Chương 50: Chapter 44 ~ Tsininokha (Act Two)

15/11/1111 EotTS 21: 50 The curtains drew back with the soft clicking of winches, and the act began: Tsininokha was asleep, lying upon a cot in a new room, which was papered with a lapis blue that had fluffy clouds near the ceiling, and golden waves near the bottom, with a single window covered by heavy curtains; the floor was identical to that of the stage belonging to the theater. Tsininokha began to stir, tossing and turning, before running a hand down her face, and sitting up.

"Oh, where am I! My Mind, this Haze. Stolen from home, taken away, but with all my furor, I fought, only to wake on woolen cot." Throwing off the covers, she gasped: she was now dressed in a royal-blue robe, with gold designs matching that of the wallpaper, and a thick, gold sash holding the robe shut.

"Such vibrant robes of blue and gold, Sold, their value shall see me old! This ribbon, tied with utmost care; Show me the maiden, wise and fair!" Rising from the cot, Tsininokha spun, robes flowing around her, then collapsed back down on her knees and buries her face in her hands.

"No! keep her hidden, tucked away; I do not belong, and mustn't stay." She raised herself to a knee, and ran a hand down the robes, then clenched it into a fist, and shook it.

"I shall sell these after escape, but first, what lies behind these drapes?" Stepping to the curtains, she grasped them.

"Such soft velvet, blue like the sea; Part now veil; what lay behind thee!" Throwing them apart, she gasped at a small section of a background (that could be seen very clearly over the top of the set) depicting a tranquil night and the sea.

"Calm and Vast Blue, neath cloudless night; Moonlight upon waves, what a sight." She opened the window and leaned out far enough that her bare feet dangle above the ground.

"No wrecked hulls lay amongst the foam; The stars say I am leagues from Home. Lady Ocean's beauty tempts me such, But Mother's cries broke my heart much." Pulling back inside, she shut the window with a slam, shaking the set, then pulls the curtains shut. Frantically, she ran about the room, throwing open the two doors on stage left, and sticking her head beyond the threshold; after seeing backstage, she steps back into the center of the room.

"This home, a small but lavish place, Drunk on silver, bound by lace," Tsininokha ran back, slamming the doors shut—she is going to break something—.

"In all these rooms, none but splendor by avarice, trapped forever!" Tsininokha collapsed to her knees once more, head in hands, wailing her woes.

"O, Tsininokha, gather yourself, and face your fears!" She stood once more and raised her arms above her head.

"If I must be the fair Priestess, I shall live simple, no excess! Gems and silks must all be removed, Only then will my grief be soothed. O, Hark, where are my attendants, Appear, or wish thee penitents!" In long strides she approached the double doors on stage right, but stopped just shy of them, and looked back to the room.

"No, no, it is all so much more, than dreams of those who called me poor. I must embrace this life, lay claim; For this is the gift of my name!" The double doors slid open, and a man, who must have been nearly two meters tall, stepped in, with skin as grey as a tempest's light, his hair a blonde, like lightning bright; he wore a robe of blue, hemmed with golden hues. Gysel's lips twisted into a grin. Tsininokha whipped around to the man, and fell onto her rear, then scurried away, back to the cot.

Leaning over, Wyohla tapped Gysel's program with the leathered tip of her index finger, and said: "I meant to tell you earlier, but pay attention to the meter, syllables, and stanza the characters speak in." The tall man carried a tray of food in one hand, with tea and berries, and approached Tsininokha; he offered her his empty hand.

"Rise, child; I have waited many days to see you awake. O, My heart is kind, there is not a reason to flee; I simply wish to speak with you; not a vow to take." His words were nearly sung, the bright and warm bass-baritone register matching his statue-like appearance (usually, when a statue with a voice like that was involved in any form with one's dinner, it tended to be a bad sign). Tsininokha screamed and clambered further away from him.

"Stay away from that cot; it is enchanted, you see. A touch of the down, and slumber shall steal you from me." The man continued to advance, and once again offered his hand.

"The floor is no place for you, to your feet, take my hand. Are you hungry, my dear girl? I have brought meal and tea, so please, lend your ear; listen to the lord of the land."

"Why?" Gysel whispered, not looking away from the unfolding drama. Looking behind her, Tsininokha scurried away from the cot.

"Back, Back! Step back, brazen grey brute. I care not for your words, nor fruit. Fake kindness shall not make me tame; I am the priestess, state your name!" She came to a stop by the wall and swiped at the air. This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Well, because you can spot the theological associations of the characters, Pyrletox's lines have thirteen syllables, like his devotees, because of the relationship between water and the moons. But he speaks in eight-line stanzas instead of seven, because he is a deity." From the stage, Pyrletox roared with laughter.

"Ha, Ha, You humor me so! I cannot help but laugh. My name, you say! I am he, the storms, the ocean's rage. Are my robes not enough? Must I have brought gilded staff? Man has named me: Pyrletox; and you, maiden? My Sage!" Setting the tray on the ground between him and Tsininokha, he sat down on the stage floor.

"All right," said Gysel, looking back to the stage; poets sure could be pretentious.

