The Puppeteer Read online

  "Out. Now. The pair of you." Twenty seven pairs of amused eyes followed Ben and Florence into the corridor.

  "Who do you think you are? Turning up late and interrupting my class. I expect you to be here on time. Do you hear me?!" Frau Baasch gave the motion and Flory and Ben turned around to receive their punishment.

  *

  Frau Baasch was not good at playing the game of patience.

  *

  Florence and Ben scuttled back to their desks, their cheeks blushed a bright red. All around their classmates snickered and smirked.

  "Right, open your books." Frau Baasch wrote on the blackboard with her precise chopping motions. Monday 16th May 1938

  3x+45.2y-36...

  Benjamin Seelenfreund tuned out. He let the long, confusing numbers roll over his head. He gazed out the window at the town beyond. He longed to be out of class and out under the sun. The dirty road outside looked in need of a good pounding, preferably from his feet and his football. The stuffy classroom glazed his eyes, mirages jiggled out on the road.

  Ben didn't care about school. His parents made him go and they thought that holding him back a year would help.

  It didn't.

  The only benefit was that he had Florence there to help him. He didn't mind being mocked by all the other fifteen year olds. Florence was always there. He searched for her, finally resting his eyes on the long veil of hair that flowed down her back like a waterfall. He longed to touch it. He wondered what it would feel like.

  "Benjamin!" Katze Hintern looked fiercely into his eyes, burning him on the spot.

  The school bell rang for the end of the day, and all the students dashed out.

  "Bye Greta, see you tomorrow." Florence and Ben waved goodbye to their curly haired friend, and turned left out of the gate.

  "How's your hintern?"

  "Oh it's bloody awful! I think she's been saving her energy for that! I won't be able to sit down for a year!" Florence smiled at her friends exaggerations. The sun warmed their chilled backs. She breathed in the earthy smell of autumn. Their empty satchels swung about their thighs as they dawdled home.

  With flushed cheeks, Florence left Ben at his garden gate, and continued along the familiar road. She jogged home, late.

  Garden treasure

  16th May 1938

  She was late yet again. She hurried home to greet her father at the door.

  "Hello Papa."

  "Hello Florence, where have you been? Never mind, could you look after Ollie? I need to duck out for a minute..." Gabriel Mele trailed off as he ran out the small wooden door, leaving little Oliver with Florence. She shut the old door and ushered Ollie further into the house. To her surprise, the little boy took her hand in his grubby one and led her out the back door.

  "Come on Flory, I need to show you something."

  "Okay... Where are we going?" Oliver led her to the back of their garden, past all the scraggly bushes and to the edge of the trees.

  The little eight year old boy with the grubby face bent down and began digging in the dirt.

  "Ollie? What are you doing?" but the boy did not answer. He continued on digging a hole at the back of their garden, under the very last bush. Little clumps of dirt flicked up and hit Florence on her nose.

  Under the boy's scrabbling fingers, a small cream object protruded from the earth.

  "Aha!" he leant in close.

  "What is it?" Florence asked, astounded.

  "I don't know. I found it this morning when I was playing in the dirt before school." he said. Florence gently brushed away the surrounding dirt and plucked it from the ground.

  "It's too dirty, I can't tell what it is. We need to wash it." Florence walked inside, Oliver eagerly following his older sister down to the back door and into the kitchen. The tap dripped into life and ridded the muck from the mystery object.

  "Oh Flory! What is it?! I can't see!" The impatient little boy dragged a chair over to the sink and stood on it, peering over his sister's thin shoulder. Florence twisted the tap off and dried the object with her cardigan sleeve. She turned it over in her palm.

  "It's porcelain." she announced.

  "Can I see?" Florence passed Oliver the porcelain object.

  "I know what it is! A piece from a statue from Ancient Rome. I was reading about it today." Florence couldn't suppress a small smile at the boy's confidence.

