The Letter Killers Club Read Online Free PDF Page B

untied hands to … Go on, tie him up! Can’t you see he’s out of his mind?
    BURBAGE: Yes, I condescended to you, people, from what is far over all your heads—and you refuse …
    â€œThe actors fall on Burbage, trying to tie him up. In the heat of the fray, he begins screaming, you understand, screaming at them all … Now if you’ll just … I’ll …”
    Mumbling inarticulate words, Rar reached into an inside pocket: something rustled under his black frockcoat. He fell suddenly silent and looked at us with wide eyes. Necks craned nervously. Chairs edged closer. Zez jumped up and motioned for the noise to stop. “Rar,” he snapped. “Did you smuggle letters in here? Hiding them from us? Give me the manuscript. Right now!”
    Rar seemed to hesitate. Then, amid the silence, his hand darted out from under his frockcoat: in his fingers, which were trembling slightly, a notebook folded in four showed white. Zez grabbed it and ran his eyes over the symbols: he held the manuscript almost at arm’s length, by one corner, as though afraid to sully himself with its inky lines. Then he spun around to the fire: it was almost out, only a few coals slowly turning violet continued to blaze above the fender.
    â€œAs per Article 5 of the Regulations, this manuscript is committed to death: without spilling ink. Objections?”
    No one moved.
    With a quick flick, the president tossed the notebook onto the coals. As though alive, white leaves writhing in agony, it set up a soft thin hiss; the spiral of smoke turned blue; then, from underneath, a flame leapt up. Three minutes later, having reduced to ashes with staccato blows of the tongs what so recently was a play, Zez replaced the tongs, turned to Rar and muttered, “Go on.”
    Rar did not immediately resume his usual expression; he was clearly struggling to control himself—even so he spoke:
    â€œYou have treated me the way my characters treated Burbage. Well—serves us both right. I’ll continue: that is, since the words that I wanted to read can no longer be read”—he glanced at the fender where the last coals were guttering and smoldering—“I’ll omit the end of the scene. Phelia, frightened by what happened, has gone to Guilden along with the role. The fourth and last position brings us back to Stern.”
    Still in the Kingdom of Roles, Stern is waiting for Burbage. With mounting impatience. Back on earth the performance may already have begun—with the brilliant role playing itself for him. Over the pointed arches flies a noisy flock of clappings.
    â€œFor me?”
    In his agitation, Stern appeals to the Hamlets all absorbed in their books. He is tormented by questions. Turning to a neighbor, he says, “You must understand me. After all, you know what praise is.”
    In reply:
    â€œWords … words … words …”
    The neighbor closes his book and walks off. Stern turns to another:
    â€œTo all men I am a stranger. But you will teach me to be all men.”
    This Hamlet too gives Stern a severe look and closes his book.
    â€œWords … words.”
    To a third:
    â€œBack on earth I left a girl who loves me. She often said to me—”
    â€œWords.”
    With every question, as if in reply, the Hamlets rise, close their books and, one after another, walk off.
    â€œBut what if Burbage … What if he decides not to return? How will I find my way back again? And you, why are you leaving me? They’ve all forgotten me: maybe she has too. But she swore …”
    And again:
    â€œWords … words.”
    â€œNo, not words: the words were burned, beaten with fire tongs, I saw it with my own eyes—you hear me?!”
    Rar passed a hand over his brow. “Forgive me, I got mixed up; a gear tooth for a gear tooth. It happens sometimes. Allow me to skip ahead.”
    So then, the succession of Hamlets has abandoned Stern; the