Chapter 142:
Sparks of Something
Scaramouche grinned, his neck extending slightly upward. “Don’t you remember, Your Grace?”
“No.” Mr. Punch frowned. “And, I don’t want to neither!”
“I think he was referring to me, Mr. Punch.” Julian said softly from the misty corner where he lurked.
“Oh.” Mr. Punch blushed. “Course he was. It’s just…well, I got used to…”
“You see, he’s taken over your life!” Scaramouche gloated.
“I gave him control of my life.” Julian replied dryly.
“When?” Scaramouche asked pointedly.
“In America.” Julian responded.
“Not sooner?”
“Over these many years, there have been many moments where, for my own safety and protection, Mr. Punch took control so that I might be spared.”
“When was the first time?” Scaramouche asked.
“Who could say?” Julian replied. “It’s been over three decades.”
“When was the first time that Mr. Punch took complete control of your body?” Scaramouche badgered Julian. “The first time that he walked with your legs, and…”
“I’ve told you, Mr. Scaramouche, that I don’t recall specifically. I can think of many times from my boyhood where Mr. Punch lived for me. He would often take charge when I was forced to deal with Nanny Rittenhouse or…”
“Brief moments.” Scaramouche interrupted. “When was the first moment when he lived your life for any length of time?”
“Clearly,” Julian sighed, “You’ve something to say.”
“Ne le laissez pas!” Guignol wailed.
“Quiet, you!” Kasperl growled. “Go on, Mr. Scaramouche.”
“Thank you, Kasperl.” Scaramouche bowed. “I can tell you, Your Grace, the first time that Punch wriggled out to use your body for days at a time. It was here, in Scotland. You’d gone up to the turrets as you liked to do. You liked the safety of it. Do you recall?”
“Yes.”
“You liked to be able to stand atop the great tower and see from all angles who was approaching.”
“Mr. Scaramouche…” Julian began.
“I’m not finished, Your Grace.”
“Very well.”
“One day, you went to your usual spot, climbing the stairs with your shaking, sticks of legs. And, you came upon two men in what, at first, seemed an embrace. One was a man with dark hair. He was older than the other man—a freckle-faced country lad with reddish curls. You saw that they were not embracing, but struggling. The older boy pushed the younger one and he fell. You rushed to the side, screaming and, then, you saw him—crushed on the stones below, his blood…”
“Arrêtez-le! Arrêtez ce cas. Vous n'avez pas de cœur, salaud!” Guignol screamed.
“I shall not stop.” Scaramouche laughed.
“And, then?” Julian asked.
“Don’t listen to him, Master.” Punch pleaded.
“Then, Punch took over, Your Grace. And, it was at that moment you realized that all men, all humans were truly, inherently bad. That all men existed only to be cruel. Until that point, you’d always secretly hoped that one day you would come upon someone different, but that day you knew you would not!”
“You’re an awful thing, Scaramouche.” Punch yelled. “You can’t torture the Duke this way!”
“Who’s to stop me?” Scaramouche chuckled.
“If you were a man of flesh and blood, I’d hit ya with me stick, I would. That would stop ya well ‘nough, it would.” Punch screamed. He paused. “Only ya ain’t. You’re nothin’. Sure, I can see ya in here, but you’re not a man. You’re just a thought. You’re an idea. You’re a voice with no…”
“With no what?” Scaramouche growled.
“With no nothin’.” Mr. Punch smiled.
“What are you grinning at, Hunchback?” Scaramouche demanded.
“Nothin’.” Punch laughed happily. “That’s just it. You’re nothin’. We’re all nothin’. We’re thoughts. We’re words and deeds and sparks of somethin’ what I don’t understand, but that’s it. And, if we’re thoughts, someone thought us up. Just like you thought up Kasperl, someone thought you up.”
“Qui, Mr. Punch? Qui est responsable de ces pensées?” Guignol asked.
“Dunno, ‘xactly, Guignol. Don’t know who thought us up. I guess His Grace done so since he’s the first of all of us. Ain’t it true?”
“I’d not considered it, Mr. Punch.” Julian whispered.
“Ridiculous!” Scaramouche belched.
“No, it ain’t.” Punch shook his head. “Inside all men is what? When you get past all the blood and muscle and bone and guts and such. What’s left? Thoughts. A man’s identity is his thoughts. Them thoughts live in his body. Like we do. It’s his personality, his demeanor, his way of being—it’s all in us thoughts.”
“Qu'en est-il de l'esprit?” Guignol asked.
