The Laughing (4) Fortunato awoke in a dark room. He was sitting, his knees arched. He rubbed his painful forehead, and then he stood up. He stretched a little, and yawned. He heard a small, faint click in the distance. He surveyed the blackness. Regardless, he turned to face a blinding, white light before him. It was a gigantic white screen that appeared. He then saw pictures materialize. He saw the angry clown on the screen, smiling and laughing, holding his belly. Again, no sound or color. Then, the clown disappeared, and a black screen ensued, reading the following words: �Ah ha! I�ve have you now, Tramp! Behold my powers!� The picture of Silenus returned. Music then filled the background: it was the typical music heard on silent movies. Fortunato watched as Silenus opened the tent flaps. The word screen appeared. �Come here, my friend. I want to show you something. I have all sorts of goodies inside!� The picture screen. Silenus gestured laughing, but then stopped suddenly. He frowned as another intruder approached. Fortunato saw a Pierott materialized onto the screen. He was smiling, and pointing to the unnerving, frowning murderer. The word screen. �Fortunato, run! He is dangerous! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE! HURRY! HE IS GOING TO KILL YOU!� The picture screen. Silenus pointed angrily at the Pierott, and lipped a few words. He jumped towards his intruder. The word screen. �What are you doing here? Who are you, and what do you want?� The picture screen. The Pierott lips words. The word screen. �My name is Pagliaccio. I�m here to put a stop to your haunting acts towards this town!� The picture screen. Fortunato sees the Pierott grab Silenus by the shoulders. He is resisting. He is pounding Pagliaccio�s back with his fists, and probably cussing up a storm. The next screen shows Silenus tied to railroad tracks by ropes. His head his rolling back-and-forth and he is screaming. The word screen. �I will get you, Fortunato! Just you wait! You will meet your death, and I will be avenged!� The picture screen. A train appears in the distance. Silenus is frantic. He tries to kick with his shoes, tied tightly to the tracks, but the train gains distance, and as it draws closer, its lights and horn blazing, the screen blacks out. XIV Fortunato felt like he was run over the train himself. His head felt light and dizzy. He felt like he was in a deep sleep; he felt as if it were a dream�a living nightmare. He was lying flat on his back. He was too nervous to open his eyes. He was afraid to know where he was. His breathing was short and shallow. He felt phlegm, smoke, and tar rise to his throat. It was intense pressure in his chest. His heartbeat was quick, pulsating rapidly. The phlegm traveled faster now. He didn�t want to cough. He didn�t want to move. All he wanted to do was sleep. He tried with all of his might to hold the phlegm back. His throat resisted. He coughed. He coughed long and hard. Fortunato, delirious, thought he had heard a grand applause in the distance. He lifted himself off the solid ground. Strange, he thought. I thought that I was lying in the grass. His eyes were still closed. His body was sore and painful. He made fists in his gloved hands, and he rubbed his sore eyes. He felt pressure release from them. He rubbed the tiredness away. He stretched, relaxing his muscles, exuberating his mind and spirit. He didn�t want to open his eyes, but he did anyway, reluctantly, and against his will. In the long run, he wished he had not. In fact, he wished death upon himself as he saw what he had before his eyes. He was in a theater. He was standing on a cool stage, overlooking a bewildered, applauding audience. He rows of seats, forming three perfect squares, covering a massive carpeted room. It was too dark to see their faces, but he saw many of all three races of clowns. They were roaring with laughter, whistling, clapping, and calling his name. The applause sounded like many footsteps raining upon the ceiling. There was an orchestra beneath his feet. They, too, were clowns. The conductor was a Tramp himself, dressed in a formal tuxedo. He signaled the orchestra to play. They played circus music, the kind Fortunato had heard in Smile Town. He placed his hands on his face, combing the sides of his head with his fingers. He looked around at his new surroundings. He saw the Pierott next to him, looking out to the audience. He was bowing, and then he fancied a curtsey. He was a typical Pierott, Fortunato could tell. He must have been spectacular, however, because his dress was different from the others. His costume was shiny silver. He took his hat off, donning his semi-bald head and red hair. After his finale, he raised his hands to silence the crowd, turning to face Fortunato. �What a show, don�t you think?� he asked him. The Pierott�s voice was sullen and tenor. �Did you have fun? They thought it was absolutely wonderful!� His voice echoed through the auditorium. He walked over to the confused Fortunato, placing a gloved hand behind his back, walking him close to the center. �You kind of dozed off there for a second. We thought we lost you.� �Who are you?� asked Fortunato. His voiced boomed in anger. He pushed the little clown away, watching him stumble. �Why am I here? I thought I was in Smile Town! Where is Rainbow and Ignacio Garibaldi? Where are Alice and Franz? Where are the mimes?