Tasteless Engine (2)

Suddenly, the puppet’s eyes flutter open and the doll stares at you.

Flabbergasted, you jump back and stop touching them. The porcelain puppet slowly, weakly sits up with numb arms. All you can do is stare at the living doll with wide eyes, while the mass elevates itself until it stands up before you.

“Who are you…?” the porcelain puppet asks with a low, groggy voice. Definitely a boy.

“I could return you the question! My name is […] and I’m a toy maker.” You reply.

“Good. I have been looking for you.” Says the puppet casually, as if he was not crying on your floor a few minutes ago. He starts walking in your bungalow with his chin raised high, as if he was the owner of this land. His torn clothes barely cover himself, and his joints and articulations creak with every move he makes and you decide to go after him.

“Wait! So, you know me, but what’s your name and how are you… Living?! Aren’t you a puppet?” You ask while walking behind him, in pure confusion.

“That’s none of your business. As for my name, I don’t have one.” Replies the doll boy. “What’s that?” he asks, pointing a book with his hand.

“Just a theater piece. It’s La Comedia Del Arte. You never heard of it?” You reply, taking the book and handing it to him. The nameless puppet takes the book and examinate it carefully.

“Well, just call me Scaramouche then.” He says after reading a few pages.

“Scara?

-Scaramouche” He objects, refusing the nickname. He puts back the book on the self.

“This bungalow is pathetic, but it is not the reason of my visit. I saw the sign near your house saying that you are a toy maker. It kills me to say it but I need your help.” After saying that, Scaramouche takes off the clothe that was hiding his bust. At the place where should be his heart if he was human is a huge hole, the porcelain is fissured and painting is damaged all around the hole and even slightly melted. You stare at it in awe for a few minutes. Never, in your life, you saw a human-puppet with a hole in the chest. Look then up at him in his eyes, which are a bit damaged too.

“… What happened to you?” You ask, shocked.

“None of your business too.” Answers the puppet with a dark face.

Promptly, you put him on your table and observes his features with a lot of caution.

“I never saw a doll this damaged. I’m not sure I’ll be able to fix all of that.

-What about my heart?

-You had a heart?

-Yes. But in an access of rage, I pulled it out of my chest, that’s how the hole… You know…”

You look at him, you can’t help but feel bad for him. Sure, he is not human at all, but it is almost like it, is it not? And mostly, he had a heart. You don’t know how it is possible, but you stopped asking yourself question when a living puppet started to cry before you.

“Sadly, I can do nothing for a heart-broken puppet, asides from repairing the damage, I can’t give you a heart.” You tell him softly, looking at him in the eyes.

“Then I’ll find someone who can.

-No one can. Scaramouche, a heart isn’t a clock! It is not mechanical, you can not buy it, or repair it with a hammer, nails and tools. I can’t do anything for this heart, nor no one can.

-You’re worthless! I should have known it when I crossed your door! I’m leaving, now.” The enraged doll jumps off the table and heads toward the living room.

“If you go outside, you’ll be even more broken!” You protest. “I can fix you! And maybe your heart will grow back! I bet you’re not that stupid…”

After you said that, Scaramouche looks down, lost in thought. Leaving the bungalow would be counterproductive, and after all, maybe those promises you tell him are true. In this case, it is not in his interest to leave. He turns to you.

“Alright, you win, human.

-I have a name.

-Don’t get me started or it’s you who’ll end up broken.

-So you’re staying here?

-Unfortunately.” The puppet rolls his eyes.