Next
time you’re at the seaside….
“Damn
and blast it! They’re supposed to applaud and react to me, not sit
in silence as if the very devil himself held their tongues! What do I
have to do to get a reaction? Strip down and dance naked in front if
them, waving my damned genitals in front of their damned faces?”
It
was the same after every performance. It was the rant because no one
said anything from start to finish; it was complete silence. It was
the same blank faces; a different crowd each night but the same cold
eyes.
And
Randlaf Puch, the great entertainer, couldn’t understand it.
“Perhaps
you’re ahead of your time?” Cautiously ventured Jude. “I don’t
think people are necessarily ready for the Amazing Rum Puch Show.
Don’t take it so seriously, love.” She never understood, thought
Randlaf, even after all this time she still didn’t understand him.
Randlaf
met Jude two years previous when he visited the forest of St Leonard.
He’d just introduced a new character into his growing array of
puppets. This one was of a dragon and it was an awesome beast.
Essentially a hand puppet, it was painted in vivid green with great
fire-red eyes. It had a moveable mouth that snapped up and down with
a vicious CRACK!
and
Randlaf was right proud of it. He wanted to show it off to the fair
people of St Leonard because having recently conquered such a beast
they would surely have
appreciated
its majesty, but nothing happened. No one showed the slightest bit of
appreciation, not even a flicker in their eyes. Well.. One person
did.
Jude
was the first person to really show any understanding as to what
Randlaf was trying to do and on that fated day she was the only
person who applauded. Everybody else was far too bemused, dazed or
just plain bored to join in. Audience participation? Hah! That was a
laugh.
“I
don’t know what it is, it’s the same wherever I go.” He
replied, almost ignoring Jude’s last remark. “I’ve been from
one end of this damned country t’other , and all I get is…. Well,
I mean, I’m not doing anything wrong, am I? All I want them to do
is get involved, get them shouting back at me! It’s the great Rum
Puch Show! What more do they want?” Randlaf knew that audience
participation was the only way to go, the only way to do things.
“It’s the only way to do it! You’ve got to involve the audience
or else where else are you?”
Jude
knew what was going to happen next. It was just like one of his
stupid puppet shows. He would go for the rum bottle and she would try
to talk him out of it. He would then strike her, swearing and cursing
her name; ranting in the same shrill, tinny voice that he used on
stage. Then he would collapse in a heap on the floor and, sobbing at
her feet, beg Jude to forgive him. After every performance it was the
same show: The same two characters dancing along to an unknown
puppeteer.
Why
couldn’t she just leave him? Walk out the door, never to see him
again; leave him to his sorry excuse for a show… No, she knew the
reason why. There was one very good reason why she couldn’t leave
him, but now was not the right time to tell him.
“I
can’t stay here tonight.” He suddenly said, the words so
unexpected. Jude reeled as if she had been hit in the face by a large
wooden club.
“What
did you say?” She could scarcely believe what she had just heard.
“I’m
sorry, I just need time to think…” Randlaf stumbled. “My next
show is tomorrow and I was going to Northeye; it’s near Normans
Bay. I just need time to get my act together… I’ll be back within
a week… You understand, Jude…”
Randlaf
walked to the door; the same door he had only just walked through
barely an hour before. He still had his performers make up on and the
silly clay nose. He still wore his coat-of-many-pockets which held
his menagerie of magic tricks –which so failed to impress the
children.
He
hadn’t been in the house long and now he was leaving. He picked up
his “impossible box”, where he kept all his little puppets and
then he was gone. Just like that.
Jude
was alone again, alone with her thoughts and fears. The house seemed
to echo with the sounds of long dead children; none of them hers.
Squeals of delight, of whispers and promises and if only, if only.
Maybe she should have told him, would that have made a difference?
Would that have made him stay?
She
had kept it from him for weeks, trying to pick the right moment. But
the ‘right’ moment never came. He was always too tightly wound up
with his damnable puppets. He treated them as if they actually
existed! As if he gave birth to them himself! They weren’t just
fabric and sawdust to him, they were flesh and blood! How would he
react if something else came between him and his fantasy?
“I’m
with child.” Jude said, the tears drowning her voice, making the
words sound like a confession of guilt. Isn’t that what they both
wanted? She tried it again with more conviction, “I’m with
child..” The words came so easily now that he was gone.
It
was easier now that he had gone, Randlaf thought. Things were
clearer. It was her, Jude, that didn’t understand, after all. The
wife… the little woman.. Jude… She was always the one who said
‘Maybe you’re ahead of your time.’ or;
‘they’re just not ready for your kind of humour.” Or the best
one: “They just don’t understand where you’re coming from.”