  "That's um, an interesting thought Ollie, but I think that the Romans made their statues out of marble. This looks more like a part of a little girl’s porcelain doll. The hand maybe." she peered closer. The pale pink paint had washed off, leaving a greyish smudge. The five pudgy fingers were curled up into a tight fist. One finger was missing it's fingertip and another had an intricate crack running down the side.

  "Well. What do we do with it?" asked Oliver. Florence looked at the hopeful face of her little brother.

  "Okay. You can keep it." A joyful smile spread across his face. Florence wrapped the fragile hand in a cloth rag. She took it up the rickety staircase and placed it gently on Oliver's little wooden bookshelf.

  Ollie ran back outside, eager to uncover any more treasures from the dirt. And uncover more he did. Later that evening he had waltzed back inside, cupping a collection of seven more doll hands in his palms. Florence’s eyes had widened.

  ‘What on earth!?’

  *

  That was clue number one.

  *

  The schoolyard show

  17th May 1938

  The next morning, Florence woke up to the sound of Ollie crashing his trains into the table.

  Verdammt.

  She stretched, yawned and stumbled out of bed. Time to go.

  "Hurry up dummkopf, we're gonna be late again."

  Ben and Florence raced each other down the mountainside, their boots slapping the road unevenly. Their carefree faces giggled and snorted as they shoved each other, stumbled and tripped. They crashed and went tumbling into a pile on the grassy roadside. Their chests heaved, choking on laughter.

  Dirt was everywhere. All over their clothes and faces. In their shoes and in their ears.

  They brushed themselves down and ran on, late to school once was punishable, late again was unacceptable.

  They arrived breathless at the school gate, just as the school bell rang. They all gathered around door, unwilling to go in but unwilling to be left behind.

  "See ya." Florence watched her friend take his seat at the back of the classroom. His chocolate coloured eyes wandered out the window yet again.

  She wished she could help. She wanted to help. But unless she could get inside his head and write her knowledge into his brain, there wasn't much she could do.

  *

  The problem is this,

  It's not that Ben could not learn,

  But that he didn't believe he could.

  In his reflection he saw failure and all the things he couldn't do.

  He hadn't realised what a dummkopf he was being.

  Stop telling yourself no,

  tell yourself go.

  Go out and prove yourself wrong.

  Show yourself your brains.

  Please.

  It is honestly so painful for me to watch,

  to see all you humans beat yourselves up.

  Really.

  Stop.

  Show me something new.

  *

  The minutes ticked by painfully slowly. Twenty nine pencils scratched furiously on pieces of old and finger marked paper. Frau Baasch wrote on the black board with chalk. The ear splitting scratches made Florence's mouth water and her teeth clench.

  "Excuse me Frau Baasch, err, may I please go to the bathroom?" Céline was wriggling around on her seat, struggling to contain herself.

  "Be very quick." Céline hobbled out of the room, her crown of golden curls bobbed furiously in time with her struggled hop out of the door.

  Florence returned to her paper. As usual she had lost her train of thought an
d had to start again. Algebra was dependable like that.

  Meanwhile, Ben was attempting to write his name with his pencil clasped between his teeth. His page became littered with pencil flicks and squiggly lines. He didn't care.

  He longed to hear the blissful trill of the school bell, and to be out in the school yard, kicking around the football.

  Frau Baasch had finished writing on the blackboard and turned to stand at the front, ruler in one hand, chalk in the other. Her face remained as stony as ever. Her arms were folded on her chest and her foot tapped impatiently on the hard timber floor. She was just like a bear, harsh and impatient. Florence often thought she looked like one too.

  "WHOOP! JA! WHOOHOO!" loud voices cracked the silence like a stone. Every pair of eyes turned towards the corridor, shocked. Three pairs of feet thundered down the hall. Frau Baasch whipped over to the door like a hurricane and flung the door open with a mighty slam.

  "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING YOUNG MEN?" she hollered. Florence caught Ben's eye. They stuffed their fists in their mouths to stop themselves from bursting out with laughter. The hurricane teacher stormed out the door and marched down the corridor in pursuit of the 'young men'.

