Puppet, p.2
Puppet, page 2
What should a puppet master do when he’s getting old and his puppets are all gone? He pondered. Nothing came to mind, except the images of puppets and the fragments of stories that always came to mind. Maybe they would never ever stop.
Sometimes he laughed as he walked through the empty rooms. Yes, so much had been taken away, but he felt weirdly free. He felt young again.
More days passed by. He cleaned and tidied the house. He slept so well, better than he had for years. Night after night of deep, deep sleep.
Then there came a moonlit night when he woke from his dreams, and the attic seemed to be calling him.
He hadn’t been up there for ages.
He looked at the steep stairway.
And he climbed.
And he sat at his workbench and made the new puppet.
And the puppet said, “E-O.”
And Silvester didn’t believe it.
It must have been a dream, mustn’t it?
So he came back down again to sleep.
And again he slept well.
And so another night passed by.
It was the laughter of children that woke Silvester. It seemed to come from far away. He’d slept such a long time. Already it was the middle of the morning.
He made a pot of tea in the kitchen. He ate toast and marmalade. Marmalade. So delicious. He licked his lips. He laughed.
“Good morning, my lovely,” he said to Belinda on the wall.
He looked at the living room. So empty and strange.
A church bell started ringing. Then he remembered the puppet that he had made last night. He laughed again.
“Of course I made a new puppet,” he said to himself. “Did I ever really think I’d stop?”
He climbed back up the steep stairs to the attic.
“Good morning, Puppet,” he said.
Puppet lay on the workbench just as Silvester had left him. A little black spider crawled across his chest. A pigeon goggled in through the window to the sky.
Silvester sat at the bench. He let the spider crawl across the back of his hand then he held his hand to the wall and watched it crawl away towards the ceiling.
“Spider!” he murmured. “What a strange and lovely thing you are.”
He lifted Puppet up. He stood him on the bench and looked into his eyes. He stretched Puppet’s arms out wide.
“Maybe I should call you Jack and send you like him into the dark, dark forest,” he said. “But no. You’re not a Jack. You are just yourself. Puppet.”
He made Puppet flex his muscles. He made him stamp his feet as if he was ready to walk or to run. He made him raise his fists as if he was ready to fight off an attacker.
“What a quick and strong puppet you are!” Silvester exclaimed.
He glanced up at the window to the sky.
“And look who’s come to see you!” he said. “Hello, pigeons! This is Puppet. And look, here are the dangling spiders. And there are the woodlice crawling. And do I see you, little mouse? There is such an audience for you, my Puppet.”
He made Puppet skip and dance across the bench then made him bow. Then he carefully laid him down again.
“Now it’s time to put some strings on you,” he said.
He reached for a box full of lengths of wire and string. He held a piece of string between his hands to check its length.
“This one?” he said. “We could fasten this to your left leg.”
He searched the boxes for the little screw-in fasteners to attach the strings.
Puppet moved.
His left leg moved, all by itself.
Silvester blinked. “No!” he whispered to himself.
He found one of the fasteners. He pressed it to Puppet’s left knee and began to twist. The puppet flinched.
Surely not.
Silvester pressed again. Again the puppet flinched. No!
The spiders dangled closer, closer.
Silvester put the fastener down. He didn’t dare look properly. He didn’t dare think. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Puppet’s left leg move, ever so slightly.
“Don’t be scared,” Silvester whispered to himself. He could hardly breathe.
He held Puppet by the shoulders and lifted him up. Puppet helped. He shifted his feet. He did. Silvester could feel him rising from the bench.
He made Puppet stand straight. He looked into Puppet’s bright green eyes.
“Maybe we won’t need strings after all,” he said softly.
Puppet looked right back at him.
“Shall we try to get you to stand?” Silvester said. “I’ll hold you steady and then let you go. OK? Just keep your legs strong and straight and you’ll be standing.”
He held Puppet straight.
“Ready?” he asked. “Steady?”
Puppet said nothing.
Silvester let go. Puppet toppled to the bench.
“Whoops!” said Silvester. “Are you OK?”
He tried again.
“Imagine there are strings,” he said. “Imagine that I’m holding you, even when I let go.”
He held Puppet up, let go, and Puppet fell again. He did it again, and Puppet fell again. There were more spiders now, and more woodlice, and another pigeon, and another little mouse.
Silvester picked Puppet up. “They’re all watching,” he whispered. “We’ll do it for them, shall we?”
He held him up.
“Now,” he urged.
When Silvester let go, Puppet did stand for one second, then two, then he tottered, and he fell.
“Well done, little Puppet.”
Silvester picked him up again. “You can do it!” he said.
He held him; he let go. Puppet didn’t fall. There were at least five long seconds when Silvester stared very hard and willed Puppet to stay standing.
“You did it!” he cried.
He looked around the attic at the spiders, the woodlice, the pigeons, the mice, the dust, the air, the sky.
“He did it,” he said.
Then he stood Puppet up again and let go, and Puppet stood on his own.
And Silvester whispered, “Hello, Puppet.”
And Puppet answered, “E-O.”
What a morning! Puppet learned so fast.
He stood all by himself several times before falling.
