Color Focus - The Perfomance

It was remarked, though only in retrospect and never with any certainty, that the bells did not ring when she entered the house.

Such an omission, trivial at first glance, would scarcely have drawn notice under ordinary circumstances; yet in the days that followed, there arose among the servants a quiet and persistent conviction that something had been amiss from the very beginning. A jester, after all, is a creature as much of sound as of color and motion, and the soft, irregular music of their bells serves to render them harmless, even ridiculous. That she passed through the corridors without such accompaniment lent her presence an unsettling quality, as though she had not so much walked within the manor as slipped between its spaces.

The night itself was of a most oppressive stillness. A wan and reluctant moon cast its pallid light through the tall, narrow windows, laying long and skeletal divisions across the stone floors and paneled walls. It was along these pale corridors of illumination that she advanced, placing each step with a care so deliberate that it suggested not caution, but design.

Her attire, though outwardly festive, bore the unmistakable marks of long use. The fabric had softened with age into something approaching decay, its colors dulled as if by damp or time. From her cap rose three slender tails, each terminating in a small bell of tarnished metal. They stirred as she moved, but yielded no sound.

The man she had come for was, by all reasonable measure, of no great importance.

He possessed neither the wealth to inspire envy nor the influence to provoke fear; yet there are those whose danger lies not in what they are, but in what they may unwittingly reveal. He was, it was said, inclined to speech in excess of prudence - a man who mistook the patience of his companions for admiration, and whose discretion diminished in direct proportion to the wine he consumed. Such men are seldom valued, but they are often observed.

She had observed him for two evenings before selecting her moment.

On the night in question, she found him alone within a private chamber, his attention divided between a scattered arrangement of papers and a glass whose contents had long since exceeded moderation. The fire had burned low, leaving the room in a state of uncertain illumination, wherein the boundaries of objects seemed to waver and dissolve.

He became aware of her not through sound, but through that subtler faculty by which one senses, without evidence, that one is no longer alone.

Turning, he regarded her with an expression that passed, in the span of a breath, from surprise to indulgent amusement.

“Ah,” he remarked, with the faint smile of a man who believes himself favored by circumstance, “it would seem I am to be entertained.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgment, the motion precise and unhurried.

“If it pleases you,” she replied, her voice light and entirely appropriate to more convivial hours, “I should be delighted to oblige.”

He laughed, as men of his disposition are inclined to do when confronted with novelty they do not understand, and made a careless gesture of assent.

“By all means,” he said. “Let us see it.”

She advanced a single step, and at last the bells gave voice - not in the bright and harmless sequence expected of such ornaments, but in a faint and uneven murmur, as though recalling, imperfectly, the manner in which they were meant to sound.

Her smile deepened, though never so far as to lose its composure.

What followed was, in its essence, a performance; yet it was one so brief, and so curiously intimate in its execution, that it resists precise description. There exist acts which, though carried out in silence, possess a clarity beyond language, and it is perhaps best that such moments remain unrecorded.

When it had concluded, the chamber was very still.

For a span of time impossible to measure, nothing moved.

Then, from the cap upon her head, there issued a single, distinct note.

...

The funeral was conducted three days thereafter, beneath a sky of such uniform grayness that it admitted neither sun nor shadow, but seemed instead to press downward upon the assembled company with a quiet and unrelenting weight.

Though the deceased had not been a man of consequence, he had nevertheless occupied that ambiguous station which demands acknowledgment, if not genuine grief. A modest gathering was therefore convened: a handful of acquaintances, several distant relations, and those servants whose attendance was as much obligation as sentiment.

It had been deemed appropriate - by whom none could later say - that there should be some small diversion following the interment, in keeping with those customs by which sorrow is, however briefly, tempered by spectacle.

Thus it was that she appeared among the hired performers, and just before the second line musicians.

Her attire had been altered, though not so thoroughly as to obscure its essential character. The colors were brighter, the fabric newly arranged, and whatever marks had previously marred its surface were now either removed or concealed with considerable skill. The bells, too, had been polished, and now produced a clear and pleasant tone with even the slightest motion.

Only one bore a flaw - a fine and nearly imperceptible crack along its side.

Her performance was, by all accounts, entirely suitable.

She began with displays of modest dexterity, the manipulation of small objects in patterns both intricate and controlled, and proceeded thereafter to a series of light remarks, each delivered with a care that ensured neither offense nor excess. These efforts were received with the subdued approval appropriate to the occasion, the mourners permitting themselves the smallest concessions to levity.

It was observed, though only faintly, that her attention to her audience exceeded what might strictly be required, her gaze passing from face to face with an interest that suggested not mere performance, but assessment.

As the ceremony approached its conclusion, she advanced toward the graveside with a composure so complete that it bordered upon reverence.

“It is a solemn gathering,” she observed, her voice carrying gently to those nearest, “and yet, I cannot help but imagine that he himself might have found it somewhat lacking in animation.”

A murmur followed, low and uncertain, as though the assembled company had been invited into a sentiment they had not known they shared.

“Yes,” she continued, inclining her head with measured grace, “he struck me as a gentleman who held a particular fondness for liveliness, and who would have preferred, even now, a touch of mirth to temper the severity of the hour.”

A few among them allowed themselves the faintest of smiles.

It was then that she permitted the rhythm of her movement to alter.

The bells did not ring in their former, reassuring cadence, but instead marked the air with three distinct tones, each separated by a pause so slight as to evade immediate notice, and yet sufficient to disturb the expectation of continuity.

The effect, though delicate, was not without consequence.

One mourner shifted, as though the ground beneath him had proven uncertain; another cast an involuntary glance toward the open grave; and a third, who would later insist that nothing at all had occurred, found himself momentarily bereft of expression.

Yet no word was spoken, for there was nothing to name.

Having thus concluded what might be considered the truest portion of her performance, she resumed its outward form without hesitation, allowing the bells to return to their former brightness, and bringing the display to a close with a flourish so deftly executed that it restored, in full measure, the illusion of harmless entertainment.

She bowed, as custom required, and when she rose again her expression was once more that of a simple performer - agreeable, unremarkable, and entirely forgettable.

By the time the final rites had been observed and the mourners had begun to disperse, she had already taken her leave, departing in such a manner that no single observer could later say with certainty when she had gone.

...

Elsewhere in the city, as evening gathered once more among its narrow streets and shuttered windows, there was a man whose laughter exceeded the bounds of prudence, carrying further than discretion would have advised, and lingering in the air with a persistence that might, under other circumstances, have invited remark.

And though none present gave voice to it, there were those, at some remove, who might have perceived, borne faintly upon the damp and restless night, the measured, solitary note of a bell...