The Marionettes: Act Two

A quiet ten days have passed with the marionettes remaining silent in their wooden casket; that is, until today.

Weekly, I change my bed linen, which is laundered by Maria, hung to dry, then carefully ironed and returned to me, folded in an exquisite example of geometrical perfection. What luxury!

I remove my used linen and attempt to fold it with the same care it was given me. Unfortunately, the sheet and duvet cover resist my attempts at folding, apparently developing an unfortunate fifth corner, which renders them impossible to line up and fold. I traipse downstairs and shame-facedly hand Maria a rumpled mess of linens which, in spite of my attempts to the contrary, inexplicably drag a long tail much like the train on a wedding gown.

Making the bed up is no easier. It has a duvet, so I must insert the duvet into its cover and lay it across the mattress. Sounds easy, doesn’t it? My current duvet cover has an extended opening, rather like a turtleneck sweater. Conceivably the extension is then tucked under the mattress to keep the duvet steady in the event of some kind of a bedroom ruckus unlike anything usually experienced in my bedroom. Well, no matter how many times I fed the feather duvet in through the turtle neck, carefully lining up the corners, the duvet twisted itself around like a live thing and I was always left with a big hunk of of something hanging out of the turtleneck. I was breathing heavily by the time I covered the whole mess with a decorative quilt and got the pillows buttoned into their cases. I could hear the marionettes around the corner, gasping with laughter in their wooden tomb. I gave it a swift kick on my way past to the bathroom.

Big mistake, because they weren’t done with me yet. As I’ve mentioned previously, I live on the fourth floor and there is a five story building across the narrow street from me, on top of which the workmen are happily pounding and banging. I often see my neighbors on the fourth and fifth floor as they hang out their windows to check on the progress of the mortar mixer below on the street, or to converse with an endless number of neighbors making their way, far below, to the piazza. My neighbors and I often exchange friendly waves and greetings of, “Buona sera” through the open windows, weather permitting.

Well, today I elected to turn on the bathroom light and then to leave the door open as I partook of the facilities. After all, I live alone. Well, I happened to look to the right and noticed my neighbor across the way perfectly reflected in the glass of a picture hanging on the wall outside the bathroom, the glass of which had cleaned to a mirror-like sheen. Now, you understand, if I could see her…she could also see me. She looked right as me in all my glory and gave a friendly wave of the hand, then she looked again and understanding what she was seeing, quickly slammed her window shut and pulled the drape, lest her husband get a gander of the display across the street.

Upon closer examination, I could see that the picture has recently been moved about 2 inches to the right, in perfect alignment with the bathroom door. The pesky puppets strike again!