Peter.
“I am quite certain that you are,” said Vilna Lutz. “You are also dismissed.” He picked up his papers. He held the battle plan up to the light of the candle and muttered to himself, “So, and it must be so, and then … so.”
Later that night, when the candle was quenched and the room was in darkness and the old soldier was snoring in his bed, Peter Augustus Duchene lay on his pallet on the floor and looked up at the ceiling and thought, He lies; she lies; he lies; she lies.
Someone lies, but I do not know who.
If she lies, with her ridiculous talk of elephants, then I am, as Vilna Lutz said, a fool – a fool who believes that an elephant will appear and lead me to a sister who is dead.
But if he lies, then my sister is alive.
His heart thumped.
If he lies, then Adele lives.
“I hope that he lies,” said Peter aloud to the darkness.
And his heart, startled at such treachery, astonished at the voicing aloud of such an unsoldierly sentiment, thumped again, much harder this time.
Not far from the Apartments Polonaise, across the rooftops and through the darkness of the winter night, stood the Bliffendorf Opera House, and that evening upon its stage, a magician of advanced years and failing reputation performed the most astonishing magic of his career.
He intended to conjure a bouquet of lilies, but instead the magician brought forth an elephant.
The elephant came crashing through the ceiling of the opera house amid a shower of plaster dust and roofing tiles and landed in the lap of a noblewoman, a certain Madam Bettine LaVaughn, to whom the magician had intended to present the bouquet.
Madam LaVaughn’s legs were crushed. She was thereafter confined to a wheelchair and given to exclaiming often, and in a voice of wonder, in the midst of some conversation that had nothing at all to do with elephants or roofs, “But perhaps you do not understand. I was crippled by an elephant! Crippled by an elephant that came through the roof!”
As for the magician, he was immediately, at the behest of Madam LaVaughn, imprisoned.
The elephant was imprisoned too.
She was locked in a stable. A chain was wrapped around her left ankle. The chain was attached to an iron rod planted firmly in the earth.
At first, the elephant felt one thing and one thing only: dizzy. If she turned her head too quickly to the right or the left, she was aware of the world spinning in a truly alarming manner. So she did not turn her head. She closed her eyes and kept them closed.
There was, all about her, a great hubbub and roar. The elephant ignored it. She wanted nothing more than for the world to hold itself still.
After a few hours, the dizziness passed. The elephant opened her eyes and looked around her and realized that she did not know where she was.
She knew only one thing to be true.
Where she was was not where she should be.
Where she was was not where she belonged.
T he day after the night that the elephant arrived, Peter was again at the market square. The fortuneteller’s tent was gone, and Peter had been entrusted with another florit. The old soldier had talked at great length and in excruciating detail about what Peter had to purchase with the coin. Bread, for one, and it should be bread that was at least a day old, two days old preferably, but three-day-old bread, if he could find it, would be the best of all.
“Actually, see if you cannot locate bread with mould growing on it,” said Vilna Lutz. “Old bread is a most excellent preparation for being a soldier. Soldiers must become accustomed to rock-hard bread that is difficult to chew. It makes for strong teeth. And strong teeth make for a strong heart and therefore a brave soldier. Yes, yes, I believe it to be true. I know it to be true.”
How hard bread and strong teeth and a strong heart were connected was a mystery to Peter, but as Vilna Lutz spoke to him that morning, it became increasingly obvious that the old soldier was once again in the grip of
“I am quite certain that you are,” said Vilna Lutz. “You are also dismissed.” He picked up his papers. He held the battle plan up to the light of the candle and muttered to himself, “So, and it must be so, and then … so.”
Later that night, when the candle was quenched and the room was in darkness and the old soldier was snoring in his bed, Peter Augustus Duchene lay on his pallet on the floor and looked up at the ceiling and thought, He lies; she lies; he lies; she lies.
Someone lies, but I do not know who.
If she lies, with her ridiculous talk of elephants, then I am, as Vilna Lutz said, a fool – a fool who believes that an elephant will appear and lead me to a sister who is dead.
But if he lies, then my sister is alive.
His heart thumped.
If he lies, then Adele lives.
“I hope that he lies,” said Peter aloud to the darkness.
And his heart, startled at such treachery, astonished at the voicing aloud of such an unsoldierly sentiment, thumped again, much harder this time.
Not far from the Apartments Polonaise, across the rooftops and through the darkness of the winter night, stood the Bliffendorf Opera House, and that evening upon its stage, a magician of advanced years and failing reputation performed the most astonishing magic of his career.
He intended to conjure a bouquet of lilies, but instead the magician brought forth an elephant.
The elephant came crashing through the ceiling of the opera house amid a shower of plaster dust and roofing tiles and landed in the lap of a noblewoman, a certain Madam Bettine LaVaughn, to whom the magician had intended to present the bouquet.
Madam LaVaughn’s legs were crushed. She was thereafter confined to a wheelchair and given to exclaiming often, and in a voice of wonder, in the midst of some conversation that had nothing at all to do with elephants or roofs, “But perhaps you do not understand. I was crippled by an elephant! Crippled by an elephant that came through the roof!”
As for the magician, he was immediately, at the behest of Madam LaVaughn, imprisoned.
The elephant was imprisoned too.
She was locked in a stable. A chain was wrapped around her left ankle. The chain was attached to an iron rod planted firmly in the earth.
At first, the elephant felt one thing and one thing only: dizzy. If she turned her head too quickly to the right or the left, she was aware of the world spinning in a truly alarming manner. So she did not turn her head. She closed her eyes and kept them closed.
There was, all about her, a great hubbub and roar. The elephant ignored it. She wanted nothing more than for the world to hold itself still.
After a few hours, the dizziness passed. The elephant opened her eyes and looked around her and realized that she did not know where she was.
She knew only one thing to be true.
Where she was was not where she should be.
Where she was was not where she belonged.
T he day after the night that the elephant arrived, Peter was again at the market square. The fortuneteller’s tent was gone, and Peter had been entrusted with another florit. The old soldier had talked at great length and in excruciating detail about what Peter had to purchase with the coin. Bread, for one, and it should be bread that was at least a day old, two days old preferably, but three-day-old bread, if he could find it, would be the best of all.
“Actually, see if you cannot locate bread with mould growing on it,” said Vilna Lutz. “Old bread is a most excellent preparation for being a soldier. Soldiers must become accustomed to rock-hard bread that is difficult to chew. It makes for strong teeth. And strong teeth make for a strong heart and therefore a brave soldier. Yes, yes, I believe it to be true. I know it to be true.”
How hard bread and strong teeth and a strong heart were connected was a mystery to Peter, but as Vilna Lutz spoke to him that morning, it became increasingly obvious that the old soldier was once again in the grip of
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