The Puppet Maker's Bones (14 page)

For some reason, however, he found himself quite comfortable discussing the theatre and talking about his work with Žophie and her father.

“Are you a religious man, Pavel?” asked Rychtar.

Pavel was no longer comfortable. He most hated this type of question.

“Táta, don’t ask that.”

“If you’re asking because of the content of the play,” Pavel said, “I think the theatrics and drama of the psychology expressed in the play are what draws theatre people to perform it, not to mention audiences to see it, not necessarily the religious aspects, though those are there, without question. The fascination with the pull between good and evil is undeniable and something everyone can feel on a personal level. There is such a richness and complexity to everyone, don’t you think?”

“I would have to agree with that, yes,” said Rychtar.

“Oh, will you show me the puppets now?” said Žophie.

“My daughter is rather impulsive. Please forgive her interruption.”

“Not at all. If you have had enough to eat, I can show you the shop.”

“Yes, please!” Žophie said.

Pavel led the way as they got up from the table.

“I must ask you to be careful where you step. We keep a very tidy workshop, but things can still drop to the ground that could cause injury if stepped upon. I checked everything earlier and did a thorough sweeping, so all should be well, but I still wish to caution you, since we are walking around wood and glass and sharp tools. We’ll move around the outer edge of the room and work our way in, all right?”

Žophie moved to follow Pavel’s lead. Her father joined them. Pavel picked up a pair of work gloves from a bench and put them on. He moved to an odd little marionette, hanging from the wall, with bright red hair made of yarn and an off-center, clownish expression on its face.

“This is Sammy the Redheaded Weird Boy. My first puppet, given to me as a child. He taught me everything I know.”

“He seems quite old,” said Rychtar.

“What kind of name is that?” said Žophie.

“Well, look at him. I should think that would explain it. He is a horrible actor and never ended up in any of the shows, but he was a good teacher. And yes, he is quite old, but he can still walk.” Pavel took Sammy down from the wall and used the control to manipulate Sammy into walking around the workshop with the others. The top of Sammy’s head reached just under Pavel’s knee, so Pavel stooped over a little to work the control. Žophie laughed and clapped her hands.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Can you show me?”

Pavel became uncomfortable and was not sure how to respond. He had not anticipated this part of the tour.

“As I said, my daughter is impulsive,” said Rychtar.

“Hmmm. I had not planned on a lesson today. Let’s see. All right, follow me.” Pavel led them by walking Sammy to the other side of the shop where a small marionette of a donkey lay upon a workbench. The white donkey was covered with black spots, and its huge, red-lipped grin revealed large teeth. The puppet’s silly expression was due to eyes carved wide, with off-center pupils.

“This is Lucky,” said Pavel, picking up the marionette.

“Lucky, the donkey?” Žophie asked.

“What? Donkeys cannot be lucky, they must only be stubborn?” said Pavel. He manipulated the donkey to sit abruptly upon its haunches and to shake its head back and forth, as if it was refusing to move.

Žophie laughed. “All right. Show me what to do.”

Rather than guide her hands with his own, the way some puppeteers might teach others, Pavel stuck with Sammy as example. He put Lucky back down on the table.

“Go ahead, pick him up. Use the control, like this.” Žophie picked up Lucky and held him, copying Pavel’s movements with Sammy. Lucky was small but so was Žophie, and the puppet body reached about mid-thigh level. She had to raise her arms up a bit higher to stretch out the strings that controlled the puppet, but she watched, fascinated, as Pavel showed her in slow motion how to manipulate the strings attached to the control.

“Can you move my hands with yours and show me that way?” she asked, and Pavel glanced at her father, who stood by, observing.

“Žophie, I think you are being a bit familiar. Watch how he holds his own. You can figure it out,” said her father.

“I am showing you the way that I was shown. I was taught that it is best to learn it by studying, watching, then doing it yourself from the beginning. Slowly.”

“I find that to be true with many things,” said Žophie’s father.

“Here, watch.” Pavel held the control and moved his fingers over the strings as Žophie watched with intense concentration. “This is how we manipulate them.”

