The Troupe

by Robert Jackson Bennett

  Both of them watched him grimly. George remembered hearing the song in the dark, and how it had suddenly seemed to twist. “You changed it … for me?” he asked.

  “Yes. But it came at an extraordinarily high cost. Because when a part of the song is changed, the entirety is reduced by that same amount. It is as though a portion of the First Song never existed at all. It is used up, gone. So though we could move mountains, erase wars, or even bring people back from the dead … it would shrink the song until it was nothing. The little glimmer of light we carry would dim until it was gone. For you, a small boy who was hurt, it wasn’t that much of a change. Not much was lost. But it’s still something we swore we would never do unless we had to. The danger is too great. We can’t just go about rearranging existence itself at our leisure. Not if doing so wounds the very thing keeping it alive.”

  “But you did it for me,” said George softly.

  YES, wrote Stanley. WE DID.

  “Why didn’t you want to tell me about this?” he asked.

  “Because you have a piece of the song itself in you, and I don’t want you experimenting with it,” said Silenus. “You must not study it too closely, or try to engage it. I don’t know what it could do to you, George. You are both extremely precious to me, and I’d not see either of you harmed. Do you understand?”

  George nodded, but he wondered if he already had engaged it, in a way. He remembered how the thing within him had seemed to vibrate in recognition at some sound in the rain or the wind, and his suspicion that it wanted to be whole.

  “Good,” said Silenus. “That’s for the best.” He took out his watch and checked it. “Colette should be getting in soon. Stan, can you pick her up at the station for me?”

  Stanley nodded his head, then stood and walked out, though he glanced back at George once before he was gone. Then George and his father were alone.

  “I’m sorry,” said George.

  “For what?” said Silenus.

  “For what I last said to you. I feel awful that I said that and then you had to go and … and sacrifice what you did for me.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” said Silenus. He put a hand on George’s knee. “I’ve never been too hot at giving people reasons to love me. And besides, it’s my own fuck-ups that put you in danger. I should have kept a closer eye on Kingsley. I should have seen him falling apart.”

  “Thank you for coming for me, though.”

  “And you don’t have to fucking thank me, either. I was just upholding my end of my promise. I told you I’d try my best to keep you safe until I no longer could, didn’t I?”

  George nodded. He laid his head back. He was very sleepy. “Father?”

  Silenus winced, and George could tell the term still made him uncomfortable. “Yeah?”

  “What do you remember of my mother?”

  Silenus was very still as he thought. The candle flame danced and flickered as if brushed by a breeze. “Not enough,” he said finally.

  George shut his eyes. This seemed the most disappointing answer possible.

  “I wish I could remember her more for you, George,” his father said. “I wish … I wish I could give you the father you deserve, and the life you need. A normal life. I really do. If I could snap my fingers and give us all the lives we want, I would, George. Maybe one day we can look at all the warp and weft of the web and figure out why things are the way they are. But until that day, all I can give you is apologies.”

  George smiled a little. “You could just change the song, and fix everything.”

  Silenus nodded as if he understood this was a joke, but there was a wild gleam to his eyes. “I could. Yes. Yes, I could.”

  “Did you ever consider doing it? I’d almost expect the temptation would be too much.”

  His father was quiet for a long, long time. “Yes,” he said in a soft voice. “Yes, I have considered it before. Who wouldn’t? I’ve considered using it to right wrongs, or … or to bring loved ones back to us.”

  “What stopped you?”

  His response was simple: “Stanley.”

  “What?” said George. “How?”

  Silenus looked at him, surprised, as if he’d forgotten something. “Well … Stanley works as my conscience, in a way. He keeps me in check, and on course. Everyone needs to be kept in check somehow. But I admit, there is, perhaps, more to it than just Stanley,” Silenus said. “I have spent so much time chasing the song, George … The idea of using it horrifies me. And eventually, every loss, no matter how personal, dwindles until it is lost in the shadow of that mission, and I cannot imagine why I would ever think to throw away what I seek so passionately, just to right a wrong that now seems so small. I am not sure if I am better or worse for it. But what a world this is, where fixing it destroys the one thing keeping it together.”

  As he said this, George remembered what the wolf in red had told him about how the troupe had changed: it was as if they traveled only to find the song, and not to perform it. He wanted to ask his father about it, and hear him deny the suggestion with a scornful laugh … but a tiny shred of him wondered if such a thing could be true. It would have such terrible consequences, if it was …

  George decided to forget it. The wolf had been crazed and irrational. It surely had to be wrong. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was kidding.”

  The gleam faded from Silenus’s eye, and he patted him on the knee. “I know. Get some sleep. We need you strong.”

  He lay back. Silenus snapped his watch shut and walked to the door.

  “Harry?” said George.

  “Yeah?”

  “What are we going to do next?”

  He sighed. “I’ve no idea.” Then he walked out and shut the door.

  Part three

  The Chasers

  To see a World in a Grain of Sand

  And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,

  Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

  And Eternity in an hour.

  — William Blake,

  Auguries of Innocence

  Play! Invent the world! Invent reality!

