The Motion of Puppets(19)
“I am a gymnast,” Kay said, “and quite familiar with balance and gravity.”
“Yes, of course,” he said, flustered. “How quickly I forget, and, of course, that’s why you are here. Well, you must relax outward from that point, let yourself go limp around it.”
She exhaled a long deep draft, and in her next breath slackened her muscles, trusting the foursome to keep her upright. Her knees buckled slightly, and she teetered as they held fast. Giving herself over to the others demanded all her concentration. Old yoga practices kicked in. She emptied her mind and let herself go. Her right arm shot forward when the Good Fairy lifted the rod, and then the Devil brought up her left and caused her to clap her hands. A puff of dust rose from her canvas fingers. The crowd cheered for her, and then she felt the push of her left foot as she took her first step. Working together, the puppets moved her arms and legs, and she was walking. She squealed like a toddler with delight over a sudden and newfound power. They moved slowly at first, allowing her to get used to the sensation, but soon they quickened the pace, forcing her to new directions, even made her walk backward. She enjoyed the ride with a different driver, finding that she was made to move this way. And just when she thought it over, they made her leap into the air and held her suspended eighteen inches off the floor, and in a careful and delicate movement, they unfroze her from space and let her glide back to the earth, landing softly as a dove.
“Again,” she cried. “Again, again.”
“Excellent, wonderful.” Tall Olya spoke above everyone’s head. “Don’t wear yourself out, dahlink. There’s time enough to walk and fly and perform their magic.”
The Judges were already untying the rods from her ankles. The Devil in front of her removed the strap from her left hand. “You’ll be tempted to play the part. Give in, give in.”
On her right side, the Good Fairy said, “Pay him no heed. He’s nothing but a big ham. All that talk about performance. Feh, just wait till they come for you.”
“Who is coming for me?”
“Why, the Quatre Mains and the Deux Mains, of course. You don’t think you’ll be allowed to stay in the Back Room forever.”
“When will they come?”
“We never know. But they will get you.”
“Suppose I leave before they come for me.”
“Oh, you can never leave,” said the Good Fairy. “You are not allowed to leave on your own accord.”
Worn out by her perambulations, Kay sat on a box of foam noses and ears and considered her surroundings. She had not given much thought to the extent of the Back Room, how its yellow walls circumscribed a world with gunmetal shelves, bins of odds and ends, bolts of fabric, the vaguely menacing hammers and saws and awls. The novelty of the place inured her to its limits. All around her, the puppets returned to their business, arranging themselves in familiar cliques. The Queen sat on her oatmeal-box throne. Nix took up his juggling, tossing three ping-pong ball eyes with nonchalance. The Three Sisters lounged by a toy samovar, sipping tea in tiny glasses.
“Do you mind if I join you?” Kay asked. “I have no idea what to do or where to go.”
“You are trapped,” Irina said. “In the same bourgeois drama we all are. The melancholy parade of day and night marches by, and not a one of us knows where it leads.”
Masha chimed in. “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. We are forever waiting for tomorrow and looking for a better day.”
Making room for her on the box that served as a settee, Olya bid Kay come sit by her side, and with great show she pantomimed another glass of tea, wincing slightly as she handed it to her. The tea was hot, to Kay’s surprise, and when she pretended to take a sip, she was astonished by how strong and sweet the taste was. Almost immediately she realized that in the whole time she had been in the Back Room, hunger and thirst had deserted her. She hadn’t had so much as a bite in what … weeks? Months?
“Spasibo.” She remembered her Russian manners.
“Is nothing,” Olya said. “You are surprised to find the tea to your liking? Usually we drink a bitter brew. For you, a pinch of sugar.”
“It’s good,” Kay said. “But how is it possible?”
“My dear girl,” Masha said. “All things are possible with imagination. You might as well ask the same about all of life. How does the thrush know when is spring and time to return? How is cherry tree both flower and fruit and then a scrag of bones in October? Tea knows how to be tea.”
“But how do you make the real tea out of imaginary nothing?”
Like three magpies, the Sisters cocked their heads and stared at her, puzzled by the abstract nature of her question. She wondered if she had unwittingly crossed a line, and the long pause disconcerted her. They looked lifeless again, reverted to their puppet state. Snapping her finger in front of their glass eyes, Kay tried to wake them from their stupor.
Olya blinked first. “Dahlink, we are practicing.”
“Practicing for what?”
“In case we are called to play our roles.”
Masha leaned in and whispered confidentially. “True freedom, golubushka, comes in knowing your limitations. We are all waiting here for whatever happens next.”
Looking over the lip of her teacup, Irina smiled at her. “When the puppeteer calls, the puppets must be ready.”