I smelt fire.
Burning paper.
Flames and daises.
I woke up abruptly as the bitter scent of ashes reached my nose. My hand shot up to my eyes when I suddenly realized they were wet.
I looked around. Someone had lit a fire just a few feet away from me. The burnt paper and fast-wilting petals of the flowers around it were already melting into the same dirty brown color.
I frowned. Tom had always had a thing for fire, but I still couldn’t bring myself to tolerate his unexpected outbursts of insanity and impatience with the outside world. They usually led to open fires. I tried to ignore it and looked away decisively.
There was a light breeze in the air and I stretched with a lazy smile on my face as the July air moved almost unwillingly, playing with my hair and the grass beneath my body.
I could tell it was past midday already, by the way the shadow of the tree above had stretched over me. A single ray of orange sunlight had pierced the thick web of branches and fallen directly on my face. My lips opened slightly, embracing the warmth. I let my toes curl in contentment as it gushed over, warming my whole body and I took my time, opening my eyes.
Leaning against the trunk of the tree there was a rag doll, sitting with its eyes closed, head tilted slightly towards the direction of the wind. He didn’t seem to notice me for a while. I watched his body relax as he took a few deep breaths, smiled and then finally turned to look at me.
“Was it that bad then?” I asked.
Next to us the fire had almost gone out, but the smell remained. Pierrot looked at the pile of ashes and his eyebrows crossed uncomfortably. He hesitated.
“It could have been worse, I guess. He took it really bad, though.” He considered something and then went on. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him go that mad over an article. I think there’s something going on with him lately.”
“Well, I can’t say I really blame him, you know. We really blew it last time.” I tried to sound more positive. “But we’ll nail them tonight, right?”
I winked at him encouragingly. He laughed and shrugged without enthusiasm:
“Maybe.”
I lied down on the soft grass again enjoying the sun while it lasted. I knew we had to be on our way soon enough if we were going to keep up to our schedule. But I didn’t want to leave yet. It was warm here, bright, spacious. The air was fresh and the birds were singing. Breathing seemed easier. My heart beat freely and my mind was relaxed, floating with the clouds. My lips twisted slowly around the melody of a song I’d heard long ago, playing from an ill-tuned radio at a summer carnival we’d been to. I liked the strange edge my voice got when I sang it, the way it changed and whirled, sprinting from my parted lips. My fingers swayed to the rhythm and I dreamt again, of that summer, when things were simpler.
—
“John Jacob Jingleheimer-Schmidt, that’s my name too. Whenever we go out, the people always shout: There goes John Jacob Jingleheimer-Schmidt.”
That was Pierrot’s and my favorite song when we were on the road. It made us laugh and forget about the prison boxes we were always kept in. But today Thomas wasn’t in the mood to hear us sing, so he hit the lid with his fist as he drove the car.
“Shut up for a second, will you.”
He sounded impatient, irritated again. I looked at Pierrot with an uncomfortable smile on my face.
“Oooops.”
He laughed. He always found my weak jokes funny and said it was my expression that did it for him. He said I was a good actress. I still didn’t know if I should trust him on that one.
“You’re right, there really is something going on with him lately. Do you think it’s only because of the article? Because we’re not doing too good?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, but then again we’ve done badly before, right. He used to take it better; it didn’t bother him as much. I don’t think it’s that or he would have said something.”
I nodded, lost in my mind for a minute, trying to figure out how best to put it.
“You know, I was thinking… have you noticed how lately he… umm well, spends a lot of time alone and lights up fires all the time and looks at his tools more often and… “
“… is always thoughtful and looks like he’s concentrating hard on something invisible trying to make it appear out of thin air?” Pierrot finished my sentence.
I nodded.
“Yeah, exactly.”
There was a short, nervous silence.
“I wouldn’t worry about it, Jez” he said with a half smile on his strained face.
He looked worried and I imagine that my own expression wasn’t much more composed.
“I… Well, I just thought that he usually looks like that when… you know, when he’s working on something new.”
“I doubt it” he said curtly and then added with a softer voice “Like I said, I wouldn’t worry about it.”
His half smile appeared again and again failed to convince me.
I wondered if Thomas really intended to make a new rag doll. He surely didn’t need one. The play we performed already had enough characters as it was.
Would he change it?