  — Vladimir Nabokov,

  Look at the Harlequins!

  CHAPTER 22

  A Very Funny People

  After Colette arrived Silenus announced he was taking them all out for dinner. Everyone in the troupe was irritated at this bizarre proclamation. Colette was tired from the trip and in no mood to celebrate anything, Franny’s hands were heavily bandaged from when she’d fought the wolf, Stanley looked sicklier than ever, and George had still not fully recovered. But Silenus would not be dissuaded. “My son has been returned to us at great risk,” he said. “We must celebrate that, and we must also make a show of respect to commemorate the dead who have been taken from us. I won’t let this night go by like any other. There must be something done to mark the occasion.”

  They ate at a questionable French restaurant on the outskirts of Toledo. Colette, who of course knew French, pointed out many spelling errors in the menus. The food had received about the same type of preparation, and was all oversalted, though Silenus commented that at least the wine worked.

  Before they started Silenus gave a toast to George and to Professor Tyburn, speaking of the man as one would of a fallen comrade. “Thought it would appear he fell by his own hand, we know now he did not,” he said. “If anything, he was poisoned, though it was a poison of the mind, of the soul, and not one of the flesh. I will not say he was a perfect man. Though he was flawed, he made his choices, and tried to play his part as best he could in the world he saw unfolding around him. For that, we must salute him: a player silenced, a role now hanging vacant, and many lines left unspoken.”

  They all muttered their own salutes and drank together, and turned to eating. They did not make very good conversation. Franny tried to fill Colette in on what had happened, though she was as daffy and confused as ever, and Stanley kept pestering Silenus with little notes written on napkins.

  “I told you for the
last time, no,” said Silenus angrily. “I won’t consider them.”

  George happened to catch a glimpse of what Stanley’s last message said: THEY ARE THE ONLY ONES WHO COULD BE OF HELP NOW.

  “That’s if they give it. They’d much rather have me dead. I won’t even think about it, Stan.”

  “Who are you talking about?” said George.

  “None of your business,” said Silenus.

  PEOPLE WHO COULD HELP, Stanley wrote.

  “Are these … the people you talked about back in your office?” asked George. “The ones who gave you the tower?”

  Stanley nodded.

  “I would never engage their agencies,” said Silenus. “Not without a bribe to smooth over how I last left them. And there’s almost nothing that would be that valuable. Besides, we don’t even know what they could do for us.”

  “Well, I’m sure that if a bribe’s necessary then they’re not the sort of people we’d want to speak with anyway,” said George.

  “Half the world runs on bribes, kid,” said Silenus. “Bribes, threats, and lies. And there’s not much I wouldn’t do to get to the next piece of song. But going to them? If I say it’s reckless, you better believe it’s fucking reckless.”

  George wondered who they could mean, but then had an idea. “Couldn’t you just do what you did in Parma?”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Make a distraction. Create … copies. For them to chase?”

  Silenus bobbed his head side to side, considering it. “I could try. But I don’t possess the arts to make anything last that long. The wolves are entrenched around the parts of the First Song. We’d need to lure them a great distance, and that takes more than I have.”

  Stanley whipped out another napkin and hurriedly scrawled: MORE THAN YOU HAVE. BUT NOT MORE THAN THEY DO.

  Silenus read his note. At first he looked angry, but then he sat back in his chair and his eyes grew distant. “Do you think so? For a distraction?”

  Stanley nodded earnestly.

  “Hm,” Silenus said. He grew contemplative, and said nothing more. He stared at his wine, letting the liquid slip back and forth in the glass, but hardly drank a drop.

  “So we’re really going to try and continue on?” asked Colette.

  “Rather than what?” said Franny.

  “Disbanding, of course,” said Colette.

  “Disbanding?” said George, startled. “Are you serious?”

  “Well, yeah,” said Colette. “Let’s think about this practically. Things are getting dangerous. We’re running out of money. And we’ve lost our lead act. It wasn’t our strongest, but it was maybe our most curious.”

  “Are you sure it’s appropriate to be discussing business so soon after this tragedy?” asked Franny.

  “I buried him,” said Colette icily. “I was the only one there to see him interred. I have paid my respects. And now we have to think about our own lives.”

  The idea of losing Colette horrified George. “So you would what?” he asked. “Go on … alone? Without us?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I would.”

  “But there’s no need for that, is there?” he asked. “I mean, Harry was covering for Kingsley before, maybe he could just continue in the start. Or maybe I could cover for him.” He tried not to grin hopefully.

  “Monologues aren’t fit for Kingsley’s spot, George,” said Colette. “Nor is piano playing. People want dumb acts when they walk in after intermission. Silent acts, or silly acts. Acts they can ignore.”

  “Well, I … I could play very softly,” said George.

  “I told you, no. That’s not what managers are looking for in that spot.”

  “I’m sure we could think of something,” said Franny.

  “Is anyone listening?” Colette asked. “Our budget can’t afford the time to let us come up with a new act. I should know. We can’t risk a break in income.”

