The Face of Don Tonio

Suspense Stories | Sep 9, 2012 | 20 min read
12 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
Suspense Stories

The Face of Don Tonio

Robert Seth Vorisek
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I

On one side of the curtain was the heat of carnival; sawdust and hay, manure and sweat. A spotlight in the heights shone through the hungry dust. Night enveloped the troupe, and the sounds of drawn breath erupted from the stands. Peasant faces looked in awe as a well-fed, lazy-eyed tiger obeyed a bravura-schooled tamer. There was no cage - there was no need; this animal was more aged friend than a ferocious beast. Both performed up to their standard. Aerialists flew above their heads and spun and spun, and were caught by their partners, swinging, swinging.
And when they finished their segment of the show, out came the clowns.
#
II
#
On the other side of the curtain was darkness, but for a flickering candle set before a silvered, rusty mirror on one of the dressing tables. Two flames neared the base, and in such symmetry, danced their dance prior to death. In the mirror was also reflected the face of a man; his hair pulled back and held with a cinching band of white linen. He picked up a stick of red and applied it to his lips: out of place, out of order, then he stopped. He looked at his reflection with disgust, lips half-reddened. The stick dropped to the table, though his hand remained poised, as if waiting.
He blew out the candle and parted the outer curtain into the dusted night, opposite the loud revels from the circus at the other exit.
The wick sparked for a second, then gave up in a wiry streak of smoke.
#
III
#
The applause stopped, and the audience, that had moments before been held breathless, was filing out homeward from the small tent. Through the draped curtain of the dressing room allotted the performers, came the sweat-covered pagliacci.
They grumbled about the dark.
The room was never to be left dark.
Yet it was.
Whose fault was it?
Who else?
Tonio's?
Of course.
Whose fault was it the last time, and the time before that?
Yes.
One of them went to the curtain and called out into the night.
"Tonio, you bastard son of a diseased whore, 'you out there? You'd better get back in here now if you know what's good for you! Tonio. Tonio? Tonio!"
For some reason he lingered and the entryway, hoping for a response. His call met only the stifling night air and the ebbing murmur of the crowd.
"What does this make it now, the third time in as many days that he's missed a show? I can't figure what's got into him."
"I don't know. Don't ask me," Gaetano the barker said. Then he shook his head absently as he continued to wipe the greasepaint off his face.
#
IV
#
A day earlier, the troupe had passed the hungry flatlands; they had done so in the past and profited. Along the road the dust rose behind their trail, hung in the air and defied a gravity that forced it to settle. After some time of observing this, the group refused to even look backwards.
On either side of the road that split the slow death, the scars of war were still present. Crumbling buildings far in the distance sent up singular spires of broken brick that reminded them of emerging fingers from a buried giant sunk into the earth. The enormity of the surrounding land dwarfed their caravan. So when at last the dark clutter that was to be their night's destination rose over the horizon, their hearts beat faster with some expectation. But, as they continued their travel and it came no closer for many hours, dusk deepened, and with falling hearts, they silently vowed to continue until they reached the small town. Only after half the night was traveled through and gone, did the lights appear within their grasp.
Hours later they arrived and bedded down the livestock, then themselves.
#
V
#
Later, the pagliacci sat back from their motions of removing all whiteness and jocundity, and finally talked.
"I just can't take his moodiness anymore. What is it? It's going to affect us all soon enough. Hey, Gaetano, you talk to him. So, what's the matter with our Master Clown. enh? What have we done to him to deserve this treatment?"
"Paolo, it seems I cannot make you understand. I do not know now or since the last time you asked me -" Gaetano stopped. The curtain opened and let in the fœtid air of the slum-village in which they'd performed that night. It entered their tent like a slow miasma, filled with the scents of death and decay.
"Ahh," Gaetano continued, "Lucia, to what do we owe such an honor, cara mia?