“Well, Guignol. That, too. But, I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout the spirit and all that. Me chum Marjani—she knows. And, Gamilla. They know ‘bout that sort of thing. But, not me. All I know is what I seen. And what I seen is that we’re all—me included—ideas of the Duke of Fallbridge. I’m the idea what the Duke most likes, the easy one what allows him happiness and love. Guignol, you’re all them things what trouble His Grace, and Scaramouche is all them unhappy thoughts. If we’re ideas, then the Duke made us. And, if the Duke made us, he can unmake us.”
“You’re a fool, Red Nose.” Scaramouche howled.
“Ain’t foolish to make somethin’ bad go away. If he made ya, he can make ya go away.”
“Mr. Punch, you’re quite correct. Why had I never thought of it?” Julian asked.
“Dunno.” Punch shrugged. “All, I know, Master chum, is that Robert and Colin and our friends is out there waitin’ for one of us. Not for Scaramouche nor for Kasperl. Not for more pain, but for love and help and support.”
“I want you to return to our family, dear Punch.” Julian said, his face becoming slightly clearer.
“That’s what I want, too.” Punch smiled.
“You’ve brought such happiness. Not just to me, but…” Julian said with pride. “I’m grateful. I don’t want your work to stop.”
“Ain’t work.” Punch replied.
“It would be work for me.” Julian answered. “A terrible chore. I’m selfish. I want the benefit without the effort.”
“It’s the way all men are.” Punch shrugged.
“Have you finished?” Scaramouche demanded.
“No.” Julian replied. “But, you have.”
“Bien fait, Votre Grâce, le duc!” Guignol cheered.
“Go away, Scaramouche, and take your Kasperl with you.” Julian said loudly.
“I’m stronger than that.” Scramouche snorted. “You can send me away, but I’ll return. No man can control all of his thoughts all of the time.”
“Maybe so.” Julian sighed. “But, now—just now—I can. Be gone.”
The Duke’s body spasmed for a moment, and, then, his eyes opened to look adoringly up at a very troubled Robert Halifax.
“Dear Punch.” Robert gasped. “You’ve come back to me.”
“Course I have, Chum.” Punch smiled though his jaw hurt him. “I always will.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-141 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square? If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 143.
Scaramouche grinned, his neck extending slightly upward. “Don’t you remember, Your Grace?”
“No.” Mr. Punch frowned. “And, I don’t want to neither!”
“I think he was referring to me, Mr. Punch.” Julian said softly from the misty corner where he lurked.
“Oh.” Mr. Punch blushed. “Course he was. It’s just…well, I got used to…”
“You see, he’s taken over your life!” Scaramouche gloated.
“I gave him control of my life.” Julian replied dryly.
“When?” Scaramouche asked pointedly.
“In America.” Julian responded.
“Not sooner?”
“Over these many years, there have been many moments where, for my own safety and protection, Mr. Punch took control so that I might be spared.”
“When was the first time?” Scaramouche asked.
“Who could say?” Julian replied. “It’s been over three decades.”
“When was the first time that Mr. Punch took complete control of your body?” Scaramouche badgered Julian. “The first time that he walked with your legs, and…”
“I’ve told you, Mr. Scaramouche, that I don’t recall specifically. I can think of many times from my boyhood where Mr. Punch lived for me. He would often take charge when I was forced to deal with Nanny Rittenhouse or…”
“Brief moments.” Scaramouche interrupted. “When was the first moment when he lived your life for any length of time?”
“Clearly,” Julian sighed, “You’ve something to say.”
“Ne le laissez pas!” Guignol wailed.
“Quiet, you!” Kasperl growled. “Go on, Mr. Scaramouche.”
“Thank you, Kasperl.” Scaramouche bowed. “I can tell you, Your Grace, the first time that Punch wriggled out to use your body for days at a time. It was here, in Scotland. You’d gone up to the turrets as you liked to do. You liked the safety of it. Do you recall?”
“Yes.”
“You liked to be able to stand atop the great tower and see from all angles who was approaching.”
“Mr. Scaramouche…” Julian began.
“I’m not finished, Your Grace.”
“Very well.”
“One day, you went to your usual spot, climbing the stairs with your shaking, sticks of legs. And, you came upon two men in what, at first, seemed an embrace. One was a man with dark hair. He was older than the other man—a freckle-faced country lad with reddish curls. You saw that they were not embracing, but struggling. The older boy pushed the younger one and he fell. You rushed to the side, screaming and, then, you saw him—crushed on the stones below, his blood…”
“Arrêtez-le! Arrêtez ce cas. Vous n'avez pas de cœur, salaud!” Guignol screamed.