"So please: calm your furor," continued Pyrletox, "fill your stomach, flip the page. This odd place, I know you must be scared, and that is fair, but let us work together, one goal, no wars to wage. It is pointless to wallow, to give in to despair." Tsininokha scooted closer, eyeing the berries on the platter like a vulture to carrion.

"Your devotees took me from home, made my poor mother weep and moan. Yet, you offer me these riches, beyond selling shells and fishes." Reaching out, Tsininokha took a fistful of berries from the bowl and puts them into her mouth, then continues her lines while chewing, which was something likely accurate to the village girls of the western archipelago of the inland sea.

"This place is odd, that is quite true, but upon me, this wealth, it grew. Answer this upon your honor: Tell me what became of Father?" The box's curtain rustled, and the server entered in the same manner as Myna after she had done something foolish.

"We are very sorry about the delay," whispered the server, as he set a gold bucket filled with ice and two wine bottles on the table, along with a wine glass on either side.

"Which would you like me to open?"

"Surprise me," Wyohla answered.

"They are both the same." Nodding, the server produced a gold cork-remover that curled like the phallus of a duck, and drove it into the cork of the bottle next to Wyohla. He gave a twist and a pull, and—pop! —the cork came free. Once he had filled both the glasses, he silently walked back to his spot by the curtains. Gysel glanced to the glass closest to her, watching the red wine slowly settle in the dim lights of the theater, then she looked back to the stage.

"Hm, Tsininokha," said Pyrletox, "your Father, a sailor was he?" Tsininokha nodded.

"Many souls each year, claimed by the sea, I cannot tell. I am sorry; I know not the answer to your plea, whether his fate was a shipwreck or a tempest's spell." A bell softly tolled in the distance twenty-six times; it was certainly coming from the stage, but in the off-chance it was not, it would be disastrous, so Gysel checked her watch: nearly the twenty-second hour, twenty-one seventy-three.

"Hark, do you hear that?" Pyrletox jumped up.

"That distant toll; the midnight bell! My time here is up, so I can linger here no more. I shall see you tomorrow, my sage; I bid you well. All here is yours, but one rule: do not open that door." Rising from the floor, Pyrletox headed for the door, and with a bow to Tsininokha, he left her alone in the room.

"Woe, poor Father, a sailor's fate!" cried Tsininokha, "Dooms my soul to a sorry state. Dear Mother alone, left to mourn; With answers I am still forlorn. But what was that, about the door? It will be unlocked evermore." Tsininokha ran to the door, pressing her ear against it.

"Can I hear his steps as he leaves? O, my stomach, it twists and weaves! Now he is gone, I am alone, with gems, food, and the ocean foam." She ran to the window and threw open the curtains once more, and taking the platter, she ate everything and drank the tea while looking out the window.

"I shall honor his one request; and never leave this jeweled nest," she declared while looking out the window and stuffing her face. As soon as she had picked the stems clean, and probably drank the tea leaves, she dropped the platter out the window with a clatter, and turned to the audience, went 'Whoop!', covered her mouth, and ran away, exiting the stage through one of the doors on stage left.

The background behind the window began to change, going from dawn, to noon, to gloam, to night, over and over again, slowly getting faster and faster. As this happened, piles of gold and racks of clothes slid on stage. Tsininokha returned from stage left, still yclad in the same robes. She began pacing around the stage, and judging from the program, began her end of act two soliloquy.

"O, after many a maiden, with grief, I am still yladen. For worthless my heavy heart feels; I do not earn my gems and meals.

"For these must be many cruel tests To prove my will as a Priestess. I demand my duties be set, but he always defers: not yet.

"Grand meals, we have shared, him and I, Same time each night, never a why. My attendants, they do not speak. This lack of purpose, I grow weak.

"Stay longer, I beg, and I plead. That lone hour, he will not exceed." Her frantic pace slowed, and she looked to the doors, then slowly crept towards them.

"But O, those doors, they never lock, no click, when we are done our talk."

"Wait, wait, the door, beyond it, I must know what lingers! For, many moons have set since I have last saw the trees, felt the sand between my toes, grass within my fingers. Bear it longer I cannot; I need the sky and breeze! Where is the value of all these silks and gold riches, if they are all solely mine, and spark no jealous itches." She reached for the door, fingers lingering just above its golden handle for nearly thirty excruciating seconds.

Then, pulling her hand away, she stumbled back and falls to her knees, once again burying her head in her hands.

"No, no, for I may grow restless," Tsininokha lamented.

"I cannot betray his kindness. His only rule even spoken, and it must remain unbroken." With the same thump of the sandbags as before, the curtains swung shut, and the audience clapped, save for Wyohla, who was on her second glass of wine.

"I hate the ending of the second act," said she, as she rocked her head to and fro.

"Whoever is playing Tsininokha always takes too long at the door."

"I like it," said Gysel, "I think the skepticism was a realistic touch."

"I'm not surprised that you like it; you seem to enjoy taking your time with things."

"I do." Wyohla fidgeted in her chair and did not say anything more.