The Puppet Maker's Bones (13 page)

Pavel had difficulty sleeping during his afternoon rest period. After tossing around, unable to get comfortable, Pavel left his room for the workshop area and its wood-burning stove which he had added years ago. He put on a kettle for tea and wandered around, inspecting the various pieces in progress. He examined an unfinished carving of a donkey head that would be used later that year for a production of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. He picked up a chisel to make a small adjustment around one of the eyes.

“Are you Pavel Trusnik?” said a man’s voice from the doorway.

Pavel turned around to see a tall, angular man of about forty, in expensive attire.

“I am. Is there something I may do for you?”

“You met my daughter, Žofie, earlier today.”

Pavel was a bit startled. He masked his lack of comfort by concentrating on the contour of the eye of the puppet he was holding, and continued to work at it with the chisel.

“Ah, yes. Žofie. You are her father? She wanted a tour of the workshop.”

The man stepped into the doorway and made a show of looking around the workshop. He walked closer to where Pavel was working.

“Yes, she has spoken of nothing but that since she arrived home after the theatre today. That and the fact you would not give her a tour. She is quite vocal about that.”

“I see.”

The man eyed the kettle burning on the wood stove.

“The water is heating. May I offer you some tea?” Pavel asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

Pavel put the puppet down on the workbench, rubbed the chisel with a cloth before placing it next to the puppet and moved over to the stove where he began the ritual of putting together a tea for the two men, opening cupboards, bringing out plates, a bag of pastry, forks and spoons. He kept his heavy work gloves on while he put together the tea.

“Žofie tells us that you would not offer her a viewing of your puppet workshop without a chaperone. Is that true?”

“Yes. I meant no insult. I think it is proper that a young lady be accompanied, especially where there are a lot of tools and things lying around.”

“And actors.”

Pavel eyed the man.

“We do have the occasional actor hanging about the workshop, yes. We fit them for costumes here, and meals are often taken here during rehearsal periods.”

“Well, I wanted to meet this young fellow from the theatre that did not act like a fellow from the theatre.”

Pavel was annoyed with the man. Too often, people felt the need to openly insult people of the theatre as if doing so was not only acceptable, but somehow expected.

“I see. Well, not all people from the theatre are charlatans, rogues, gypsies and prostitutes, sir. Though I’m well aware of our reputation,” Pavel said. “Have you come to insult me in my place of business?”

The man appeared to consider his words before speaking again. “My apologies,” he said.

“May I know the name of the man I am speaking to, sir?” said Pavel.

“Yes, of course. Forgive me. I am Eduard Rychtar.” Pavel had heard of the man. He poured the tea and motioned to the nearby table. They sat.

“I know who you are. The judge. You are quite a powerful man. You humble me by coming to my shop.”

“Well.”

“Please forgive me if I seemed over-sensitive. People of the theatre seem to carry a certain reputation with them that I find ill deserved.”

“No need to apologize; I realize I may have been quite insulting.”

Pavel placed a plate of pastry on the table.

“Yes, well. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mister Rychtar. It is an honor to have you here.”

The two men sat, drinking their tea, regarding one another.

“I think my curiosity got the best of me. I very much wanted to meet the man who would dare to say no to my daughter. That is a difficult thing to accomplish with any degree of success,” said Rychtar.

“They do seem to hold the true leadership, sir.”

“Excuse me? Who are we speaking of?”

“You said you had never met anyone capable of saying no to your daughter.”

Rychtar raised his hands in a resigned manner. Pavel continued.

“It has been my observation, after years in the theatre, that even Shakespeare failed when writing of women’s complexity. Women do seem to hold the true power, leaving us speechless and in constant confusion wondering how to behave around them.”

Rychtar picked up a piece of pastry and appeared to be studying it, then put it down.

“You believe this? Women hold true power? Some would find that a rather weak point of view, coming from a man.”

Pavel considered that for a moment and smiled.

“Perhaps I am ahead of my time. Or I have read too many plays.” He shrugged.

“Have you have never been married?”

“I have never been so blessed, sir, no. That does not mean that I have not made certain observations over time.”

