind a rail of costumes as several people filed in. Men and women, all with vacant looks on their faces and tatty clothes that showed they had come from outside. Were these the previous “stars” of DuChamp’s new Grand Guignol? If so, for all the dead look in their eyes they were still standing. Perhaps I would survive this after all.

  As I watched they began to strip, preparing, I supposed, for this afternoon’s performance—my performance. Fear gave way to embarrassment, which was utterly ridiculous, but as they peeled off their clothes, I felt I had become less a fugitive and more a peeping tom. A man stood right in front of me, his eyes fixed on the wall behind me as his fingers burrowed in the loose skin of his neck. All of a sudden he began to peel. He had been naked but still he stripped further, peeling back skin and muscle to reveal the bone beneath.

  The rest of them did the same, flesh falling to the floor as soft, wobbling husks, leaving a room full of wet skeletons, the perfect actors, waiting to try on a new character.

  I must have made a noise of shock because, all of a sudden, finger bones were pulling the costumes aside and tugging me out of my hiding place.

  They said nothing (how could they? Their lips and tongues lay on the floor alongside the rest of their flesh), just carried me back to my dressing room.

  And so I waited, still feeling their wet touch on my cheeks and hands. I stared at my broken face in the mirror and accepted what was to come.

  The knock on the door finally came. Outside, one of the puppets, its head a grinning shark, bright white teeth and shining, dead black eyes. It led me out here. Onto this stage.

  I can hear the cast moving in the darkness, the creak of the old seats, the shuffle and click of dead bones. They’re waiting for their turn to join me up here. To play out the final act. To show you where my secret zips and buttons lie. To peel away the skin and muscle that makes me who I am.

  I can see the red lights of the cameras. And I know you’re out there, waiting for me to finish. Waiting for me to die for your pleasure. Well, that time has come. This was the story I had to tell and I’ve told it.

  HE LOWERS HIS head in the spotlight and, all around the world, the remote viewers lean forward wanting to catch every little detail of what is to follow. They will replay it later but there is nothing quite like the thrill of a live transmission, knowing that the screams that echo through the speakers are happening at that very moment.

  What will his last expression be? Horror? Fatal acceptance? Tears? They’ve seen all that and more.

  As they press their noses to the screen it is with considerable surprise they note he is smiling.

  He looks up, fixes his eyes on the closest camera and speaks once more.

  ‘By the way,’ he says, ‘I was lying about the gargoyles.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Later…

  WHAT WOULD LOIC do without me, eh? I’ve always had his back.

  ‘Adrien,’ he says, ‘if it wasn’t for you I’d never make it through the day.’

  And, you know what, he’s got a point.

  It was sad when all the trees and stuff stopped. We’d liked it on la Victoire but that was OK, we were going home and that was the important thing. But then these weird puppets came out of nowhere!

  No, not silly little puppets, things on strings, these were proper huge people-sized puppets. In a van. Which was a bit weird. Whatever.

  So, anyway, they shot all this smoke and wires at us. The wires were all crossed over in the street and it was really hard to move because wherever you went you touched one and it was hard to move, you know?

  We couldn’t see, we were all caught up and these huge puppet things were trying to catch us.

  Loic was the problem because he was just so big.

  ‘Get out of here,’ he said, because he’s like that, always trying to be the hero and stuff.

  I didn’t want to leave him, of course, but I had to think about Gabi too. She’s only a girl and she’s only eight. No, hang on, don’t get all cross, I mean she’s only a girl because… well.. oh shut up, let me tell my story ok? Girls are great. Not even a pain or anything. Whatever. God.

  So, I had to help Gabi — who’s a really brilliant girl… better? So I grabbed her and pulled her through the wires. We could move where Loic couldn’t, and, with the smoke, the puppet things didn’t even see us as we ran off. If puppets can see. Their eyes are made of paint aren’t they? Still, The Impressionists are made out of paint too and they could do loads of stuff.

  We went back around the corner into La Victoire and hid behind a bush as the puppets picked up Loic and put him in their van. One of them was sticking posters all over the place.

  Once the van had driven off we ran over and had a look at one. It had Loic’s face on them and said he was appearing at the Theatre du Grand Guignol. Which is a really old theatre that used to show brilliant plays about killing. Didn’t you know that? Everyone knows that. No, it’s not just because I found out later. I already knew all about it so shut your face.

  And stop picking your nose Henri, you’re putting me right off.

  Where was I?

  So, yeah, we knew where they had taken Loic, didn’t we? So we’d just have to go and rescue him, wouldn’t we? I mean, it’s the least we could do after he’d come after us wasn’t it? Not that I wouldn’t have got Gabi and me out of that mess on my own anyway but that’s not the point. He’s a mate, he stuck his neck out for us and now it was our turn to do it for him.

  ‘We can’t rescue him on our own!’ Gabi said, because she was a bit scared.

  ‘We don’t have to do it on our own,’ I told her, because I’d already come up with a really brilliant plan.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  IT WAS SEEING the poster that had done it. Thinking about Loic performing in a show.

