Free The Puppet Maker's Bones by Alisa Tangredi Page A

is questionable. My mother died in childbirth and there are no relatives who lived much longer after I was born who could tell me when that exact date was.” The sound of Mr. Trope’s high giggle following that statement seemed to tear a hole straight through Pavel’s head.
    Pavel’s face felt quite hot again, and his breath came in short, staccato inhalations that did not produce enough air. He did not feel well at all. Mr. Trope went to a basin on the counter and wet a cloth which he handed Pavel.
    “I’m sorry,” Mr. Trope said as he laid the cloth upon Pavel’s brow.
    “I feel sick,” said Pavel. Trope reached out a gloved hand and placed it on Pavel’s shoulder in a calming gesture and held it there until Pavel’s breathing slowed to a normal rate. Pavel concentrated on a spot upon the floor, but he had too many thoughts running through his head as his pulse raced. Fear and adrenaline coursed through his veins as he became overwhelmed with the information he was hearing from Mr. Trope.
    “These meetings never go without leaving our clients feeling a little sick over the knowledge that they are so very different from their fellows. The financial stability does not seem to lessen that.”
    “We cannot have children?” asked Pavel once his breath returned to a more regular rhythm.
    “I am very sorry Pavel, but that cannot happen. We have made arrangements that you will want for nothing. You have wealth and property.
    “What if I don’t believe you? What if I wish to marry someone, and we choose to have children?” asked Pavel.
    “You may not sire children, Pavel. There is great risk.” Trope’s voice was firm.
    “What happens?” asked Pavel.
    “What do you mean what happens?”
    “If I sire children. You mean the mother will die in childbirth, like mine did? Did I have a father who is like me?”
    Trope shook his head. “The mother will not live long enough to get pregnant, let alone give you a child.”
    Mr. Trope went back over to the basin and wet the cloth again, brought it to Pavel and handed it to him. Pavel took it and dabbed at both his face and neck; however, he kept missing the area he intended to apply the cloth, the blood pumping through his ears and head causing him to be distracted and clumsy. He felt anxious and wanted to leave the room, so he stood and paced. Mr. Trope walked to the door and opened it. A large man with red hair entered the room and stood by the door.
    “This is McGovern,” said Mr. Trope. “He is here to moderate our meeting, should we have need of that.”
    Pavel considered the large man, then turned his attention back to Mr. Trope and continued his pacing over the odd floor rug. Mr. Trope went back to his place behind the desk.
    “You were born to normal mortal people who lived normal mortal lifespans. What happened to your mother was tragic, albeit common. In your father’s case, his life was cut short by the plague. That is the story we adhere to, although in your heart, I believe you know better.”
    Pavel’s eyes teared, and he wiped his hand across his face.
    “Mortal people.”
    Mr. Trope placed his gloved hands on the desk and spread his fingers.
    “We are neither mortal, nor immortal. We can be killed. We can kill ourselves. We can die of old age. We do die, eventually.”
    A thought began to form in Pavel’s head.
    “The gloves. Do you wear the gloves to protect your hands, or are you protecting others from your touch?”
    Mr. Trope got up from the desk again, moved to a cabinet on the wall, opened it and removed two pairs of gloves identical to the ones he was wearing. He handed them to Pavel.
    “These are for you. We do recommend that you wear them when around other people.”
    Pavel examined the gloves, then put them in his lap, unsure what else to do with them.
    “What about homosexuals? They do not have children, yet they couple. I am aware of this. I have met many who have come through the theatre over the years. Are there homosexuals of