“Oh! Look! I’m doing it!” Žophie walked the donkey and laughed. Pavel and Eduard both smiled as she proceeded to walk the donkey marionette through the warehouse, improving as she went. She seemed to have forgotten the two men in the workshop and was focused solely on the puppet under her control. Pavel had never seen anyone so filled with happiness, and he remembered the first time he made Sammy walk around the workshop. He and Prochazka had laughed until they thought the very walls of the workshop would come down around them. Pavel smiled at the memory.

“Tell me something, Pavel,” said Rychtar, when Žophie was out of earshot, lost in her new activity.

“Yes?”

“Why do you hide that you are, in fact, a very wealthy man who does not have to work and who does not have to live in the back of a puppet theatre workshop?”

Pavel said nothing, and avoided making eye contact with Rychtar.

“I have done a little research on you, since my daughter seems quite suddenly smitten with everything about you and your world. She is like that. She grabs hold of something and never lets go. She is not fickle and does not move from one excitement to another. So I have to look at you with a certain seriousness that other fathers might avoid while their daughters flit from one fancy to the next. It is quite exhausting being this vigilant, because her choices are so permanent. Do we understand each other?”

Pavel did not know how to answer.

“You have done very well for yourself. You own more properties in this town than I do. How did I not know that before my research?”

“I’m not one who likes to stand out in a crowd. Money tends to make that happen to a person if people know about it, don’t you think?”

“Ah, yes. There is that aspect to it, yes. I can see a point to desiring anonymity.”

“I like my work. I prefer the workshop. I am comfortable here.”

“But what if you started a family? What about their comfort?”

“Well, I do not have one, so that has not been a hurdle I have had to jump. I suppose if that were to occur, I would make the changes necessary. Live in a house, perhaps. Get a dog.” Pavel smiled at Rychtar.

“For someone who appears to be so young, I think you are quite wise, Pavel Trusnik. Quite wise.” Rychtar patted Pavel on the back, and Pavel flinched.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you injured?” said Rychtar.

“No, I… no, you surprised me.”

Rychtar laughed. “Well, I wasn’t going to strike you, young man. Far from that. I must say this has been a very interesting and enjoyable afternoon.” Both men turned toward Žophie, who was engrossed in walking the puppet.

“Žophie! We must be going!”

“Oh, dear, must we? I am having such a marvelous time!”

“You may have the puppet. My gift to you for being such an enthusiastic audience and quick student,” Pavel said.

“Really?! Oh, Táta, isn’t that wonderful? I have a marionette!”

“Yes, dear. Now do you plan on walking it the whole way home?”

“I do!” Žophie laughed.

“Good day, young man,” said Rychtar. “We shall speak again, soon.”

“I look forward to it,” Pavel said.

“As do I!” Žophie ran over to Pavel, placed a light peck upon his cheek and ran back to her father, laughing. “Táta, I have a puppet!”

Pavel stood there, stunned and a little bit frightened as he watched father and daughter walk out the door of the workshop and into the world beyond.

In all of his one hundred seventy-one years, Pavel had never been kissed until that moment.

A voice interrupted Pavel’s reflection.

“Are you worried what might happen to her?” The voice came from the doorway. A tall man was silhouetted by the sun behind him.

Pavel realized he still had his gloved hand against his face in the spot where Žophie had kissed him. He dropped his hand.

“I beg your pardon?” asked Pavel. “May I help you?”

“I do hope so,” said the man. His voice was rich, deep, like that of a highly trained actor, thought Pavel. When the man walked into the workshop, Pavel was taken aback. The man was African.

“Don’t be alarmed. Yes, I am African,” said the man, as he walked into the workshop, taking over the space with what theatre people liked to refer to as “enormous presence.” He brushed his hand over the scarred tabletop and delicately traced the lace costume on one of the puppets that hung from a wall hook. He turned in a full circle, dancelike, taking in the entire workshop with his gaze, then walked with a confident stride toward Pavel. “My original family called me Cheidu, but for years my name has been Robert Lamb.”

“You… are American?” Pavel asked.