  Gabi said I didn’t need to carry her but I did really so it took me longer than I would have liked to get back to the opera house. Though not that long because I’m pretty strong and Gabi’s only… well, you know, she’s quite small.

  ‘You’re early my dears!’ shouted the weird skull-faced man. I didn’t like him much but that’s ok because if there’s one thing you learn when you’re a kid it’s this: it doesn’t matter if you like them, what matters is if they like you. And he did. Well, he was only human! Actually he probably wasn’t. Doesn’t matter though. I had him wrapped around my finger.

  ‘The show doesn’t begin for a few more hours,’ he said, ‘but no doubt you just wanted to guarantee yourselves front row seats. Very wise, very wise indeed.’

  The idea of being sat right in front of the mad shouty woman made my bum itch but I didn’t say that. This is the other thing you learn as a kid, you don’t always say what you think, grown-ups just don’t want to hear it. So, you think about what they would like to hear and say that instead, throwing in a bit that’s useful for yourself.

  ‘I wish that’s what it was, Mr Erik,’ I told him, ‘because you’re right, I’d hate to be stuck at the back where I couldn’t see properly. But actually we really need your help.’

  ‘Help?’ Erik slumped, his shoulders hanging down, he moved in a really funny way, everything was so over the top. ‘I wi
sh I could but I’m terribly busy making sure everything’s ready for the debut of the century.’

  ‘Well,’ I told him, having already thought this through because I’m brilliant, ‘actually I think you’ll want to help out here because it could get…’

  ‘Christine Daaé,’ said Gabi, because she thought I’d forgotten the woman’s name but I hadn’t so she needn’t have bothered. Shut up Gabi! I really hadn’t! Who’s telling this? You or me?

  ‘Yeah,’ I agreed, ‘it could help get the wonderful Mrs Daaé the audience she deserves. You won’t believe this but, around the corner someone’s setting up a show that clashes with yours! They’re trying to steal your audience!’

  ‘Nobody would dare!’ he said, putting his arm to his forehead as if he’d just got a really bad headache.

  ‘They dare alright,’ I said, ‘and they’re putting up posters everywhere! They’ve kidnapped our friend and they’re forcing him to be in it! So he’ll miss your show too! And we won’t be able to get our friends because he’s the only one who knows the way.’

  Erik shook his head. ‘Oh… the trauma of a creative life,’ he said. ‘That it should be such a hardship merely to bring culture to the world.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I agreed, ‘so I was thinking, maybe you could help us go and put a stop to this other show? Or, even better, you could bring Mrs Daaé with you and she could sing a bit and show them what they’re missing! Be a good bit of publicity wouldn’t it? I mean, once they’ve heard her there’s no way they’d stay watching the other, really rubbish show is there? They’d be round here like a shot.’

  He thought about this, but not for long because it was a really good plan and it was always going to work wasn’t it?

  ‘We shall do as you say,’ he said, ‘and I’ll bring Edgar with me.’ He leaned over to us, as if telling us a secret. ‘He’s my head of security. If it comes to fisticuffs I can certainly hold my own but best to have a bit of back-up, eh?’

  He straightened up and gave a high, piercing whistle. A few seconds later, we saw a shape bouncing down the side of one of the buildings. It was short, wearing a top hat and a black cloak. As it came close I realised it was a big monkey, one of those orange ones, you know a rangatang. Yes that is the proper name for them. I know all about monkeys. Stop interrupting.

  As if seeing a rangatang in a hat wasn’t weird enough, it had one of those old fashioned razors in its hand, you know, the sort that are like a big folding knife? And it had used it to shave all the hair off its face! It looked mental. Thankfully it didn’t cut our heads off or anything. It just bowed and then stood next to Erik, waiting to be told what to do.

  ‘I’ll just go and have a word with the artist,’ he said, ‘best you stay here.’

  He shuffled off towards the front of the opera house where the singer was sat on the steps eating a baguette. It was nice when she was doing that because it meant she wasn’t making all the noise. Me, Gabi and the rangatang just sort of stared at each other. After a minute Christine Daaé started shouting at Erik. She obviously wasn’t much pleased. We couldn’t hear what he was saying back but we could see by his movements, all bowing and pleading, that he was trying to keep her onside.

  ‘She sounds like she’s trouble,’ I said.

  ‘She’s an artist,’ said Gabi, ‘they can have funny moods. It’s allowed.’

  ‘She’s a pain in my hairy arse,’ said the rangatang, which surprised both of us, though I don’t know why. I mean, once you’ve got over the sight of a shaved monkey in a hat what does it matter if it starts speaking? ‘He loves her though,’ he said, ‘so she gets her own way.’

  Not this time. He’d obviously managed to convince her that it was a good idea to come with us because both of them walked back from the Opera House and joined us in the street.

  I thought I’d best give her a bit of charm.

  ‘Brilliant to meet you, Mrs Daaé,’ I said, giving a little bow. ‘I’m a big fan.’

  Gabi did a sort of snorting thing then so I gave her a dirty look because the last thing we needed was for her to drop us right in it.

