At the Renaissance Festival, many wear costumes
I admire them as I wander by; their authenticity, their audacity
Their props and panache
A man dressed as a viking knocks over the ale-tankard of a fellow festival goer,
who is himself dressed as a pirate captain. The men begin to argue.
Remarkably, they remain in character, their accents thick
and theatrical. Their voices grow louder, their faces grow closer. The Pirate jabs a finger. The
Viking shoves. Both men draw weapons.
The Pirate swings his cutlass wide. It sings like it could be sharp. The Norseman leaps out of
reach, then returns with an overhand swing of his own. There is the clang
and slide of steel on steel; the whole crowd feels the thrumming.
The Pirate alights deftly upon a nearby picnic table, and from there
makes a dashing leap into literature
Thrusting his blade through the pages of adventure
We can all see the words rushing by, whirling by
“Avast!” they read, and “En guarde!”
A Knight Errant breaks through the circle of the gathered crowd
and now the words say “Blessed Mary and Joseph!” and “Halt! Halt, I prithee!”
The Knight tries to intercede but is tripped by an unseen tree root,
and now the words say “CLANG!” and “CRASH!” and “Damn it all!”
And now he is turtled and struggling for his feet as the fight rages on
above his head, swings and snarls and parries and grins.
The Pirate could have been an athlete or a dancer in his past life. Still, the
Viking knows his ways and presses the attack; meanwhile, the Knight
begins to roll himself from one side to the other in an effort to build up momentum
A flailing metal leg catches the Viking in the shins
and then the Pirate lunges low as the Viking stumbles forward and suddenly everything stops.
The man in the pirate costume looks around at us in shock
There is a sword in his neck. He raises his hand to the sword in his neck.
And now it is clear that we had not in fact been watching an act of literature,
but of history
And we see that the past has been here with us all along, nested like a doll within right now
There is a world where swords can still cut and it is this one
Somehow, it is this world
In this world, swords still cut
The man in the pirate costume slumps to his seat on the earth,
gripping tightly to the blade of the sword.
The crowd begins to murmur. He tries to breathe but chokes.
The Knight, having made no progress, begins crying to the laypeople for aid
while the Viking can only stand there, staring down at his blistering hands.
And that was when the Sword Swallower entered the scene from stage left, stopping to stand
beside me, saying, “Now that’s a lot to take in!"