Lucia, the mistress of the tiger, had the temper of Xantippe when crossed, but the great passions of her feline when aroused, as each of the performers - at one time or another - knew so well.
"Don't you 'cara mia' me! If for one minute you pigs thought even the slightest of your positions in this troupe, you wouldn't…Pfaa! If I didn't take my place as Prima Dona as seriously as I do in this shit-hole, I'd tear out your hearts before you'd know they were missing!"
The clown sniggered at her tongue lashing, but quieted when they saw her fired eyes. It was not often they evoked such a response from the company's main attraction, but they had done their best tonight to avoid such fire and thought they had succeeded. Missing the talents of Tonio, they needed one last pratfall to finish the night off, and Dona Lucia had provided them with what they sought.
At first, the audience gasped in horror when the buffoons scampered into the tiger's ring and proceeded to subdue poor Simbolio into a purring, lazy he-cat, flat on his back with leg pawing the air above him. Seeing Dona Lucia's face light up with a smile, the crowd relaxed, and the troupe was covered in waves of laughter and applause. Little did the crowd see the anger and shards of glass that pinpointed her eyes.
"I'm sure you'll pay for this, you...you...all of you! Madonna, I pray that my tiger tears off your testicoli! Ahh, but then, even he has some standards. Basta!" She spit into the dust and wheeled around, yanking the curtain apart in a swirl, and disappeared into the night.
After an appropriate moment, their serious masks fell and it was their turn to laugh.
#
VI
#
Out in the choking darkness, he walked and stumbled and crawled. The lights appeared smaller than when the troupe first had seen them the night before. He hadn't been walking long enough for that to be so, yet it was this that Don Tonio saw.
"Madonna! Madonna!" he cried, wiping his face into the dirt.
#
VII
#
As one by one the lights extinguished, the sounds inside the carnival troupe ceased, the small village put itself to rest. The dust had finally settled for the night, the people at bed, the troupe near sleep, and the tiger, his innermost desires idle, extended himself with clawed pads along the cage...clink...clink...clink...and growled low in the back of his throat.
In Don Rudolpho's wagon, his hand clenched and released, beating out the rhythm of his pulse. What was wrong? There was some feeling he had this night that was nor right...evil. No, not that...unusual. It must be this village, he thought, it had to be. Ever since they had entered this little piss-hole, he felt oppressed, like God Himself was turning a vise about their heads: squeezing the rightness out of them, crushing their lives. Breath caught in his lungs and refused to be let out. He was afraid. This was too much: there were other cities like this Armageddon plain and whatever the cost, he had to do something...even if there was money to be lost. As soon as he was able, yes, he would pull up their stakes. Yes, that was it -
"Claudio!"
His cry came out more frantic than he would have liked; it cut the night.
"Claudio, ora! Now!"
In his underclothes, Claudio ran up the steps arranging himself before his met his boss. He composed himself and knocked on the wagon door.
"Entri!" came the muffled vice of Rudolpho.
"You wish to see me, Don Rudolpho?"
"We leave at dawn."
That sudden statement was met with silent incredulity.
"Tell them now, before you retire for the night. Anyone not ready will be left behind. I would leave now, but...never mind. Understand? Capisca? No exceptions. None. And if Tonio is not found or has not returned when we leave, ha finito. Now go, I'm tired and we have a long day tomorrow.
Claudio said nothing while Don Rudolpho spoke for he noticed something in the Don's voice that frightened him. Something that had not been there last night, or this morning; something that brooked no argument or question. And if his Don was afraid, he knew better than to do or say otherwise. He turned with a quick servile bow, but the Don spoke again.
"Claudio -"
"Yes, my Don?"
"Claudio, do you feel...feel that something...that something is not as it should be? I mean around our caravan. I don't know...something different...?
He stared into his Don's eyes and he thought his answer out carefully before he spoke, weighing what the Don really wanted to hear.
"No -" came his whispered answer, "no, Don Rudolpho. I have not felt something as you have spoken of."