  ‘No autographs,’ she said, pushing past us and striding off down the street. Basically, she was a bit of a cow.

  Once Edgar saw that I was having to carry Gabi, he offered to take over which was brilliant because he slung her over his shoulder and went bouncing all over the place, swinging off the lampposts and jumping on the cars. I’m sure she really loved it too, even if she did do quite a lot of screaming!

  You were! You howled all the way!

  Anyway, I led them to where we’d been when the puppets showed up. I pointed out the poster.

  ‘The Grand Guignol!’ Erik spat, which was a bit stupid as he was wearing a mask, he probably got it all over his face. ‘That’s not even art! It’s an abattoir! A cheap butcher’s shop of perversion!’

  ‘All the more reason to get them shut down then,’ I said, hoping he wasn’t going to turn around and hike it back to the opera. I needn’t have worried, I think he was so scared of having dragged Christine this far that there was no way he was going to let her know it might have been a waste of time.

  ‘Quite right!’ he said, glancing towards his star. ‘We will rescue the poor unfortunates in the audience and restore their faith in beauty.’

  Thankfully, Erik knew the way and it wasn’t far. We were stood outside the theatre in about ten minutes.

  ‘How do you want to do this?’ I asked. ‘I mean… they kidnapped Loic so they’re obviously not the sort of people you just have a chat with.’

  Looking through the door we saw the foyer was filled with those weird puppet men.

  Erik turned to Edgar. ‘I suggest we just step inside and discuss matters while the rest of them wait out here.’

  Edgar grunted his agreement and they both went in.

  Christine kept her distance, wandering off down the street to practise her scales; every now and then she smashed a window by belting out a high note.

  I wasn’t paying too much attention, I was too busy looking through the door to watch Erik and Edgar as they ‘discussed matters’ with the puppets.

  Edgar was leaping from one side of the room to the other, bouncing off the walls and shrieking at the top of his voice while Erik calmly danced among them, swinging his cane and beating them around the head.

  The puppets gave a good fight, their wooden arms and legs flashing to and fro as they tried to defend themselves but they never stood a chance. It was maybe a whole minute before the last one was beaten to splinters by its own arm, torn off by Edgar and used as a club.

  Erik popped his head back out and called up the street to Christine. ‘Darling? We’re all in agreement here so maybe you’d like to accompany us in a meeting with the management?’

  She nodded and pushed past us all, insisting on walking in front.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked a scruffy old man who had come running, no doubt having heard his puppets being kicked to smithereens. ‘Monsieur DuChamp will not tolerate this sort of behaviour.’

  ‘Monsieur DuChamp?’ asked Erik.

  ‘The proprietor,’ the old man told him, ‘and our glorious benefactor.’

  Erik nodded. ‘Would you be so good as to explain to Monsieur DuChamp that we would very much like a few moments of his time.’

  ‘That’s quite impossible,’ the old man said, ‘he’s not here. I am the manager here and I deal with him exclusively via…’ he seemed confused. ‘Well, it’s sort of like a telephone but you can see the other person’s face—and a very noble face it is too—I believe it is known as Skype.’

  ‘Then might I suggest you engage this “Skype” so that we can discuss my star’s needs in the same manner?’ said Erik.

  ‘I have no intention of disturbing him,’ the old man replied, ‘he is currently enjoying our matinée and will brook no interruption, certainly not at the request of a lunatic in a mask and his fat girlfriend.’

  Which was not the right thing to say. Christ
ine towered over him and, even as he puffed himself up to argue, she bent down and sung a note into his ear. It had an immediate effect, his face turned bright red, his body shook getting more and more violent and then, all of a sudden, he just burst! I know! Sick right? He actually burst! It was like he’d been pumped full of air or something! One of his eyes actually exploded off the wall! It was the best thing ever!

  Of course, it also kind of meant that the time for chatting was over, I mean, you blow the management’s head off and that’s the end of the conversation, yeah?

  We walked through to the main auditorium and I could see Loic stood on the stage. He was lit by a single spotlight, he looked beaten and miserable.

  ‘I can see the red lights of the cameras,’ he said. ‘And I know you’re out there, waiting for me to finish. Waiting for me to die for your pleasure. Well, that time has come. This was the story I had to tell and I’ve told it.’

  Then he looked up and saw us stood at the back of the room. He smiled. Then said something that made no sense at all to me until he explained later. ‘I didn’t want them to come looking for you,’ he told me, ‘so I’d lied during my story, I made them think you and Gabi were dead.’

  But, at the time, he just said, ‘I was lying about the gargoyles,’ and I thought, Ok, Loic’s gone off his head.

  The room was dark but we could tell there were things shuffling in the rows of seats. Christine pushed past me and made her way up to the stage, ignoring the things that were twitching on either side.

  She stood next to Loic and turned back to face us.

  ‘Not much of an audience,’ she said, ‘and this place stinks.’

  ‘The real audience is out there,’ said Loic, pointing up towards the ceiling. ‘They’re watching from miles away, important people, at least that’s what they think. But really they’re just stupid, horrible cowards who like seeing people hurt. Bullies.’