Breaking point

NO STRINGS

 

'Get away, old lady,' I screech as she touches me with her yellow wrinkled hands. Does she hear me, no. Definitely Madam Q isn't wearing her hearing aids today. My ears are great but my reflexes, instincts smell to high heaven. 'Edmond, bring me the switch .This child just won't listen to me.' Edmond likes me, likes to look under my flowered skirt so he ignores Madam. That infuriates her, makes her pat me down for matches, for lollipops, while she goes looking for him. High and low, behind, under everything but finds only dust, no Edmond.

 

I don't move, barely breathe because I know where he is. The big travel trunk near the back door isn't locked in the afternoon so he must be in there. This is not the first time she doesn't consider the trunk important enough to search. A little cough that sounds like someone is trying to stifle it comes from the trunk. On my rough knees I crawl to it, tap on the side. A tap tap comes back. I give one more extra light tap and crawl to where Madam had left me.

 

It has to be dark, hot in there and I worry about my friend. He has to come out soon. Our audience is coming. There is a squeak. The top of the trunk opens very slowly. Edmond steps out. His shirt is drenched with sweat. I try to tell him where she is but my mouth is sewed up. No words come out. Maybe I will be saved when my only pal, who fights with me,  arrives. You see, he is my pal but he is mean, ornery and likes to hit me.

 

Madam comes from nowhere it seems. She has a frying pan that still has grease dripping out and aims to hit Edmond with it. However, she is fooling with the wrong man, over-heated, angry. He grabs the pan and wallops her rear end. Screams could be heard in Texas. He doesn't hurt her. She has too much fat on her rear. Who does she take her anger out on? Me, of course.  My right arm healed only last week and darn if  she doesn't twist it again. Edmond hits her one more time,  kicks her ankle to make her shut up and go away. Instead she yells her head off.

 

'Punch, Punch, come here, now!' Punch is lying still, unable to rise. His eyes are glazed. His master has surely had all he can take of the daily shows, his wife's uncaring for his friends and has not attached any strings to their arms, bodies. He picks up Judy and Punch and the paddle, puts them in the trunk.

 

The show does not open that day or ever again.