Olya, Masha, and Irina were freed. The ceiling no longer sagged under their weight, and soon the cardboard fell away, and Kay felt the sun warm her and saw the light of day bright in her unblinking eyes. Every instinct screamed to close her eyes lest she be blinded, but she could not and soon found that she could stare into the blue without fear. A pair of hands lifted her from the box and laid her in a patch of grass next to Irina as the giants unloaded other gear from the back of the van.
The world was a beautiful place. Soft as a bed, the ground yielded to her feathery weight. A breeze caressed her in intermittent waves. Birds sang in nearby trees, the leaves rustling, the branches gently creaking. A stray memory toyed with such sensations, a man warm and pleasant lying next to her in the tall grass declaring in the shapes of the clouds they watched a camel, a duck, a white rose. At the edge of her thoughts, she detected the giants moving, carrying boxes from the lawn into the back of a small building. Faraway music floated by, the song of a carousel, and children’s laughter in the wind. How she had missed the sound of children, their unabashed joy in the face of newness and wonder. A shadow appeared and blotted out the sun.
Squatting on his haunches, the Quatre Mains reached for her and Irina, taking one in each hand. His grip was firm but gentle, and Kay nestled in his hand as he walked across the lawn, swinging in the rhythm of his gait. He pushed with his hip and opened a door into the dark. When her eyes had adjusted, she could see they were traveling along a narrow hallway, past faded posters on the walls, dodging bits of scenery, foam rocks, a stack of leaning stage flats, a fake chandelier, tattered sofas, rickety chairs, obstacles in a warren of corridors.
A rack of costumes—gowns and robes and a pair of angel wings—rolled toward them, and Quatre Mains stopped to let it pass. At the back end was another giant, a red-haired man in a dingy black sweater, and he paused to say hello. Kay had not seen anyone other than the two puppeteers in ages, and the fact of the man amazed her. The two giants talked to each other in French, so she could not understand half of what he said; but he was real, not a myth at all, and she wanted to join the conversation, be heard, or attract his attention in some way. Wave her arms and legs, shout, just to see if he recognized her for who she really was—a woman trapped inside a puppet’s body. But the red-haired man took scant notice of her or Irina. He simply nodded when the Quatre Mains lifted each puppet to give him a closer look.
“Just the week?” the man switched to English.
“Eight shows through Sunday,” the Quatre Mains said.
“Well … bienvenue à Montreal. Much success to you.”
Backstage a makeshift rehearsal space had been arranged. A single mahogany banquet table dominated the room, and lying there were some of her old familiars along with a few puppets she did not recognize. With casual disregard for their comfort, the Quatre Mains dumped Kay and Irina on the table and hurried away, muttering about how much remained to be done. Kay had landed awkwardly, her left elbow resting on the sharp shin of a marionette she could not see. Though she was hyperaware of her circumstances, she could not move, and dared not say a word, for the giants might reappear with more of their colleagues and other materials fetched from the van.
Late in the afternoon, the Deux Mains arrived and rearranged the puppets in two straight lines. Working quickly, she picked up a puppet and did something to it that Kay could not see, but she could hear the clip of scissors and the pull of thread through cloth. One by one, she worked on the others, adding a touch of paint to a worn face, a scrap of cloth transformed into a new dress. Midway through the repairs, the Quatre Mains joined her. They worked in silence for the most part, concentrating on their tasks, but occasionally, they shared a few thoughts.
“This one,” said the Deux Mains, holding up Olya. “She’ll need three changes of costume.”
“Let’s start her as Jo in Little Women,” the Quatre Mains answered. “You think she would be the best Jo? Even though she usually plays the oldest, yes, I can see her as the lead. And the other two can be Amy and Meg. And, of course, the new one will play the narrator.”
“Can she double up as one of the Little Women as well?”