The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,137
of enthusiasm more than skill, somehow gave them a vitality more meticulous representations might have lacked; they seemed, as it were, in their rude expressions and painted-on clothes, to aspire to the lives they mimicked. Their small size only added to this impression, as of a parade of children dressed in the clothing of adults.
As I watched, it struck me that certain of the figures looked familiar, as if I had glimpsed them somewhere before, but I ascribed this at first to their caricature-like quality. Until, to my astonishment, I saw Adolpheus emerge from the tower, a stepladder strapped across his back. Indeed, I thought at first that it was the man himself playing a trick on me, though a closer look dispelled my confusion, as he, or rather it, was as crudely rendered as the others. But there could be no doubt that the automaton was modelled on Adolpheus. Why, it even incorporated his limp, and the handicap that caused it! Nor was this the only shock in store for me. Behind him came Inge, with her flour-dusted apron and apple-red cheeks, a loaf of bread in her hands and Hesta jumping up again and again at her feet, as if begging for crumbs. She was followed by Herr Doppler, stiff and stern in his colonel’s uniform, white whiskers bristling as if sheathed in ice, a sword buckled at his side, which he drew and flourished, then sheathed again, over and over, as he marched, looking neither to the left nor to the right. Following him like a dutiful daughter was Corinna, eyes downcast, steps slow and hesitant, as if she were yoked to him by an invisible leash and was being led off to some altogether unpleasant fate.
I turned from my contemplation of the painted wooden figure to the flesh-and-blood original at my side. ‘How is this possible?’ I demanded.
Corinna only shook her head, her gaze fixed on the unfolding tableau. The expression on her face was one of surprise and, or so it seemed, horror, as if the display was as new and unexpected to her as it was to me … though I did not see how that could be.
‘Corinna,’ I insisted, ‘is this your father’s work? Is he playing some kind of twisted game?’
As if in answer, she gasped and raised a hand to her mouth. I looked back at the clock, and there, trailing the figure of Corinna like a lovesick bumpkin, Sylvius vainly importuning cold-hearted Phoebe, I saw what could only have been intended as a mocking representation of myself. But it was the mere fact of the thing’s existence, rather than its satirical intent, that left me reeling; I felt as though my reality had been called into question, as if I should look into a mirror and see reflected there the chiselled features of a marionette leering back at me. For the thing wore my stolen clothes and hat, or so it seemed to me.
By the time I had collected my wits, or at any rate enough of them to feel in command of myself again, my doppelgänger had completed more than half its journey across the proscenium; already the figure of Adolpheus had left the stage, disappearing into the interior of the clock through a door opposite the one from which it had emerged, and my own figure came at the very end of the parade – soon it, too, would vanish, and the door would close.
Impulsively, I pulled my hand free of Corinna’s and ran towards the clock, ignoring her shouts for me to stop. Slipping and sliding over the icy ground, I reached the bristling façade and without hesitation flung myself upon it, finding hand- and footholds amid the ice-and-snow-crusted figures there, hauling myself upwards like a mountain climber. Earlier I had rejected the idea of just such a climb, judging it too perilous to attempt, but now I flew up the slick surface, surprising myself with the sureness and ease of my ascent. Before I knew it, I stood bare-headed on the proscenium, my hat lost in the climb. Only then did it strike me that the space was free of snow and ice, and I wondered, at the back of my mind, if Adolpheus were responsible, for though it was somewhat sheltered from the elements, it was open to the wind. But there was no time for such puzzles.
To my left, the figure of Corinna was re-entering the clock. Below me, the real Corinna was yelling