by James Comins
Kyū no Ha Ni
Act IV, Scene Two
Punch folds his hands.
"A lie,"
he says,
"Which to us reveals the truth.
A spiritual universe, so long concealed,
We have, through art and theater, revealed.
The world we see is not the only one,
Not when darkling secrets hide from staring sun.
Our inner life can be by no mundane science shown
But only through storytelling, music, and performance known.
There is more to us than chemistry can show:
Our human candlelight against the snow,
The dreams we dream, the fears we hide
The wash of moral seas along a tide.
Let us observe with all our eyes,
That we may together pierce this veiled disguise.
When we confront our demons, honest truth grows wide;
We see as much within ourselves as we see outside."
The Green Lion lays down its head, leaving a blackened spot on the stage. The center of its celestial forehead splits open, and a blue beaked face appears. A bird. As feathers and crown emerge, you recognize it as a peacock. Long gorgeous green eyespot-feathers follow it. The Green Lion begins to spark and fizz, and its sunlight turns black and snuffs. In moments the chemical-green body dissolves too.
In brilliant blue, iridescent green, bursts of orange and black and gold, the wide wings of the Alchemical Peacock expand, flap, and follow Columbia and Pierrot into the night.
Over the intercom, Quinn lets out a wild whoop.
"That was great. Bravissimi.
You got rid of those two.
And now that Punch is on our side,
It looks like we're all friends and our show is done."
From every corner, hundreds of orange-skinned shapes approach.
Punch. Punches begin to encircle the Understudy.
"On your side? You, who brought the monsters here?
You, who brought demon hunters to our stage?"
They turn to you as well.
"And you, who threatened to kill us for killing Quinn,
Unwilling to believe she was alive the whole time?"
A hateful desire for revenge burns in their flaming red eyes. Their jester's outfits are torn, and they shamble and scamper by the thousands. They crouch in every direction. They are ready to fight. Swords and sabers and rapiers and epees and spears and lances point at you.
They are coming to kill you.
"He's gone crazy! Find weapons, fast,"
Quinn calls out.
"Something that you can fight all the Punches with.
Look at them. There's no reasoning with them.
Grab what you have."
What you have onstage is a mop handle and a hanging bell and a flowery piece of paper. Again you need to protect the Understudy first. He's younger than you. More innocent. Give him the mop handle. It saved your life once already.
He takes it and hands you his drum.
That's right, Punch can't resist music. That's what you need to do. Just sit beside old El Daishou and play. Play a rhythm until . . . until all these demons leave forever. Until they give up.
That's all you have to do.
Play music.
Play your role.
Play it forever.
Play.
The drumhead yields a good thump and resonates with the nightingale floor. With two chunky drumsticks each, you and El Daishou get a funky beat going. It's working, too—all the Punches begin to scamper gambol caper cartwheel and somersault sideways as they approach the stage. Several of them leap like ballerinas toward you, only to be knocked offstage by the Understudy's mop handle. The original Punch, the one who recited "Dōjōji" with you, creeps into the shadows and becomes no more than another long, hooked nose, ready to spring.
Yes, it's working. Play. Keep the Punches at bay. The three of you can do it. You can keep the stage free of demons. As the spring-stepping frolicking chattering snickering maniacs realize they can't reach the stage, they grow angry and their skin changes from orange to a seething snarling red. Still you keep them at bay.
"Look out! They're just getting madder and madder!"
Quinn shouts from afar.
Something has changed in the Punches' demeanor. Anger at being thwarted has turned them crazy. No longer are they content to dance. Brandishing sharp weapons, the demons want to hurt you, to punish you, to frighten you into letting them in. Demons begin to slide under the stage, cling to the bashira columns, creep up the backdrop, stand on the arches, crouch behind wooden theater seats, and line either side of the hashigakari. Forming ranks, they dance.
Then, as one, they begin to drum on the wood.
They drum back at you.
Just as your precise drumming makes the clay pots of the nightingale floor resound, so too do the millions of Punches create a sound. But their sound is not at all like a dance. It sounds like drums of war.
Keep drumming; you've got to keep them out, drown them out. You've got to keep out the hammering on the walls, the scratching at the windows, the things hiding in the basement, the slithers in the attic, the pounding, pounding, pounding on the door.
They're coming.
Keep drumming.
Your arms start to feel like rubber. Your crossed legs start to fall asleep. Your brain starts going haywire at the tintinnabulation of the drums, drums, drums. The pounding, the shrieking, the noise. They're coming to get you. They're going to break in. They leap at the Understudy three at a time, and it's all he can do to swat them away. The backdrop starts to shake visibly from being thumped. Your arms grow weary and soggy and worn. Still they come, louder and louder, they begin to yell in unbearable high-pitched shrieks, and all of them want to kill you completely. It's the apocalypse for all life. Over the intercom Quinn shouts at you to do something, do anything, but you have no weapons, you have nothing but the drum in your lap.
Keep drumming.
They're coming.
This is what happens.
El Daishou leaps to his feet and casts aside his drumsticks.
"I'm always talking, hiding, fearful.
Demons surround us.
What can we do against these nameless things?
We could—why not? Drive them back.
Don't defend yourself—attack!
No more talking, no more moving blindly where I'm led.
If I should lose the fight, then I will die fighting!
Avast and ahoy all you gremlins, you've a mighty enemy in me!"
El Daishou runs out into the audience, where a crowd of pestilential Punches are slapping the backs of empty seats to make noise. Quinn switches on a spotlight, which follows the old actor into the rows. He carries nothing. Roaring, El Daishou lands a few feeble punches on Punches before they dive nosefirst into his belly and disappear.
El Daishou wails as he fights, and fights, and loses.
Horror strikes. Just like the Arhat, El Daishou shivers, shakes, and in the thin white moonlight he transforms into just another anonymous orange-red demon. The Punch who used to be El Daishou prances away, and you lose sight of which one it was.
And then there are three: you, the Understudy, and Quinn. And there's a thousand thousand demons ready to destroy you.
It gets worse.
A distant yell rises above the din. Then the yell stops.
From the intercom, a sad song plays. Piano notes like raindrops fall.
It isn't Quinn's style to turn on music.
The spotlight switches off, and the stage is deadly dark now.
Quinn doesn't make that kind of lighting mistake.
Is Quinn really still running the show? Did she yell because the Punches got her? Have they transformed her? Is she one of them? Is she just another mindless demon?
The banging continues. More high-pitched wails follow. Under siege, you stop drumming and huddle side by side with the Understudy in the empty stage
. Two mice in a box besieged by cats. Two apocalypse survivors in a house surrounded by zombies. Two rowboats in an ocean of pirates.
The spotlight flicks on again and shines like a white laser on you from afar. Perhaps Quinn will save the day after all, if she's all right.
The intercom feeds back, an electric scream, and then goes dead. Silent.
What will you do?
Six Punches leap, and the Understudy isn't quick enough this time.
They grab him from behind, and he's struggling.
You have to fight against them. Otherwise El Daishou gave himself up for nothing. Quinn, too. Even that awful Arhat.
Save the Understudy.
"He's just a boy! He's not as tough as me!
Why don't you take on someone your own size?
Let him go. He's not playing Punch anymore.
There's no reason to kill him."
It works. From every corner of the stage, from behind every nook and cranny, red-skinned monsters jump. They funnel into you instead. Your brain goes crazy, and then there is dark.