I doubted that. He wasn’t all that creative when it came to words and writing.
And there was of course that other possibility, but I didn’t want to think about that right now.
I turned back to Pierrot. His face was so bright that I could easily make out all of his features even in the darkness of the box we were in. It was like something radiated from him, like he was both the sun and the moon at the same time. I liked it when, at long trips, Thomas decided to put us under the same lid, so that we could keep each other company. I was never as lonely in the box, with him inside it. Never as sad.
We stood like that for a while, smiling at each other in the darkness and then he picked up the old tune quietly, so that Tom wouldn’t hear from behind the wheel.
“John Jacob Jingleheimer-Schmidt, that’s my name too, whenever we go out the people always shout…”
“… there goes John Jacob Jingleheimer-Schmidt” I finished and both our voices melted into the: “La la la la la la la…” with a jolly laughter.
We traveled for a long time. I don’t know exactly how long since I have no watch, but when we finally got there my limbs were stiff from sitting in the same attitude for so long and it was dark outside. I suppose Tom thought that the longer the drive the bigger was possibility we’d finally arrive at a place where people hadn’t read that ominous article at the newspaper today:
“Thomas Colt’s recently turned famous rag dolls playing “Cinder bride” proved to be a real disappointment. Not even the fascinating rag dolls could make up for the weak dialogue and uninspired performance” – Pierrot had quoted for me. I supposed that would be enough to put Tom in a bad mood, but he seemed to have collected himself as we prepared for the show tonight. He bit his lips and squinted as I looked at him as if the stars suddenly blinded him and he had to look away. It was weird of him acting this way. Unnatural. I decided not to pay attention to it and forced a smile.
“That’s my girl” he encouraged and my heart skipped a beat as his soft, velvet, hoarse from the cigars voice embraced me. My smile widened and I felt I could fly. It was stupid to worry. What would he need another rag doll for? No, it was all well, I assured myself, laughing at my unreasonable fears. Maybe this really was all about the stupid column. It would pass soon enough, I thought and walked up on the stage more sparkling than ever. When the time came for the curtains to be drawn, we bowed under a wave of applause that ought to have made up for every disapproving word anyone had ever said about us. As we were getting ready to leave someone brought me flowers and congratulated me on my performance. Tom winked at me behind his shoulder and hugged me tightly on the way to the car. The night was warm, the air sliding through the open windows- fresh and fragrant with the smell of wild berries and distant, cold streams. That night we all sang along with the radio, blasting in the small car. Then, we fell asleep under the sound of the light, summer rain.
It seemed like not even a single atom was out of its place in the whole universe. Like I said, nothing to worry about.
—
Next morning, at the break of down, we stopped in front of an old lawn full of weeds and untrimmed bushes. He rented an old bungalow just out side of the nearby town and unpacked all of his luggage in the single room of the archaic building. I couldn’t stop fidgeting while he arranged the table. His face was frantic as he looked at his burin and his nippers. He had pulled out all five types of scissors and a whole box full of different needles.
It didn’t take long for me to realize I was wrong. It wasn’t going to pass at all. It only got stronger and more visible as the weeks went by. As if whatever was bothering him was sinking its teeth deeper into his skin, spilling venom through his veins and to his heart. He started acting weird. His days turned into a series of silent trances forming one mad, introverted existence. He would spent days just sitting in his improvised workshop staring at the fire or at his tools. Thinking. Smoking non-stop. The room was always full of smoke lately. Either from the suffocating heat coming from the mantle-piece or from the end of his burning cigar. At the beginning I tried not to think about it. Yeah, like I could do anything anyway. Like any of us could help. Pierrot tried to talk to him once. Poor, innocent, kind Pierrot. I doubt if Tom even heard him. I doubted he’d ever listen to him or any of us at all. So we waited, patient in our boxes, for his mood to finally change.
Some days he yelled at us for no reason, others- he wouldn’t do so much as mutter a single word every now and then. And then, there were the days when he went out. He left for hours at e time, always returning with big packages that stood unopened in the corner of the room, as if he was afraid they’d attract too much attention to themselves.
Days stretched and mingled into sleepless nights. What was before a week now seemed like a month and a month to us equaled an eternity. It was as if the sun didn’t want to set in the ground, as if the moon took too long to hide behind the clouds at dawn. Some mornings I wondered if dawn was coming at all. It felt like the night had taken so long that the sun had missed its turn to shine today.
