The Curfew (15 page)

Molly and William are asleep. The window to the street is open. There is a gunshot. They sleep on. Time passes. They wake. Molly dresses. The two go out.

William walks Molly along the street. The theater seems actually to be paved with stone. Each stone so heavy ten workmen couldn’t lift it. He says goodbye to her at the school and goes and sits in the park. He is sitting there the entire day, staring into the water. There are figures in the water, but he cannot see them. He can only sense them. It is the same at the cemetery with all the bodies in the earth. One can feel them, but not see them. It is not that they are ghosts. It is not that impression. Simply that the centers of so many worlds rest in one another’s context.

William fetches Molly from school. They return to the park. He reads to her from the newspaper. He tells her a story from his childhood. He says:

—There was a very old very rich man who said that anyone who could do what he had done would earn his entire fortune.

*What did the person have to do?

—The bet was for children only. The child would have to run away from home, leave for a distant city, make it there alive, free all the animals from the zoo, evade pursuit, and return to its home. That was the first of the tasks. There were eight in all.

*Which was the hardest one?

—Learn to actually sleep with one eye open.

*And actually be seeing from the eye, or …?

—Well, otherwise it’s worthless.

*I see. Did anyone actually do it?

—I think one kid got seven of them done. But he was grown up by then, so he forfeited the prize.

*Is the contest still open?

—I would imagine so. But don’t run away, now. You’re much too young. Just practice the sleeping with one eye open. If you can get that one, the others should follow.

Molly stands up.

*Shall we?

—Yes, let’s.

They thread a path in a homeward direction, he murmuring, she gesturing, he peering at her hands in the dim evening.

There are puppets running wildly across the stage dressed as mimes. They are shot to death by other puppets who stand over them shooting and shooting down and a great ring of smoke billows out into the audience.

Molly and William are on the other side of the stage, standing very still.

The smoke billows out. When it draws back, the stage is empty once more but for William and Molly.

Molly tugs on William’s sleeve.

*Do you think that the world can be saved?

—The world saved?

William smiles.

—From what?

*Those people. That, and, and Mother dying.

—That is part of our world, and can’t be changed. I don’t know that I would want to live in a world where things had become better, but your mother was gone. She always dreamed about that place, and I don’t think I could go there without her.

Molly looks at her feet. Then she looks out into the audience. She appears to be looking right at them, one by one.

William draws in a deep breath. He continues.

—But, for you, I want it to change. One day you will be the only one of us three remaining, and then the world that includes us will be inside of you and nowhere else.

It is getting late in the evening. William tells Molly that he has to leave the house. He can’t really explain why. She tries to get him to, but he won’t. He has put on clothes that he rarely wears, clothes he used to wear. He looks extremely nervous. All this worries Molly immensely.

*But isn’t it dangerous? We never go out this late. Oh, don’t go. Don’t go.

—You mustn’t worry. I am the last of the great musicians.

(Does a flourish before the audience and bows.)

—All the rest have died. The government knows that. They can’t harm or kill me. It would mean the end for them. Although I have not performed now in years, people know me and what I stand for. Overnight, the people would rise up. Were I to die, the revolution would rise like a second sun and everything would be burned away. The police would never take me. They know what would happen. They’re too afraid. That’s why they didn’t kill us when they, when they killed your mother.

Molly blinks and holds the side of her dress very tight. She has always known how important her family is.

Nonetheless, she feels very proud right then and stands extremely straight.

*I am still worried, she says with her hands.

She follows him to the door. He opens it. Deep in the theater, through the door, the hallway can be seen and a door beyond. William is standing in front of that door and knocking. The wind blows the curtain of the room that Molly is standing in. She feels that she can hear a record player and a single violin, although she herself has never heard a violin, has never even seen a record player.

Now the stage is the hallway, and the door is opening. Molly comes onto the stage, beside her father. Her tail is twitching back and forth. She looks extremely small. Her father puts his arm around her. Mrs. Gibbons is on the other side of the door. Mrs. Gibbons welcomes Molly into her home. Mr. Gibbons is there also. They are an extremely kind old couple. Anyone can see that. Their house is warm and comfortable in a way that is impossible these days. It is a holdover from another time and when it disappears, even the knowledge of it will be gone.