"Ahh, never mind. Whatever it is will pass away when we leave this curséd place. Thank you, Claudio. That is all I wanted. We leave in the morning," he said, and turned his attention back to the pulse beat of his heart, his body.
When Claudio closed the door, with an even smaller, quicker bow, he stood at the base of the steps and stared at the closed door. Remembering the motions of his Don's hands as he'd left, he stood deep in thought. He really felt nothing. No? Not yet...
#
VIII
#
The troupe traveled for half a day when they entered a pleasant sort of compound. It came to them sooner than had the last; the last in a long string of distant cities of the desert plain. This seemed unlike the others in that it had many trees, and appeared not to have been affected by the war. A large fortress castle dominated the enclosure beside which were shops, and above those shops were houses spread around. The center square opened before them as the wagons circled and came to a stop.
Out from the castle came what appeared to be the local baron. On his second storey balcony, he stood to greet them, and though he no longer held much power over his tiny fiefdom, his presence gave them honor. The war had abolished any rule other than the central government, but these isolated, forgotten people would remain faithful to their barons and other petty royals.
A show would be offered in return for protection and food and shelter: a show was promised them, and he called for the preparations to begin.
Of course, the troupe had earlier questioned their boss, Don Rudolpho, as they broke down the circus, but not harshly or openly, and not with each other, because they, too, felt something would be better left behind them with the city when they moved onward.
#
IX
#
From the compound wall came the shout, "Ayeiiie!"
Everyone, including the entire troupe went to the gate and saw a lone figure approach. His face grew closer, the pagliacci gasped. It was Tonio.
They ran out to meet him, Don Rudolpho as well, with the other roustabouts. Tonio knew not where he was, the time, or the day, but he recognized his companions.
In a desert-hardened whisper he spoke, "Guido, Lucia," he tried to smile when he said her name, but it was a horrible failure, "Giuseppe...Gaetano...I know you.
"What are you doing here? Where is here..."
"The question, I think," put in Don Rudolpho, "is what are you doing here, my friend? You should be a hundred miles back in hell." He looked directly into Tonio's eyes, "Where were you my absent caro mio when we left?"
A shadow crossed Tonio's face as he tried to think. "I -" His body slumped against that of Don Rudolpho's just from that effort.
"Ach, forget all that. We've got a show to prepare. Forget all about the questions, Tonio, and all the rest of you, too. There will be time enough for that later...after our show. Remember? The show? Our bread and butter? Sì?"
He started to move Tonio - not unkindly - and guide him toward the small pagliacci tent. The others around parted and patted him lightly on the back in welcoming camaraderie, as they, too, went about their assigned tasks.
"Tonio," whispered Don Rudolpho.
"Yes, my Don?" came out a throaty rasp.
"Tonight, after the show...this is if you will be going on...Sì?...Good. After the show tonight, without speaking to the others about this, come see me in my wagon. I wish to speak to you. But, be at ease, Tonio. Rest for a while. All is well now, all is well - now..."
"Yes, my Don. It will be as you say," he answered in a near faint.
#
X
#
The clowns were finishing the last highlights to their faces when Tonio threw down his white-stick in disgust.
"Forget it."
Don Guido whispered, "Here we go."
"Tonio," it was Gaetano, What is it?"
Paolo stood behind Tonio's stool and looked down at him in the mirror. Their eyes met and held for a moment, then spoke, "Tonio, why have you not finished your face? What's wrong with you? Now what can be the problem? Another stunt? Ehh, Tonio. Like all the others you've been pulling lately...What do you hope to prove by this behavior?"
"Get out!" he turned on them, "All of you! You are all finished! Get out of here and leave me in peace. Get out!!"
Giuseppe stood, stared at Tonio in the mirror for a moment, and then threw down his own cloth before his mirror, and stormed through the drape into the night. Over his shoulder he said, "I don't need to take this. Come on, amici. Don Rudolph will deal with him. Let's go, Paolo, Gaetano. That's enough. Leave His Highness in peace. Come on, brothers."