No,
she was the one who didn’t understand. She was the one who held him
back, insisted that after every tour he come back to see her, spend
time with her. It hadn’t always been like that; she’d been
supportive at the start, always listening to his ideas and even
acting as a makeshift audience. Why, with a whole audience of Jude’s
he would have been one of the greatest entertainers the world had
ever seen!
But
when the courtship was over and there was no reason to put on an act
any more things started to go down hill. Routine, drab and dull
routine and drab and dull Jude. He had a life as “The Magnificent
Rum Puch!” and she knew that when she married him, so why did she
still insist that he should change? He just couldn’t understand it.
It
was just as well she wasn’t the only one –there were others that
knew how to please him as well as she, if not better! In fact, if
memory served him, there was someone who understood; someone who knew
how to please a crowd, that lived not so far away from here.
“Hello
boys and girls.” Randlaf said under his breath as he approached her
cottage. “This is my girlfriend. She’s called Pretty Polly, but
shhhhhhh –don’t tell Jude because she doesn’t know…” Hmm,
there was a chance for a new character there, he thought. It needs a
bit of development –maybe Polly herself could input a few ideas –no
harm in asking. He’d often put his hand up her sleeve anyways –
that’s the way to do it. A little bit of audience participation
goes a long way!
With
the next day there was indeed a new character: possibly the most
beautiful puppet that Randlaf had ever seen. He’d taken several
hours to get the shape of Polly engraved in his mind, then another
hour to actually carve the piece, but it was time well spent. Not as
good as the real thing, but good enough.
“Hello
boys and girls.” Randlaf squeeked. “Are you pleased to see me?”
The audience was dumbfounded as usual, but this time Randlaf didn’t
care, he was on too much of a high. This was the first time that the
world would see his new puppet, Pretty Polly. “Would you like to
see my new girlfriend?” Puch shouted, his voice maniacally high
now. This was a trick he learnt when he was young, when he got really
angry his voice would shatter into a shrill screech. It frightened
the little kids now, but that didn’t matter.
Jude
always wondered how he was able to project his voice and emotions
into the lifeless puppets. Easy, he told her, they’re not lifeless,
they’re real. Jude always took this as a joke.
“Her
name’s Pretty Polly –isn’t she nice, boys and girls?”
On stage the puppet of Puch whirled around trying to find her, but to no avail. “Have you seen her, boys and girls?” Puch squeeled. “If you have then shout out ‘she’s behind you!’ Shall we try it on for size now, children?”
On stage the puppet of Puch whirled around trying to find her, but to no avail. “Have you seen her, boys and girls?” Puch squeeled. “If you have then shout out ‘she’s behind you!’ Shall we try it on for size now, children?”
Silence.
In the distance Randlaf could hear two children playing by a small
well. A cockerel mistimed the morning and let out a noise that put
Randlaf to shame. But the audience was still, sheer silence. Randlaf
carried on regardless, eager to show off his new acquisition. He
placed his shaking right hand into her hole, making sure his fingers
were in the right places to move her arms –as he had done the
previous night- and he whispered sweet nothings into her ear.
Then
she was up on stage, parading about behind Puch, who was blissfully
unaware of what was happening –as was the audience. Even the
Bottler, who Randlaf had paid ten minutes earlier was unsure what to
do. Randlaf managed to kick the Bottler from where he was standing
underneath the ramshackle tent, prompting his lines.
“She’s
behind you, Rum Puch! She’s behind you!” The Bottler was now
full of vigour
trying to rub his behind where he’d been kicked. He used his left
hand so he wouldn’t inadvertently kill the flies that Randlaf had
placed in his right hand minutes before. (For
every fly that was dead, Randlaf would deduct one coin from his pay;
it was proof that the Bottler had not been dipping into the
afternoons takings.)
Rum
Puch turned round and squeeled in excitement. “There you are, my
dear.” He exclaimed and bobbed up and down. “Say hello to the
boys and girls.”
“Hello
boys and girls.” Bipped Polly. Randlaf found it hard to mimic the
female voice and tried to make it different to his version of Judes.
“Oooh,
but you mustn’t tell Jude anything, boys and girls. You mustn’t
tell Jude about Pretty Polly because Jude is with child! She’s just
given birth to a little baby boy. Would you like to see the little
baby boy? Off you go, Pretty Polly, go fetch the baby.” Polly
disappeared so Randlaf could change puppets to Jude and the baby.
This was the part of the show that both Puch and Randlaf enjoyed the
most.
Jude
popped up from the back of the stage carrying the little baby puppet.
