Harlequin's Riddle

Chapter 1 - The Players Arrive-2

Uncle Tonio must have realised he was squeezing too hard. He let Mina’s hand drop. ‘Hurt the little one. Too much. Too much pain. Have to go back. No more dreams.’

Mina took her uncle’s hand again, and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘It’ll be fine, Uncle,’ she said, and patted his cheek.

Tonio rocked for a long time, gradually stilling his meaningless babble. Mina sat beside him, patient. She didn’t know what had upset him, but it didn’t matter really. At night the sound of an owl outside could send him pacing the house, shaking his head for hours. Tiny things nobody else even noticed could aggravate him beyond understanding. Even Mina, who noticed much that nobody else did, could not always tell what had set him pacing or ranting.

Mina reached out her little hand now and then to pat her uncle’s arm. It would have seemed strange to a passer-by, the tiny child acting the adult for the hulking man, but no one saw. For a long time, the street remained empty. By the time Uncle Tonio finally calmed down enough for them to go home, the playing had ended and villagers began walking past, returning to the everyday world. Those who passed by Mina and her uncle first had a funny, vacant sort of a look, as though they did not see what was around them. They wore great smiles, but their eyes were distant.

Fascinated, Mina remained perched on the gutter, watching. Slowly the passers-by seemed to return to themselves, and they began to notice the small child and the fool sitting in the gutter. Their response, as always with Uncle Tonio, was to stare and whisper and walk just the slightest bit faster past the big man with the wild hair and eyes.

Mina giggled.

‘Let’s be wise fools,’ she said to her uncle, who was now calm, and he grinned at her, nodding. Mina used a kerchief to wipe the spittle from the side of his mouth. Then she and her uncle began their game, one they played whenever they were sick of the villagers’ stares. Mina stuck her hands against her ears and waggled them at the passing townsfolk, bouncing her eyes up and down. Tonio copied her. It took a while for what they were doing to register. Then the matrons tutted and hurried past, and the mothers rushed their children on. Only the boys stopped to watch and laugh.

Next it was Tonio’s turn to lead. He pushed his nose up with two long fingers, widened his eyes and poked out his tongue. With a giggle, Mina copied him, and then the boys across the street did too. Villagers continued to hurry past, no longer staring and whispering, but looking away.

They played their wise fools game for a while, each face wilder and more grotesque than the one before, deterring the stares of the villagers until the passing crowd dwindled to the usual street traffic. Then Mina helped her uncle up and walked him home. As always, she wished she could make things right for him. She didn’t understand why Uncle Tonio was so different, though she loved him no less for it, but she sensed pain ran river-deep beneath the foolish façade. Even at this age she sensed Uncle Tonio’s grief would never end. Beyond the emptiness in his eyes was a pain so great his pupils were dark with it. The darkness scared her.

Frenetic applause brought Mina back to the present. She realised the air had chilled, and gathered her shawl in tight, thankful for her mother’s foresight. Onstage, Harlequin and the lovers bowed alongside three others, two dressed as wealthy older men and one in the simple garb of a servant. Somehow, absorbed in the past, Mina had missed the whole performance. The sky above had grown heavy with clouds but around her, oblivious to the change in the air, townsfolk applauded and cat-called. Turning in a circle to examine those surrounding her she saw, despite their enthusiasm, their faces held the odd, glazed look of her memory. She completed her circle to find herself face to face with Harlequin. He had stepped down from the stage and now stood so close she could smell his breath. It smelled of autumn and chocolate.

His eyes flashed more colours than she’d ever seen. She took in all the details in an instant: the diamond patches of brown, yellow, red, and green on his costume, the black cap concealing his hair. From a wide belt at his waist hung a pouch and strange black stick. His mask was of age-darkened leather, with a sharp nose and elongated almond eyes. Mina realised she had raised her hand as if to touch it. She drew back with a shudder.

‘What are you?’ she asked, the words leaving her mouth before she could stop them.

The man winked. ‘Well! You are a wise one! What do you really see, I wonder?’

He turned his head so he was looking at her through one eye. His eye flashed, the pupil filling the iris so it became entirely black, before it shrunk away again to nothing. It happened so swiftly Mina wasn’t even sure she had seen it. She took a step back, her heart beating faster. The man twirled both hands up into the air, as though brushing away cobwebs from around Mina’s head.

‘Yes, there is something,’ he mused. ‘And you are fair as the dawn. Have you ever thought of being a player?’

Mina shook her head.

‘The time is ripe, sweetling,’ he continued, his voice suddenly light. ‘Not long ago my own daughter departed from us.’

‘She … she died?’

The thin man burst into great bouts of laughter. His eyes flashed green. Mina caught another flash, bright at the edge of her vision. Mama’s storm was coming, but still distant.

