The Motion of Puppets(59)
“You know, when I was about eight years old, I saw a Punch-and-Judy show, and the whole time Punch fought with Judy, the crocodile sneaked up behind him, and the man lifted the slapstick to strike the woman and hit the crocodile on the backswing. Completely by accident. Again and again. We kids shrieked and hollered, ‘Look out, look out!’ but Punch never bothered to glance over his shoulder. Those jaws would open wide, a mouth filled with sharp teeth, and slap, down he would go. After a few rounds, the croc got wise and sneaked around to the other side. Behind Judy.”
“What happened next?” Theo asked.
“He ate her up. First try.”
Egon laughed. “There’s a lesson there.”
“And then Punch started deliberately hitting the crocodile with the slapstick, and all the children roared. What the lesson is depends upon your point of view. Turns out all right for Mr. Punch, not so much for Judy and the crocodile. I can remember it like yesterday.”
“So you will help us?” Theo asked.
“I had nightmares about that crocodile for months. One bite and she was gone.”
Thumping his fist on the desk, Egon said, “Enough of your Greek and crocodiles. Your car, man. We came to ask if we could borrow your car.”
“To hunt for puppets?”
“Or at least the puppeteers,” Theo said. “To see if we can find out what happened to my wife.”
“And you think she is a puppet? She underwent a metamorphosis?”
“Precisely,” Egon said.
Theo contradicted him immediately. “Well, no, not exactly. We just need a car. To go to Vermont for a few days. See my mother-in-law and learn what we can about this puppet that looks like my wife.”
“Why didn’t you say so? Of course you can borrow my car,” Mitchell said. “On one condition. I want to help. You let me drive.”
“Our bags are packed,” Egon said. “We knew you couldn’t say no.”
“An adventure,” Mitchell said. “Boys, I would go to Hades and back for a good quest.”
*
They took the scenic route along the Hudson River shrouded in the gloom of an early November Friday afternoon. Mitchell drove his old Ford station wagon slowly and carefully, regaling his captive passengers with tales from the classical myths. Egon kibitzed from the backseat, pointing out the state police lurking on the shoulders long before the others noticed. They passed into Vermont, almost without realizing the time and the landscape flying by. The mountains rose dramatically from the road on the way to Bennington. Using the map on his smartphone, Theo barked out the directions, and they arrived just north of town at his mother-in-law’s farmhouse by dusk.
After all that had happened, he was not prepared to see Dolores again. Now that they were back in touch, he had heard a note of forgiveness and hope over the phone, especially after she had shared the news about the Halloween parade. Still, he could not be sure what she might say or do in person. And certainly not how she might react to his two friends in tow.
Mitchell and Egon walked up the wheelchair ramp to the porch, and Theo took the stairs. Waiting for them at the front door stood Mrs. Mackintosh. He had forgotten about the Scottish next-door neighbor who often looked in on Dolores and helped her with the domestic chores. With a crook of her index finger, she bade them be quiet as they entered the house.
“The poor dear was up to high doh,” she said. “Now she’s dead tired from all the anticipation ever since you called to say you were coming. I tucked her into bed for a wee nap, and she’ll be cracking to see you after a spell.”
The travelers settled in the front parlor, and Mrs. Mackintosh went into the kitchen for the tea things. The house held memories of Kay in unexpected places. Dozens of framed photographs on the wall marking Kay’s childhood and a few more recent shots. Her father had been the photographer in the family, and it was clear that he had doted on her. Their only child. But the objects held an associate power, a reminder of the world from which she had come. The feel of the doorknob in his hand, the cones of lamplight on the corner tables, the cut-glass dish of hard candies centered on the coffee table. A roast in the oven reminded him of Sunday nights. On the mantel, a great clock ticked, an antique machine with painted oval portraits of Washington and Lincoln said to have once belonged to the latter’s son Robert, down at Hildene. The click of nails on the hardwood floors preceded the appearance of a great beast sauntering from the back rooms. Their old bluetick coonhound named Sal, a last connection to Kay’s father, recognized Theo at once with a look from her mournful brown eyes. Her tail spun in circles as she trotted to his side and buried her head in his lap, and when he reached down to greet her, she drank in the scent of him and rolled onto her back, begging for attention.
“Get on offa that,” Mrs. Mackintosh scolded the dog. She set down a pot of tea and the service, complete with a plate of shortbread, and the men fell to it, pushing aside the dog’s curious nose.
“I want you to know, Theo, just how sorry I am for your loss. Miss Kay was a fine young woman, much loved, and sorely missed.”
Theo looked up from the dog. “Missing, yes. But not yet gone.”
The smile melted from her face. “Dolores says as much. She has been going on about those puppets ever since they showed up on the telly, but I’m afraid there’ll be no good of it. You mustn’t get her hopes too high.”