“Now,
Rum Puch, you will look after the baby, won’t you, Rum Puch?”
Jude nagged. “I don’t want anything to happen to him when I’m
gone. I’ll leave him in your hands.” The puppet of Jude handed
the little wooden baby to Puch and turned to the audience. “Now,
boys and girls, if anything happens to the baby I want you to give me
a shout. Shout out as loud as you can and I’ll come running.”
With
that the little puppet of Jude disappeared leaving Puch quivering
with excitement. Puch placed the baby on the edge of the makeshift
stage and disappeared briefly. When he returned he had a wicked
looking stick which he stuck underneath the baby's
mis-shapen chin. “Stroke the baby.” He squeeked. “Stroke the
baby! ...now HIT
the baby! HIT the Baby!!” slam went the stick on the stage, slam
went the stick on the baby knocking it off the stage. “That’s the
way to do it!! That’s the way to do it!!” Puch was now
completely out of control, dancing a maniacal jig on the stage,
waving the stick haphazardly, “Kill the baby! Kill the baby!!”
But the baby was no longer there, it had fallen, plummeted to its
wooden death like all the others had. The children were crying, some
of the younger ones screaming for their mummies. Randlaf was
overjoyed at the reaction of the crowd.
Months
passed, the tour had finally finished. Puch had been put back into
the Impossible Box to consummate his wooden passions with Pretty
Polly and Randlaf wanted to do the same with his Polly, but felt that
he needed to see Jude.
That
‘week” had turned into months and he felt a little guilty about
leaving her alone. Now that the touring season was over Randlaf felt
better disposed to her and could almost cope with spending time with
her now that there was nothing else to do. Polly wasn’t that far
away if things went too bad and it wasn’t that long before he could
start touring again. He could spend the time thinking up new
scenarios, new story lines and even new characters! There was the
baby to make new again, but that would only take a few minutes at the
most!
Randlaf
walked into a house full of screaming; a high pitched, shrill wail
that, like the Cockerel before, put Puch’s voice to shame. Randlaf
backed out of the door, checked that he’d returned to the right
cottage and walked back inside. The noise was still prevalent and he
wondered what had happened. The screaming sounded like… a.. child!
“Jude?!”
Randlaf shouted, in competition with the wailing. “JUDE!”
“In
here, Randlaf, dearest.” Came the reply. “I’m in the nursery.”
Nursery? He thought… Nursery? He couldn’t remember a nursery in
the cottage before. He followed the screaming to what used to be the
spare bedroom and there, in front of him by the window, was Jude
standing by a crudely fashioned crib. She was rocking it making
cooing sounds
to the bundle of noise that lie within.
“Whose
baby is that?” Randlaf asked when he’d managed to find his voice.
“Why,
it’s yours, silly.” Jude replied, smiling up at him proudly.
Randlaf couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His? How could it be
his? She must be lying, she spent enough time on her own after all…
He was determined to get the truth from her.
“Who’s
baby is it?” He demanded, bounding over to her. He thrust his hands
round her neck and started to squeeze.
“Yours…
“She choked, “..ours..”
“It
can’t be… I don’t believe you.” He replied, squeezing
tighter.
“Randlaf..”
Jude choked. “I couldn’t tell you before…. You wouldn’t
listen…. I thought.. the baby…. Would bring us together… but
without you.. I don’t want to live..” Jude was so close to
passing out and had resided herself to death when Randlaf let her go.
She fell to the floor, gasping; retching for breath. Randlaf just
stood there, staring at the baby. His eyes darted back to her before
focusing back on the child, his child. Finally he turned back to Jude
and picked her up, held her closely. When he stood back he was
smiling, a wooden rictus that reminded her of that fiend Puch.
Weeks
passed and Jude was finally persuaded to leave the baby in Randlafs
care. She loved him, that was never in doubt, she just didn’t trust
him to take care of the baby. He beat her so who was to say that he
wouldn’t do the same to the baby? It took days of placation, soft
words and softer promises and eventually Jude agreed. She was going
shopping in the village and would leave the baby with Randlaf.
“That’s
the way to do it!” Randlaf had replied, giddy with excitement at
the prospect of looking after his only son. When Jude had left,
Randlaf introduced the baby to the cast of the Rum Puch Show, making
sure to leave Puch to last.
