Figment - Jace Cameron - Страница 31

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"Understandable." The Pillar peeks upward, probably at Margaret Kent's balcony. The curtains block the view from where we stand.

I think about the actress who'll be playing the Duchess' part. Does she have any idea the real Duchess is watching the play?

Is that why Margaret Kent is here?

"Shall we begin?" The host talks to the actors, including the Duchess actress and the tall cook actor, whose long black hair is blocking his eyes. He seems very obedient and calm, though. "Outstanding," the host says as he orders the curtains pulled. "Let the madness begin."

Chapter 39

The pulled curtain permits the bright light pooling in. Here on the stage, all I see is an infinite source of brightness, almost blinding my eyes. It feels like each actor is entering a new world of fantasy all of a sudden. It's almost like another realm.

My eyes shut for a moment. I can't see the audience's faces with this kind of light. I merely see wavy silhouettes sitting down there. I take a deep breath and open my eyes. The stage reminds me of the Mush Room somehow. I think this is what they call stage fright.

But it actually works. The actress portraying the Duchess, wearing a silly oversized hat, plays her part well. Obnoxiously entertaining. The crowd loves her.

I start saying all kinds of nonsense, partially memorized from the book. I act freely without intimidation. The stage has a certain magic to it. It's like singing alone in the shower and letting the trickling water camouflage your horrible voice.

My inner fear spreads from something else. Something I can't explain yet. It's probably the Pillar's fear that worries me. I peek at him, standing askew near the curtain, like a detective looking for a lead to a crime that will happen in the future.

What in God's name could go wrong on the stage?

I keep on acting. People don't respond much to my sentences, as if I am not there. But I am not complaining. They are immensely entertained by the Duchess. It's also funny how I am not supposed to be acting. The scene we're portraying supposedly has happened to me in Wonderland.

Oh, my. Oh, the paradoxical madness.

Jack jumps in the scene, curls his flexible body on the cook's table, and meows the Cheshire part. Jack is hilarious, like always. I hear the audience clap. My hand itches, wanting to clap too. Jack's ease with nonsense is charming, and he seems to have the talent for acting.

Then comes the cook's part.

He is a tall, interesting guy, different than as portrayed in Alice in Wonderland. Other than being tall and having his black hair fall down and cover his eyes, he is a bit scary for such a comedic event.

Uniquely dressed, I must say.

I turn back to the Pillar to see if he has his eyes on the cook. The Pillar does stare at him. He doesn't like him at all. I look back to see what's so odd about the cook.

Then I see it.

The cook wears a double-breasted white jacket, like all cooks do. Except this one looks like a straitjacket backwards.

Chapter 4 0

I swallow hard when I see the straightjacket. Is it supposed to be an artistic touch from the costume designer? The cook was mad in Lewis' book, obsessed with pepper and having a bad temper.

But the straitjacket also implies the possibility of a man who's just escaped an asylum.

The Pillar rushes onto the stage and interferes with the scene. Since this is the most improvised chapter, it's no big deal. He nears me and talks in my ear. It's obvious he wants to tell me something about the cook. I can't hear him, and I don't know how to weave this into the act.

"And who are you, strangely dressed man?" the Duchess says obnoxiously.

"Shut up, ugly lady," the Pillar says. "I'm the doorknob. Everyone knows that."

The audience laughs and claps hysterically. It buys the Pillar time to tell me, "The Cook!"

"I know," I say. "There is something wrong about him."

"Let's see what he is up to." The Pillar points his cane. "Why is hiding his eyes with his hair?"

"He might be the Cheshire," I shriek.

"That's not the Cheshire," the Duchess says, thinking we're acting. "That's my cook. He has an obsession with pigs and pepper."

"Shut up, hag!" I say. "We're trying to solve a crime here."

Why doesn't anyone laugh at my jokes?

"Peppa!" The cook acts furious, pulling jars of pepper from under the table. "More peppa!" He starts pouring ridiculous amounts into a boiling cauldron.

I realize the boiling water in the cauldron is real. Shouldn't this endanger the actors? The cook is definitely the Cheshire. I look at the Pillar for confirmation, but he is in a haze of confusion.

Maybe we're both just paranoid.

As the cook pours the pepper, a few kid actors run into the scene and ask the Duchess for food. I know for sure this isn't part of the real script of Alice in Wonderland. But nothing has exactly followed the book so far.

"Go away, you obnoxious, filthy children!" The Duchess kicks one of kids away. The boy rolls on his stomach, aching. Those guys act brilliantly. It's so believable.

"Pigs for the children," the cook announces, and holds a baby pig in one hand. It's a real pig. "Do you want me to cook it for you, along with some spicy peppa?"

"Yes!" the children plead. "We're hungry. We haven't eaten in days."

Suddenly, I can't help but notice the children's clothes look exactly like in my vision. But it makes sense. The play portrays Victorian times, so I shouldn't be suspicious about it.

The Pillar still watches the cook closely.

Another unexpected thing happens when a woman, acting as the Queen of Hearts, bursts onto the stage. She is short and chubby and wears a joker's outfit. She holds an axe triple her size.

"Off with all your heads," she shouts. "Horrible children eating the food in my kingdom."

Even the Duchess acts horrified by the Queen.

"Pardon me, my Queen," the cook says. "Could I use the axe to chop off my pig's head? I need to cook it for the children." Then he says, in an unnecessary way, "Peppa! More peppa!"

"What is this?" the Pillar asks me. I have never seen him offended by nonsense like this before. But honestly, this is way crazier than I thought it would be. "What's going on?"

We're hardly part of the act anymore. The crowd loves every bit of this mishmash of characters.

"I can't give you my axe," the Queen of Hearts tells the cook. "But I can chop the pig's head for you." The grin on her face is deeply disturbing to me. Of course, none of the audience can see it this far.

Is the Cheshire also the Queen of Hearts?

The cook holds the pig heartlessly from its feet. The poor animal struggles with its head upside down. It sneezes painfully because of the pepper.

"Put the pig down!" I shout. This not acting anymore. What the heck is this? "This play is over. Put the poor pig down!"

Instead of backing me up, the crowd boos at me.

"Show it to me," the Queen of Hearts orders the cook. He nears the kicking pig down to here so Her Majesty's short existence can reach it.

And then...

Then...

The unbelievable happens, the sort of thing that breaks all barriers between real and unreal.

The Queen of Hearts swings her axe and chops off the pig's head.

My head processes the scene in slow motion. It's too horrifying for my mind to digest it in normal speed.

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