And then, just as we wondered how much longer could he keep on living like this, surviving on cigars, no food, no sleep and the little money we’d made at our last show, while constantly spending more and more on those mysterious boxes and paper-wrapped packages, he muttered between two pulls from his smoke:
“We have a show tomorrow night” and fell silent again as if nothing had happened.
The rag dolls around me started to whisper quietly between themselves. What did this mean? Had he gone back to normal? Would we start traveling again? And most importantly- was he making another rag doll? The others thought not. They were certain it would be useless, that he didn’t need one. That whatever troubles we had we could go through them without a new addition. I knew better.
Early next morning he started getting ready. Our costumes needed to be cleaned, we had to wash our hairs and our faces, clean ourselves from the smell of smoke in the bungalow. Some wanted to practice their lines again. I knew mine by heart already.
I looked at Tom as he walked around all day, working though his mind was obviously still somewhere else. His footsteps were light on the floor, already barely audible. His face was a pale shade of grey and there were big circles around his eyes. There was no spark left in him, it seemed like he was slowly disappearing into a cloud of despair I couldn’t understand.
Time came that we should get ready to leave.
I looked at my dress with a deep frown on my face as something sharp pinned itself at my heart like the sting of a merciless bee.
A bridal dress. And yet I didn’t feel like a bride. I felt neither happy, nor pretty. He looked at me judgingly from head to toe until finally he focused on my face and forced a tired, unconvincing smile.
“You’re beautiful” he told me. But his eyes were not impressed. The callous bee stung deeper into my heart.
“You’re my favorite” he said. But as much as I wanted to believe him I couldn’t. The more I craved for the relief to flow over my body, the stronger I shivered, the harder it was to blink with the tears in my eyes. The tighter I pressed my lips so that I wouldn’t scream out the panic that built up in my throat.
His touch was cold as he picked me up gently and took me to the car. I curled in a ball in his hands to fell some warmth, but he was too cool, like lying in a bed of ice-cubes. I tried to remember if he’d been like that before. I tried to think back to when he had last touched me to convince my self that I wasn’t just imagining his softness. I tried to convince myself that there had been indeed some sunny glow in him that was now gone, that I wasn’t mourning an imaginary loss. But remembering only made the contrast stronger, so I just closed my eyes and started reciting my lines as a diversion. It worked and soon enough I was in the box again, the lid- carefully closed over my head, the sound of the engine buzzing in my ears.
The night was dark and silent. We stopped at a narrow street with no public lighting; the loudest sound came from the low vibrating of the wings of a cricket in the distance. Tom took us in one by one. I could hear the door slap behind him every time, the rumbling gravel beneath the heels of his shoes. When my turn came I peeped curiously from under the lid. The street was empty- I hoped that meant that all the people were inside already. On the brick wall, on the right from the entrance gate there was a single, faded poster of all of us, sitting on a dusty stage with mysterious grins stretched over our faces. It was a poor resemblance, but it was all we could afford after Tom had bought the costumes. The copy was old and faded- we only had a few of them and we’d already given our best to the bigger theaters at Nice. Not that that had made any difference there. We never managed to impress the pretentious crowds that always seemed to be a step ahead of us no matter what we did.
I wondered where we were now and whether the audience here would like us.
Just as it looked from the outside, the theatre hall was very small. The stage had obviously seen too little performances in its time… or way too many, depending on the way you would look at it. It was old and half- broken. The walls were lit by about two dozens of candles. I tried to remember the last time we’d been to a theatre where they still used candles. It must have been a decade now. I amused myself for a while by guessing weather they were old- fashioned or just old. Or maybe both. The thought brought a hopeful smile on my face- old people were nicer, less arrogant- they wouldn’t boo or throw bad fruit at us. Maybe this wouldn’t be so catastrophic after all.
Wrong again.
As I shot a quick glance through the curtains I saw that the dark saloon was full. Apparently they really were all of them gathered here. In any other town this would be incredibly good news, but here it just meant they’ d be a lot more critical since we were obviously the only amusement available in a radius of… well, more miles than I could count I’m sure.