The judge laughed. “I think I might see what has my daughter in such a state of chaos over you, Mr. Trusnik.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Eduard Rychtar did not respond to his question. “The theatre is yours? And the workshop?”

“And the adjoining living quarters on the other side. The theatre is a family business, started by the founder of the theatre.”

“Prochazka. You are a descendant of his?”

Pavel began his century-old explanation of the theatre, which included the fabrication where he included himself as a distant relative.

“Yes. Prochazka’s theatre has been a part of our national Czech culture for 150 years now.”

Mister Rychtar chuckled. “I believe you have started the tour.”

Pavel made a small smile. “I suppose it is habit, when someone new comes who is curious.”

“I hear Prochazka’s ghost still haunts the theatre.”

Pavel gave another small smile and got up from the table and moved over to a workbench where he picked up a small marionette, about the length of Pavel’s arm, made up to look like a skeleton. He held it up for Mr. Rychtar to see. He rattled it to make a sound as if small bones were clattering against each other. In actuality, they sounded more like wind chimes than bones, since the marionette was made of a soft pine wood.

“So the actors tell me on occasion. They say ‘His bones still rattle on stage whenever we perform a tragedy.’ Perhaps he decided to stay.”

“You believe in ghosts?”

Pavel put the marionette back down on the workbench. “I believe in strong memories. And Prochazka did so love the tragedies.”

“You talk as if you knew him.”

“No, he is long passed from us, but I have had the privilege of reading his many journals.”

“And your parents, are they in the family business as well?”

Pavel did not enjoy being interrogated. No one had been this direct with him in terms of asking pointed questions about his father Prochazka or the theatre. Theatre people or audience members tended to talk about Prochazka like a legendary figure, and few asked Pavel about him. Why would they? To anyone around, Pavel was far too young to have had a personal acquaintance with the man. Prochazka and Nina had been his parents and he had no other family, unless you counted his business association with Trope & Co., so he was unaccustomed to fielding questions about a non-existent set of parents who might have lived in the last decade or so.

“My parents are no longer living, sir. I run it myself.”

“Ah. Žophie’s mother is no longer with us.”

Pavel bowed his head in sympathy.

“I’m sorry.”

“You are unmarried?”

“You asked me that.”

“Yes, of course I did, forgive me.”

“As I said, yes, sir. I am unmarried.”

“Any siblings?”

Pavel made a decision to end the afternoon interrogation. He had to prepare for a performance. He inhaled the smell of the sawdust, leather, wool, and metal dust that surrounded him into his nostrils, using the scent to focus upon remaining calm, unruffled.

“You ask a great deal of questions, Mr. Rychtar, that have very little to do with puppets.”

“Not part of the tour?” the judge asked. “I suppose not. I was curious. Such an old theatre, such a part of the culture, as you say. An institution. If you have no family, who will take over when you are no longer in charge?”

Pavel suddenly understood of the purpose of the probing questions regarding his family, his business, and his property. Mr. Rychtar was being a father, interviewing a potential suitor for his daughter. The idea relaxed Pavel.

“Ah. I see. If you are asking about the ownership of property, yes, the theatre and land is now mine. I plan on being here for a long time, but I will make the appropriate plans when the time comes. It will, depending on how things turn out, become a theatre of the state.”

“A state theatre. How grand!”

“I do not know. Perhaps I will leave it to one of my
actors
.” Pavel smiled.

Mr. Rychtar smiled back. “I deserved that.” He looked around the shop and back at Pavel. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Trusnik. I should think I would like to stop by again with my daughter to take a look at how the puppet theatre works in more detail. Would tomorrow be all right? I believe you told my daughter that tomorrow was fine.”

“Yes, tomorrow it is. I will make another tea.”

“Until then.” Mister Rychtar left.

