The curtains covering the stage began to
separate slowly after this guncrack of coordinated stomping. At first it
appeared there was nothing to see on the stage behind but as the curtain
widened further, a small tower came into evidence. On this table was a little
clay flowerpot containing a yellow pansy that was drooping slightly under its
own weight. Next to the table was a little wooden chair. The curtains kept
opening and the children kept watching in rapt attention. Once the curtains
were completely open, right at the edge of the right hand side of the stage a
man could be seen in the sitting position. Except, on further examination he
was not actually sitting on anything. He was just hovering in the air as if
sitting on an imaginary chair. After a few seconds, seeming once he was sure
all the children were watching him, he swung one of his legs up and onto the
other in a relaxed crossed leg position whilst still maintaining his balance
and the illusion of being seated. This was quite impressive considering that
all of his weight was now being held by his left leg, which was keeping his
balance as well.
The man was wearing white gloves and white
face paint. On the face paint were painted black edging around his eyes and a
single black tear painted under the left eye. His lips were also painted black,
with the lip paint tightly adhering to the edges of hip lips, which were
slightly drawn out, betraying no emotion. He was gazing at the floor in front
of him as he balanced, a white rose in the lapel of a black vest, worn over a
black and white striped long sleeved top. The look was vaguely familiar to
Four, he had seen it on some tv program. The man slowly looked up. At first he
appeared to be surveying all the children in the complex, and then it became
clear he was looking over their heads, into the space around them, at something
only he could see. He slowly stood from his sitting position and turned and
seemed to see the stool and the table with the flower for the first time. His
eyes widened, his face became the very description of joy, his eyes creasing at
the edges, his lips pulling back over his teeth into a grimac of absolute
amazement and happiness. He lengthened his arms out to the flower and then
pulled his hands back in towards his breast, clasping them together in
wonderment and allowing his knees to go loose and droop him towards the ground
slightly. "He must want that flower" Four thought to himself.
The man put his hands out again and began
walking towards the flower on the table. At once it appeared he was having some
trouble. He put his head down and seemed to fight for every step towards the
table, as if he was walking through water or a strong wind was blowing against
him. A couple of times he grabbed at the hat on his head like it was about to
be ripped away from him. One foot after another he stepped, and then stepped
again. When he was finally within arm's reach of the chair, which seemed to
take forever, he snatched at it, and grabbed the back of the chair tightly. He
used his purchase on the chair to pull himself slowly and inexiorably towards
the table and his prize. He made a great heaving motion and dragged his legs
behind him, then quickly made up the distance with little steps of his feet. He
repeated this and was able to get his whole body just above the chair and
gratefully allowed himself to drop onto it. He took off his hat and wiped his
forehead with it, then acted out wringing some great amount of sweat from it.
He then reached out and grabbed the flower, , wrapped his fingers around it
delicately and plucked it out of the vase. Or, rather, tried to. The vase came
up with the flower when the man lifted it. He looked towards teh audience with
an expression of extreme confusion, and made a huffing sound. He turned his
head back to the flower and vase and shook it slightly. The vase still held on.
He shook the flower a bit harder. No effect. This time he shook it violently,
the vase flying this way and that, and i was sure it was going to be flung into
the audience, knocking out one of the children around me or possibly myself.
However, the vase held on with temerity. The man let loose a big, exagerrated
sigh, pulled out the white rose already in his suit pocket and placed it on the
table. Then he pulled his front pocket wide open, wider than the children would
have thought possible to begin with, lifted the vase containing the flower, and
dropped it into the pocket, where it lodged itself with about an inch of the
rim poking out, and the yellow flower seeming to be looking over his shoulder.
The man stood up and started to bow, but
appeared to hit his head on an invisible wall when he did. He wore an
expression of confusion and tried to bow again, this time seemingly hitting his
head with more violence, making him jump back. As he did, he seemed to hit an
invisible wall behind him as well, which made him spin three hundred and sixty
degrees on the spot and feel around at the place where he had 'hit'. His hands
continued exploring the invisible wall to what appeared to be a corner, and
then to a side and then finally to the wall that was facing us, the captive
audience. His palms felt and groped, flat against this wall we could not see,
felt reaching down to knee height and finding some solid substance then slowly
creeping their way up to above his head. He strained his arms a little higher
and his fingertips seemed to find an edge, which he wrapped his fingertips
around, and then flung himself up by, seeking to look over it and succeeding.
He then collapsed back in a pile on the ground and a few of the children
clapped and laughed. I winced, expecting another guard to turn up and tell them
off, or even to take them away. But no such punishment occurred. IN actuality,
a couple of the guards around us seemed to be smiling as well, though they
weren't going quite as far as to start clapping. I saw out of the corner of my
eye one of the guards striding down the middle of the floor between the rows of
the sitting children. The boy realised that this was Ton, the man who had
brought him in here. He walked right up to the stage and offered his hand to
the crumpled pile of the man in make up on the stage, who leapt up like a bolt
of lightning and then, with a small bow, took the hand proferred him and
climbed gracefully off the front of the stage. Ton patted him on the back, then
turned towards the children.
"That," he said, "was a
mime. The very pinnacle of the talent of a mime at work. I want you to remember
that performance because once day you will be expected to re-enact it and add
something of your own to it. You will be our soldiers and you march in a white
faced army.”
The children were all struck with silence.
A white faced army? Four Two Seven wondered if he meant like a clown but
somehow he had the feeling this was something different, something that meant
more.
"You will now be organised into groups
and those groups will go their own living quarters. You will be expected to
work for your stay here. Do not try to escape, it is not possible. This place
is not of normal geography. Good night for now, remember what you saw. Take
your drink on the way out."
The adults at the front began dispensing
through the crowd of children and pointing out several at a time and herding
them together and getting them to follow them. The boy could see that as they
were going out the door they were given what looked like a fruit box to drink.
He noticed that they were given the fruit box with the straw already puncturing
the hole at the top and they would stand and wait until the child had taken a
sip before they were lead outside. He saw Ton come over and point to him, then
turn and start pointing to others. Strangely, he felt a slight relief at being
in Ton's group. Better the devil you know, he figured. Once all the children
had been picked, they were told to follow Ton. A small girl a couple of years
younger than Four Two came up next to him silently and held his hand. She
looked at him slightly scared. He gave her a half smile and squeezed her hand
slightly. She didn't smile back but she did squeeze his hand as well, very
tight, and kept it that tight as they walked together after Ton.
There was an acrid smell in the air, Four
Two noticed. Urine? His nose automatically shrivelled in the wee onslaught. As
he looked around he noticed quite a few wet pant fronts. He stopped himself
from judging the children. If they had been taken out of their house in a
manner such as he was... maybe worse? Maybe they actually saw their parents
killed? Maybe they wouldn't be quiet when they were first told to be and they
had to scare them more? He tried not to think about it. He knew he had to avoid
thinking about his parents because whenever the thought crossed his mind now,
the immediate instinct was to begin to sob. He saw the door approaching and Ton
standing just before it taking a fruit box from an attendant there behind a
table. "Here." he said and passed it to Four Two. "Drink
Up."
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