‘Oh no! Died! Oh, I do not laugh at you, beautiful maiden. No, no, no. Ah, she is a fortunate one, my darling girl. The queen herself took a liking to her, and invited her to be her personal handmaiden, so she left her poor parents and found a better life in the royal palace.’ He pouted, taking on a posture of deep dejection, then transformed again to a stance of triumph as he declared, ‘Is that not a wonderful fate for a player, and the daughter of players? Handmaiden to the queen! But it has left us one player short. You would be perfect.’

He laughed again, but there had been a strange edge to his words that Mina found confusing. She smiled tentatively, unsure of the mercurial storm of emotions behind the laughter, and took a step back, overwhelmed by his strange offer.

‘I … no … I care for my uncle … I couldn’t …’

In the distance, thunder cracked. She turned and ran into the crowd, the player’s voice chasing her.

‘This offer will last until tomorrow, little bird. Think on it well. A life of adventure awaits!’

~

Mina stopped halfway down the street. Duty and curiosity warred within her. She knew she should go home and let Uncle Tonio know what was happening in the square, but her mother had said not to tell him if they were players, so she was not sure what she could say. In the end she decided to avoid the question by staying in the square. She burned to know more about the players. She had spent so many years looking after her uncle, while her father ran the family orchards and her mother kept the house. For one afternoon, she would allow herself a little freedom. But only as long as she could outrun the storm.

All the performers moved amongst the buzzing townsfolk, still in costume but without their masks, collecting coins and other gifts as thanks for the performance. Despite the crowd’s excitement, everyone still wore the strange, glazed look Mina remembered from long ago. Even Lucetta, who wore her hair loose like a young woman even though her face was like crumpled paper, and who traded in gossip as others traded in fish, was subdued. Mina spat on the ground behind Lucetta when she passed her, a secret habit grown from years of quiet anger for the way Lucetta always made fun of Tonio.

As the players slipped away with their takings, the townsfolk seemed to awaken, their conversation brightening as they dissected every aspect of what they had just seen. Yet even this passed after a while. With anxious glances at the darkening sky they began to shuffle away, falling back into the comfortable, time-worn topics of people who live decade after decade in the same place.

Mina walked to the fountain in the centre of the square, watching jets of water rise from a seven-pointed star in its centre, then arc down to create smatterings of foam. She could see the glimmer of coins and pins through the water, each one a wish long forgotten. The ancient fountain had six stone children frolicking in its basin, some holding toys, others frozen as though caught mid-leap under the dancing water. A little stone boy sat on the edge, his legs dangling in the water, a book forgotten on his lap. Fragments of worn words could still be read, vol, egra, ucin, eula. Only one looked like it might be a complete word: Calin. None were words Mina knew. Worn too were the features of the boy, but for all the wear, the fountain was kept clean and in good repair. Yet in a country where everything seemed to have a tale attached to it, Mina had heard none told about this fountain. Unperturbed, she had made up her own stories for each of the seven children who inhabited its wide basin.

She had named the seated boy Tonio after her uncle, because he had the same air of unending sadness about him, and because he too sat forever on the edge, never able to join in. His mouth was always open, as though he were calling out to the other children, perhaps asking to join their fun.

Gazing across the fountain reminded Mina of a time, long ago, when she had pretended she was a story teller, telling tales to Tonio, the only statue who sat still to listen. Back then, she had sat next to the little stone boy, her skinny legs dangling in the water. She remembered having the crazy idea that when she told a story it became real. But even story tellers, revered throughout Litonya for their skills with tale telling, could not do that. A few times a year, for the sacred festivals, a story teller would come to Andon to tell the sacred tales of the Creator and the Muses. At those times everyone gathered in the divina, a circular building at the edge of town, to listen to the traditional stories, and perhaps more mundane stories from other towns too.

Mesmerised by the water falling in front of her, Mina thought of the years she had sat by the fountain, waiting for her brother to appear, when her duties were done and Papa allowed her an hour of free time. Although she could not remember the day of his departure, she still had a small pouch her mother had made her from a shining scrap of fabric he had given her as a parting gift. She had given him something too … a bead perhaps? She had no idea where the pouch was now—at some point she had put it away, realising Paolo had broken his promise to return.

Mina’s thoughts, dancing like Harlequin, turned to the strange player’s offer. Though nothing was ever said, she knew her parents expected her to care for Uncle Tonio as long as he lived. The possibility of leaving Andon filled her with guilt. She knew too well how Paolo’s departure had worn down her mother’s spirit and her father’s pride. And Harlequin frightened her. There was something about him, uncontained, hungry. Yet she had dreamed of the opportunity to leave Andon, to see the great palace in Litonya, to travel. Would it be so wrong to see the world outside of this coastal village where the air always smelled of fish?

Another flash of lightning, still distant but harsh and bright, brought her out of thoughts that were chasing their own tails. Mina shook off an unexpected hopefulness and walked home through the growing darkness. It was not yet night, but the sky was heavy with clouds. The town square had emptied quickly once the villagers realised a storm was on its way. Thunder rolled heavily as Mina neared her house, her steps weighed down by the endless years ahead, fulfilling everyone’s needs but her own.