During the summer, there was a puppet show every Friday night. The shows were in what had been a dairy barn. The floor was dirt, and the seats were bleachers made out of scavenged lumber.
I went to one of these puppet shows with a man who had been my lover but who I no longer loved at all.
During the puppet show, he kept asking me about what was happening. “What’s happening?” he said to me. He reached over to me and held my hand.
I told him the puppet was disguised as a priest and was hitting a woman.
The puppet was dressed like a woman and was pretending to kill herself.
The puppet was a child dressed like an old man and was trying to get into a brothel run by monsters in disguise.
He asked me these questions because he was blind. This past year, he lost his sight.
The puppet was dressed as a disconsolate clown.
He kept asking me what was happening, so I wrested my hand away from his and started pushing him toward the front of the theater. The other people in the audience helped me, and we all pushed him down the bleachers and onto the dirt floor that served as the stage.
“What’s happening?” he said. The puppet touched his head and told him he no longer had to ask.