"Gaetano, wait," Tonio whispered and turned his face to his only friend. Gaetano turned back to Tonio, stopped in hopes of an explanation.
"Gaetano," came a call from outside, "Are you coming?" Before Tonio could say anything, he, too, left.
This was not the first time Tonio called out into the silence, "Madonna..."
#
XI
#
He sat, as on previous nights alone with exhaustion settling upon his body. Whether from the flatlands, or his own inner emptiness, he did not know or care.
His head fell upon his crossed arms over his makeup table, and remained there, in that state, for a long while.
"Tonio," came the nearly familiar voice.
He turned his head slowly on his arms, not bothering to look up. He could not locate the source of the voice in the semi-darkness.
"Tonio."
Where are you?" he asked wearily.
"Behind you, Tonio. Here. Just look."
Lifting his head, Tonio's glance swept the tent. The other dresser-flames had gone out; his was the only one still alight.
"Where? I don't see you." He looked further into the darkness and saw the figure of a body blacker than the darkness.
"Come out of the shadows. Come into the light where I can see you. Come on."
"If you wanted to see me, you could do so."
"Come on. Stop at this playing. Come out where I can see you."
The form advance from its repose, and Tonio first saw its feet. They were large pagliacci feet with over-sized pantaloons like the ones he wore. When the face finally emerged into the light of his candle's flame, Tonio laughed.
#
XII
#
Please, Tonio," the clown pleaded, "do not laugh at me, Tonio. Not you. Please, not you. Least of all, you."
Finally, hearing the heaviness and weight of the words, Tonio stopped to a mild chuckle, and asked, "Then whom, may I ask, Don Pagliacco, do I see before me?" Another chuckle escaped before Tonio could hold it back, "I have never seen your like before it is true, but your voice...for a moment it was familiar to me." Interest now entered his usually level voice.
"I am...call me Mercutio. I come from here...here..." he hesitated, then continued, "Word had reached even these wretched people of the greatness of Don Rudolpho de San Giovanni's Premiere Circo. We...they are honored. They await the performance from this carnevale delle fantasie."
"But, why do you come here dressed as one of us, as a lowly pagliacco?"
"Are we not all such as you? Do we not all wear bright, laughing masks? But not you, I see. It is possible that I can help you. If you wish."
"Forget it." The refusal was quick and defensive and without thought. At once, he regretted his words, and softened, "No, ...wait a moment, Mercutio." He tried another tack. "You did not want me to laugh at you. Why?"
After a time, the clown's quiet, distant voice returned, "Whenever I try to please others, which is my lot, I am made to dress as a pagliacco. Only then do people laugh and hear my words. I am theirs to call upon for pleasure and entertainment. Do not look confused. Yes, in these days those like me exist even here. I am fed and housed by many - even as you. What more could -"
"What more? God man, that's no life -"
Tonio broke off seeing the glint in the pagliacco's eye. "Then, too, here am I as well. Yes, I see. No, I will not laugh. There is nothing to laugh at. It is not funny, this life we live, is it? The humor is always at our own expense.
"But, Mercutio, you have such a great creative gift...to create a face like that...Why -"
"You think so?"
"Yes. It's amazing. It's fabulous. Why, with a face such as yours, I'd -"
"Yes, what? You'd what?"
"I'd..."
"What would you do, Tonio. I thought there was nothing left for you. Nothing left to excite in yourself with being a pagliacco. I thought you hated your work, could not even force yourself to put on your face each night, even as late as this night..." His voice trailed off into silence, forcing the meaning of his words into Tonio's head. Shock and anger, then realization spread across Tonio's face. Yes.
"I thought there was no way I could help you, Tonio. But, that's not true and we both know it now, don't we? Why are you unhappy with your own creation, Tonio? Come. Tell me. I'm interested."
