The Puppet Maker's Bones (15 page)

Pavel did not know what to make of this. How would this man know anything about Pavel?

“An escaped puppet, finding its way home?” Pavel asked. He realized what he said sounded awkward and weird. The actor studied Pavel.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My father, Prochazka, said that the scars were where they cut off my strings. That I was an escaped puppet that finally found my way home to the theatre.”

“Ah! What a wonderful story your father made for you. He must have loved you very much. How old were you?

“Seven.”

“He used this story to take away the hurt, the curiosity—”

“The story came to be true. Our whole family became a type of escaped puppet, I suppose.” said Pavel.

“You do know the truth, however?” Robert asked with concern.

Pavel stared at Mr. Lamb and shook his head, as if confused. The years of madness and the use of mind-altering herbs were not so long ago for Pavel that he did not still suffer a certain amount of periodic memory loss. McGovern’s visits had been a comfort and companionship, but in the decades of grief following the death of his parents, Pavel’s herbal experiments had done a certain amount of damage. McGovern had the frustrating task of reminding Pavel of his reality, though Pavel would turn around and forget much of their conversation by the time their next visit occurred. McGovern told Pavel his mind would heal in time, but Pavel needed constant and vigilant reminders. Together they developed a few tools for Pavel to use to shake himself into reality. Pavel rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, and took a deep breath in an attempt to ground himself.

“My dear man, are you quite mad?” asked Lamb.

“Perhaps. A little. So people tell me. Some also say I’m quite immature.” Pavel seemed to feel quite comfortable talking to his new acquaintance. “Don’t you find yourself a little mad at times? Aren’t you very old? Like I am?”

“My good Mr. Trusnik, I would not be the actor I am without being a raving lunatic. And as to the subject of my age—an actor never reveals his age. Otherwise he may never get to play Hamlet. Or Romeo.” His laugh was rich, and Pavel laughed with him.

***

Several hours had passed since Robert Lamb crossed the threshold of the puppet theatre workshop. Robert and Pavel sat together at the table, two empty wine bottles between them. The two men were well into their third shared bottle. The actor Andrej Cerny entered and appeared genuinely surprised when he saw the two men. He regarded Robert with a strange expression, as if he did not trust his eyes.

“Andrej Cerny! Meet Robert Lamb, our visiting guest actor from America, by way of London and most recently, Germany,” said Pavel.

Mr. Cerny approached the two men with a flabbergasted look on his face.

“I know who you are, Mr. Lamb. I had the great pleasure of seeing you in a performance of
Titus Andronicus
while traveling in Germany with my parents as a boy. I found you to be…”

“Breathtaking?” asked Robert, bursting into laughter. “Not a very happy play for a child, I must say.”

“Indeed, but it is one of the reasons I stand before you today,” said Cerny.

“Ah, caught the proverbial disease, did you?”

Cerny made a sweeping gesture with his hand up into the air as he bowed to Robert.

“Indeed. And I was going to say that I thought your performance to be chilling. It is a great honor to meet you.” Andrej Cerny sat at the table. He appeared to be studying Robert’s face.

“You look confused,” said Pavel.

“Well, I must say I am, a bit. Why would a celebrated actor come to our little theatre in the middle of nowhere? And how do you know each other? Pavel you are keeping great secrets from us.”

Robert poured Cerny a glass of wine.

“Don’t worry,” said Robert. “I am not here to steal your roles — though I must say I will put up quite a decent fight over the role of Othello when you mount that play next.”

“I would not dream of playing that role in your stead. There is always the great villain Iago to play, whom I would throw myself into with complete abandon.”

“Ah, Iago. One of our greatest villains,” mused Robert.

The three men raised their glasses.

“How
do
you know each other?” asked Cerny.

Pavel took a drink from his glass and responded, “We don’t. We only met today!” Robert Lamb snorted.

“I don’t understand,” said Cerny.

Pavel waved his hand in dismissal.

“Mr. Robert Lamb is to be our guest artist for a bit. As long as he will have us, I think. He’ll be staying in the main house,” Pavel explained, as Robert protested and rose from the table.