“I shall not stop.” Scaramouche laughed.
“And, then?” Julian asked.
“Don’t listen to him, Master.” Punch pleaded.
“Then, Punch took over, Your Grace. And, it was at that moment you realized that all men, all humans were truly, inherently bad. That all men existed only to be cruel. Until that point, you’d always secretly hoped that one day you would come upon someone different, but that day you knew you would not!”
“You’re an awful thing, Scaramouche.” Punch yelled. “You can’t torture the Duke this way!”
“Who’s to stop me?” Scaramouche chuckled.
“If you were a man of flesh and blood, I’d hit ya with me stick, I would. That would stop ya well ‘nough, it would.” Punch screamed. He paused. “Only ya ain’t. You’re nothin’. Sure, I can see ya in here, but you’re not a man. You’re just a thought. You’re an idea. You’re a voice with no…”
“With no what?” Scaramouche growled.
“With no nothin’.” Mr. Punch smiled.
“What are you grinning at, Hunchback?” Scaramouche demanded.
“Nothin’.” Punch laughed happily. “That’s just it. You’re nothin’. We’re all nothin’. We’re thoughts. We’re words and deeds and sparks of somethin’ what I don’t understand, but that’s it. And, if we’re thoughts, someone thought us up. Just like you thought up Kasperl, someone thought you up.”
“Qui, Mr. Punch? Qui est responsable de ces pensées?” Guignol asked.
“Dunno, ‘xactly, Guignol. Don’t know who thought us up. I guess His Grace done so since he’s the first of all of us. Ain’t it true?”
“I’d not considered it, Mr. Punch.” Julian whispered.
“Ridiculous!” Scaramouche belched.
“No, it ain’t.” Punch shook his head. “Inside all men is what? When you get past all the blood and muscle and bone and guts and such. What’s left? Thoughts. A man’s identity is his thoughts. Them thoughts live in his body. Like we do. It’s his personality, his demeanor, his way of being—it’s all in us thoughts.”
“Qu'en est-il de l'esprit?” Guignol asked.
“Well, Guignol. That, too. But, I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout the spirit and all that. Me chum Marjani—she knows. And, Gamilla. They know ‘bout that sort of thing. But, not me. All I know is what I seen. And what I seen is that we’re all—me included—ideas of the Duke of Fallbridge. I’m the idea what the Duke most likes, the easy one what allows him happiness and love. Guignol, you’re all them things what trouble His Grace, and Scaramouche is all them unhappy thoughts. If we’re ideas, then the Duke made us. And, if the Duke made us, he can unmake us.”
“You’re a fool, Red Nose.” Scaramouche howled.
“Ain’t foolish to make somethin’ bad go away. If he made ya, he can make ya go away.”
“Mr. Punch, you’re quite correct. Why had I never thought of it?” Julian asked.
“Dunno.” Punch shrugged. “All, I know, Master chum, is that Robert and Colin and our friends is out there waitin’ for one of us. Not for Scaramouche nor for Kasperl. Not for more pain, but for love and help and support.”
“I want you to return to our family, dear Punch.” Julian said, his face becoming slightly clearer.
“That’s what I want, too.” Punch smiled.
“You’ve brought such happiness. Not just to me, but…” Julian said with pride. “I’m grateful. I don’t want your work to stop.”
“Ain’t work.” Punch replied.
“It would be work for me.” Julian answered. “A terrible chore. I’m selfish. I want the benefit without the effort.”
“It’s the way all men are.” Punch shrugged.
“Have you finished?” Scaramouche demanded.
“No.” Julian replied. “But, you have.”
“Bien fait, Votre Grâce, le duc!” Guignol cheered.
“Go away, Scaramouche, and take your Kasperl with you.” Julian said loudly.
“I’m stronger than that.” Scramouche snorted. “You can send me away, but I’ll return. No man can control all of his thoughts all of the time.”
“Maybe so.” Julian sighed. “But, now—just now—I can. Be gone.”
The Duke’s body spasmed for a moment, and, then, his eyes opened to look adoringly up at a very troubled Robert Halifax.
“Dear Punch.” Robert gasped. “You’ve come back to me.”
“Course I have, Chum.” Punch smiled though his jaw hurt him. “I always will.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-141 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square? If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 143.
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