� He walked back-and-forth, looking behind the purple curtain, covering the wings of the stage. He looked at the backdrops and he looked up to the canopy of wires. He heard the Pierott chuckle. �My name is Pagliaccio,� he said. �Don�t you remember? We rehearsed together awhile back.� Fortunato stood stark still. �What the hell are you talking about? We have never met, let alone, rehearsed for something. Who the hell are you?� He walked back towards center stage, and leaned closer to the strange Pierott. Pagliaccio laughed. �Alright, don�t get yourself in a rut. I�ll explain everything. That is, if you can change a light bulb without four clowns spinning you around in a circle!� The audience erupted in laughter. The clown smiled briefly. �Now,� began Pagliaccio, �I shall explain. Everything you had experienced previously, Fortunato, was all an act. An act that was part of a fabulous production!� Fortunato froze. �You, in literal sense, were a part of a play. You were just an actor with a mission, is all. It was made up. Isn�t that wonderful?� �So, I was right?� asked Fortunato. He took his hat off, and held it tightly. �I was just dreaming? It was just a horrible nightmare?� �You weren�t dreaming, silly Tramp!� said Pagliaccio. He cupped his small hands behind his back. �You were acting. You put on a brilliant performance! Give him a round of applause!� He gestured toward the Tramp, using both hands. The audience erupted in applause. �But how?� asked Fortunato. �How was I in a play? I came here on a train. I don�t remember rehearsing for a play.� �Quite simple,� replied the actor. �Remember the bell on Alice�s desk?� Fortunato nodded yes. �That was your ticket to step into reality!� said Pagliaccio. He walked a perimeter around Fortunato. �That was your cue to start acting. It was I who lead you hear, by the help of some friends, of course. Look behind you for a moment.� The Pierott looked up at him. Fortunato stared as his nostrils flared; he looked toward backstage. He saw Rainbow, Garibaldi, Alice, and Franz sitting against the green backdrop; they weren�t however, their normal selves, no. They were wooden puppets�marionettes attached to the shoulders with strings. Their faces were perfectly cut; they had beady eyes and plush noses. Their clothes were felt, their clothes and shoes plush. They were lifeless, wooden puppets! Puppets! He was talking to a troupe of puppets! They sat lifeless against the backdrop. Their heads were all leaning to one side. Fortunato wanted to scream. He wanted to scream bloody murder. �Look above you, dear Tramp. Witness a glorious magic!� Fortunato looked up. He saw Pagliaccio sitting on a metal railing. He saw two white, porcelain masks protruding from the top of the backdrop. One was smiling, and one was frowning, shaped like knights shields. Out of the crescent mouths flew four white strings, aiming toward Fortunato. Fortunato dashed forward. He leaped toward center stage, then rolled in a ball, and got up again. He stood erect; the audience applauded. Fortunato�s eyes grew teary, his chin dimpled, and his frown grew worse. �So I�m not real? My life was a play? The sickness was a joke?� �Oh no! The sickness is real, my friend!� �Am I going to be a puppet?� �Thus it is, ye cookie crumbles!� Fortunato fell to his knees. He cupped his hands over his eyes, and he let the river flow. He cried, long and deep. He cried and wailed, knowing that he wasn�t real. He was just a figment of the imagination, of life and of death. And while he cried, he felt the strings attach themselves to his blundering shoulders. He fell lifeless to the floor. Never again would the world that we call Smile Town ever see the brave Fortunato walk its roads again. The only time he would walk or smoke again was when a play was run. He let himself go, knowing full well that what he had done was good�it was a sacrifice, and his tortured soul had finally rested in peace. The theater was where the shadows lied. �And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges,� said Pagliaccio, as he summoned the final conclusion of the play. �Humor can be vague, as long as it�s funny in a surreal sense.� Part 2: Pagliaccio the Sad, Crying Clown �Clowns are figments of the imagination.� The Author XV Pagliaccio sat behind the dark purple curtain, large tears trickling down his face and cheeks, the white makeup turning smeary. It was dark where he sat, the bright, white lights shining on the stage. He listened intently to the booming operas the orchestra performed; the music flowing smoothly like a calm stream or fast and quick like a snowstorm. His head was bowed; his small body folded in the �fetus position.