“No, I insist,” said Pavel. Robert returned to his seat.

“Well, it is indeed an honor. I must say, Mr. Lamb, you are much younger in appearance than I assumed you would be,” said Cerny. The actor had the same odd expression on his face that he had upon seeing Robert Lamb for the first time, part disbelief, part fear.

“Yes, well, the art of theatre makeup is a kind of magic, is it not? I do believe I could still play the ingénue!” He laughed again.

“I was but a child when I first saw you. That must have been over twenty years ago.”

“Shush, young man, you are on the very precipice of revealing your
own
age, which an actor
never
does,” warned Robert.

Cerny continued to stare at Robert Lamb as if he was seeing a ghost. Pavel was aware of Cerny’s scrutiny of his new guest.

Pavel stood. “I think I better show our new friend to his lodgings. He has travelled a long way, and I’m sure is quite tired.”

“Yes, I admit between the travel and the wine, I am quite ready to sleep,” said Robert. “Andrej, I am looking forward to our first rehearsal together!”

Andrej bowed again, still looking confused.

“Don’t worry, Andrej,” Pavel said. “You are still our lead resident actor.”

The information did not serve to change the look of confusion on the young actor’s face.

“Is something wrong, Andrej?”

“No. It is that… I truly thought he would be much, much older. It can’t be possible.”

Pavel reassured him. “Well, you were mistaken. Not hard—you know the biographies they give the actors are filled with nonsense. You should know that. You wrote your own!” Pavel laughed.

“Yes, of course. You are right about that. Good night to you, gentlemen!” Andrej drained his glass of wine and left the workshop. The two men exchanged glances as he exited.

“It is unfortunate to be one of us and to be recognizable,” said Robert. “But an actor must find his stage.”

“You look sad,” said Pavel.

“I am. But no matter. Your young Andrej Cerny will forget about me in no time.”

“How will he do that?”

Robert got up from the table and began a stately walk around the room.

“Oh, I believe he will be made an offer by another theatre that will be impossible to refuse. You will need to find yourself another actor like him.”

“That should not be hard as there are always more actors than theatres. But how—?”

Robert interrupted Pavel and waved his arm theatrically to indicate the room. “You know what puzzles me, Mr. Trusnik. How on earth have you managed to remain in the same place for such a long time, without drawing attention to yourself? And in a theatre, no less?”

Pavel considered his answer. “I keep to myself, I suppose. I work behind the puppets, not in front of them. People in the theatre are transient. No one remains for any length of time. And in the town? I am not much to look at. I guess I blend in with everyone else.”

Robert raised his hand and made a flourishing motion to indicate his approval. “A trait I think you have rehearsed to perfection.”

“A little perhaps. I have had no desire to leave.”

Robert, a little tipsy, raised his glass again. “You give me a bit of hope, Pavel. Well, that is sort of our job, isn’t it?” Robert winked at him.

Pavel raised his own glass. “Hope? In what?”

“That settling down is possible. I am getting so very tired,” said Robert.

“Mr. Cerny has recognized you and will have more questions.”

“I believe you and I do business with the same firm. Mr. Trope, yes? They do very good work at protecting the interests of people like you and me. I believe they will be able to address the matter of the confused Andrej Cerny.”

“I often wonder. Are there so very many of us?”

Robert paused before answering. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t that be dreadful?”

The two drunk men walked arm and arm out the door, down the alley and around the backside of the building to the entrance of the main house where Robert Lamb, Cheidu to his family and close friends, would be setting up residence.

Robert Lamb, the man who Pavel would also come to refer to as “Cheidu” was about to become Pavel’s very first friend, in one hundred seventy years.

“You can sleep here.” Pavel showed Robert to his new room, stumbling a little from the effects of the wine.

“Are you sure I’m not putting you out of hearth and home?”

“Not at all. You’ll see me in here plenty. We eat here, though sometimes I eat in the workshop if I’m very busy. I sleep in the workshop. I always have.”

“I do hope you have refilled the mattress a few times over the past, what, one hundred fifty years?”

The only person who knew Pavel’s actual age, was Leonard Trope. He chose to confide in his new friend.