Pavel thought Rychtar was strange, and he was unsettled by the entire encounter, though he understood its purpose. He was not used to having to answer so many questions about himself. He was surrounded by actors and performers who were far more interested in themselves or their craft to probe into Pavel’s life or history. He squinted at the table clock and realized he had very little time to get to the theatre for the evening performance. He grabbed a pastry left over from the tea with Mr. Rychtar and stuffed it into his mouth as he ran out the door, down the alley and up the stairs to the theatre’s backstage area. That evening, the company would perform
Faust
, an audience favorite due to the scary puppets and high drama. Once backstage, he donned his blacks, the black clothing worn by the puppeteers, and picked up the first marionette he would be controlling and voicing. He had done his part of the performance hundreds of times, but for some reason he was having trouble remembering the order of scenes. That made him chuckle, something he had not done in years, not since he’d been with Prochazka. He wished the man was there now, so he could tell him about Žofie and her very strange father. Prochazka would have liked such a tale.

***

“Spirits, Witches, Gods, insanity, murder, oh! She goes mad—a poodle turning into Mephistopheles—how did you do that with the puppets? So fluid! So without effort, oh! So much
life
to the play! The man and the demon, wise man versus the fool—so much for the theatre to fill, to do…. It was
breathtaking
!” Žophie raved about
Faust
, which she had seen performed the previous evening.

“I must say, the imagination that went into everything was rather impressive,” said Eduard Rychtar, Žophie’s father. As promised, they had come to visit the workshop in between shows.

“I wish I had known you were going to attend. I would have made arrangements for your seating,” said Pavel. The young woman surprised him in her enthusiasm. He was a little worried about her father. He set out a tray for them at the table which was often used by the theatre people for meals taken throughout the workday, when the actors came in for their costume fittings or when seamstresses and other workers needed a repast. The table was built from a huge piece of alder wood, a much stronger and harder wood than the pine used for the puppets. The table was scarred from nearly two hundred years of use, but it had been constructed by Prochazka when he was alive and had been built to withstand anything. Pavel used this simple, yet sturdy table as an example to himself and to any other workman in the shop of the importance of attention to detail and quality of craftsmanship in anything constructed in the workshop. He had a plate of sliced apple, pastries and open-faced sandwiches which he set down while he moved about the space, collecting cups and things for tea from the cupboards over the stove. The kettle was heating.

“Our seats were wonderful. The play was wonderful!” said Žophie.

“I’m afraid my daughter is quite taken by the theatre. I have horrible fears of her running away to become an actress. I am hoping you might discourage her from this?” said her father. Pavel was unsure whether he was being serious or not.

“I would discourage
anyone
from choosing the theatre as a profession,” Pavel said with a smile. “The pay is horrible, the hours are quite long, and do not forget, if people do not like what they see, they throw rotting vegetables in your face. Not very subtle of them, would you agree?”

“Oh dear, has that happened to you?” asked Žophie.

“Not to me, no. Though we have had performances where it did happen. I am either standing behind the puppets or controlling them from the rafters above the stage. I believe it was a puppet named Vincent that was on the receiving end of an overripe tomato on one particular evening, while I was tucked behind him. Thanks to Vincent, I came to no harm.” Žophie laughed, eyes dancing. Pavel found he enjoyed making her laugh. He was unused to speaking much to people in such an intimate setting—intimate to Pavel, anyway. His infrequent visits with Mr. McGovern, where they sat at this very table for tea, had ended when McGovern had travelled to America. How many years was that now? Socializing with McGovern had helped, however, so Pavel was not completely awkward in the presence of others when the situation arose, like now. But it was a struggle. He was at relative ease when he voiced the puppets, draped in black, unseen behind or above them as he concentrated on their control and movement. He was confident when he had to instruct craftsman on the construction of a puppet or a theatre prop, on the best way to carve an eye socket or attach an arm on one of the puppets. He was confident when instructing a crew member how to tighten a hanging scrim, that finely woven cloth used for creating visual effects on stage with lighting, or how best to execute a particular effect the director might want, like fire or the illusion of water on stage. Actors tended to stick together and did not often speak with the people on the more technical side of things unless they had a specific question. Pavel was one of those people, though his puppetmaster abilities were unsurpassed, and he was considered to be more of a craftsman than a performer. Actors did not often speak to him. Further, he made it a rule to not accompany the actors when they socialized. Rather, he did not interact or socialize with
anyone
, other than to discuss theatre craft with other professionals. Pavel kept to himself. Prochazka and Nina had taught him that was the best way to avoid personal questions which could be difficult or awkward to answer.