� He cried and sobbed like a child, the sounds of his bone-chilling wails fading into the sounds of the orchestra. The tears fell from his eyes in large drops, hitting the dusty, wooden floor with synchronized plops. He blew his bulbous nose continuously with his handkerchief. His nose was long and pointed, with a red ball attached to the end of it. His costume, a truly magnificent work of art, soon began to feel wet and damp from perspiration. He was dressed in a two-piece �jump suit,� the material colored shiny silver: the collar around his neck was detachable, the felt cut into miniature triangles, alternating in color. His tunic was long�the sleeves covering his frail arms, the cuffs drooping, and knickers covering his legs. His shoes (also made of felt) had a pointed toe, which curled at the end, the tiny bells ringing as he walked. His skin was pale white, like he had seen a ghost; therefore, very little makeup was needed. His white gloves were stained black from his eye makeup, the result of continuously wiping his swollen eyes dry. His eye makeup was applied heavily, covering around his eyes completely. He was balding, flaming orange hair covering the back of his head and neck. His wild hair, however, was covered by his hat�the kind with three prominent extensions, bells attached to each end. Half was colored the shiny silver, the other half dark silver. It was the hat they called Il cappello de Passeggia i Pagliacci. He wielded a small staff, a puppet�s head attached to it, which bared his image. His nose was unusually long, protruding outward passed his chin. Purple �pom-pom� buttons lined the center of his silver tunic. Pagliaacio was a part of the Pierotts: an elegant, artistic, colorful, bright, and cheery race. Like Pagliaccio, they wore the same costume, alternating in exotic colors; males wore blues, greens, and yellows, while females wore pinks, oranges, and purples. The Pierotts were very short in stature (exceeding no more than four feet in height). The Pierotts were responsible for the festivals, carnivals, and productions at the Smile Town Theatre. Their productions were always a joy to watch; the graceful dancing and opera singing (each song sung with such deep emotion) was wonderful, making any viewer sit in awe and wonder. The operas were always done in a dramatic style, a type deeply favored by Pagliaccio. He had a reputation as always being cast as the lead character in an opera. No other Pierott could match his singing quality and voice: a deep bass and medium tenor. He was considered the �best of the best� by any director. Thus, he had many enemies whose hearts boiled with envy. A typical Pierott production lasted between three and five hours. Afterward (or sometimes during the final seconds of the finale), a �celebration� would be thrown at the lead actor�s residence. They would drink many expensive wines (of which Pagliaccio was a connoisseur), the best in all of Smile Town. Rich Italian cuisines were also a delicacy (served with many delicious sauces and all kinds of meat). The meal was usually followed by juggling, slapstick, and comedy, and sometimes even a few tricks of magic by a highly-trained magician�a genuine closing for a long night. Music was a Pierott�s favorite hobby. Many played in the orchestra, but others either played the violin, cello, or any string instrument. The Pierotts were also known as being extremely mischievous. Some would purposely throw eggs at an actor just to be spiteful; others would mute the microphones so the actors couldn�t sing. The Pierotts were full of jolly pranks, which made them the most feared citizens in all of Smile Town�. �.And little did Pagliaccio know that he was their next target. XVI Pagliaccio sniffed the dripping mucous up his nose, wiping his eyes dry again. The black eye paint kept smearing down his white face. The mucous from his long, pointed nose kept dripping onto the polished wooden floor (Pagliaccio gagged when he saw the mucous hit the floor). He sadly watched the other Pierotts on the stage finish what he had started. He watched their graceful dancing; the dancers� movements flowing perfectly to the path of the loud, jovial music. The dancers spun in unison, holding their respective partner�s hand, the line perfect and straight. They tossed each other in the air; they clapped happily in unison; the dances were perfectly choreographed! Pagliaccio heard the loud tenors and the deep bass sing their songs. The songs were sad, full of feelings of emptiness, love, depression, and guilt. Oh how the words made Pagliaccio want to cry more! Tonight�s show was a reproduction of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart�s The Marriage of Figaro. It was a very special night for Pagliaccio, for he was cast as the part of Figaro (as he had been in the production of The Barber of Seville). He rehearsed, from sunrise to sunset, his songs and lines. He practiced mainly at the bars and Mardi gras. He would jump onto the round, wooden tables, and frothy mug of beer in his hand, and he would sing will all of his breath, to a point where a few of the chandeliers broke. He was praised like a god, his audience and cast-mates severely jealous of his superb talent. Then, one night, while walking home from a bar, he laid his eyes upon the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. At the first sight of the dame, his eyes bulged from their sockets, his jaw dropped open; his heart banged against his chest, and saliva dripped from his mouth. The dame was must taller than Pagliaccio, her hair as black as night, her dress as red as a rose. She was truly a diving Venus in appearance! Her skin was as white as snow, and she too had a round, red nose. She winked at the awed Pagliaccio. He dropped to his knees, and pleaded to her to give her name. She answered Columbine. Finally, opening