Absolute Fiction: 17 Stories of Horror, Mystery, Farce, the Macabre, and Modern Faith by Willard James Rusch

Absolute Fiction: 17 Stories of Horror, Mystery, Farce, the Macabre, and Modern Faith by Willard James Rusch

Author:Willard James Rusch [Willard James Rusch]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: -
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2016-07-14T04:00:00+00:00


The house lights are dead, but from the far end of the empty theater, behind the heavy draperies, you sense life. Coming closer, stepping over rents and snags in the dusty carpeting, avoiding litter and trash strewing the aisle, you hear the first discordant notes of a violin being tuned. With a grand sweep, the drapes pull back, their unfurling edges licking at the smooth boards: hard yellow light pulsates against you like a sudden shower of snow. The first violin hits a piercing note, a last pause momentarily hangs in the auditorium’s heavy silence, and then the strings begin the bright first movement of Chopin’s mazurka in C-sharp minor.

As the quartet reaches the end of the first piece, from both sides of the stage emerge hooped ball gowns of pink and cream and yellow. Above the deeply cut bodices ride narrow shoulders of powdered white. Other costumes follow them to fill the stage with a strange throng: black fishnet stockings below a red bustier edged with black lace and white bows; a nineteenth-century tuxedo with long, full tails; a pair of spurred jackboots with riding crop and shiny-visored SS cap; a flame-orange dashiki above which floats a tall, tightly wound red turban. Each of the costumes shares only one feature: it carries a large window pane in a wooden frame attached to a floor stand. Moving with ceremonial deliberation, the bearers form a semi-circle around the stage, each one placing its window on the shining hardwood floor.

The circle parts to admit one more dancer to the ball. She arrives in a wheelchair, pushed by a tall man. She sits with regal bearing as the attendant brings her to the center of the stage: her hair is black, swept upward from the neck and piled on top of her head, with a mass of ringlets framing the forehead. Her skin is the color of mahogany; the gloves that cover her arms to the biceps are ivory. As the chair silently advances, her blood-red dress sways in front of her like a great burden of roses.

Reaching the stage’s center, the attendant retreats, even as the black tuxedo steps forward to where she waits. The instruments are tuned again as a gloved hand is extended toward her. The hand she reaches forth quavers slightly, but when it reaches the waiting open glove, she rises gravely from the chair in a single smooth motion. Her skirts rustle as the tuxedo’s black sleeves reach around her. The quartet begins the préambule to Ravel’s “Carnaval.” The tuxedo’s shining black boot steps forward. They dance.



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