Mrs. Gibbons is speaking to William:

—I will do this for you, said Mrs. Gibbons. You are a good father and I will do this for you and your daughter because she is very wonderful, a very wonderful young woman and I am always glad to have her here. There is always a place here in the house for a wonderful young woman who goes around with the name of Molly. But you must be careful, Mr. Drysdale, if you are going out at night, because I will tell you that Mr. Gibbons, who has just come home now this very moment, he told me that he saw a man dead not four streets over, and right in a crowd. So, you have a care.

—Is that really how I speak? Mrs. Gibbons asks Molly.

They are still beside each other in the first row.

Molly nods.

Onstage, the mouse stamps her foot.

*Be careful, she says to her father.

—Here is a key, says William, so you can put her to bed.

Mrs. Gibbons nods and closes the door. William is on the other side. He is now gone from the room. His footsteps can be heard and then they cannot.

Now Mr. Gibbons is welcoming Molly deeper into the apartment. He shows her the puppet theater, which is reproduced exactly, and is fully functional. He shows her all his materials, all his tools. He explains to her the rules of puppetry. They sit together plotting. Mrs. Gibbons brings a tray of food, which Molly devours.

In the room, Mrs. Gibbons has fallen asleep again. Molly is watching the stage desperately.

The play is drawing to a close. The little mouse is furiously writing. She is composing the play even as it occurs. Mr. Gibbons, bowed down with old feathers, is altering the puppets, is drawing the faces. He is painting the scenery. Everything is being prepared backwards, as his plan makes clear.

Mrs. Gibbons appears through a door. She sets the chairs in order. Molly is oblivious, writing at furious speed. One by one Mrs. Gibbons brings in the life-size puppets and sets them on the chairs. She dims the light. The last page of text goes to Mr. Gibbons, who settles himself behind the theater. Molly looks around. She takes a deep breath.

A LADDER OF RAIN AND THE ROOF BEYOND

And the play begins. But Molly is too worried about her father to pay attention. Her tail curls uncomfortably about her chair. Her ears twitch. She stands up and sits down. She notes the light growing in the cracks of the windows. She feels the puppets are mocking her. It is all confusing and she can’t keep anything straight. Where is her father? Why isn’t he back?

Finally it is too much. She jumps up and runs out of the room. She leaves the apartment, running down the stairs out into the street. It is early morning and the light is very bright. The stone buildings are so actual that they hurt her. The trees don’t move. Everything is in her way. She runs through the trees and through the streets, searching for anything, any clue. Where is he? Where has he gone?

She makes her way down a long boulevard, and an old woman, out early with a broom, calls to her. She runs on instead.

A young man sees her from a window. He calls to her, too.

Down the boulevard she goes, and reaches the lake. There in the park, a paper is fluttering. She grabs at it. She gets it in her hands. It is the work of the conspirators, the plotters, even she can tell that, hand-pressed on contraband machines. She snatches at it even as she holds it and tries to read the faintly pressed letters.

THE VIOLINIST WILLIAM DRYSDALE HAS BEEN FOULLY MURDERED IN THE STREET BY THE FORCES OF THE GOVERNMENT + +

She falls to the ground. She is clutching at the sheet. She doesn’t know what to do with it. Can she not see him? Not even once? Has it happened? Is she alone?

*He is dead. He is dead.

All around her there is singing in the streets. That’s what it sounded like, like singing, but it is the playing of a violin. The sound rises up and trembles the buildings, runs through the streets. It reaches her and sweeps her along with it. It is all over. There is nothing left.

Her hands were on her coat, they were shaking and tugging. Her face was in them and then out. She saw the street and the rutted gardens, the rows of houses, the rising light. She was shouting and she was by the ground. Her hands were on it. Through the trees she could see the lake and upon it, all as before, always as before.

And the mouse took her own life.

The veiled jester comes out onto the stage. Everyone in the room is asleep.

—Molly, he says. Molly.

He is holding a long bone, and there are directions carved into its length.

FIN

HERE ACKNOWLEDGE:

Thordis, Alda, Nora, Nutmeg, Salazar Larus, Nun, Klara
.

Jenny Jackson, Kate Runde, & all at Vintage
.

Billy Kingsland, David Kuhn, & Kuhn Projects
.