night had come. He was well versed in what he retained; he knew his songs by heart�every word, every stress, every pitch! He pleaded to his lady for her to come to his performance. She agreed that she would come. That made Pagliaccio�s nervous heart beat even faster. And while he was thus engaged in his fantasies, he gracefully made his way to the theater. He recited his lines and verses in his head as his graceful walking turned into a galloping trot until his reached the stage doors. He stood at center stage, sweating up a dreadful storm, and sang his monologue with as much meaning as possible. And thus, while he was singing and dancing jovially, he tripped accidentally on the stage, landing flat on his face. He lifted his head slightly, smiled briefly, and chuckled at his rare mistake. The audience instantly transformed into an angry uproar, booing at him continuously, hitting his face with pies and vegetables. The experience was extremely painful for the actor. Pagliaccio couldn�t dare to face that grueling audience again. His throat welled up, and he wanted to cry again. The stage grew silent and dark; bleak and forlorn. The other Pierott performers walked backstage, toward the wings, chatting amongst themselves, not even paying any attention to Pagliaccio. Pagliaccio kept his huge head lowered, sniffling and weeping like a baby, overhearing a conversation between the jester twins, Feste and Montresor. He saw them standing by the entrance to the stage, by the curtain, in brief lighting. Feste�s costume was green and white; his brother�s yellow and white. They had a reputation for being �ungodly mischievous� and practicing false pranks. The jesters giggled evilly. Their voices were baritone and very �witch-like.� �What a moron!� ejaculated Feste. �Indeed!� followed his brother. �He calls himself an actor! He�s pathetic! Who in their right mind would trip in the middle of a performance? He made a complete idiot of himself!� Feste tossed his hands through the air, gesturing. He pouted afterward. �He has made us all look bad! He placed the name of the Pierotts in vain!� agreed Montresor, his eyes widening with excitement. �We must do something, dear brother,� said Feste, smacking his fist onto the palm of his glove. �He also tricked that damned Tramp into believing that he wasn�t real. He must never face that stage again! He is such a fool engaged in tomfoolery!� Oh no! They hate me! What have I done? Pagliaccio sat stark still, listening intently to the details, trying to hide in the darkness. �What shall we do to him?� asked Montresor. �Disown him!� Feste�s eyes grew wide along with his wicked smile and brows. �Anything else?� suggested Montresor. �We�ll have the others and some Augustes throw some pies in his face while he is tied to a pole. We�ll make a mockery of him!� The jesters chuckled, then skipped neatly past the sad clown before them, heading to the dressing rooms. When Pagliaccio finished hearing the conversation, his tears and throat welled up again, and he sat in front of his dressing room door, and cried. XVII Pagliaccio sat in his chair, facing the large, oval mirror in his private dressing room. Small white lights surrounded the perimeter of the mirror. His dressing room was small, the walls and floor made of gopher wood. The walls were painted a light pink, the floor a navy blue. There were racks of costumes lined in rows off to the side, by the makeup desk. The lighting was dim and gloomy. On the desk, where the mirror sits, were tubes and containers of makeup, eyeliner, and face powder; a clay, faceless bust rested next to the mirror, donning his obnoxious hat. In the corner of the small room, where the night critters not even walked, was an elusive pile of inanimate objects. They were wooden marionettes, carved to perfection and painted very carefully. They had beady eyes, and their mouths were perfectly cut pieces of wood. They resembled the likenesses of various other well-known clowns. There was Ignacio Garibaldi; Alice, his secretary; two forms of an Auguste named Rainbow; Franz, a dry-humored clown; and finally, a sad Tramp named Fortunato, who is forever frozen, smoking on a cigar. Pagliaccio finished wiping his makeup off, and then he blew his sore nose hard. His face was red, his eyes swollen and liquidly. He was panting like a dog. His feet were dangling off his wooden chair, the little bells ringing, creating music in the breeze. He looked at himself in the blinding mirror, ashamed of his features. �They�re going to kill me!� he whined. �My career is ruined! Why did I have to stumble and create such a disaster?� He buried his face into the palms of his gloved hands. He shook his head, feeling guilty. �It�s not like they�re any better!� He grabbed his long, red hair. He was semi-balding, so he grabbed what he could. The redness in his face was beginning to subside. �What makes them think they�re better than I am? I am the best, and only the best! I have the fame, the fortune, and the pride to back it up! They are nothing!� He slammed his hands down upon the shiny finish of the dresser, and drew closer to the mirror, staring hard at his sad reflection. �What�s happening to me?� He looked at the palms of his hands. �What has happened to my wonderful talent?�
Copyright © 2006 Zachary Taylor |