Jesse Ball - The Curfew

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

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

Jenny Jackson, Kate Runde, & all at Vintage .

Billy Kingsland, David Kuhn, & Kuhn Projects .