"How did you know there -
"That I was -
"That I hated my face?"
"I did not. You just told me that which you kept hidden to yourself."
Tonio whirled, looking for a weapon to strike out in anger and bitterness at...He didn't know at what. As he lunged at the clown, their eyes met and their contact stayed his hand. He looked at what he'd grabbed for a weapon. It was his own white-stick.
"Tonio. Tonio. Tonio. You do not want to harm me, do you? It is not me at which you are angry, is it?"
"Yes, you taunt me. You task me, vex me, prod me into anger like a bull before a matador. You mock my art, my life, and expect me to relent in my anger."
"Tonio -"
"Don't please give me more to feed my anger." Again he regretted this outburst, and slowly tried to assuage his words. "No. I do not. I'm sorry, Don Mercutio. It's...It's just that I am so tired -"
"When I saw you enter the protection of this Great Fortress, I asked your Don about you. He told me of your unease, your unrest. I am afraid I showed a more than cursory interest in you, and gathered the suspicion of your Don Rudolpho. I tried to smooth out any anger your Don felt toward you. He loves you like one good man loves another, like a son. You are very special to him, to this circo di carnevale, and not merely for your art alone."
"Don Rudolpho? You spoke to him earlier? Maybe that is what he wishes to speak to me about? I hope -"
"Oh Tonio, do not question your Don too closely, lest he forget his own peace. He, and all the others, all are concerned for you.
"Now, Tonio, please. May I be seated? I am tired also."
They talked then.
#
XIII
#
...For a time.
"But your face, Don Mercutio. It's...it's laughable.
"That is what I didn't...do not find in my white-stick anymore. When I try, nothing comes from it. People no longer laugh at me. I have even asked the others, my pagliacci del fratello, but they call me fool and make a joke it. They have no heart, the bastards! But...I have noticed, they too seem not so funny as we pagliacci must be. We are all victims, now that the war is over, of the same disease. It is difficult enough to lighten the hearts of the crowd, but now in these ruins? Impossibile. There is nothing left of any consequence. Why not lie down and die. God, even Simbolio becomes like a kitten too easily; he is like a pet and not the ferocious beast he should be. And, of all the rest? They are tired, also."
"And why is that, Tonio? Why do they no longer find humor in your face, these crowds you try to please? And of your friends, why do they ridicule you? Is it because you find yourself no longer able to pull off such feats for them? Is it because you are so full of this worthlessness, this feeling of a pointless existence? Is too much of you being bled to death and you cannot stomach such entertainments? Carving your insides out to appease some of the hungry you see before you? Yes, something in the crowd goes unfulfilled even when you have given them everything you have, and now you can find no reason to give them more. Is that it, Tonio? Is it?"
"Yes...Yes, oh yes -"
"And do you find much of this staying your hand, preventing you from creating a face that will make you funny, to be laughed at once again?
Tonio nodded.
"And you find something of what you seek in my face? My funny face? How strange. Do you think that merely by taking what I have done, my face, which you find so funny, that it will inspire you to be as you once were? Would it give you new reason to be the pagliacco you have lost?
"Don Mercutio," he began, but stopped. His face clouded over, but then erupted into understanding. "Yes.
"...I think it would be a beginning."
"But, Tonio, I am not a man happy with his face, as I have said. Surely you cannot hide behind another's face, no matter how funny?"
"I will be different...It will give me such inspirations as i have lost in this wreck of a world, such drive as I need so desperately. And you suggested, even yourself, that it just might be the inspiration I searched for so long."
"Maybe." Then, his continued reply was long in coming, "Maybe you will be different." Don Mercutio was silent after he spoke, fighting some great struggle inside himself.
"Very well. It shall be as you ask. Yes, Tonio, I will make your face anew to be such as mine. Here now, turn your back to the mirror...yes, like that..."