Pretty soon, Silvester said, “It’s time you tried to learn to walk.”
He lifted Puppet down from the bench and stood him on the floor. He held Puppet’s shoulders and moved him gently forward, shifting him from side to side so that Puppet’s legs swung forward one at a time.
“Get the idea?” said Silvester.
Puppet looked down at his feet.
“You move your feet one at a time,” explained Silvester.
Puppet looked up at him.
“Watch me,” said Silvester. “I’ll demonstrate.”
He sat Puppet on the edge of the bench, then he walked step by step across the room, swinging his legs and arms very slowly and deliberately.
“See?” He did it again. “Left, right,” he said. “Left, right. One step then another. One step then another.”
Sometimes he stumbled. He had to laugh at himself. It was weirdly hard to walk when he thought too much about it.
“Maybe I need strings myself!” he said.
But he kept on, and Puppet seemed to watch very carefully.
“Let’s try again,” said Silvester.
He lifted Puppet back down to the floor. He held Puppet’s right shoulder with his left hand, reached down and lifted Puppet’s right foot forward. He held Puppet’s left shoulder with his right hand and lifted Puppet’s left foot forward.
He let go, and whoops! Puppet fell.
They tried again.
Silvester held both Puppet’s shoulders and eased him forward. He could feel it starting to happen. He could feel Puppet starting to move his legs and feet.
“Yes!” said Silvester. “Go on, Puppet. You can do it.”
Puppet tried very hard.
“Imagine there are strings,” said Silvester.
Puppet moved his left foot. He moved his right foot. Silvester took Puppet’s hands and held them out above Puppet’s head. Puppet swung his left foot forward; he swung his right foot forward.
“Shall I let go?” asked Silvester.
Puppet said nothing. He seemed to be concentrating.
“I will,” said Silvester. “Ready?”
He let go, and whoops! Puppet tumbled to the floor.
They tried and tried, and Puppet kept on tumbling as the morning passed by.
But at last there came the magic moment when Silvester held Puppet and then let go, and Puppet really did walk one step, two steps, three steps, four, before he fell.
And Silvester’s heart stood still.
“Oh, my Puppet,” he whispered. “You can walk!”
He looked at the spiders and woodlice and pigeons and the mouse down by the skirting board.
“Puppet can walk!” he said to them all.
Silvester lifted Puppet and sat him down on the edge of the workbench.
“My name is Silvester,” he told him.
Puppet said nothing.
“And perhaps your name should be just Puppet. Pupp-et. Hello, Puppet.”
Puppet gazed at Silvester for a long time, and then his mouth moved.
“E-O,” he said.
Silvester laughed. Then he paused.
“Maybe one day,” he said, “you might call me Dad. D-ad.”
“E-O.”
“Never mind. Maybe one day… But hello is enough for now.”
“E-O.”
“Hello, hell-o, my lovely boy!”
Silvester hugged Puppet and ran around the room with him. He called out, “Yes! I have a walking talking puppet!”
Resting his hand on the edge of the workbench, he stopped to catch his breath.
“Sorry. I got a bit carried away, Puppet. Time for a spot of lunch, I think. What would a puppet like for lunch? Who could ever know? Jam? Yes, maybe jam would be the best thing.”
“Jam!” said Puppet.
“Oh, Puppet. You said it! Jam! What a lovely word, and what a lovely thing! Jam it shall be!”
“Jam!”
Silvester laughed out loud. He carried Puppet to the steep stairs. He said goodbye to the spiders and woodlice and pigeons and mouse.
“Hold on tight,” he said, and down they went.
In the living room, he held Puppet up before the photograph of Belinda.
“This is Belinda,” he told him. “Belinda, this is Puppet. I made him. He can walk and talk! Isn’t he wonderful?”
He held Puppet so close that his nose touched the glass.
“Oh, how she would have loved you!” he exclaimed.
He showed Puppet the living room.
“That’s a sofa and that’s a chair, and that’s a door and that’s a wall. And… Gosh, you have so much to learn!”
He carried Puppet into the kitchen and sat him on the table. He heard the voices of children playing. Puppet turned his head towards the sound.
“It’s just some children,” said Silvester. “They must be in Holly Hill Park. It’s not too far away. Perhaps you can meet them soon. Now then, where’s that jam?”
“Jam!” said Puppet.
Silvester searched a cupboard.
“Ah, yes,” he said. He took out a pot of jam and a loaf of bread. “This is bread; this is raspberry jam.”
“Jam!”
Silvester cut a slice of bread and spread some jam on it.
“Look,” he said. “This is what you do.”
He lifted the bread and jam to his mouth and bit into it and chewed.
Puppet seemed to watch very, very carefully.
“It’s delicious,” said Silvester. “Mmm.”
He held out the bread and jam to Puppet. Puppet stared at it.
“Your turn,” said Silvester. “Go on.”
He lifted Puppet’s hand and pressed the bread and jam into it.
Puppet seemed to get the idea. He grabbed the bread and pushed it and squashed it against his mouth and rubbed it back and forward.
“Mmm!” he went. “Mmm. Mmm! Jam!”
