Putting on the Show

The constable stood in the door way. He had the exasperated look of a man asked to do something distasteful one too many times. He held his truncheon so tightly that his hand was white at the knuckles. Domestic disputes were common in this neighborhood. He never recalled coming here before though. The house seemed odd, almost like the entire thing was staged. He pressed the doorbell. The sound it made was more like a slide whistle than a bell. That was odd. A ruddy faced man dressed in flaming red, silk pajamas answered the door.

"Yes, can I helpa you, officer?"

"Well Mr… I am sorry, what is your name? I don't think we have met. Strange, as this has been my beat for ten years."

"I am Pietro Punchinello, a stringa merchant from Italy. I justa moved here with my wife Judith."

"Master Punchinello, I am not one to pry in the business of another man's home, ordinarily. It is a slight bit alarming that seven of your neighbors sent someone to The Yard to report a possible murder. The said that the screams coming from your humble abode could only be made by a woman in the throes of death. Could I perhaps speak with the missus of the house?"

The merchant's voice had an annoying buzz whenever he spoke, "My apologies, Signor. It is my wife. She is very ill. She doesn't know what she is doing. I am afraid she is in bed and cannot come to the door."

"No, I am not. I know exactly what I am doing! He is a monster!"

"Yes, you are! Be quiet, woman! You are bothering the poor officer."

"No, not true at all. Not a bit! I am a prisoner. He is crazy!"

"YES, YOU ARE SICK, YOU CURSED WOMAN!"

The merchant turned back to the officer. "She has a fever and is recovering from childbirth. She will be all right shortly."

"I am not that hot, and it is not my baby. He is a liar. Arrest him!"

"Of course it is your baby, stupid woman! You were there when the doctor delivered it. How can it not be your baby?"

"Not proof enough. Could be anyone's. I think maybe you had it with that pretty little tart Polly. I don't want it. I won't take it. You can't make me. It looks like you!"

"It is yours!"

"No, it's not!"

"IT IS SO!"

"NOT SO! I DON"T WANT IT!"

The baby flew out the front window and landed in a muddy puddle. A dog of indeterminate breed ran out and picked the baby up in its mouth and hurried back inside.

"Datsa good boy, Toby. What a good dog!"

He patted the dog's head as it went by. The dog mumbled something. It didn't growl or woof. It mumbled because it had a baby in its mouth.

"Sir, did that dog just..."

"What that signor? Pay no attention. He is just a good dog. Nothing is wrong here. It is all fine. That woman is the devil. Her daddy should have fed her to a crocodile. Everything she says Signor, bologna, pure bologna. Pay no attention."

The officer tried to peek around the man. Every time he leaned the man seemed to sway back and forth to always be in the way of his view. He had a very awkward way of standing. It was like his knees were loose and his shoulders were tight. The man's hands flopped around oddly when he spoke as well.

"Sir, why can't I see her? Why do you have so many curtains hanging in your house? This is odd."

A large ruckus commenced further in the house. It sounded like furniture being moved but also like percussion instruments being dropped and brass instruments being blown into. There also seemed to be small fireworks going off. The sound of crockery breaking seemed to be coming from several places at once. A horse whinnied. Strangely, the officer thought for a moment he heard the sound of the surf at the seashore come from in there too. A breeze came from in the house which smelled of popcorn and hotdogs.

"Madame, are you all right in there? Maybe I should come in?"

"No I am not. He is holding me captive. He had a man named Kil catch me. He intends to have a man named Ketch kill me. Murder! Murder! Help me."

"No. No Signor. It is just the fever. She will be fine. You need to trust me!"

The merchant winked at him and smiled. Somehow, suddenly, he thought maybe everything was all right here. He could trust this man. Nothing was really amiss. He had real policing to do elsewhere. He couldn't just stand here all day gawking.

"Well, keep it down then. I don't want to come back here again. You have a good day."

The funny man leaned forward and embraced in a hug. It was awkward. The man patted his back and kissed him on both cheeks. Strangely, the constable did not complain or push away. The cop just stood there, dazed, as the man embraced him.

"I assure you, Signor. You will not hear a peep from her again."

The constable could swear the merchant's eyes lit red for a moment. The merchant turned on his heel with a little hop. The odd man began to whistle a high pitched tune and grabbed the door to shut it. The door was closed and he started back to his partner in the carriage. There was something odd about all this evidently. There was also something familiar like he had seen it all before. There was something there he just couldn't grasp it. He began whistling the tune that he heard the funny man start to whistle. Somewhere in the distance calliope music began to play. He could have sworn he brought his truncheon. He was always misplacing those things.

THE END

Bio: Mr. Sullivan is an enthusiastic newcomer to getting published. He has been writing fiction for twenty five years. He has taken the leap just recently and begun submitting. He raises his daughter, works, writes, and spends time in his own strange thoughts most days.

E-mail: Ed Sullivan

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