Elizabeth Hand - Winterlong

Toby raised his head and waved at me impatiently. “It’s about damn time, Aidan! The stupid girl’s brought the wrong costume for Caliban.”

Justice laughed, steadying me as I swung the hamper back onto my shoulder. “Maybe one of Rufus Lynx’s people can help us find something,” he said as Toby stormed after the giggling Mehitabel. We ran the last few steps down the hillside and dropped the hampers onto the grass. “There’s still a little time.”

Gitana adjusted her spectacles and glared at him. “You distracted her, Justice. Toby is very upset.”

From behind a papier-măchè column came a shriek, followed by the soft report of a slap. The column toppled to reveal Toby and Mehitabel, the girl’s face streaked with tears, Toby rubbing his cheek ruefully.

“I suppose Aidan can improvise a costume,” said Toby, striding over to join Justice and me. Gitana glared at him, then stalked off to take Mehitabel by the hand and lead her up the hill. Toby watched them go, relieved.

The girls sauntered out of sight. On the hilltop Miss Scarlet and Jane perched on the edge of the pantechnicon, talking animatedly with a half-dozen Zoologists. Most of the Curators had wandered into the twilight, flanked by Paphians in feathered masks and beaks of gilt paper in honor of the evening’s theme, A Masque of Owls. Stars pricked through the deepening sky. In the distance I could hear faint music.

“There’s a dinner first,” said Toby. “Let it be noted that as usual we have been asked to sup with our hosts after the play.” He stooped to retrieve a scarf blown from its hamper. “These damn Curators must think we perform better on an empty stomach. Ah, well. Come on, Caliban, let’s figure out how you’ll be dressed tonight. Did Miss Scarlet get her nap?”

To the strains of music piping down from the masque we readied the little stage. I stayed close to Justice, offering to help him with his lines. He refused, but seemed glad enough of my company. When the attention of the others had turned to preparing a smokepot for one of my entrances he drew me behind a tree.

“Did you mean what you said before, Wendy?” he asked. “When you said you wished I’d come with you?”

“Yes.” I took his face in my hands and tilted it to the glowing torchlight. I stared at him a moment and then kissed him without biting (though I wanted to) and without trying to read his desires. They were apparent enough.

“None of that,” Fabian snapped as he crossed upstage with an armful of props.’ “Haven’t you got your costume yet, Caliban?” He prodded me with the blunted edge of a sword. I pushed Justice away and stumbled behind the gingko as though searching for something; but not before I saw Fabian wink at Justice, and Justice himself turn to stare after me in delight.

Gitana and Mehitabel returned soon, having left the feasting early. Mehitabel looked flushed and happy, owing no doubt to the contents of a silver decanter she pulled from beneath her skirts. In a tiny space made by stringing several sheets between gingko trees Miss Scarlet rested on a stack of heavy pillows, finally getting her nap. Her soft snores mingled with the creaks of crickets and the occasional whoop that echoed down from the Regent’s birthday dinner.

An hour or so later the Zoologists and their Paphian guests began to straggle down into the amphitheater. Impossible to recognize the Paphians behind their elaborate headdresses and glittering dominos, although they made mocking bows to us, gloved fingers raised to masked faces. One seemed particularly glad to see Mehitabel peeking coyly from behind a tree ablaze with white candles. The older Zoologist children pranced down the slope, carrying torches and globes of ignis flora for their elders, many of whom had by now succumbed to either lust or drink. They leaned heavily upon the arms of their Paphian escorts, or called boisterously to one another, mimicking the bleats and yelps of their animal charges and inspiring the Zoo’s unseen inhabitants to respond vigorously from their prisons in the surrounding trees. I spotted the young girl who had been chosen to present the ceremonial lynx to the Regent. Wearing a dove-gray robe and arching headdress of emerald plumage she chattered happily at Rufus Lynx’s side. It seemed the actual lynx would not be appearing tonight. The festivities would continue with our play.

Behind the curtains that designated “backstage” the Players gathered their props. Miss Scarlet rose from her nap. I assisted her into a gown, groomed her to assuage her stage fright, and shook out Miranda’s blond beribboned wig.

“But where is your Caliban costume, Wendy?” she asked. “You can’t double in that —”

She pointed at the white shift spangled with silver spiderwebs that I wore as Ariel.

I reached beneath an overturned basket and withdrew a torn crimson tunic, the one Fabian had been wearing when we had our cheerful backstage scuffle. I slipped it over Ariel’s costume and rubbed my face with dirt. I mussed my hair and stuck a few dead leaves behind my ears for good measure.

“There,” I announced, leering at Miss Scarlet and shambling to her side. “Caliban: the Gaping One himself.”

Miss Scarlet shook her head. She tapped her foot, bent to flick a twig from the sole of her high-buttoned boot, and looked up at me with clouded eyes.

She said, “Wendy, you can’t go on like that. There’s a houseful of Paphians out there: you’ll cause a riot. This is not a good idea.”

“Too late: it’s the only one I’ve got.” From the slopes of the amphitheater rang a chorus of bleary voices singing “The Saint-Alaban’s Song.” If we didn’t start soon the audience would be too unruly to play to. I shut my eyes, summoned the image of the Boy until His surge of imprisoned rage flooded me, helping me focus my impression of Caliban. That metallic tang in the back of my throat; a twinge of fire behind my eyes. Breathing deeply, I pushed back the shadowy figure groping through the darkness for me. I turned to bow to Miss Scarlet. Before she could warn me again I pulled aside the curtain and left her, scooping up my little pouch of cosmetics and taking my place behind the largest tree abutting the stage area.

In the middle of the grass stood Fabian. He cleared his throat and announced, “In honor of the Birthday of the Regent of Zoologists, Rufus Lynx, there will now be presented The Tempest, as adapted for this stage by Toby Rhymer and performed by this troupe.”

Catcalls from the inebriated Zoologists. On the bench fronting the stage Rufus Lynx beamed, flanked by several Illyrians holding feathered masks in their laps. At the end of the row sat Jane Alopex. She spied me and waved. I waggled a finger at her (very unprofessional) and stepped back into the shadows.

My first entrance as Ariel provoked cheers from the Paphians. But this was nothing compared to their excitement when I reappeared a moment later as Caliban, red tunic askew over Ariel’s gossamer. Leaves fell from my hair as I lumbered toward Toby, magnificent in his sorcerer’s robes and turban. I cursed Prospero boldly and turned to snarl at Miranda cowering behind her father.

“Greetings, cousin!” a woman yelled from the hillside. From the corner of my eye I saw a Paphian stagger to her feet, a coronet of macaw feathers dipping rakishly over her brow. She bowed and made the Paphian’s beck before the man beside her pulled her back down. But other Paphians took up her cry, saluting me as Aidan and Raphael and Baal-Phegor, the demon they called the Naked Lord. The Zoologists craned their heads and tried vainly to silence their guests.

Toby gave me a dangerous look, gazing fixedly at my costume as he finished the scene. I made a hasty exit to the wrong side to avoid confronting him. Fabian whistled softly as he slipped past me onstage, shaking his head. In the shadows behind one of the torchieres Justice waited, and pulled me to him in the darkness.