I looked at Pierrot. He tried to smile, but the corners of his mouth barely twitched. Beside him sat Nathaniel- our grumpy priest… still grumpy as usual and fidgeting behind me were the twins Jenny and Jules- the jujus. They played the ugly sisters, a part I considered extremely unsuitable for them. I mean, it’s not like they were actually pretty or anything, but every time I looked at them all I saw was the mischievous spark in their eyes and their childish giggles. I rolled my eyes impatiently as they poked at their ribs and shrieked fascinated by their improvised game behind my back. Their mother Velma threw them a stern look and they quieted down with merry smirks on their pale, similar faces.
I turned around. Tom had just appeared from an office room across from me and sat on chair from where he could watch the play, hidden behind the curtains. He gave a short nod to an old man with weary eyes who pulled a rope to unveil us to the audience.
The candlelight was weak- it hardly reached my skin, but it made me feel better somehow, safer. I kept glancing back at Tom every few minutes. He had lit a cigarette despite the warnings of the proprietor and he lifted it to his lips every half a minute or so, as if he didn’t even realize the movement. His gaze was fixed in the ground a few feet away from him. I thought he looked like someone searching for something. His somewhat tensed posture hardly changed all through the evening. Towards the end he lifted his eyes and started moving them slowly from face to face around the audience. Something was very wrong and it made me nervous.
I was sweating. Unnatural for me, but it happened. And I forgot my line. I forgot the words- either that or a part of me just didn’t want to say them anymore.
“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Do I?
The audience was eager for a confirmation. I could almost see their lips whispering:” ”Say it!” A confirmation at the price of anything. They didn’t care if I meant it as long as I kept to the script and gave them their happy ending.
I turned to Tom again to see if he was looking at me. I needed to know whether making the sacrifice of saying a fake vow for the hundredth was worth while. That he appreciated it.
He was still glaring at the people. His eyes were moving quickly as if searching for an old friend. Dissecting the audience with an unblinking gaze. All the sudden it felt like all the air sprung out of my lungs and tightened around my throat… He used to look at me like that. As if we had a secret, no one else knew. As if I was a mystery he was trying to uncover. Now, he was looking away. Searching for an inspiration; boredom soaked in his tensed movements and pouring out of his heavy eyelids. The smoke from his cigar choked me from across the room.
It was magic that he hoped to find somewhere in the dark saloon. A new mystery was waiting to be found in one of those unfamiliar faces. I swallowed with difficulty. He was searching for adventure, passion, new secrets to share. Another rag doll.
”Jez.””
A better rag doll.
”Jez.””
A bride.
”Jez!?””
A new me.
”Jezerel!””
I turned around to Pierrot and closed my eyes so he wouldn’t see the tears. The people were still waiting for their confirmation.
”Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?””
Pierre’s eyes were concerned; his sweet, innocent face- curled up in confusion. A rag doll in a black costume. It was nice of him to care and I forced a smile.
”I do.””
I didn’t mean it, but what did it matter, anyway?
The curtain fell over a wave of applause that crushed me to the ground. I tried to brush my eyes, but my hand was still in his and he wouldn’t let go.
”What happened?””
I looked at him- he reminded me of warm milk and honey with eyes, sparkling like merry Christmas lights. My hesitation lasted only a second.
”He’s going to replace me.””
It took him a second to realize what I meant. Then he just frowned with disbelief and a certain amount of shock. I suppose he wanted to look enraged, but it didn’t look natural on his sweet face. When I focused harder on his features I spotted the well conceived marks of pretending. He was a good actor, but not so much that I wouldn’t see- he had expected this all along, but still he clenched his fists, popped his eyeball as far as he could and flared his nostrils in a funny way, all for my benefit.
“”No. Jez!”
My name was barely a whisper from his lips, but in the silence that’d blocked my ears it was all I could hear.
Behind us the proprietor was bombarding Tom with compliments hoping to drag an answer out of him. It wasn’t going to happen any time soon, obviously.
“Great show, Tom. Same thing next week, huh?”
I turned around and saw Tom award him with a lazy nod without even looking up from the ground.
“Tom, are you OK?”
He lifted his gaze slowly and disorientated as if just waking up from a dream. A smile lit his face and he responded with anxiety I’d never before heard in his voice.
“Sure thing, mate. I’ll even have a surprise for you.”
To be continued… 
