Pull the String and I'll Wink at You / I'm Your Puppet
“Carried away in a sort of dream, he smiled, then he began to hurry back towards the lady; he was walking faster than usual, and his shoulders swayed backwards and forwards, right and left, in the most absurd fashion; altogether he looked, so utterly had he abandoned himself to it, ignoring all other considerations, as though he were the lifeless and wire-pulled puppet of his own happiness.”
Proust, Marcel. (1913). Swann's Way. Grasset and Gallimard.
__________
With zero fanfare and absolutely no advanced warning, Jacob abruptly found himself whisked away from the front lawn and the company of lovely Emily.
Instead, he was now in a strange place indeed. The sky, the clouds, the trees, the grass, the very soil were all pastel colored now: soft, powdery, subdued tints that reflected a soothing, muted, soft-hued world that made Jacob think of butterflies, doilies, and sweet dishes of peaches and cream. Everything had a cloying, honeyed fairyland feel to it, as though Jacob was now traipsing lightly through a dreamlike world of whimsical fantasy.
As Jacob examined his saccharinely sweet, weirdly bowdlerised surroundings, an odd figure lumbered jerkily into view. He was stiff, lanky looking figure: stick-thin with shaky, juddering limbs that trembled with an odd palsy as he strode with an awkward, clumsy gait towards Jacob. He wore a tall black busby, a liberty blue, high-collared jacket, bright scarlet trousers with bright golden lampasses, and high black leather boots. The fellow sported a martial looking, bushy Hungarian mustache that bristled about nervously with the same involuntary spasms that seemed to be afflicting the rest of the man's body. His expression was initially wooden, as though carved into the veneer of his skin. But as he began to speak, the man's wide dark eyes, large bulbous nose, and broad grinning mouth suddenly sprang to live with fluid movement.
“Greetings and salutations, young lady,” said the man, executing a brittle, graceless bow. “I am Serjeant Major Buckram, regimental chief of the queen's own Royal Bluetunic Marionette Regiment, and I formally welcome you to this, the great, grand, glorious Land of Pulcinella.”
Jacob starred, dumbfounded, at the odd scarecrow of a soldier who had just greeted him. Upon closer inspection, Jacob could see that Buckram's facial features did not just appear wooden: they literally were made of wood! In fact, the man's entire body was somehow constructed of vividly painted wood, cleverly jointed together with metal hinges that accounted for the guardsman's choppy, spastic movement. The man was some sort of magically animated, life-size puppet.
“Waitaminute – did you just call me 'fair lady'?” asked Jacob.
And as he spoke the words, Jacob came to the full realization of what had happened to himself: he was now a female marionette.
Quickly starring down at himself, Jacob's gaze took in the visual confirmation of his worst fears. He was a living puppet version of some sort of female shepherdess from a nursery rhyme! He was wearing a close-fitting white bodice tied with baby pink laces. Below that, a voluminous skirt (white with pink polka dots) bloomed forth bell-shaped, heavily padded on the sides and rear with panniers and bustle. The skirt's hem terminated just above Jacob's petite ankles, affording just a glimpse of the long, ruffled bloomers he now wore. On his dainty little feet were a pair of impossibly tiny black, mary jane flats. In one hand, he held a baby blue shepherd's crook. A single, long, corkscrewing ringlet of golden blond hair drifted down in front of his eyes. With absent-minded annoyance, Jacob tucked the curl back in place beneath the pale pink poke bonnet on his head. As he did so, he noticed the skin on his hand was painted ivory white, and the digits of his hand appeared to be made of painted wood attached at the joints with little brass hinges.
“I'm Bo Peep!” he squeaked.
“Indeed you are, miss!” replied the mustachioed serjeant major, curtly clicking together his heels smartly. “And a perfectly lovely vision of Little Bo Peep you have indeed become, if I might say so, dear girl.”
“B-B-But how is this possible?” asked Jacob. “I'm supposed to be a young girl. I mean, I'm actually a shepherdess. No, that's not right. Can you help me, please? My real name is Bo Peep, but everyone calls me 'Little Bo Peep.' I've lost my sheep and don't know where to find them? Help! That's not at all what I wanted to say. What's going on here?”
“Ah, you are new to the Land of Pulcinella,” answered Serjeant Major Buckram gravely. “Allow to me explain: we are all puppets here and must acquiesce to what our unseen masters above wish for us to say and do. If we play our roles properly, we are rewarded with a remarkable sense of joyful bliss. But if you struggle and fight against your new identity, you will find yourself punished.”
“Help!” pleaded Jacob. “Help me ch-ch-change … no, help me find my sheep! Whatever shall I do? Boo-Hoo-Hoo!”
“Tut-tut, now. We both may speak more easily of our past lives if we are careful to only do so in the past tense,” continued Buckram. “Here: I shall demonstrate, my dear girl. I used to be a successful businesswoman. Before arriving here in the Land of Pulcinella, I was a middle-aged blond woman and a brilliant realtor. I was freshly divorced from an unpleasant dating and was enjoying playing the field, so to speak. Oh, in the Other World, I was what you might have called a cougar. But then, something happened … and now, I am much, much happier as a soldier of the marionette guard. I patrol these lands seeking out newcomers, like yourself, in order to offer assistance and guidance during your transition to life as a puppet. Most people transition quite quickly, you know. But for those who resist and try to stir up trouble … well, then I sometimes have to call in the rest of the Royal Bluetunic Guards, and we straighten things out by force. I do hope and pray that shall not be necessary in your case, young lady?”
“No indeed, sir!” Jacob said, quivering and trembling as he clumsily executed a curtsy before the serjeant major. “It's just … well, hang on and let me try. Goodness! I used to be a teenage boy. Oh my stars, it worked! I'm very happy now as a young girl. My name is Bo Peep. Wherever have my lost sheep gone? Booh-hoo-hoo! Please, sir: I just need help finding my sheep? Please won't you … No, that wasn't right. No, no, no. This is so hard!”
“Take it slowly, lass,” said Buckram with as warm a smile as his wooden, marionette face could muster. “Go too fast, and you'll find yourself slipping back into the guiding hands of the all-seeing, all-knowing masters above.”
Jacob shuddered a bit, struggling to cease his sobbing. Then, slowly and steadily, bit-by-bit Jacob explained the story of his past life, the appearance of the Toroid of Transformation, and his subsequent arrival in the Land of Pulcinella.
“I promise you, sir, I shan't be stirring up trouble!” he squeaked, reverting once again to his new persona as finished telling his tale. “It's just, I don't feel I belong here. Please, don't summon your guards. But if there is any way that I might return to my old life without causing unpleasantries here in your land, please do tell me of it and I shall be ever so grateful!”
“I must confess I have sympathies for you, young girl!” replied Serjeant Major Buckram. “We all have old lives we remember. But I am much happier as a proud soldier of the queen's guard than I ever was a greedy, lecherous woman. Nonetheless: if you shall give me your word of a honor as a shepherdess of the realm that you shall not be causing any breaches of the peace nor inflicting any hardships or aggravations upon the good citizenry who wish to remain happy, law-abiding puppets … well, then here's a bit of advice you didn't hear from me: seek out a certain Professor Swazzle. He's a recluse, and I'm afraid I can do little to steer you towards his current whereabouts. But if you keep your head low, maintain your proper identity as a good little girl, and make a few enquiries of the folk you meet here in the Land of Pulcinella, well perhaps you'll stumble across the professor. Be wary of him, though. For they say he is a sly and clever trickster. But also they say he, alone, has the means and methods by which a marionette might outwit the omnipresent puppetmasters from above.”
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