“This
is Polly.. Pretty Polly.” Randlaf explained, perching the baby on
his knee as he showed each puppet to him. “You don’t know about
her, and neither does Jude –and that’s the way it’s going to
be. Now, this…” He continued, “..is Jude. Not your mummy, but
my Jude –she’s better behaved than your mummy. Jude thinks that
I’m going to stop seeing Pretty Polly because of you.. but you see,
I’m not.. I’m NOT!” Randlaf got out of the chair, still keeping
the baby in his hands and whirled around like a dervish. When he had
swung around enough times he placed the still giggling baby in the
crib and said, “Would you like to see the dragon?” He nodded.
“Yes, of course you would. Everyone likes to see the dragon!”
Randlaf dived into his Impossible Box to find the dragon.
A
couple of frantic seconds later and the dragon had miraculously
swallowed Randlaf’s arm, its mouth cracking, head swishing emitting
the best roar that Randlaf could muster. Like the many children
before, the baby burst into tears and screamed. Randlaf didn’t know
what to do; He had sworn to Jude that he wouldn’t do anything to
upset the child and yet here it was crying. What, oh what was he to
do?
And
then it dawned on him, Puch would know what to do! Randlaf shook off
the dragon glove puppet and proceeded to place Puch lovingly on his
left hand.
“Hello,
what’s going on here then?” Puch asked in Randlafs best squeaky
voice. “Aaaah! A baby! A Baby!! – oh, do a dance of joy!” And
Randlaf did, a perfect jig of joy, a macabre dance that only puppets
can muster.
“What
are we going to do with the baby, Mr Puch?” Randlaf asked. “It’s
crying and we can’t let the baby cry for it will wake up the rest
of the puppets!” Puch shook his head.
“We
can’t have that, Mr Randlaf.” Puch replied.
“What
can we do then, Mr Puch?”
“Why
don’t we.. stroke the baby? Stroke the baby…”And Puch did that;
his little hands guided by Randlafs fingers stroked the baby under
its mis-shapen chin. The baby stopped crying for a second, looking at
the funny figure of Puch and giggled. “Hit the baby! Hit the baby!”
Shouted Puch, and suddenly Randlafs other hand whipped round stopping
Puch’s maniacal dance from reaching its crescendo. The baby started
to cry again, louder this time.
“No
Puch! We can’t hit the baby.” Randlaf cooed. “For who would
clean up the mess?”
“What
shall we do then, Mr Randlaf?”
“Why
don’t we see if we can learn the baby to walk, Mr Puch?”
Jude
returned an hour later, fully laden with shopping. The house was
quiet, no screaming baby.. no baby sounds at all.
“Randlaf?”
Jude shouted. “Baby? Mummies home.” No reply. Putting the
shopping down, Jude walked upstairs to where the nursery was, keeping
an ever open ear for any sound. Opening the nursery door she
immediately noticed that the window had been covered by one of the
bedsheets, and the room was in semi-darkness. The crib was silent and
still and in the chair next to it sat the huddled form of Randlaf.
“What’s
going on?” Jude asked, now fearing for her baby’s safety.
Everything was so still and silent… “Randlaf, what’s wrong? Why
is everything so quiet?”
“Shhh…
the baby is sleeping.” The voice was so hushed, little more than a
breath, that it frightened Jude even more. It sounded like it was
coming from the chair, but she couldn’t be sure.
“Where
is the baby?” She insisted, her voice betraying her fears.
“Outside.”
Randlaf whispered. “It wanted to go for a walk. When it walked
enough it fell asleep.” Jude ran over to the window and ripped
aside the sheet. Daylight streamed through the room. Below, nothing
more than a dash of ochre on gravel, lie the baby, like one of
Randlaf.s disposed puppets.
“It
wasn’t me.” Randlaf whispered. “It was Puch's
idea.” Jude whirled round, anger and revulsion coursing through
every pour of her body.
She
screamed as she faced her worst nightmare. A full size mannequin of
Randlaf sat in the chair facing her, dressed in HIS clothes and
wearing HIS maniacal grin and make up. She ran up to it and shook it,
screaming at the object of her every hurt and pain.
“Behind
you, sweetie.” Randlaf shouted, his voice little more than a
squeal. As Jude whirled round she caught sight of him running at her,
wearing Puchs costume; running at her with a huge wooden club. She
never saw the blow that killed her, never heard his shrill cries of
“That’s the way to do it! THAT’S THE WAY TO DO IT!”
Next
time you’re down by the seaside and you see a brightly coloured
tent with a couple of whirling puppets chasing round in it, spare a
thought for the bottler. Take a care to look into his left hand and
count the flies, and if you’re feeling very charitable please spare
him a penny. But next time you laugh at the dance of the puppets and
clap your hands at the devilment, try to remember poor Jude… and
what became of Puch's attempts at learning the baby to walk.
No comments:
Post a Comment