A Weak Torch at the Stage Door

Florin sits on a wooden stool at the stage door and studies a map. It is his fifth day as the theatre's door runner. His job is to sign people in and to answer one question: "Where do I go?"

The theatre is old, and it is not simple. It has three staircases, two trapdoors and a corridor that ends at a brick wall. Florin has drawn his own map, and he checks it every night. He counts steps, he names the doors, and he draws small arrows in green pen.

It is half past one, and the children's matinee starts at two. Everything is quiet. The cast arrived an hour ago, and the stage manager is somewhere upstairs, shouting about a missing prop.

Then the stage door bangs open. A very large yellow shape squeezes through the frame. It is a duck. It has a round yellow body, orange feet as big as pillows and a long orange beak. A man's face looks out from under the beak, and he is breathing hard.

"Good afternoon," says the duck. "I am Arvid. I play the Duck. I am late, and I am famous."

"Famous for what?" asks Florin.

"For being the Duck," says Arvid. He signs the book with a wing, and the pen goes everywhere. "Do not worry. I know this theatre very well. I performed here twenty years ago, and I remember every corner."

Florin says nothing. He has met actors like this before. They always remember the corners, and they always get lost in the corridors.

Arvid waddles toward the first door. At that exact moment, there is a loud click, followed by a long, low hum. Then every light in the building goes out.

For a few seconds, nothing happens. The dark is complete, thick and soft like a blanket. Somewhere upstairs, someone says a word that is not allowed in a children's show.

"Ah," says Arvid, in a smaller voice. "That is a problem."

Florin reaches under the desk for the emergency torch. It is an old metal one, with a cracked handle and a bulb that has seen better days. He switches it on. A pale yellow circle appears on the floor. It is about the size of a dinner plate, and it flickers as if it is nervous.

"That is all?" asks Arvid.

"That is all," says Florin. "The new batteries arrive on Thursday."

Arvid looks at the tiny circle of light and lets out a long breath. "My entrance is in eleven minutes," he says. "If I am not on stage, forty children will sit in the dark and watch nothing."

"Then we should go," says Florin.

"You know the way?" asks Arvid. He sounds surprised.

"I have a map," says Florin. He holds up the paper. "If you follow me, you will be on time."

The two of them step into the corridor. The weak beam shows only a small piece of floor. Florin sees a worn board here, a nail there and the toe of Arvid's huge orange foot. Every time the duck moves, his costume makes a squeaky, rubbery noise. Squeak, squeak, squeak. It sounds like a very large toy.

"Left at the broom," says Florin. He counts under his breath. "Eleven steps. Then a door."

"I remember a door here," says Arvid. "It leads to the stage. I am nearly certain."

Florin opens it and holds up the torch. Behind the door is a cupboard. It is full of mops, a bucket and a very surprised sign that reads "Do Not Enter."

"This is the cleaning cupboard," says Florin gently.

"They moved it," says Arvid. "In my day, it was a staircase."

"I think it was always a cupboard," says Florin.

They close the door and carry on. The corridor bends to the right, then to the left. Arvid walks slightly behind, with his beak pointing at the ceiling. Twice he bumps into a wall. The second time, the beak hits a fire bell. The bell rings for two seconds before Florin catches it.

"Sorry," says Arvid. "I cannot see my feet. The beak is too big."

"Take it off," suggests Florin.

"Never. The Duck cannot be seen without a beak. It would ruin the magic."

Florin shrugs. He gives Arvid the map to hold. Then he shines the torch at the wall to find the next arrow. The beam trembles and goes dim. Florin shakes the torch twice, and the light comes back in a worried yellow glow.

"We have seven minutes," says Arvid. He sounds more serious now. "Florin, tell me honestly. Are we lost?"

"No," says Florin. "I am nearly sure we are not lost."

"Nearly?"

"My map has a mistake on the second floor," Florin admits. "I drew the stairs on the wrong side. I found out on Tuesday."

Arvid stops. The costume squeaks one last time and goes quiet. For a long moment, the only sound is the hum of the dark.

"Then we do it the other way round," says Arvid. "You tell me where the mistake is, and I tell you where I think the stairs should be. Between us, we find them."

"That could work," says Florin.

"Of course it could. I am an actor. I am very good at pretending that I know the answer."

Florin laughs, and the torch shakes in his hand. Together they climb the stairs, one step at a time. Arvid holds the rail, and Florin lights the way. At the top, the corridor opens into a space that smells of dust and paint. Ropes hang down from the ceiling like long, thin vines.

"This is the wings," whispers Florin. "The stage is straight ahead."

Through a gap in the curtain, they can see the empty boards. There is a murmur of voices from the audience, impatient and high, like a flock of birds. A tiny voice asks loudly if the show has been cancelled.

"Three minutes," says Arvid. He looks at the torch, and then at Florin, and his voice becomes soft. "Thank you. I came in here like a man who owns the building. You are the one who really knows it."

"I only know where the mistakes are," says Florin.

"That is the best way to know a place," says Arvid.

At that moment, a worker shouts from the corridor, and the lights hum back on, all at once. The stage glows white and gold. The audience cheers, and somebody at the back starts to clap in time.

Arvid stands very tall. He straightens his beak, and he pats Florin on the shoulder with a large yellow wing. "Wish me luck," he whispers.

"Break a leg," says Florin.

"Never say that to a duck," says Arvid, with a grin. "I only have two."

Then he steps through the curtain. Florin stands in the wings with the weak little torch. He listens to the sudden hush of forty children. For one second, the whole theatre waits.

"Quack," says Arvid.