“I came from there, yes, but for obvious reasons it seemed best to move elsewhere. But yes, I was born to free parents in the north and educated there. New York, to be precise.”

“You are an actor.”

“Yes.”

“You speak Czech perfectly.”

“I also speak German, French, Italian, and of course, English.”

“I have never met a—”

“Actor of Colour—to paraphrase how I was referred to in one of my London reviews? I suppose they would call me something more vulgar in America.”

“Yes.”

“I hear that your program includes a production of Othello?”

“It does. Have you played him?”

“Many, many times. I am quite nimble with a scarf. My hands manage to never make contact with the delicate Desdemona while the cursed scarf does all the work.” Robert Lamb began Othello’s farewell speech: “
‘Farewell the plum’d troops and the big wars that make ambition virtue! O, farewell, farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump, the spirit-stirring drum, th’ear piercing fife, the royal banner, and all quality, pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
’” A lone tear made its way down the face of the actor.

Pavel was moved by the simple and specific emotion that the actor conveyed without effort. “What brings you to this theatre? Why aren’t you in London or Germany? There must be many opportunities—”

“For a man of my appearance to play every Moor written for the stage, or to don white face for other great roles—Shylock the Jew, perhaps?” Robert Lamb laughed. Pavel noticed the man’s pupils which had a certain bluish glow that seemed to change from deep red to amber and back to blue. Pavel had seen eyes like that before. He knew those eyes well. Trope, McGovern, Pavel himself— all possessed the eyes of the man who stood before him. He felt a sudden anxiousness and wanted to know everything there was to know about this man.

“The puppet theatre is a strange place for a man of your talents.”

“There are stranger things. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”

“You have performed Hamlet?” Pavel asked.

“Oh, wouldn’t that be the most wonderful thing, to do that?”

Pavel considered that a moment and realized how ridiculous he must sound to the African actor.

“Oh. I’m sorry. Yes, of course. I suppose you would play the gravedigger in that play?”

“And I have!” Robert Lamb chuckled.

“I’m afraid I am without resources to bring a new actor into the theatre. We budget for one, two, sometimes three live actors. Puppets do the rest.”

“Can you teach me to act with a puppet?”

Pavel gaped at the celebrated actor. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Why, more opportunities, I suppose. Not fettered by my physical appearance, I could become one with the puppet, powered by my voice, my emotion.”

“But payment?”

“Is something we can discuss and not something I am concerned about. But I am afraid I have travelled quite a way and am a bit dusty. Do you have a place where I could wash up a bit?”

“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll show you.”

Pavel led the strange man to the lavatory and showed him the basin, cloths and soap. The lavatory was not much changed from when Pavel was a child, though the basin had been replaced by a cast iron trough set into the counter, which allowed more room for washing rags and brushes from the workshop.

“I think you’ll find everything you need here.”

“You are very kind.”

“I’ll make us some tea.”

“You are even kinder,” said Robert.

The two men were alone in the workshop, and the actor Robert Lamb did not close the door all the way to the lavatory as he washed. He removed his upper garments to wash his face, neck and torso, and Pavel saw a vast network of crisscrossing scars over the entirety of his back that Pavel surmised to be the result of multiple whippings over an extended period.

Two scars in that map of abuse stood out to Pavel, two scars that had not been made from the wounds inflicted by a whip. Robert Lamb had two bumpy scars that had been stitched by an amateurish hand, one over each shoulder blade, in the exact location as the scars on Pavel’s own shoulders.

Pavel gasped.

“I’m sorry. Would you prefer I shut the door?” asked Robert.

“Your scars.”

“Yes, over time there have been many people who thought to make an example of me, I’m afraid. Having parents who are free and being educated does not protect one from the slings and arrows of small-minded cowards.”

“No. Not those. I am very sorry about those.”

“Then?”

“The scars on your shoulders.”

“They are as old as I am, and have been a part of me as long as I can remember. I do not remember what made the scars, though I might have an idea or two.”

Pavel was shaken by this.

“Yes. You possess the same scars, Pavel Trusnik. I have travelled quite a way to meet you.”