Silvester laughed. “That’s nearly right,” he said. Then he pondered. “Maybe puppets don’t eat anything at all.”
“Mmm,” went Puppet. “Jam!”
Silvester got a cloth and wiped away the red mess from Puppet’s mouth. Then he took the corners of Puppet’s mouth and lifted them.
“That’s called smiling,” he said. “You do it when you’re happy.”
Puppet smiled and smiled.
“Jam!” he said. “Mmm.”
And Silvester smiled and smiled as well.
That Puppet! He was only made of wood and wire and paint, but he was so quick, so strong, so keen to be alive.
He walked in the kitchen. He walked in the living room. He got the idea of swinging his arms and legs in rhythm. He limped, he tottered in his lopsided way, but on he went, walking and smiling, smiling and walking.
“Such a wonderful lad!” said Silvester. He sat on a kitchen chair and drank some tea. “How can I keep up with you?” he wondered. “You’ll wear me out!”
Puppet stopped and stood as if he was listening to the distant children again.
Silvester took him to the window.
Puppet spread his arms wide across the glass and gazed out. There was the narrow lane with the patch of sky above. At the end of the lane was the town square with its fountain and its benches and its shops and its cafes, and with the rest of the town spreading all around it.
It was all just a very short walk away.
“That’s our town,” Silvester told him. “That’s the world. It’s very lovely, Puppet.”
He saw a woman and a girl walking hand in hand past the end of the lane, not a care in the world.
He lifted Puppet down and sat him on the windowsill. Puppet gazed out as if he was waiting for something.
Silvester looked at Puppet. He looked at the world outside.
Did he dare?
“Try this, Puppet,” he said.
He led Puppet back into the living room and stood at his side.
“Hold my hand,” he ordered. “Like this, look.”
He reached down and took Puppet’s left hand in his right.
“This is called holding hands, Puppet. Now we walk together, side by side.”
He tugged gently at Puppet’s hand, and Puppet walked beside him across the room. They couldn’t get the rhythm right. They both stumbled.
Silvester groaned. “Who’d have thought something so simple could be so hard?” he muttered. “Let’s try the other side.”
He took Puppet’s right hand in his left.
A little better.
They walked together step by step through the living room, through the kitchen and back again.
“Excellent!” said Silvester.
Then he went to the mirror on the kitchen wall. He licked his finger and smoothed his hair down. He ran his fingers across his face.
“Am I crazy?” he said to himself. “Is it too soon? Am I crazy?” he said to Belinda on the wall. He frowned. He grinned. “Maybe I am! So what?”
He straightened Puppet’s clothes. He tugged the brown cap down over Puppet’s forehead.
“Now listen,” he said.
Puppet looked up at him.
“You must hold my hand and stay by my side. Do you understand?”
Puppet kept looking at him.
“Say yes, Dad,” ordered Silvester.
“Jam!”
“Good boy. We’ll be OK. We’ll only be a little while. We’ll go to the park, where the other children are.”
Then he took a deep breath and opened the front door.
Silvester and Puppet stepped into the shadowy lane and headed towards the square. Puppet walked his limping, jaggedy walk. Silvester held his hand tight. They came into the sunlight. A group of men sat at a table outside Dragone’s cafe. They were drinking coffee and playing cards.
“Silvester?” called one of the men.
Silvester paused.
“It is, isn’t it?” said the man. “Silvester. The puppet man, yes?”
Silvester nodded. “Yes.”
“Not seen you about for ages! Still doing the puppets?”
Silvester licked his lips. His heart was beating fast. “No, not now.”
“Retired, eh? That’s the style. He was a wizard,” the man said to his friends. He pointed to the middle of the square. “You used to put your shows on here, right here, didn’t you?”
Yes, they had done one or two small shows here, in the very early days. He and Belinda had put up a little makeshift stage, created from old curtains and scraps of wood. They had blown a little trumpet to announce themselves, and families and children had gathered round. That had all been long ago.
“You remember that?” Silvester asked.
“How could I forget? They were brilliant. You were brilliant. My kids were in hysterics!”
He leaned forward in his chair, peered at Puppet.
“Got a visitor, I see. Grandson, is it?”
“Yes,” Silvester said quickly. He tugged at Puppet’s hand.
“Name’s Louis,” said the man. “Care to join us?”
“N-no, thank you,” said Silvester. “We’re heading for the park.”
“Best place for the lad. Another time, eh?”
“Yes.”
Silvester led Puppet away.
“A total wizard,” he heard Louis say to his friends.
His heart was thumping; his head was spinning.
“I’m remembered, Puppet,” he said with wonder. “Of course I am.”
Other people nodded and smiled. He and Puppet passed the ancient fountain. Silvester remembered the early makeshift shows here. In his mind he heard the little squeaky trumpet blown by Belinda. He heard himself as he had been way back then, calling out: “Gather round, the show’s about to start!”
He laughed at himself, at the lovely memory.
An old couple on a bench whispered to each other. He heard his name. He heard a sigh.
“Of course I am remembered,” he said again.
He held Puppet’s hand tight. “That’s a man,” he told him. “A woman. A boy. A flower. A girl.”
