what are you doing, cleo, boring our poor hostess with your sad story? i have been listening outside the door, and you began by saying you were going to relate the story of your nightmare. i am sure that would be much more interesting than yet another retelling of your woebegone tale.
the speaker was the driver of the car that had delivered the five lost travelers to the castle. a burly fellow with a surly manner who had introduced himself as “mister moses”. like his companions, he had pleaded weariness, been allotted a room to rest in, and was only now making his appearance in the polite precincts of the countess’s drawing room.
i’ll tell my story as my please, mose, if it is all the same to you.
the countess decided she did not care for mose or his manner, and she interjected, please go on, my dear, i find my story quite fascinating.
mose looked at the countess. you are the hostess, he said with a smile.. he pointed to am enormous armchair right beside the fire.
may i? he asked the countess.
please. make yourself comfortable.
cleo resumed her tale:
one snowy night i and my three younger sisters, belmolocha, astarte, and yezebel, packed our miserable belongings into handkerchiefs, tied the handkerchiefs to our chimneysweep brooms, slung them over our shoulders, and slipped out the back door of our wretched hut. i had decided that we should take the brooms with us as a precaution, as we could perhaps make a little money with odd sweep jobs, if our dreams of employment as entertainers did not bear fruit immediately.
the six older sisters slept peacefully as we made our escape. in any case, they knew of our plans and were gad to see us go, and had warmed us that if we tried to return they would not welcome us or plead with our mother to take us back, as there was already little enough work or food to go around.
all ten of us had been reduced to sleeping in the small back room, as the front had been given over to a kind of studio where mother attempted to train zenobia in the uncertain arts of emperor-catching.
we had picked a truly miserable night. the snow fell fast, and we looked forward with trepidation to a long journey down a long dark road to the capital, where we hoed to make the rounds of the theaters, circus offices, and booking agencies.
imagine our surprise when we found the high road virtually thronged with wretches like ourself.
many had the same design as us - to achieve renown as entertainers and catch the emperor’s fancy in that manner and get themselves or their daughters or granddaughters or sisters or nieces established as empress.
others wished to go to the capital set themselves up as coaches or trainers for the aspirants to the royal bedchamber.
it made you wonder, who was left to sweep the chimneys or sweep the floor or make the beds or serve the ale and mutton, throughout the length and breadth of the empire.
and behold, the question was answered by the third class of people swarming the roads - the zealots and wavers of broadsides and pamphlets, preaching revolution against the empire and its mad emperor, who had brought the world to such a pretty pass of chaos through his absurd whims.
among this group of would be saviors was a scowling, dark-visaged young man calling himself by the single name of ricardo - “little ricky” to his rivals and detractors - who had established something of a following, largely among young women.
alas, belmolocha, astarte, and yezebel fell under ricky’s spell. ignoring my wise counsel and warnings, they joined ricky’s troop and left me standing in the road.
where was i to turn? i had no illusions as to my own unaided abilities to charm the emperor, especially with so many thousands of rivals. nor did i wish to return to the chimneysweeping business and my mother and older sisters, where i was sure to meet cruel mockery at best and relentless abuse at worst.
i found myself wandering off the main road.
into a thick woods.
i found a path in the woods and followed it.
presently i saw a single small light among the trees.
the light led me to a small hut.
i approached the hut, caring not what i found…
No comments:
Post a Comment