  As Colette spoke an altercation began at the table next to theirs. An elderly couple had just sat down to eat, but both were mortified when they saw the waiter who came to serve them was colored. “I can’t believe the indignity of it,” sputtered the old man. He refused to speak to the waiter at all, and demanded to see the manager. The waiter assumed the most obsequious pose he could, not even meeting the man’s eyes, and bowed away.

  They tried to ignore it. Stanley wrote: YOU WOULD REALLY LEAVE US?

  “I’m saying we may not have a choice, Stan,” Colette said. “We can’t tour with the remaining acts, they don’t align with any spots. No manager would take us on. Almost no one tours with multi-act sets anyways. I’m saying we can split what’s left and go our separate ways.”

  Stanley wrote: AND ABANDON OUR MISSION?

  Her lips tightened. “That was always your mission. Not mine, or anyone else’s. You two barely let us know what was going on all the time, anyway.”

  Stanley nodded, dismayed.

  At the table behind them the manager had arrived to try to quell the elderly couple’s anger, but the old man was having none of it. “I can’t believe you would allow such a thing,” he said. “This location was said to be particularly esteemed. And to think, I almost considered bringing my grandchildren here …”

  “I am so sorry,” whispered the manager. “Sir, I deeply apologize. He’s a new hire, but … but in venues of this type it’s very common to allow coloreds to wait upon customers.”

  “What!” said the old man, nearly choking. “Can you possibly be serious? We would never allow such a thing at home! Then is it true that cities have some moral infection in them? Letting negroes in to work in their kitchens, to touch their plates, their food?”

  The elderly woman gasped as if she’d been injured by the very idea of it. Colette began slowly grinding her teeth.

  “I think,” said Silenus finally, “that the issue may be moot.”

  “And why is that?” asked Colette.

  “Do you really think you can strike out on your own, Lettie?” said Silenus. “Do you think you’d find success as a single act?”

  “Are you saying,” she said, “that I don’t have the chops?”

  “No,” said Silenus. “I’m not saying that at all. I’m just saying that talent doesn’t overcome everything. There are barriers in the way. Especially for those dreaming of big-time success.”

  More pops came from Colette’s mouth as she ground her teeth. “And what barriers are those?”

  Silenus sighed and looked at her pleadingly. He attempted a smile. “Come on, Lettie.”

  “Don’t come-on-Lettie me,” said Colette. “Not over this.”

  “ … I absolutely will not stand for it,” the old man was saying behind them. “I’ll have you know my family owns several newspapers in Branson and, yes, even the country, and I will … I will have the name of this establishment in every single one of them!”

  “Please, sir, be reasonable,” said the manager, still attempting a whisper.

  “We’ve talked about this,” said Silenus to Colette. “You were to stay with me until you’d become strong enough to—”

  “Then I’m not strong?” said Colette. “I’m not good enough?”

  “Not for the hardship you’d encounter if you went out on your own and tried playing New York,” said Silenus. “Which is what you want, isn’t it?”

  Colette crossed her arms. “Others have succeeded there.”

  “They were lucky, and they spent years working at it.”

  “ … Absolute disgrace,” muttered the old woman behind them.

  “I’ve spent years with you!” said Colette. “Does that not count?”

  “Not in the big time, where you want to go,” said Silenus. “You’d need to establish contacts, build an accepting base.”

  “And I can’t do that with what I’m doing now?” she asked.

  “You don’t know what you’d be up against, Lettie,” said Harry. “They wouldn’t let you do what you’re doing now. They’d want you to play like … to wear
makeup, and be like …”

  “Like what?” said Colette savagely.

  “ … Not fit for such work,” said the old man behind them.

  “Like what, Harry?” said Colette.

  “Come, now, Lettie …” said Silenus.

  “ … As if they belonged in here, with us …”

  “Go on,” said Colette. “Say it. Say it, Harry.”

  “Colette,” said George. “Please calm down.”

  “Stay out of this, George,” she snapped. “Come on, Harry. Go on and tell me what they’d want me to be like.”

  The old man behind them stood up. “I refuse to believe that you could have possibly thought this could go unnoticed. This is a moral stand that I take, and I demand you pay attention to me and treat me with some resp—”

  “Oh, be quiet!” cried Colette. She stood up and spun around to face the old man. Her chair toppled over and crashed to the floor. The elderly couple flinched, and the manager stared at her as if he hadn’t seen her before.

  Silenus stood up beside her. “Yes, please keep it down,” he said calmly. “We’re trying to eat over here.”

  “What … what are you doing in here?” said the manager, staring at Colette. “How did they let you in?”

  “You see?” said the old man. “Do you see? They’re letting them eat in here, too! I simply cannot believe it!” His wife looked as if she was about to faint.

  Colette did not answer. She was staring at the floor. George saw her hands were trembling.

  “You are mistaken, sir,” said Silenus. He laid a hand on Colette’s shoulder. “My lovely colleague here is not a negro. She is a Persian, and royalty at that—she is Colette de Verdicere of the Zahand Dynasty, Princess of the Kush Steppes.”