Behind the Curtain
The theater is
filled with fog. It spills out across the stage, falls down into the
orchestra and reaches out across the seats until every thing is
cloaked in mist. The dancers pirouette in perfect unison, graceful
limbs eerily white against glittering costumes.
They are too far
away to get a good look at their faces, painted like porcelain dolls.
But I watch them move, bending and twisting to the music. It seems
impossible, such graceful dancers, their movements so in sync.
The music is as
ephemeral as the fog, creeping through the dark theater, filling my
ears. It circles the dancers like a nest of serpents.
At the end of the
show, applause erupts from the audience as though they just woke up
and found themselves standing and clapping. I stay behind when they
leave, flattening myself against the ground and crawling beneath the
seats as the janitors start cleaning up.
I climb down into
the orchestra pit, pushing against the big black door that leads
backstage.
The musicians are
gathered on the other side, clutching their instruments in skeletal
hands, blank featureless faces staring at one another despite their
lack of eyes, as though chatting after the big show.
I creep past,
staring back at them in fear, but they don't seem to notice me. I
should leave now, but I have to see the dancers. I want to know how
they can move so beautifully, in such perfect unison.
I find them behind
the curtain, just off stage. They stand motionless, as still as the
furniture around them. I approach, despite the hairs raising on my
arms, and gently tap a dancer's alabaster arm.
She doesn't move,
doesn't flinch, her flesh icy cold. I come around to peer at her
face, but there isn't one. Her make up wasn't done up to look like a
doll. She is one. They all are. And on their limbs are thousands of
delicate strings, disappearing up into the rafters.
I turn and leave as
quickly as I can, anxious to avoid meeting their puppet master. I
don't breathe until I'm safely outside in the fresh air, striding
away. I don't look back and I never return.
It's never a good
idea to peek behind the curtain.
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