A Free State by Tom Piazza

Author:Tom Piazza
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-07-23T16:00:00+00:00

7

Rose and I both arrived early on the night of the performance to make sure that all was in order. There was a service entrance around back of the theater, and I told Henry to come in that way around five thirty, so there would be no chance of his being seen and stopped. Rose had outdone herself with Henry’s costume. It was worthy of Sweeney. She got the idea perfectly. She had whipped up a confection of long, silver-and-green-striped satin breeches, a white shirt with enormous green dots, a red bow tie, and an orange plaid jacket that was intentionally too large, but with the sleeves shortened so as not to interfere with his banjo playing. I had described Sweeney’s top hat, and she had replicated that as well.

I paced restlessly, running through the scenarios over and over. Rose and I had gotten everything necessary laid out in her workroom. I imported a jar of blacking from the troupe’s sanctum, along with a wig and some other items; we would make Henry up in Rose’s room, before the members of the troupe arrived, so I could present him as a fait accompli.

As five thirty drew near, I walked back and forth, through the area where we stored some unused sets and drops, double-checking to make certain that the rear entrance was open. Just after the half-hour struck, Henry rounded the edge of a building into the alley that led to the rear entrance. He carried his banjo in its sack, and he wore a cloth jacket with the collar turned up and a wool cap pulled low on his forehead, a somewhat dramatic touch. Henry, like Rose, had a faculty for the theatrical in everyday life. I ushered him in and closed the door.

“Are you ready?” I said, as we made our way through the lost harbor of stage sets back toward Rose’s room.

“Yes,” he said. He was otherwise quiet as we walked, and it seemed to me that he was holding something very close inside. I couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind. I was silently running through a list of other details myself, hoping that the reporter from the Bee would be there; I had tipped him off that we had a new attraction that I thought he might enjoy.

In Rose’s room we began our preparations. Henry and Rose seemed rather shy around each other, and I tried to warm the atmosphere with some chatter, showing Henry the fine points of the costume, the wig, all of it. He undressed behind a screen in the corner to don his stage trousers and shirt. Then he stepped out, and Rose and I helped him with the rest of it, tucking and pinning. We left the shirt unfastened at the top, and Rose placed a towel around his neck, like a collar, and we got him seated at a small table in front of a looking glass to get him blacked up.

I showed him the technique—three fingers, held

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