  Several ran over to the door, sticking their heads out into the fading storm of shouts.

  "All clear."

  Everyone scrambled out of the crowded corridor and into the sunshine.

  At last.

  Ben ran over to kick the football with the boys and Florence went over to the girls jumping rope.

  "...bear touch the ground. Teddy bear teddy bear climb the stair, teddy bear, teddy... Oooh! Who wants to go next?" Florence gagged. Sometimes she thought girls were such idioten. She often asked silently whether it was possible to be more boring.

  She walked over to the bench and sat down, feeling the disapproval of the girls blaring into the side of her face. She watched one of the younger girls eat her lunch alone, ignoring everyone like she was. She noticed her hands, so smooth and white.

  The hand.

  She remembered the hand from the day before. It was certainly curious. A little girl must have thrown it over the fence, or maybe it was washed down the hill with the rain. Or maybe it...

  A scream. A nice, thick, ear splitting scream. A girl covered her mouth and every head followed her terrified gaze.

  Wendel Keller.

  Who else?

  Florence smirked. Just like algebra, Wendel Kneller could be relied upon to create chaos.

  In his hand he held a boy. A boy's ear, to be exact. He was pinching it so hard, but that pain was no match for the pain felt as Wendel drove his fist into the boy's gut. Hit, hit, hit. Wendel struck the boy over and over, the boy bit back a cry. Blood trickled out of his mouth, almost as dark as the bruises on his skin.

  Ben caught Florence's eye. She slowly slid off the chair, and edged towards the school door, not attracting attention. Once inside, she sprinted as fast as her legs could take her. She deliberately went to Frau Baasch, knowing that Wendel would get a real hiding then. She burst into the classroom door, revelling in the opportunity to shout at her.

  "Frau Baasch come quickly!" Florence said it with such force that Frau Baasch had no choice but to follow. The sound of her brisk stride echoed down the corridor. She leapt out of the schoolhouse like a lioness on a mission and boomed over the school yard;

  "WENDEL KNELLER! PUT THAT BOY DOWN RIGHT NOW AND GET YOUR RUDDY HINTERN HERE RIGHT NOW! YOU'RE IN FOR IT BOY!" she roughly pitched his ear and dragged him back inside to receive a nice little, extra-large watschen.

  *

  So little ever happened at that school.

  So little that even the smallest thing felt like a visit from the queen.

  *

  Coincidental shoes

  17th May 1938

  They sun was warming their backs as Florence and Ben walked up the shaded mountain road to home. They told of the images in their minds, lasting snapshots of moments they wanted to remember.

  "...and his face when Katze Hintern found him!" they doubled up laughing and wiping the tears from their eyes. Their bellies ached but their laughter came louder yet.

  The bush.

  They didn't notice it. The leaves shook ever so slightly but they kept on laughing, oblivious.

  The bush shook again. This time with more vigour.

  "Florence?" asked Ben, confused. He stared at Florence, no longer in hysterics and now peering into a bush.

  "What is it?"

  "I don't know." The bush was shaking.

  Ben stepped forwards, cautiously, parting the bush gently down the centre. Florence peered over his shoulder.

  Nothing.

  "Verdammt. I'm probably just going crazy."

  But something caught their eyes, down the hill, off the path.

  "Well, I suppose we are just going to have to go and investigate." Ben said, his eyes gleaming, excited.

  "I suppose so." replied Florence, a small grin escaped her.

  *

  Seeing that excitement for adventure play across people's eyes and lips,

  is one of my favourite sights.

  No matter how small or childish,

  it's exhilarating.

  I used to wish I could join them,

  to feel that sweet taste of thrills oncoming.

  To feel the tingle run down your arms.

  To think of possible dangers.

  To ignore the possible dangers.

  To wriggle my toes and crack my knuckles in anticipation.

  All these mundane things enchanted me.

  But not anymore.

