![]() ![]() And then the puppets, a man, a woman and a field all around them which ran down to a rippling sea. Beside the caravan, a fire, like the one I’d seen so long ago in the puppet theatre-strips of scarlet silk, with threads of violet fluttering amongst them. At first, I thought it was this I was seeing in the water, a memory coming up through the strange clouding in my vision-a caravan, painted in a shimmering crimson, with shutters of ocean blue and puffs of grey wool smoke coming from the chimney. The puppeteers were Roma, and the tale their theatre told was of a young maid who left her family to travel the wider world, and how this had led to her tragic downfall. He had taken me the second night of their performance and I had been wonderstruck with all of it. Long ago, a travelling puppet show had stopped in our village, and I had begged my father to allow me to attend. ![]() That's just to give you a bit of context, before I plunk you into the centre of a scene). ![]() She's using a pan of water as a scrying glass, essentially, and hoping to summon someone to her aide, as she's in a bit of a crisis situation. (Just a small preface to this excerpt- this is part of Yevgena's story and the glimpse today is from when she's about seventeen years old. ![]()
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