From deep in his pocket, the figure Don Mercutio produced the tools that would help him create the face that Don Tonio sought: a likeness of himself in Tonio. These tools were not unfamiliar to Tonio...white-stick and red...black lines and putty.
In all this time, the others had not returned.
#
XIV
#
Tonio was not permitted to turn around until all was complete, and the message made by signs and gestures showed that Don Mercutio was a master of makeup art. Excitedly, he obeyed.
His turn, when Mercutio was completed, was a slow determined movement to take in all the new planes of his face bit by bit. From somewhere deep inside, a bubbling swelled until it erupted from his lips. And he laughed.
When he saw the creation in its entirety, Tonio laughed harder, seeing the way his mouth turned with glee. Oh, giorno glorioso! The magic had been returned.
When he had finished examining Don Mercutio's work, he whirled around to thank the clown, Tonio found that he had slipped silently away.
#
XV
#
The curtain flapped open angrily. In their absence, all the table candles had been re-lit. Tonio stood in the center of the tent, with his back to his brother performers and feet planted defiantly apart, waiting. Before Don Rudolpho could release the tirade which had been building since he was told Tonio would once again be absent from the evening's show and was enraged for all to see, Tonio jumped high, flung his arms above him and leaned backwards, falling toward then in a spiraled tuck-roll. Two somersaults followed as he came to a stop kneeling before them, arms extended as if awaiting applause. Their silence was broken by Paolo's first giggle. They burst into waves of laughter and applause; they forgot what they were about or why.
Rudolpho clearly had not looked so proud in a great while. "This is much better, much like the old Tonio in the days before the war. Tonio! Bellisima!! Come on everybody. A Party waits us all when we depart this piss-hole and part these people from their fat, heavy purses! Work! Work, do you hear me? A bottle to each of you after the show tonight. Work your tails off and earn your pay for once, and my fortune. Come! Come on, andiamo, voi zoticoni!"
There was a flurry of people in and out of the pagliacci's tent as they prepared for the show; Lucia and the aerialists, too. Tonio moved about with new vigor, inspected every inch of the tent anew, and surprised each of them as he turned to face them at their work. All chuckled to themselves as they cautiously eyed Tonio with sidelong glances, afraid of their uncontrollable reactions. Yes, dammit, it was just like the old Tonio.
Yet...
#
XVI
#
They'd all gone. The show was about to begin.
Tonio stood before his mirror secretly knowing who was responsible for this marvel. Not himself. He had felt odd while it was being applied, as if Don Mercutio was molding the very lines of his face. He now risked a touch and found it cold and strangely not greasy. There, he saw then, on his forehead and to each side, long ridges of putty extending his face to the hysterical. His nose was altered too, large and grotesque. He touched them also, each in turn.
"Aaaaaahhh!
He passed out.
#
Almost immediately he awoke from his faint. The putty was no longer cool, but as warm as the rest of him. He put his hand on it, ran his fingers along the ridges and could feel the sensation of the fingers across his skin. When he rubbed at the whiteface, it moved, and as he dug deeper, it hurt. No white-face wax came off on his fingers. Frantically he touched the bulbous nose. It, too, was his: real.
He slapped himself as though he'd slept and wanted to awake. No, it was real. It was all real, and his.
"Mercutio!" he screamed.
No one heard him as the applause began for the aerialists and filtered through the drapery. He cried the names of those in the troupe, but no one heard. And no one heard the silent tear fall from his eye and roll down the ridges of his new jaw across warm, white skin.
#
XVII
#
He went into a spin once more, knocking over tables, stools, bedding, crashing mirrors, extinguishing the candles so they sputtered and went out. He pelted his face in despair then his hands flew away from the abhorrent thing he had become. Bloodshot eyes called in helpless horror.
Around. Around he flung himself: onto the floor; rolled and rose up again to repeat the torment to his body once more. His satin pantaloons were encrusted with every bit of grime and fluttered in tatters. Bruises erupted along his body as he continued in his madness.