  If you were me,

  you would understand what I mean when I say,

  Don't envy what you won't have,

  Because it will drive you mad.

  So that's how I live.

  Odd,

  but it works.

  So taste all your excitement like it’s the last taste you'll have.

  *

  Florence and Ben picked their way down the steep hillside, weaving in and out of trees. Their pale skin practically glowing in the cool shade. Twigs snapped under their feet and little pieces of bark rolled down the hill. They walked very slowly, their blue and brown eyes darted along the ground, searching for their bush rustler.

  Ben stopped abruptly. He bent down to pick up the small, pale pink object that had caught his eye.

  "Flory, come see this!" She strode over, her heart beating suddenly faster. She examined the object with care. She gave a start.

  "What is this rubbish?"

  "Look Ben, they’re tiny shoes." she explained.

  "Looks like they’re off a doll." Ben added. Florence's eyes widened.

  "What could it mean?" she muttered.

  "Dah, some clumsy kid drop her doll."

  "Ja. Probably." she shook her head. It’s probably just a coincidence, she thought. All the same she tucked the shoes into her dress pocket and climbed back up to the road, utterly puzzled.

  *

  Florence placed the little pink shoes alongside the seven porcelain hands. They both held little veins of dirt in the creases. The once brilliant colours had faded and had been replaced with the dullness of neglect. All the way home, Florence had been distracted, only listening to Ben with one ear, grunting in response to his questions. She was utterly confused, hoping such coincidences weren't all that uncommon.

  "What you got Flory?" Ollie entered the room, padding up behind his sister.

  Florence showed her little brother the shoes.

  "Some girl must really hate her dolls!" he joked.

  Strawberry borrowing

  21st May 1938

  *

  The week passed.

  Nothing out of the ordinary happened.

  Nothing much ever did in that small Swiss town.

  Florence and Ben ran to school every morning,

  toiled through the hours of dull schoolwork,

  and then walked home after school.
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br />   Same story.

  Same story.

  *

  Early in the morning, when the moon was still up, Florence Mele slipped out of bed.

  She left her sleeping brother and closed the door, cursing the un-oiled hinges. Down the street, six gates from her's, she waited for Ben. His hair was still ruffled from his pillow. They crept around to the back of the house, passing his brother Emil creating earthquakes with his blocked nose. The forest swallowed them and they began to run, their footsteps dampened, thudding softly.

  "So. What shall we be borrowing today?" Florence asked.

  "Let's see... Herr Fitz’s place sounds nice, don't you think?" he replied, with a pompous tone. He grinned mischievously, and took off in the direction of Herr Fitz's strawberry garden.

  What met their eyes when they got there made their hearts bleed with envy. Row upon row of shiny, fresh strawberries, redder than fresh blood, lay before them. Enticing them.

  They savoured the slightly overripe scent of the fruit, drawing in large gulps of the red air. Ben saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He hastily grabbed Florence by the arm and pulled her down to the ground. They squatted silently between two rows of strawberries, Florence dreading the hunch she had.

  She peered around the plants to see none other than Herr Fitz himself and her heart sunk, falling amongst the strawberries. He waddled out of his rusty tool shed, a spade in one hand and his belly supported in the other. His bristly grey moustache tickled his upper lip, causing him a constant itch.

  Several rows away, he knelt down with the grace of a walrus. He began to pluck the fruit patiently from the ground with his frankfurter fingers.

  Ben silently loaded his pockets with strawberries. Florence quickly caught on and before long, they had bulging hip pockets, full of fruit. They also had stained fingers and a guilty conscience. Herr Fitz was now only a few rows away.

  Their discovery was nearing.

  Florence swivelled around, searching for a way to escape. Preferably undetected. Their chances were slim, just like Florence's shot at maintaining an untarnished reputation.

  "Verdammt!" Ben however, had no fear in ruining his name. His was already tarnished with the grubby fingerprints of his mistakes. He had quite a hand for nicking apples and lollies. Sticky hand prints seemed to follow him around like a shadow.