The Curfew - Jesse Ball [17]
but rather no one was there. The street was quiet. Was he shaking? There were lights in the windows of this and every other house, of many houses he had seen. Light that comes in bursts and falls. Persisting relentlessly, in showers of sparks. Could it be that light was a false hope and had ever been? That would be the death of anyone—to recognize false hopes with a certainty. One mustn’t know that. If it is offered, refuse!
PART 2
IN THE APARTMENT
—I think that what is most needed for you, young lady, is that a puppet show should be made, and by you, and that my husband he will do a great job of helping you with it, because, do you know, he was making puppets in his old work, although now he does not.
Molly nodded gravely.
—Come on, he’s in here.
The apartment was full of objects: cookie cutters, quilts, photographs of long ago, a sewing machine, a pressing machine, a long pole with metal bands at either end.
Mrs. Gibbons took the pole and put one end in a slot on the ground. The other end she slid into a port on the door.
—You’d need an army to bust down that, said Mrs. Gibbons. Come now.
Molly followed her into the next room, where Mr. Gibbons was sitting in an armchair.
—There’s a job for you, Mr. Gibbons, to help this Molly here to make a puppet show. Now I want you to do it properly as you used to and not spare a thing. It’s a serious matter, you know, and it’s Molly’s first visit here.
—Well, don’t I know my own business, Mrs. Gibbons. Come here, young lady. We’ll sit and talk a moment about what sort of puppet show you want to make.
Molly looked back and forth at Mrs. and Mr. Gibbons. She tried to sign *I don’t speak.
—The poor thing, said Mrs. Gibbons. And me not knowing sign language, either.
—Well, that’s the least of our worries. Here’s a sheet of paper.
Mr. Gibbons produced a pencil and a piece of paper.
—This’ll do just fine, he said. You can sit here, Molly, and let’s talk about this puppet show.
*I am very eager to do the puppet show and also think it’s kind of you to have me here. I and my father are very grateful.
—Oh, it’s nothing at all. You needn’t worry yourself.
Mrs. Gibbons went out of the room and called back in:
—I’ll be coming with something hot to drink in a while, and ask the girl has she had supper.
—Have you had supper, Molly?
*Haven’t.
—Hasn’t, but would like to, I think, Mrs. Gibbons.
—That’ll do, that’ll do.
—A puppet show, said Mr. Gibbons, is a very delicate thing.
He sat on the ottoman across from Molly, and spoke with his hands. His face was reddish colored, and he wore a bathrobe over thick flannel pajamas. His eyes were very blue.
—I should know, he continued. Wasn’t I the impresario of the famous Antediluvian Puppet Brigade? So, if you follow me, we’ll go into the next room, and perhaps you’ll get an idea or two. Be sure to take your paper with. And don’t worry about using it up. Speak your mind. We’ve plenty of paper.
*I think a puppet show about music.
—Music, eh.
Mr. Gibbons’s face assumed a serious expression.
—That’s a large matter, especially now. I’m beginning to see the sort of girl you are.
They went together into the next room.
THE NEXT ROOM
housed at one end a beautiful puppet theater. The windows of the room were covered over with thick drapes that were nailed in at many points. There were about fifteen chairs to compose an audience. The theater was made of wood, and was raised off the ground. There were steps leading up to it from the side. On one wall, to the left of the theater, a long curtain hung. Mr. Gibbons threw it aside.
Many shelves were beneath it. The first shelf held tools of every description. The second held paint, and feathers, bits of fur and wood in shapes and sizes. Also, string in balls and tangles. The third and fourth and fifth and sixth held puppets, oh such puppets as Molly had never seen. There were kings and princes, sheep and lions, dogs and sheep princesses, wolves and mules, wolf kings and fox maids, tailors and churls and musketmen. There were crones and cat