Finally, he threw himself over a fallen table, into the outer tent wall with a burst of passion, and fell through the body-long rip of canvas into the night.
#
XVIII
#
When he controlled himself once more, he tore open the main tent-flap, and called, "Mercutio!"
#
XIX
#
The hushed audience was intent on what was occurring in the large center ring. Lucia swept the whip from the floor and cracked it convincingly close to the tiger's ear. Obediently, Simbolio moved, always trying to remember his part in the act.
Suddenly, the lone, desolate shriek of, "Mercutio!" rent the awed silence.
Lucia stopped, as did the tiger, and all eyes turned to see Tonio stagger screaming through the flaps in the tent.
Softly at first, but with steady, mounting force, laughter spread across the circus crowd. Above his cries, now become pleas of terror, the people roared, even louder than those of which Simbolio was capable.
Tonio was the center of attention.
"Stop! Damn you, stop!
"Please..." he wailed.
He was given the gift of that which he had wished: his desire fulfilled.
Tonio ran to the side of the ring where the aerialist cables were secured, while the waves broke upon themselves and laughter came painfully close to hysteria. Tonio grabbed a hoof pick that held one of the cables in place, and raked it forcefully across, and deeply into, his face: his abomination.
The crowd, and the others in his troupe, laughed at Tonio's antics; the laughter rising again in pitch at what they saw.
The scent of blood slowly filled the close air of the circus tent.
"Madonna," Tonio moaned as he tore at his face, then hurled the hoof-pick across the floor and ran off into the night.
#
XX
#
The blood-scent drifted across the ring and into the nostrils of Simbolio. His eyes rolled upward, leaving only the whites, then back down again as this frenzy took him. He moved from right paw to left paw, an animal caught in an approaching hysteria for blood.
"Simbolio, heel..." came the weak command from Lucia's quivering lips. Now that Tonio had vanished, the crowd started to shriek as their brains took in what their eyes had seen, but had not believed. Fear spread through them - adding to Simbolio's frenzy - especially in Lucia, who had never seen her tiger act this way, and who was closest to Simbolio's crouching rage. She looked for escape, and too late, realized there was time for none.
In a moment, the tiger stopped his wavering, and leapt, removing half of Lucia's face with a single swipe.
#
XXI
#
The pagliacco's eyes revealed their own fear with more white than iris: they saw the spot where moments before Tonio had stood shrieking; the flaps through which he had fled; the tiger's increased rage, and the destruction of Lucia's face; the body of dead woman, and her spreading blood around what remained of a face; the audience's slow fade where they'd sat frozen in terror; the dissolving tent; the one remaining observer, a fellow pagliacco, who silently applauded; the spreading wave of blood that was no longer solely on the dusty floor; the growling in Simbolio's throat as he resumed his swaying crouch and eyed them hungrily; the blood dripping from his opening and closing jaws; and, finally, each other...they, too, faded into the darkness...
#
XXII
#
Settling from the daylong suspense, slow whispers of dust settled peaceably onto the hungry night.
#
the end
#
#
AUTHOR BIO:
ROBERT SETH VOŘÍŠEK has been writing since given his first set of crayons. He has been published as a non-fiction author for the magazine "IN DANCE". He is the author of several as yet unpublished novels, novellas and short stories. His writing interests cover the range from horror and dark fiction to historical magic realism to gay literature, and he is determined to see his work in print, or die trying.

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Velma golden Sep 10, 2012

Bravo, brovo, this is a exceptional addmidssion to these padges, most of what I have read is very good, some,very telling on newness, in the field, and a few, that made me uncomfotable, but you do have a talant, and please keep on, with the writing, and p

Robert Seth Vorisek Oct 7, 2012

Thank you for your kind words. I do not take them frivolously or with a jaded eye. I live to write and write to live, so expect to see more, and soon (I hope). Thanks again!

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