Ghosts of the Theater

originally posted October 8, 2006

At the end of Aulus Street, The Great Theater stands, monument to Pentilicus Tallux, famed Poet of Ar. The sheer wall rises better than twice the height of the neighboring cylinders and stucco homes that make up this tree lined row. Posters from plays are pasted one atop the other on the wall and, from time to time, they are white washed over. It is a living history, a testament to the greatness of the Theater and its importance to the city. Without art, there is little left to define a 'civilization'. A poster from The Merchant of Ko-ro-ba still hangs. It is partially obscured by another advertising a reading of poetry by one of my self-important brothers of Caste. He is standing with a laurel about his temples and and armload of scrolls. It is laughable, but I will not criticize him overtly. Am I not a seeker of wealth, a land-owner, a whoremonger? Who am I to criticize?
I took Nirah with me, purple-silked and adorned in her indulgent bana. Ares, a guardsman who regularly patrols this district seemed to take a fancy to her. Ares has good taste. Nirah is an exquisite whore. One I own. He will know that her feet have padded the stones on Aulus Street. She will not be seen as a stray slut to be sent with a swat back onto Wagon Street. I took her into the Tallux. I have not been there since the evening I scandalized neighbors of the district and the populus in general. Entering through a side door, the narrow stairway up was chilly, some say haunted. I do not doubt it. After a few winding hallways of dressing rooms, we came upon stage right. It is a huge stage. Worn wood. A heavy velvet curtain of purple, the color of Ubars. They say a thousand actors can be upon the stage at one time. This, too, I do not doubt. It is reinforced to handle the weight. I have ideas. Some are grand. Some are modest. I will not write of them just yet. I did not stay long there. I felt the old ghost pushing at my shoulder. 'Off you go, Poet,' he told me. 'Take the whore with you,' he added. I left.
I brought the girl, Nirah, into Samsara after that. She was nervous being led into my domicile. She did not see much but the great room. There where the hearth embers glow. Where Emily is slept. Where the artwork done by Joy hangs on the walls. She was commanded to strip. I then beat her.
"You are welcome in my home. There is discipline here," I told her. "Do you doubt it?"
"No, Master," she said quickly.
"Who is welcome in my home?" I asked her.
"Nirah is welcome," she answered.
"Joy is first here," I told her.
"Yes, Master," she answered.