“One hundred seventy. And you?”

“As I said, my dear, an actor never reveals his age.” Robert made a show with a flamboyant bow to Pavel, who felt a little betrayed that Robert had not shared the same confidence with him.

Pavel put more wood in the stove to heat the stew that had been simmering in a pot since morning. He arranged the table while Robert was in the other room putting away his few belongings. Robert returned and surveyed the table.

“A gorgeous meal for two!” said Robert. Pavel raised an eyebrow. “Oh, don’t look like that. You are far too old for me, nor do you match in any way the physical ideal that I adore.”

Pavel invited Robert to sit. “I was not worried about that,” said Pavel “But thank you for your honesty.”

“Well, we already share one terrible, deep dark secret, I feel we should be honest. Though I suppose you could tell. About me.”

“I would not accuse you of being subtle,” said Pavel, smiling. “Or maybe being in a theatre for over one hundred fifty years gives someone like me a certain insight.”

“You obviously are not uncomfortable in the company of a homosexual actor, then?”

“Is there a reason that I should? Some new information? You are as you are.” Pavel shrugged. “I have watched so many people come through the theatre over the past decades. Everyone has a stripe of their own—some unique tick or idiosyncrasy or proclivity or addiction or
something
.” Pavel liked to sit and have a simple conversation with another man. He had not had a conversation like this since he was much younger, and had long talks with his father, Prochazka. He felt comfortable, content. Pavel’s visits from McGovern had been brief, civil, but nothing of much substance was discussed, despite all effort on Pavel’s part to have more in-depth discourse. He always felt that McGovern was fulfilling an obligation to Trope & Co., rather than visiting Pavel out of any affection that he might have for him.

“Have you ever been in love?” asked Pavel.

Robert’s eyes widened, alarmed.

“You know that is not possible for us. Are you saying you have?” asked Robert with concern. “You have never
acted
upon that desire in any of the houses for that sort of thing, I hope. Please say you have not?”

Pavel shook his head and talked while eating his stew. “No. I am, however, familiar with the female form. Many of the costume fittings are in the workshop and the few actresses who have graced us with their talents have not been shy about changing their costumes in front of the puppet maker.”

“My word. How very modern of them,” said Robert, clutching both hands to his heart in mock surprise.

“I don’t think I stand out very much,” Pavel had never given it much thought, but the actors did seem to behave as if he was not in the room.

Robert sat back and studied Pavel. “You are not much to look at,” he said.

Pavel smirked. “It has been a blessing that I am not. No one notices the plain puppet maker in the workshop who has never left. On stage, I am nothing more than a voice behind a puppet.”

Robert got up from his seat and stretched his arms above his head and walked around the small space that would be his temporary residence. He picked up objects and put them back down, perused a stack of books on a table, touched the fabric on one of the chairs. He eyed the walls where a few paintings hung that Pavel had acquired over time.

“You never travelled? Got the wanderlust to see the world?”

“No. I read books.” Pavel indicated the stack of books Robert had examined.

“I look at the pictures and drawings. I acquire art. I use the library at Mr. Trope’s office—he has quite a collection of books. You did say you are familiar with Mr. Trope—did you see him when you arrived here?” Pavel asked.

“Indeed I did,” said Robert.

“You were in Trope’s offices in America?” Pavel asked.

“Indeed I was. They were most helpful after a rather awful situation I found myself in.” Robert’s expression grew serious.

So McGovern was telling the truth when he said he and Peters were traveling to New York to work in one of the other offices.

“I had heard they had offices there. I suppose I did not believe they existed.”

Robert studied Pavel, again, his expression changing from concern to alarm. “I think perhaps you may have been a bit too sheltered for one of our kind, my dear.”

Pavel shrugged. “I study. I have even managed to learn a few words of some of the different languages.”

“So, in addition to being rather plain to look at, you are a rather boring fellow as well,” said Robert.

“I suppose I am. But I am comfortable,” Pavel answered. He changed the subject. “May I ask about your scars?”

“Which ones?”

“I’m sorry. The ones across your back are horrible. Did they happen in your country?”